The sun was high when Leo finally stirred. He walked out of his room, the feeling of rest clinging to him like a warm blanket—a rare and precious sensation. He went straight to the vast, professionally equipped kitchen.
Gazing at the ridiculously well-stocked refrigerator, he calmly started to cook, the precise control of his metal manipulation translating smoothly into a masterful control of ingredients.
In just under an hour, a table full of glorious food was prepared. Towering stacks of golden-brown hash browns, eggs Benedict drowning in rich Hollandaise, bacon cooked to the perfect crisp, and a monstrous, sizzling Black Angus steak—this was all Leo's standard, necessary morning meal, the fuel for his perpetually hungry internal 'furnace.'
He sat down, cut into the thick steak, and began to eat heartily, savoring the flavor. For Leo, food was rarely about taste; it was about the single, frantic, endless task of energy replenishment. But still, the act of chewing and tasting was the only pleasure he could genuinely derive from the process.
After finishing the first piece of steak, Leo naturally reached for the next slice. He raised it to his lips, took a couple of bites, and then his entire world tilted. He stopped, the fork hovering in mid-air.
He couldn't eat anymore.
Leo stared wide-eyed, not at the food, but at his small, round little belly—a sight he had never, ever seen before in this life. It was slightly distended, pleasantly full, and broadcasting a signal to his brain that screamed: STOP. SATISFACTION ACHIEVED.
'How... how is this possible?!'
This was the first time Leo had ever felt full. The first time he had felt that deep, primal satisfaction of a stomach completely replete. It was a blissful, overwhelming feeling, radiating from the depths of his soul. Leo involuntarily squinted his eyes, sliding off the chair to sprawl out luxuriously on the giant leather sofa, rubbing his distended abdomen in utter confusion and delight.
He had lived in this world for five years, constantly practicing his cultivation, and had never once experienced this wonderful feeling. His existence had been defined by a constant, low-level state of hunger.
No matter how much food entered his system, it was immediately, violently converted into raw energy and stored in his brain and meridians to prepare for the subsequent cultivation of his 'Golden Body'—a process that was entirely automatic and uncontrollable. This insatiable, constant absorption was necessary to prevent his own abilities from draining his life force.
That constant, deep craving had, at first, nearly driven Leo mad, forcing him to devote himself to hoarding food and training. But time, as it always does, healed the mental wound, and he had gradually grown used to the gnawing discomfort of perpetual hunger.
And now, he was full.
The instinctive pleasure and relaxation were so overwhelming that they made him lazy and unwilling to move. He just quietly sprawled there, blissfully useless on the sofa, absorbing the novel feeling of true satiation.
Tony Stark walked up from the basement stairs at that precise moment. He spotted Leo in the middle of the immense living hall, looking like a stuffed teddy bear.
"What in the blazes did you do, kid? You look like someone who's been hitting the gas station hot dogs too hard," Tony quipped, completely misunderstanding the profound breakthrough. "You didn't actually try to put your whole hand inside that reactor, did you?"
Leo, feeling too relaxed to be defensive, just mumbled. "Nah. I'm just full, Mr. Stark. It feels so… good!"
"'Full?' Are you telling me you actually stopped eating?" Tony glanced past him into the kitchen. "Did you eat a whole cow? Or two? Because that table still looks like a catering company just left."
In Tony's memory, Leo's appearance was inextricably linked to perpetual, hungry consumption. Leo's current state—relaxed, plump, and static—was more baffling than a functioning fusion reactor in a cave.
Leo sat up slowly, the effort almost too much. "Mr. Stark, I think it's because of the Arc Reactor. When I absorbed its energy last night, it seems to have… balanced something inside me. Now I don't need to keep eating like crazy just to stay alive."
Tony's expression changed instantly. His initial humor vanished, replaced by a scientist's sharp curiosity and a tinge of proprietary anger. "You can absorb electrical energy now? Are you sure you realize the sheer magnitude of power contained within that reactor?"
Leo simply waved his hand. The door to his room—a door Tony hadn't even realized was locked—slid open. The now-dark, inert reactor core floated out into the hall and landed precisely in Tony's waiting hand.
"I've already absorbed all the usable fusion energy. But, Mr. Stark, I might need one more, maybe two, actually, hehe." Leo chuckled, looking up at Tony with expectant, innocent eyes.
Tony barely registered the request. He clutched the spent reactor and rushed immediately back down the stairs and into the workshop.
"Jarvis! Emergency diagnostic scan on this reactor now!"
"Understood, Sir. Initiating scan and structural analysis of the core. Scan complete." Jarvis's synthesized voice was quick and technical. "The internal palladium metal has been almost entirely depleted. I detect signs of severe overload operation, consistent with a rapid, complete thermal shutdown. The internal containment ring is damaged and requires a full overhaul before any attempt to restart."
Tony immediately popped open the reactor. The palladium ring inside, normally shimmering and intact, had indeed become finely gelled and solidified, emitting a faint, unpleasant metallic odor.
Tony stared at the husk, his mind racing. "This reactor was designed to power the Mark III at full combat capacity for ten straight days, Jarvis! It was used up in one single night! What in the nine levels of engineering hell did Leo do to this thing? He didn't just absorb the power, he inhaled it!"
"Jarvis, prepare the materials again. Set the fabricators to make one. No, scratch that. Make two more reactors. Prioritize efficiency over longevity this time."
"Affirmative, Mr. Stark. Processing request."
Tony returned to the living room, only to see Leo sitting back at the dining table, cheerfully cutting into another piece of steak.
"See? I told you!" Tony exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "Leo, you should just stick to the food! One of my reactors, worth untold billions in research, is enough to feed you for a year, apparently! Don't drain my personal power supply!"
"No way, Mr. Stark! The energy level of the food is too low now; it's just calories and vitamins. I can't even cultivate efficiently anymore. The reactor, though? That was pure, pale blue lightning!" Leo couldn't help but remember that pure, cyan energy and licked his lips instinctively.
"Didn't you just spend ten minutes looking like a pregnant house cat telling me you were full? Why are you still eating? Do you want to experience what it's like to stuff yourself to death?" Tony looked at Leo, who was now consuming the rich food with renewed vigor.
It seems what I just witnessed was all an illusion, Tony thought, rubbing his temples. He's still just that gluttonous little anomaly.
Leo, however, patted his now-flat stomach. "Don't waste food, Mr. Stark. I can still eat."
He had discovered, just a moment ago, the truth of his breakthrough. The incredible surge of energy from the fusion core hadn't just filled him up; it had effectively installed a switch to his internal energy furnace. Unlike before, when the absorption was an uncontrollable, constant vacuum, Leo could now choose whether or not to allow his body to absorb the food in his stomach and turn it into energy.
Adhering to the principle of never wasting a good meal, Leo calmly finished all the food on the table. Tony, after a quick, hearty breakfast of his own, returned to the basement.
The reactors would take time to build. Leo, now pleasantly energized by the high-quality food, went to the workshop and watched Tony. Tony was attempting to manually repair the internal damage to the Mark III while also studying how to engineer a better, faster disassembly system.
"Mr. Stark," Leo prompted casually. "Now that your armor is fixed, what are your thoughts on your weapons ending up in the hands of terrorists?"
Tony's hand, which was working a microscopic tool into a jammed elbow joint, slowed almost imperceptibly. He didn't look up. "Someone in the company is up to no good, and yes, it's most likely Obadiah." He still couldn't bring himself to fully accept that his old friend was a viper in the garden.
"So, what's the plan?" Leo asked, leaning on a table.
Tony finally put down his tools, wiping his greasy hands on a rag. "Don't worry about it, kid. Let me think about it. It's complicated, messy. Go out and have some fun by yourself. I'll give you the two new reactors tonight."
Tony then returned to his work, intentionally ignoring Leo. Leo understood the dismissal. Tony was in denial, trying to push away the painful reality of betrayal.
Leo patted his now perfectly flat, but content, little belly. A sudden, powerful wave of drowsiness washed over him—the beautiful, natural sleepiness that comes after a large, satisfying meal, a feeling denied to him for years. How about I finally take a real nap?
Faced with this unprecedented, wonderful experience, Leo returned to his room, lay on his bed, and drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep with a full stomach and a pleasant, innocent smile on his face.
That evening, Pepper Potts arrived at the underground studio, looking immaculate and highly stressed, holding a few folders of quarterly reports she was trying to get Tony to sign. Tony was still deep in his work on the Mark III, his face smudged with grease. When he saw Pepper, he put down his work, the moment of levity gone.
"Hey Pepper, perfect timing. Are you busy right now? I need you to do me a favor. A favor that goes beyond the usual job description."
He handed Pepper, who had been watching him with barely concealed anxiety, a custom-designed flash drive disguised as a sleek gold keyring.
"I need you to go to my office, access the computer mainframe, and download all the recent shipping manifests. The ones that are classified as 'secret chips.' They track illegal ordnance movement, and the company is trying to bury them."
"You can get in using this," Tony explained, nodding to the keyring. "It might be buried deep in the administrative folder or hidden on a phantom drive. If that's the case, just find the file with the smallest number and bring it back." With that, Tony returned to his workbench, already explaining some potential software conflicts she might encounter.
Pepper glanced down at the sleek flash drive in her hand, then looked intently at Tony, her expression guarded.
"If I retrieve this list for you, what exactly are you planning to do, Tony?" she asked, her voice dangerously steady.
Tony shrugged, trying to keep the mood light. "The usual routine, Pep. If it's a clandestine deal, I'll stop it. Find my weapons, and put them in a very specific incinerator. Then I'll come home and we can order takeout."
"Tony…"
Pepper wanted to scream, to lash out, but she couldn't. She gave a bitter, sorrowful smile, her eyes suddenly glistening with tears. "You know I'm willing to do absolutely anything for you. I'd run the company into the ground, fight the board, or lie to the government for you, Tony."
She gripped the flash drive tight. "But if you're planning to do something reckless again—something that will get you shot at with missiles, or nearly crushed by a tank—I can't help you this time. I won't push you toward your own death." Pepper's voice broke slightly, but she managed to maintain her serious composure.
"I just need a list, Pepper. It's not for anyone's financial benefit. It's not for a government contract. I'm not selling anything, or buying anything," Tony insisted, his voice growing louder, laced with a desperation he rarely showed.
Tony turned around abruptly, staring wide-eyed at her. "I have to do this, Pepper. That's all there is to it."
"Really?" Pepper asked, meeting his gaze quietly, tears finally welling up and spilling down her cheeks. She held his stare, her resolve hardening. "Then I'll resign, Tony."
She placed the golden keyring chip on his workbench with a definitive clack, turned sharply, and started to walk away.
Tony hadn't expected this. Pepper had been his constant, reliable shadow, never once refusing him anything. This sudden, absolute refusal stopped him cold.
Watching Pepper turn and leave, Tony—unlike his usual carefree, dismissive self—spoke calmly, profoundly, stopping her at the bottom of the stairs.
"For so many years, Pepper, you've always been on my side. You were there when I was making a fortune off the death and destruction I was causing everywhere. You processed the paperwork for every single missile that blew up a school or a town."
He looked down at his hands, covered in the grease of his personal war machine.
"Now, when I finally want to make things right—when I want to protect those who suffer because of the weapons I built—you're leaving me?"
Pepper, however, was only concerned about his living, breathing safety, not his moral crisis. She replied without hesitation. "Tony, this path will get you killed. I can't be the one who opens the door to the slaughterhouse for you."
Tony slowly sat down on his work stool, his mind flashing back to the faces of the people who had helped him in his hour of need. He saw the young soldier who tried to stop him in the jeep, the countless innocent refugees whose homes were lost, and most clearly, the somber, sacrificing face of Dr. Yinsen, who had died saving him in the cave.
"Don't waste your life, Stark."
Tony lowered his head, his voice low and somber, thick with guilt and conviction. "If it weren't for the memory of what I saw, and the belief that I can fix it…"
He looked up at her, his eyes raw.
"I should have died in that cave, Pepper. I was a dead man walking before I even put on that Mark I. I'm not crazy. I just finally understand what I should have been doing all along, and I know deep down that this—building things that save people—is the only right thing left to do."
Pepper was surprised into silence. Tony had never spoken of what had truly happened during his three months in Afghanistan. No one had walked in his shoes, and no one knew the unbearable burden of guilt he carried. She could see the pain and the deep, fragile conviction in his eyes.
No one had experienced his life, so who was she to judge the fire that now burned within him?