Downstairs…
Tony Stark finally emerged from his workshop, wiping grease off his hands as he made his way upstairs.
The first thing he heard?
Obadiah's storytelling.
Something about Howard Stark and business rivalries.
When Stark reached the living room, he saw the two sitting side by side—an old man reminiscing and a blue-haired teen listening intently.
For a moment, it almost looked… heartwarming.
Like a grandfather bonding with his granddaughter.
"Alright, enough with the history lessons, Obie. This is the 21st century."
Stark clapped his hands, cutting into the conversation and drawing all eyes toward him.
His sharp gaze landed almost immediately on the cake.
"You brought Lemu a cake? Where's mine?"
Obadiah took Stark's teasing in stride.
With a grin, he gestured to a pizza box on the table.
"Relax, Tony. I got you pizza. Straight from New York."
Stark raised an eyebrow but accepted the peace offering, already halfway through opening the box.
Meanwhile, Obadiah's expression never faltered—still as warm and affable as ever.
Obadiah Stane had just returned from New York, fresh off a board meeting at Stark Industries.
Judging by the dust on his shoes and the faint creases in his otherwise impeccable suit, the trip had been long—and urgent.
Meanwhile, Stark tore open the pizza box, grabbed a slice, and took a sizable bite.
He didn't bother with pleasantries.
"Alright. How bad is it?"
Obadiah set his jaw.
"It might've gone better if you'd actually shown up."
Stark didn't even look up, continuing to chew as he defended himself.
"You're the one who told me to keep a low profile.
"Well, guess what? I followed your advice. Stayed locked up here. Didn't step outside. Let you handle it."
Obadiah moved closer, lowering himself onto the sofa beside Stark.
He sighed, his tone taking on a fatherly weight.
"Tony, come on.
"This is the boardroom we're talking about."
"Boardroom?"
Stark paused mid-bite, narrowing his eyes.
Obadiah nodded grimly.
"They think you've got PTSD—that you're unstable.
"They're proposing a mandate to remove you from company operations."
Stark froze.
"…What?"
He swallowed hard—whether from shock or because the pizza crust had lodged in his throat was anyone's guess.
"All because the stock dropped 40%? We knew that was coming."
Pepper, arms crossed and expression unreadable, corrected him.
"It's 49%."
Ignoring them both, Lemu reached for a slice of pizza from Stark's box—only to have his hand smacked away.
Stark shot him a glare.
"Mine."
Lemu pulled his hand back, muttering under his breath.
"Stingy."
But inwardly, he was already plotting.
'Great Sage, start buying Stark Industries stock.'
He smirked inwardly.
This is the bottom. Once Stark goes full Iron Man, stocks will skyrocket.
Easy money.
Meanwhile, Obadiah's patience wore thin.
He leaned in, voice dropping into something closer to pleading.
"Tony, the board has authority.
"And they don't think your new direction has the company's best interests at heart."
That set Stark off.
His eyes flared.
"New direction?
"This is a revolution! I'll prove it works! I can fix this!"
Stark hated being told what to do—especially by people who had zero vision.
And Stark Industries was his company.
Why should he take orders from a bunch of outdated fossils?
Pepper let out a soft sigh, her smile carrying equal parts exasperation and understanding.
Tony Stark, forever stubborn.
"Alright."
Stark stood, tucking the pizza box under one arm like a football.
"I've got work to do. I'll be downstairs if you need me."
Obadiah blocked his path, frustration finally breaking through his carefully maintained calm.
"Tony, listen—
"I'm trying to fix this.
"But I need something to convince them.
"You need to show them what you're working on!"
His finger jabbed toward Stark's arc reactor, glowing faintly in his chest.
"No."
Stark's refusal was instant.
"Absolutely not.
"That's my project.
"Conversation's over."
Obadiah's jaw clenched.
But rather than push harder, he shifted gears—childish mockery.
"Fine.
"Then give me my pizza back."
He grabbed the box out of Stark's hands with an exaggerated pout before popping it open.
"Alright, alright. I'll leave you one slice."
Stark smirked and snatched two.
"Two."
Obadiah trailed after him, still fishing for answers.
"Come on, Tony.
"Mind if I take a look at what you're working on down there?"
Stark didn't even slow down.
"Goodnight, Obie."
And with that, he disappeared downstairs, leaving Obadiah standing there with empty hands and a rapidly fading smile.
But as Obadiah turned away, his eyes darkened, shadows creeping over his face as the last of the sunlight faded.
Stark's parting words to Obadiah Stane were loud and clear—dream on.
Obadiah, suppressing his irritation, turned back toward Pepper and Lemu with a practiced smile.
His hands lifted in a helpless gesture, accompanied by a sigh that felt more like a stage performance than genuine exasperation.
Pepper's mood mirrored the gloomy skies outside.
Despite her forced smile, the 49% stock drop weighed heavily on her mind—Stark Industries was in trouble, and she knew it.
Lemu, meanwhile, was far less concerned.
Like a squirrel hoarding nuts, he shielded his cake protectively, cheeks still stuffed as he chewed with single-minded focus.
Obadiah resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
Instead, he softened his voice, adopting an almost paternal tone.
"Relax. Your cake is safe. I'm not here to steal it."
Standing up, he smoothed the creases in his shirt and straightened his tie.
"I've got work to do—can't stay long."
He paused, offering the pizza box as if it were a peace treaty.
"Here. This one's yours. Enjoy."
And then he left.
Lemu watched him go, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Every word, every gesture, every expression—he replayed them in his head like analyzing the performance of an actor.
If I didn't already know the future…
If I didn't know Obadiah was the villain…
He might've actually bought the act.
Obadiah had no cracks in his armor.
His charm was measured, his gestures natural, and his tone warm—the very image of a trusted mentor.
Even with godlike foresight, Lemu couldn't spot a flaw.
Acting.
It wasn't just a skill—it was an art.
Lemu sighed inwardly.
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?