I still have a long way to go.
The road is long, and I must keep learning.
But there was one question that nagged at him:
Why betray Stark?
Why could someone like Obadiah—a man who had built Stark Industries side by side with Howard Stark—turn around and stab his partner's son in the back?
The thought pulled Lemu back to something he'd once learned as a child:
Ambition is a double-edged sword.
He could almost hear the words echo in his memory:
..
"Never forget—ambition cuts both ways.
"In times of growth, the ambitious become partners and allies.
"They thrive under pressure and external threats. They are the blades that cut down enemies.
"But in times of peace, when no enemies remain, ambition turns inward.
"Without prey, wolves turn on their own pack.
"To a wolf, meat is meat—whether it comes from an enemy or a friend.
"Beware those who cannot live without conflict.
"When the outside world is at peace, their swords will turn on you."
..
Lemu shook off the dark thoughts.
No outside enemies. Internal betrayal.
A recipe for disaster.
He'd have to keep watching—and waiting.
Meanwhile, across town…
At Caltech Los Angeles, Vice President Amick let out yet another sigh.
He looked down at the grade book on his desk and ruffled his fake white wig, which was beginning to show stress lines.
Lemu—his prized student, his super-genius protégé—hadn't shown up to class in nearly six months.
Oh, sure.
Lemu had completed every assignment with flawless precision.
He'd turned in projects that left professors scratching their heads, wondering if they'd accidentally hired another professor.
But attendance?
Zero.
And now?
Half the faculty recognized his name—not because they'd seen him in class, but because they'd marked him absent so many times.
Amick leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose.
A genius who wouldn't even set foot on campus.
He muttered under his breath:
"…Why did I expect anything normal from a student like him?"
At Caltech Los Angeles, Vice President Amick sat at his desk, flipping through a printed attendance sheet while letting out a long, tired sigh.
Lemu Echeverria had become the talk of the faculty.
It wasn't just because he had missed every single class for nearly six months—it was the audacity.
No attendance. No participation.
And yet, his assignments? Perfect.
With a student-to-teacher ratio of 1:3, most classes at Caltech were intimate affairs—a handful of students, sometimes fewer than ten.
Under those circumstances, absences stuck out like a sore thumb.
And Lemu?
He was a spotlight.
A few professors had even taken it personally.
They'd threatened to fail him outright, determined to punish the prodigy for his blatant disregard for their courses.
But what could they do?
The university rules were simple—he just had to pass.
And pass he did—flawlessly.
Amick's nostalgia for his own student days was fading fast.
He looked down at Lemu's latest reports—summaries of complex research papers.
The topics?
—Antiparticle Collisions
—Coulomb Barriers
Subjects so advanced that even tenured professors would sweat bullets analyzing them.
And yet, Lemu's reports were not just accurate—they were insightful.
They included alternative interpretations, hypothetical extensions, and forward-thinking proposals.
Some professors had even borrowed pieces of his work for their own research.
Still, Amick couldn't ignore the problem.
Six months.
Not a single day of attendance.
He'd called, emailed, and even video-chatted with Lemu.
Every time, the kid gave the same excuse—too busy.
But busy with what?
Lemu never said.
Amick groaned, rubbing his temples.
Why are geniuses always this difficult?
Montbatten was already a handful—harsh, temperamental, and obsessive.
And now Lemu.
….
Meanwhile…
In Stark's mansion, Lemu stared at the finalized frame of Ghost I.
The sight stirred something primal—a sense of creation, mastery, and power.
From a concept to blueprints, then from blueprints to physical reality.
It had taken six long months of sweat, revisions, and rewrites—five prototypes scrapped along the way.
Finally, it was 99.9% complete.
The only thing left?
Testing.
Lemu's excitement was through the roof.
He was so close to launching his dream, to soaring alongside the moon.
And then…
His eyes fell on a glass case sitting on the table.
Inside?
A shiny arc reactor.
Engraved on the casing were the words:
"Proof That Tony Stark Has a Heart."
Lemu froze.
Then his expression darkened.
Excitement? Gone.
All that remained was the bitter taste of lemons.
He tapped on the glass case, voice flat.
"Your girlfriend's gift?"
Stark, oblivious to the jealous undertone, grinned like a kid showing off a trophy.
"Yup.
"You're too young to get it, kid.
"Don't waste your time worrying about grown-up stuff."
Lemu sighed.
Sour. So sour.
He looked up and whispered to the Great Sage.
'When are you upgrading? Hurry up. I need you to transform already.'
'System Message: No such function available. (Crying emoji not included.)'
Stark ignored the drama.
He grabbed a set of flight modules from the table—four plasma thrusters designed for the hands and feet.
"Enough stalling."
His eyes gleamed with anticipation.
"Let's get this test started."
Both Ghost I and Mark II were nearing completion.
Only one piece remained—the flight modules.
No armor was complete without the ability to fly, and it was the final puzzle piece before testing could truly begin.
For safety's sake, they decided to conduct a standalone test first.
Because if the thrusters spontaneously combusted mid-flight?
Let's just say… it wouldn't end well.
Especially without parachutes.
The garage-turned-workshop buzzed with activity.
One section had been converted into a manufacturing line, stacked with high-tech tools and precision equipment brought in from Stark Industries.
The rest of the garage?
Luxury cars.
Jam-packed like sardines, they barely left enough room to breathe, let alone fly.
Stark had considered parking a few outside, but in the end?
He couldn't bear to let them collect dust in the open air.
And now?
They had to clear more space for the flight tests—cramped didn't even begin to describe it.
Stark volunteered to be the first test pilot.
Two mechanical arms assisted the setup—
One, Big Meow, handled recording.
The other, Little Meow, just watched.
No one knew where Little Meow came from—it just showed up one day.
Lemu decided to roll with it.