Now imagine a 10-ton steel plate pressing down on you with an acceleration of 1G—you'd immediately feel its crushing weight.
But if both you and the steel plate were in free fall together, the plate wouldn't exert any force on you—at least, not until you hit the ground.
With matching speed and acceleration, there'd be no relative pressure, no collisions, and most importantly—no deformation.
Using this principle, if a force field generator could dynamically adjust its magnitude and direction within milliseconds, it could neutralize impact forces, ensuring the wearer's safety.
In this theoretical model, the armor would function like that falling steel plate—always in sync with the wearer, absorbing all external forces and leaving the person inside completely unharmed.
After thoroughly discussing and analyzing the concept, the two reached a consensus—the force field protection system was technologically feasible.
Better yet, it wouldn't require starting from scratch.
Digging through his memories, Stark recalled that his father, Howard Stark, had once dabbled in similar research.
Following that lead, the two descended deeper into the basement workshop via a narrow staircase.
Sure enough, buried in a dusty corner, Stark unearthed an old anti-gravity device—along with its original blueprints.
The machine was roughly the size of a desktop computer, its boxy design betraying its age.
Stark brushed off the dust and lifted it carefully.
It was a genuine relic, crafted decades ago.
Holding the device in his hands, Stark couldn't help but feel a twinge of nostalgia.
He quickly shook off the sentimentality with a whistle, then motioned for Lemu—who was busy poking around the shelves—to come over.
"This," Stark said, patting the device, "is one of the old man's legacies. Officially, it's called a Gravity Field Regulator."
He smirked, though his tone carried a hint of sarcasm.
"It's been gathering dust down here for decades—because it's practically useless."
Stark pointed out the flaws without hesitation.
"It burns through power like nobody's business. And with the materials they had back then? It overheats and melts itself down in under 15 seconds."
Back in 1943, Howard had showcased a prototype anti-gravity car at the World's Fair—an unfinished concept that never made it past the demonstration stage.
The principle was simple enough: the generator produced a force field opposite to Earth's gravitational pull, neutralizing its effects and enabling the vehicle to hover.
But the power drain and material limitations at the time had made it impractical for large-scale use.
Now, with modern technology and materials, it was time to give this ancient relic a second chance.
Lemu tapped the device lightly, the metallic clang confirming its material. After glancing through the blueprints, he pointed out a key observation.
"Almost all the heat buildup comes from the internal circuitry, not the force field components. So… what we need is a bit of room-temperature superconductors."
He traced his finger across the schematics, marking adjustments.
"As for this component—based on its structure, miniaturization shouldn't be a problem. If we tweak this section and this one, we can boost its instantaneous output by a few thousand percent."
Boosting constant power output by thousands of times would've been a technical nightmare. But pushing instantaneous power to those levels? That was far more achievable.
Stark immediately saw the potential.
"And my miniature arc reactor can easily supply the energy it needs."
….
Three days later.
Using Howard's legacy as the blueprint, the duo successfully redesigned and upgraded the device to meet their requirements.
The new version was no bigger than a smartphone—a sleek, black rectangular block that looked almost ordinary sitting on the workbench.
In theory, embedding four units inside the armor—two in the front and two in the back—would create a protective field capable of shielding the user from any external forces.
Stark, however, insisted on giving it a ridiculous name—the "Gravity Field-Type β Uniform Human Kinetic Energy Control Device."
The α model had been its prototype.
For short, Stark proposed calling it the HKEC—or, as Lemu joked, the "Highly Kitsch Energy Control" system.
With this enhanced force-field patch, Lemu wasted no time preparing three complete sets of materials for his Ghost armor, safely stored in his dimensional inventory.
He wasn't taking any chances—one set was the backup, the second was the backup's backup, and the third? The backup of the backup's backup.
Thanks to his original Predator skill, which allowed analysis and mimicry, and the Great Sage's unparalleled processing power, Lemu could bypass assembly lines entirely.
With just raw materials, he could directly replicate the Ghost armor on demand—perfectly identical to the originals.
With the Iron Man suit designs and upgrades finally completed, Lemu allowed himself a rare moment of leisure.
The massive underground workshop was unusually quiet, leaving him alone with nothing but the hum of machines in the background.
He sprawled comfortably in a chair, facing a table overflowing with snacks.
Spicy pickled chicken feet, chili-dried fish, five-spice sunflower seeds, crispy rice crackers, flavored peanuts, and candied fruits—a buffet of guilty pleasures.
Pure indulgence. Absolute decadence.
Just as the snack-lover extraordinaire was indulging in his rare feast—a banquet of junk food, complete with Coke and Sprite on tap—his phone rang.
On the other end of the video call was Professor Emick, looking as affable as ever… or perhaps as nuclear-level intimidating as ever.
The old man wore his trademark smile, but his cold, piercing gaze told a different story.
"Mr. Echeverria, do you still remember that you're a student at Caltech?"
"Uh… well…"
Lemu scratched his head sheepishly, plastering on his best goofy grin as his hand instinctively moved to end the call.
"Professor Emick, I—uh—have something urgent going on. I'm at a critical stage in my research right now. Really sorry, can we talk later?"
Had the mountain of snacks in the corner of the video frame not betrayed him, it might have been a convincing excuse.
Emick waved dismissively, clearly unamused by Lemu's deflection.
"Enough with the excuses. I'm not here to scold you—I know exactly what kind of student you are."
Lemu breathed an internal sigh of relief.
"But," Emick continued, "since you haven't been showing up to class, some of your courses have a zero for participation grades. At this rate, you won't be able to graduate."
Send those hard rock power stonezz…