For more than a month, my life had settled into a predictable routine.
School during the week. Occasional visits to the New York Sanctum. And every spare moment devoted to potion restoration—specifically, recreating Veritaserum for this world.
It's not going well.
All the serum samples I'd stolen from Technology Pioneers had been consumed in experiments. Every single vial, used and lost, with nothing to show for it.
I still hadn't successfully restored Veritaserum.
But it wasn't a complete failure. At least I'd confirmed that using Kilgrave's serum to replace part of Veritaserum's core materials was feasible. The approach worked in theory.
I just needed more experiments. More time. More materials to determine the exact formula.
Back to square one. Again.
On the plus side, I had achieved one success: the Draught of Living Death.
From the materials I'd purchased at the hidden marketplace, I'd found a composite substitute that could replace the main ingredient. After extensive testing, I'd successfully produced a Marvel-compatible version. The effect was nearly identical to the original—powerful, reliable, exactly what I'd hoped for.
One victory. Better than nothing.
I pulled out a black notebook—no logo, no markings, completely nondescript—and began writing with special ink and a quill pen. Every detail of my experiments went into this book: the exploration process, failed attempts, successful discoveries, refined formulas for both the Draught of Living Death and my ongoing Veritaserum research.
My first original potion book. A record and an arrangement.
I'd just written the first word when my phone rang.
I glanced at the screen. Sean.
"Sean, what's wrong?"
"Did you forget again?" His voice carried that particular mix of exasperation and resignation that came from dealing with my absent-mindedness.
"Forget... uh, I really can't remember. Just tell me."
A heavy sigh came through the phone. "I knew it. Abel, today is Friday. It's 6:30 in the evening."
Oh. Shit.
It all came flooding back. I'd promised Sean we'd go see a movie tonight—not just the two of us, but a whole group. Girls and boys Sean had carefully arranged, trying to orchestrate some kind of social miracle.
This went back to the party a month ago, when I'd slipped away without saying goodbye to track Tessa. After raiding Technology Pioneers, I'd gone straight home instead of returning to Sean's party. He'd been understanding about it—especially after I explained my bike had been "stolen"—but I'd still felt guilty.
So I'd promised to make it up to him by going to this movie.
And I almost forgot. Again.
"Right, I remember now," I said quickly. "I'll take a taxi. I'll be there before 7:30. What movie are we seeing again?"
"High School Musical 3." Sean's voice carried barely suppressed excitement. "The third installment of the famous youth musical romance series!"
I closed my eyes. "High School Musical 3."
"Yep!"
"...Well, it's more suitable for your situation. Perfect for watching with a certain girl."
Kill me now.
But I'd made a promise. Couldn't back out now, even if the movie sounded like torture. Besides, maybe it would be different from the version I vaguely remembered from my first life.
Probably not. But I can hope.
After confirming the time and theater location, I hung up and went back to writing. I finished my notes by seven o'clock, changed clothes, and headed out.
When I arrived at the cinema, Sean and the others were just pulling up. The two groups merged, bought tickets, and filed into the theater.
I ended up sitting in the corner, edge seat, while Sean successfully positioned himself next to the girl he liked. They were already leaning close, whispering, clearly not planning to watch much of the movie.
Good for him.
As for me? I didn't watch the movie either.
My mind was entirely occupied with logistics: developing my own laboratory, finding funding, and figuring out how to approach Tony Stark.
How do I make contact naturally?
Tony wasn't the kind of person who responded well to obvious attempts at networking. If I just showed up and tried to befriend him out of nowhere, he'd see right through it. The success rate would be terrible.
I needed an organic opportunity. Something that would make our meeting feel natural, even inevitable.
The movie ended while I was still thinking. I still had no good answer.
A few of us ended up at a burger restaurant near the cinema—casual food, casual conversation, the kind of low-key hangout that high schoolers defaulted to.
After eating, everyone prepared to head home. The group dispersed. Sean and I technically lived in the same direction, but he was clearly planning to continue his "in-depth communication" with the girl he liked.
Not being a third wheel tonight.
I said my goodbyes and took the bus home alone.
The bus drove through evening traffic, windows reflecting the city lights. I didn't think about potions or laboratories or Tony Stark. Just stared out the window in a quiet daze, letting my mind drift.
Then the bus stopped.
Hard.
Tires screeched. People lurched forward. Someone up front stood up, craning their neck to see what was happening.
And then I heard it.
BOOM.
The unmistakable sound of explosion and impact from somewhere ahead.
What the—
I snapped out of my daze immediately, opening the window and leaning out to look.
Two humanoid metal armors were fighting in the middle of the street.
One was massive—iron-gray, bulky, crude but powerful. The other was sleeker, gold and red, smaller, more refined. The larger armor grabbed the smaller one and slammed it into the pavement hard enough to crack asphalt.
The gold-red armor—clearly outmatched in raw power—relied on speed and agility to dodge, weaving around attacks, firing repulsor blasts that barely dented the gray armor's hull.
Oh.
Oh, this is—
I calculated the timeline quickly. Tony had returned from Afghanistan months ago. Announced he was Iron Man at that press conference. Been operating openly as a superhero.
Which meant this fight, right here, right now, was—
Obadiah Stane. The Iron Monger.
Tony's betrayal. The climactic battle.
A slow smile spread across my face.
Perfect timing.
Isn't this exactly the opportunity I needed?
I didn't hesitate.
Pushed the window open completely, pulled up my hood, and jumped out of the moving bus.
Passengers screamed. Someone shouted. I ignored them, hitting the ground running and disappearing into the chaos of stopped traffic.
Need cover. Need height.
I ducked into an alley, confirmed I was alone, and cast quickly. "Wingardium Leviosa."
The Levitation Charm latched onto me. My feet left the ground. I rose into the air in a few quick bounds, soaring over cars and panicked pedestrians, landing on a rooftop near the fight.
Below, Obadiah had just grabbed a car—with a mother and children inside—and was lifting it over his head, preparing to throw it at Tony like a massive projectile.
Absolutely not.
I drew my wand and pointed. "Wingardium Leviosa!"
The car jerked out of Obadiah's grasp, floating smoothly into the air under my control. I guided it carefully to the side of the road and set it down gently.
The mother inside didn't waste time. She hit the accelerator and peeled out, tires squealing as she escaped.
Good. One less thing to worry about.
"Who are you?!" Tony's voice, amplified through his suit's speakers.
"Who are you?!" Obadiah's voice, distorted and angry.
They'd both noticed me at the same time.
I didn't answer. Just raised my wand and pointed at the Iron Monger.
Obadiah's massive armor lifted into the air, legs kicking uselessly, servos whining as he struggled against the invisible force holding him.
"WHAT THE—?!"
I waved my wand sharply, and Obadiah flew—hurtling through the air toward the deserted industrial area at the edge of the district.
Then I looked down at Tony.
"Take the fight to a deserted area," I said, voice calm and clear. "There are too many civilians here."
Tony's faceplate was up—I could see his expression clearly. Confusion. Suspicion. Curiosity.
"Who the hell are you?"
I smiled behind my hood.
"Someone who just saved your ass. You're welcome."
Then I launched myself after Obadiah, leaving Tony staring after me.
First contact: established.
Let's see where this goes.