We entered a new, cavernous room that was filled to the brim with gleaming, custom-built fitness equipment. It was a high-tech torture chamber designed for peak performance analysis.
The centerpiece was a specialized punching power testing machine, alongside a massive bench press rig, a twenty-meter running track embedded with speed sensors, and various other professional weightlifting stations.
Tony, energized by the prospect of hard data, immediately flipped a switch. "Alright, Leo, let's establish your physical baseline first," he said, grabbing a clipboard tablet. "Shoes, socks, and coat off. We're getting height and density."
Leo complied, removing his coat to reveal a simple black vest. He walked onto the electronic pad.
MetricResultHeight:128 cmWeight:41 kg
"You are profoundly short, which is odd, but you weigh significantly more than the average child your height," Tony observed, scrolling through the medical comparisons. "Your muscle density must be off the charts—far beyond anything a natural human should possess!"
Tony entered the data. "Okay, next up, the main event: bench press. The average adult male maximum is around 50 kilograms. For you, we'll start conservatively at 40 kilograms!" Tony adjusted the massive hydraulic rig.
"Fifty is too soft. Let's try that 50-kilogram limit right away. I want to feel the weight," Leo said, lying down on the padded equipment.
Tony shrugged. "Fine. These devices are military-grade; they can handle whatever you throw at them."
Despite his relatively short arms, Leo grabbed the bar. He completed ten repetitions with perfect form, the weight moving smoothly and effortlessly. He looked completely relaxed.
"Seventy-five kilograms, I think that's a decent warm-up," Leo stated.
Tony, already looking slightly surprised, increased the weight to 75 kg. Leo still completed ten repetitions with easy, fluid motion.
Tony was openly dumbfounded. He quickly moved his hands to the controls again. "How about one hundred kilograms, then? Triple your body weight."
"Bring it!"
Leo felt significant pressure this time, and the movements were visibly less easy, but he still managed to grind out ten standard bench press reps.
"Are you feeling any strain?" Tony asked with genuine concern.
"I suspect 120 kilograms is near my functional limit for high-rep exercises," Leo stated.
The weight was increased to 120 kg. Such enormous, disproportionate pressure seemed cruel for an eleven-year-old. Even Tony winced.
However, Leo still managed to execute all ten moves with a difficult but composed precision.
Leo stood up, rotating his wrist. The internal circulation of energy, amplified by the connection to the earth (Immovable Golden Body passive), instantly dispelled any trace of fatigue.
"Mr. Stark, my functional max is likely 120 kilograms. Let's move on to the next item," Leo said.
"Don't you need a moment to recover?" Tony typed furiously, noting the data. "Leo, the world record for bench press is around 450 kilograms, but the world boxing champion's bench press is only around 130 kilograms—and they weigh three times what you do!"
Tony stared at the small boy in front of him, a flicker of something akin to fear, mixed with pure scientific avarice, in his eyes. "In pure strength-to-weight ratio, your current output is comparable to a world-class heavyweight champion!"
"Mr. Stark, let's continue," Leo chuckled internally. World champion strength? Cute. Captain America Rogers can bench press 545 kilograms without breaking a sweat, and in terms of raw offensive power, even that pales compared to what Tony Stark will build.
Testing continued, moving to squat strength. Squats, the 'king of strength,' were essential for the ground-based power Leo needed.
One hundred kilograms: easy.
One hundred fifty kilograms: easy.
Two hundred kilograms: a noticeable strain, but successful.
Two hundred forty kilograms: Leo grunted, visibly straining, but lifted himself up.
Two hundred fifty kilograms: Leo's legs trembled violently.
Two hundred fifty-five kilograms: This was the absolute limit. Leo barely managed to stand back up, locking his knees before the weight crushed him.
Tony meticulously noted the data: A child weighing 41 kilograms squatted 255 kilograms. "A little kitten throwing a punch like a Siberian tiger," Tony muttered, utterly bewildered.
The endurance test followed: a forty-minute run on the twenty-meter track, back and forth. Leo finished without a single pant, his breathing steady, looking like he'd just stepped out of the elevator.
Next was the speed test, utilizing the multiple speed measuring devices embedded in the twenty-meter track. Tony watched with great anticipation, expecting supernatural velocity.
Leo, standing twenty meters away, gave a helpless smile. He sprinted at full speed and crossed the finish line.
The final data flashed on the monitor: 8.9 meters per second.
This was an excellent result for an eleven-year-old—far exceeding the average—but Tony was visibly disappointed. He had expected the child who could fly to break the sound barrier.
"Hey! My legs are only this long! What more do you want?" Leo shouted defensively at Tony.
"Let's move on to the final test: punching power," Tony said quickly, already hurrying toward the punching station.
They arrived at the high-quality punching power testing machine. Tony was tempted and, putting on a pair of gloves, threw a quick, soft punch for a baseline.
A soft thump was heard. The readout: 112 kilograms (calculated based on impact force).
Leo brought over a large platform to raise the punching bag to his height, securing the machine firmly to the floor. He focused his force from the ground, utilizing powerful muscle torque to swing his small fist into the round punching bag.
"Bang!"
A deafening crash echoed through the room.
The readout: 264 kilograms.
The punching bag slowly returned to the center. Tony picked up his laptop, recording the final data. "Want to try again? See if you can break 300?"
"No need. I know that's my current limit for a controlled, measurable strike," Leo said.
"Okay, item complete!" Tony nodded, but as he glanced at the equipment, he caught sight of something disturbing.
The incredibly tough cushioning material covering the center of the punching bag had a large, focused tear, almost exposing the metal rod underneath.
Tony glanced at Leo's small, ungloved hands. When clenched, his fist was no bigger than a billiard ball. The destructive power was exponentially increased because the area of applied force was minuscule.
More disturbingly, despite the massive impact and friction, Leo's small hands showed no damage, no redness, and no marks whatsoever.
This astonishing defensive power, coupled with the blood draw failure, caused Tony to tremble involuntarily. "Leo, one full-power punch from you is enough to kill an adult. I should have made you my official bodyguard. Happy isn't even close to being as strong as you."
After completing all the tests, Tony looked at the compiled data. "Leo, you are fundamentally a monster. Your physical capabilities surpass most people on this planet, and you're only eleven. It's unbelievable."
Tony looked at Leo with shining, avaricious eyes, his mind already spinning on how he could possibly harness or replicate this human-based power.
"Mr. Stark," Leo said, his voice sharp, "your armor surpasses everyone else in every aspect. No matter how strong a person is, they cannot fight against a machine that can fly and shoot energy beams. Don't let a small, biological distraction cause you to lose sight of the big picture!"
Tony snapped out of his daze and looked at Leo with unwavering focus. "Of course, I will stick to my theory. Machines over meat, always."
"Let's go. Your blood composition report should be finalized by now." Tony left the room first, his mind racing to the data.
Leo glanced back at the punching power testing machine. He subtly flicked his finger.
Hiss!
A low, piercing metallic whistle rang out. The punching target slammed violently into the testing board, and the enormous, hidden impact force instantly wrenched the entire machine—which had been fixed to the ground—out of its setting, almost sending it flying.
The screen flashed a string of garbled characters before going black. A wisp of black smoke rose from the damaged chassis.
Leo raised his eyebrows and glanced toward the door. "Phew, thank goodness Mr. Stark is far away!"
He surveyed the damaged floor and the twisted, now useless machine. He reached out and used his power to gently settle the destroyed device back into its original, ruined position.
"I didn't even use five percent of my true strength," Leo muttered to himself, shaking his head. "Looks like I'm definitely not cut out for hand-to-hand combat where they can measure the output."