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"What… what the hell is that?"
"Mr. Stark, what is that?"
"Wait...did you just make that with the Arms-Arms Fruit?"
Happy's brain had officially short-circuited. His thoughts weren't walking in a straight line anymore; they were tripping, stumbling, smashing into each other as he gawked at the impossible sight in front of him.
His jaw hung open. His eyes were wide enough to swallow the scene whole. Tony Stark stood there, not in a suit he had built, not in something hauled in on a dolly or assembled in a lab, but in armor he had conjured out of himself. A walking fortress forged from nothing but imagination and will.
Happy's understanding of "weapons" had always been simple: guns, grenades, a rocket launcher if you really wanted to scare someone. Military hardware. The kind of stuff you could pick up, aim, and fire. Straightforward. Practical.
So when Tony had earlier asked Rosh for a definition of "weapon," Happy had been puzzled. To him, it was obvious. A weapon was a weapon. End of story.
But Tony Stark never lived in obvious. His mind didn't travel highways with speed limits; it tore through back alleys, flew off cliffs, and sometimes cut directly through the walls that kept everyone else boxed in.
And now, Happy realized he had been left choking on Stark's dust cloud again.
The gleam in Tony's eye earlier, the way he'd pressed for clarification, it all clicked. He hadn't been tossing out random nonsense. He'd been mapping the route to this moment.
Happy had assumed Tony was just being Tony, throwing a random question at the wall. And yet, here they were. One blink later, and Tony Stark had built a suit of armor straight out of science fiction… using a magic fruit.
Over the top? Absolutely.
On brand for Tony? Without question.
Happy rubbed his temples, muttering in awe. "Classic Tony Stark…"
"Classic Tony Stark," Rosh echoed from behind the counter. But his voice wasn't dazed like Happy's. His words carried weight, something in the line of approval, certain, and even a little reverent.
Because this? This was exactly the kind of person who should wield the Arms-Arms Fruit.
Give the fruit to anyone else, and you'd get rifles, cannons, and maybe a warhead if they were feeling ambitious. Big, loud, but ultimately conventional.
Tony Stark, though, didn't think in terms of weapons. He thought in terms of systems. He saw patterns, connections, and efficiencies that no one else had. And in five short minutes with a power he had never touched before, he had already done what no one else on Earth would've even conceived. He had made a fully functional exosuit.
Not perfect, not yet.
Compared to his famous Mark III, the one that had brought down Iron Monger, this armor was crude. Sleeker than the cave-built Mark I, yes, but still a prototype. A younger sibling with potential rather than a finished masterpiece.
But Rosh knew Tony Stark. He knew the kind of man standing inside that gleaming shell. With his knowledge, drive, and obsession with perfecting anything that crossed his path, it was only a matter of time before this rough cut became a diamond.
In some ways, this "prototype" has already surpassed every iteration of the Iron Man armor that has come before. It didn't need a power source. It didn't need a lab. It didn't need a single bolt or weld.
It could manifest anywhere, at any time. An unstoppable weapon system born from nothing but thought.
Something the world had never seen before, something it wasn't ready for.
*Whirr!*
Tony flexed his armored fingers, joints clicking with mechanical precision as he tested the range. He rolled his shoulders, twisted at the waist, and took a few deliberate steps, like a man strutting in a brand-new tux that had been cut exactly for him.
He rotated his wrists, testing how the built-in weapons responded, scanning every joint, every servo-like seam.
"The framework's solid," Tony said, half to Happy, half to himself, analyzing with the clinical eye of an engineer who could never stop tweaking. "But the details… they need refinement. It's not exactly what I envisioned."
*Clang! Clang!*
He rapped a knuckle on the chest plate, the hollow clang echoing like a bell.
"And the manufacturing quality, that's on me. I'm still getting used to the fruit. Some of these components are downright crude. But…" A slow grin formed. "That's not a real problem."
"Mr. Stark," Happy finally burst out, his voice equal parts awe and disbelief, "you actually made an iron suit. A freaking iron suit. That's insane!"
Happy's grin stretched until it practically split his face. "This is the greatest weapon on the planet!"
Tony turned his head, the faceplate catching the light just so, and for a heartbeat, his voice dropped all playfulness. "No, Happy. The greatest weapon on the planet… is the Devil Fruit itself."
The words landed like a gavel strike.
Happy blinked, then nodded at a slow, thoughtful pace. The boss was right. The fruit wasn't just a weapon. It was a potential, and in Tony's hands, potential meant trouble on a scale the world couldn't imagine.
"But," Tony added, his smirk sliding right back into place, "the Arms-Arms Fruit only reaches its full potential with me."
Happy's nod this time came with absolute conviction. There was no argument.
Then...
*Click-clack!*
The armor dissolved, plates disassembling in reverse, vanishing like a mirage peeling away from reality. One second, he was Iron Man, the next, he was just Tony Stark again with a designer suit, a gleaming watch, perfectly coiffed hair… and a faint scowl of withdrawal tugging at his features.
Tony froze mid-breath, realization dawning. Then it hit him like a sucker punch; the high was gone. That rush, that impossible symphony of power and creation at the speed of thought… vanished. And he wanted it back immediately.
It was addictive. More addictive than the arc reactor, more intoxicating than flying for the first time. It wasn't just power; it was freedom.
"Shopkeeper," Tony said, voice steady, firm, and utterly unshakable, "I've made my decision. I want the Arms-Arms Fruit."
"You've already decided?" Rosh asked, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You haven't even flipped through the rest of the catalog."
"No need." Tony shook his head without hesitation, certainty ringing in every syllable. "This one's calling my name. Feels… inevitable. Like destiny with a user manual."
Rosh lifted both hands in surrender, still smiling. "As long as you're happy, Stark."
"How much for the reservation?" Tony asked, his casual smirk vanishing as business mode slammed into place like a helmet locking shut.
"Three million dollars," Rosh replied smoothly. "That will hold the Arms-Arms Fruit for one month. I trust that will be enough time?"
"Plenty," Tony said without hesitation. No bargaining. No questions. Just instant commitment. Within seconds, the transfer was complete.
Then, as if remembering the most crucial detail on a dinner check, he leaned back with a lazy air. "Oh, by the way, what's the price in gold again?"
"For the Arms-Arms Fruit?" Rosh's smile sharpened. "Two thousand kilograms."
Tony gave a small, almost bored nod, as though Rosh had just quoted the price of an overpriced cocktail. "Two thousand, huh? Cute. Alright. Give me a few days."
That's when Happy pounced. "Mr. Stark! My thirty kilos!" he blurted, seizing the moment before it slipped. "I'm still thirty short, you said you'd help me, remember?"
Tony tilted his head, frowning like a teacher hearing a student make up a homework excuse. "Did I? Hm. Doesn't sound like me."
Happy's face fell instantly, like a kid being told Christmas was canceled. His shoulders slumped, eyes wide, already preparing for betrayal.
Tony let the silence drag just long enough before grinning. "Look at your face! Relax, I'm kidding. Of course I remember."
Happy exhaled a long, wounded sigh, shooting Tony a look that could only be described as relieved exasperation. His boss was a genius, a billionaire… and an unrepentant troll.
Tony clapped him on the shoulder with that disarming mix of affection and mockery only he could pull off. "Don't worry, Happy. I'll cover your thirty. Consider it a company perk."
Turning back to Rosh, Tony's expression shifted again, slipping effortlessly back into steel-edged business. "Give me a few days, and I'll be back with enough gold to make a dragon jealous. And when I do…"
That familiar spark was back in his eyes, the dangerous the one that always meant the world was about to change, usually at someone else's expense.
"…the fun really begins."
With that, Tony Stark and Happy Hogan exited the Devil Fruit shop, the door closing behind them. And Tony Stark felt something new for the first time in a long time, something he hadn't felt in years.
The future wasn't just bright.
It was going to be fun.
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Next Chapter: The Iron Monger
Next Next Chapter: The Truth Behind Stark's Rescue
Next Next Next Chapter: A Deal Forged in Shadows
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