Tony Stark stepped through the glowing portal behind Senju Haruto. The ring of fire shrank steadily until it vanished completely.
The moment he arrived, Tony's eyes swept across the familiar surroundings, a strange wave of nostalgia washing over him.
"This place is…"
There was no mistaking it—this was his personal workshop. The very place where he had built his Iron Man armor with his own two hands.
But that only made it stranger. Why had Haruto brought him here?
Could there really be something in this room that could cure his palladium poisoning?
No, that didn't make sense. If there were, Tony would have discovered it himself long ago.
Then a thought hit him like a spark.
If Haruto could open portals to any location at will, didn't that mean his highly advanced security system was basically useless?
"Tony."
Haruto turned to face him, his expression calm as always. "How much do you know about Howard?"
"My father?" Tony blinked, caught off guard. He hadn't expected that name to come up so suddenly.
His feelings toward his father had always been… complicated.
To Tony, Howard Stark had never seemed like a man capable of love. He was a workaholic to the bone—rigid, stubborn, and unyielding.
But also a genius.
One quote of his still echoed in Tony's mind to this day:
'Peace means having a bigger stick than the other guy.'
"I see," Haruto said quietly, nodding. "It seems you didn't know your father as well as you thought."
"Didn't know him? You're saying I didn't know him?"
Tony's eyes widened in disbelief. Howard Stark was his father—sure, they'd never seen eye to eye, but who else could possibly know him better? That obsessive, work-driven man—
"Yes," Haruto interrupted without hesitation. "You didn't."
The truth was, even Howard himself hadn't expected to be assassinated by the Winter Soldier on that lonely road.
There were things he never had the chance to say… secrets he never passed down.
"He was one of the founding members of S.H.I.E.L.D.," Haruto said.
Tony froze. That was new information—completely outside anything he'd ever heard.
"The department Agent Coulson works for?" Tony asked, stunned. "My father helped create it?"
That revelation shook him. In his memory, his father had been a weapons manufacturer—a brilliant one, yes, but still a businessman. The idea that he had founded a government agency was… staggering.
Yet, after a moment, Tony's expression softened. The image of his father rose in his mind—calm, confident, always pushing forward.
If Howard had set his mind to something like that, it wasn't impossible.
That was who he was.
"That's right," Haruto said. "Which is why some of your father's personal belongings were never passed down to you. They've been kept in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s archives all this time."
He paused briefly before adding, "Aside from me and the current director, no one else knows about this."
"My father's belongings…" Tony muttered, a faint, wry smile tugging at his lips.
"So I'm dying from palladium poisoning, and now I get to sign for my father's inheritance. How poetic."
He let out a dry chuckle. He honestly didn't know how to feel about any of it.
If he'd had a son—or a daughter—maybe he'd have wanted to pass those things down someday. But now?
Maybe he'd just have them buried with him.
If even Haruto couldn't solve his palladium problem, then perhaps it was time to start drafting his epitaph.
But Haruto didn't seem interested in prolonging the suspense.
He slowly raised his right hand, palm up. The air above it twisted and shimmered, and a fiery ring of magic opened once again. From within it, a large metal case—one that would normally take two people to lift—fell out of the portal and landed squarely in Haruto's hands.
Something that heavy looked light as air to him.
Tony could tell instantly that the box was old—decades old.
And Haruto… didn't seem like he had any reason to lie about this. Especially after what Tony had witnessed of his magic. The title of Sorcerer Supreme wasn't something to take lightly.
With a soft thud, Haruto dropped the box to the floor. The mechanical locks clicked open with a hiss.
Tony swallowed hard, his legs moving on their own as he crouched beside it.
He began sorting through the contents eagerly, wanting to see what his father had left behind.
But most of what he found had little to do with him—schematics, old notes, and fragments of forgotten projects. Childhood memories that meant nothing to the man he'd become.
What mattered now wasn't nostalgia. It was survival.
After a few minutes of rummaging, something finally caught his attention—a videotape, labeled in Howard's handwriting.
For a moment, Tony just stared at it.
He didn't know whether to call this coincidence or fate.
Of course, his father couldn't have known about his son's current crisis back when he recorded this. Howard Stark wasn't trying to cure palladium poisoning. He'd made this tape to pass something else on—to ensure his life's work didn't end with him.
It was a message for Tony to continue his legacy…
and to pursue his research into the Tesseract.
"Not going to watch it?" Haruto asked quietly, seeing Tony frozen in place.
The truth was, Tony's mind had drifted elsewhere—to the last argument he'd ever had with his father.
He hadn't said goodbye. Not properly.
"…Yeah."
He took a deep breath and nodded, pulling himself back to the present. With a flick of a switch, the lights went out.
A few moments later, after some swift adjustments, the old video began to play.
Haruto and Tony sat together on the floor as Howard Stark appeared on the screen, giving a formal presentation about his World Expo project.
Halfway through, he stopped multiple times, dissatisfied with his own performance.
It was clear—Howard was a man who demanded perfection from himself.
Tony smiled faintly. He remembered this version of his father all too well. As a child, he'd snuck onto the set once, only to be immediately escorted out by the staff.
But then… something unexpected happened.
After young Tony had been removed, Howard's tone shifted completely.
He looked directly into the camera. His eyes softened.
"This recording isn't for the public," he said. "It's for you, Tony."
The message that followed wasn't about the Expo at all. It was about the Tesseract.
Howard explained that his research had uncovered a new structural formula within the artifact—something unlike any known element on Earth.
But he'd been limited by the technology of his time. There was only so far he could take the project.
He admitted that he might die before ever seeing it completed.
Yet he believed that humanity's purpose was to keep reaching—to ensure the flame of progress never went out.
"So now," Howard said, looking straight into the lens, "I'm leaving everything to you, Tony."
"Because you… you are my greatest creation."
"You are my pride."