In Marvel With Unique Skill Great Sage (MCU)

This moment—right here, right now—was the golden window for buying up Stark Industries stock. 

Over the next few months, the fallout from Tony Stark's announcement would send prices plummeting, making it the perfect opportunity to swoop in and secure shares at rock-bottom prices.

The only problem?

Lemu was flat broke. Not a single cent to his name. He even owed Pepper money for clothes.

But lack of funds wasn't a dealbreaker—just an obstacle. After all, this was the Marvel Universe. In Avengers: Age of Ultron, the AI villain Ultron had hijacked online accounts and funneled billions into purchasing vibranium. All it took was a few keystrokes.

Of course, there were risks—laundering stolen money wasn't exactly legal. Spending it without raising red flags? Even harder. On top of that, Marvel's world was crawling with tech geniuses and AI watchdogs. Sooner or later, someone would trace it back.

No, the smarter play wasn't to go all-in with theft. It was to use the stolen funds as seed money—just enough to get started. Once the initial capital was laundered and funneled into legal channels, the rest would come through legitimate investments.

Stocks, dividends, and reinvestments—money growing money.

Sure, the Great Sage could theoretically monetize its vast technical knowledge, but that route required time, infrastructure, and patience. For now, this plan was the fastest path to financial freedom.

Let's do this.

Lemu gulped down the rest of his yogurt, his earlier hesitation melting away.

"Great Sage, locate and extract funds from criminal networks. Filter and launder them through shell companies and virtual identities. Make sure the trails are clean."

"Divert most of the funds into Stark Industries stock—split purchases across multiple accounts to avoid attention. Use the rest for diversified investments in promising sectors."

'Notice: Task in progress… Task complete.'

Lemu nearly choked on his next bite of cookie. "Wait—already?"

'Notice: Total funds acquired—$13.57 billion USD. Laundering process underway. Investments proceeding as directed.'

Thirteen billion.

Lemu leaned back, staring at the ceiling as a wave of relief washed over him.

Wealth was more than just security—it was power.

No more worrying about survival. No more being at the mercy of others. With this foundation, he could stand tall, untouchable, while the world danced to his tune.

For the first time since arriving in this universe, he felt rooted. As though he belonged here.

Money really does solve most problems, Lemu thought, letting a smug smile creep across his face.

….

Meanwhile, on a Rooftop Across Town…

The wind on the rooftop was gentle, but Phil Coulson barely noticed.

The chaos from Stark's press conference had died down somewhat, yet the hum of conversation still lingered in the streets below. None of it mattered to him.

Coulson wasn't a reporter, and he wasn't here for stock news. He was here because this was his job.

A S.H.I.E.L.D. agent with over two decades of experience didn't waste time on fluff. Right now, his priority was compiling a preliminary report for Director Nick Fury.

Stark Industries wasn't just another weapons manufacturer—it was the biggest weapons manufacturer in the United States. Its sudden pivot away from arms production raised red flags all the way to the Pentagon.

The possibility of weapons leaking onto the black market was exactly why Fury was keeping such a close eye on the situation.

Coulson's encrypted phone buzzed. Fury's voice came through the secure line, low and steady.

"Coulson. Status update."

"Stark's alive—and officially a loose cannon," Coulson replied. "Held a press conference earlier today announcing he's shutting down the weapons division. Stock's already in freefall."

Fury's voice darkened. "I saw the broadcast. What's your assessment?"

Coulson hesitated before answering.

"Stark's changed. He's not playing by anyone's rules anymore—not ours, not the government's, not even his own board of directors. If he sticks to this path, he could destabilize global arms markets. Or worse—leave a power vacuum someone else will fill."

There was a brief pause on the line before Fury spoke again.

"Keep an eye on him. And Coulson? Dig deeper. Find out if there's anyone unusual around Stark. I've got a hunch there's more to this story than meets the eye."

Coulson's eyes narrowed. Unusual?

His mind immediately flashed to that odd teenager who'd been with Stark earlier. The one with the blue hair and mismatched clothes.

He'd brushed it off at the time—an innocent kid Stark had picked up during his escape.

But now?

Now, he wasn't so sure.

….

"Agent Coulson, update me on your progress."

Coulson pressed his lips together, giving himself a brief moment to prepare his answer.

"Yes, Boss. I've gathered some promising leads after speaking with Tony Stark's driver, Happy Hogan. Unfortunately, Happy's just a driver, so his intel is limited."

He paused, ensuring his voice carried the right balance of professionalism and optimism.

"My next step is to approach Stark's personal assistant, Pepper Potts, and arrange a face-to-face meeting with Stark himself."

Coulson prided himself on being a seasoned field agent. And if his years in the game had taught him anything, it was this—never tell your boss you're making no progress.

Even when the trail was cold, always sound like you were one step away from cracking the case.

It wasn't deception—it was tact. Coulson didn't mind taking the heat if things went sideways, as long as it kept Fury from losing more hair.

"Good," Fury replied, his tone steady but firm. "Stay on it. This mission is critical, Coulson. You're one of my best agents, and I'm counting on you."

Then Fury's voice softened, just slightly. "By the way… sounds windy over there. You on a rooftop?"

Coulson glanced around, noting the gentle breeze tugging at his coat.

"Yes, sir. Just getting some fresh air. Needed to clear my head."

Fury didn't question it. "Fine. Keep me posted."

The line went dead.

Coulson stepped closer to the rooftop's edge, hands tucked into his pockets.

The view stretched far and wide, the city humming quietly below. Up here, the tension of the mission seemed to dissipate. Ten minutes of peace—that's all he needed.

Because in this job, stress came with the territory.