In Marvel With Unique Skill Great Sage (MCU)

The spacious basement was dimly lit, save for the soft glow of three large monitors. Displayed on them was the Mark I—a rough, industrial design painstakingly recreated by Stark over the past few hours.

"New project file. Code name: Mark II."

With a flick of his pointer, Stark shifted the blueprints to a 3D holographic projector. The Mark I's rugged frame materialized in the air—a grim reminder of the suit that had crashed through sand and smoke in Afghanistan.

The Mark II, however, was still just an idea—a concept waiting to be shaped.

"Sir, would you like me to store this in the Stark Industries central database?" J.A.R.V.I.S.'s voice echoed in the room.

Stark shook his head without hesitation.

"Not yet. Until I give the go-ahead, keep everything in my private database." His tone hardened. "I can't risk this falling into the wrong hands. In mine, it might actually do some good."

And as for the one he'd promised to Lemu? That wouldn't be handed over without precautions. Backdoors exist for a reason.

"Oh, and remind Pepper to order a mattress. We didn't have any spares last night for Echeverria." He paused briefly, popping a handful of blueberries into his mouth as a makeshift breakfast. "Hope he had a peaceful night."

Stark's mansion wasn't exactly built for guests. He didn't typically host overnight visitors—and the ones he did bring home never needed a separate room.

Coughing lightly as a berry lodged in his throat, Stark reached for a glass of water.

"Big Claw, fetch me some water. Big Claw?"

"Sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. responded smoothly, "you moved it to the living room a few months ago to 'sunbathe.' You claimed sunlight improves intelligence. I would also benefit from more sun exposure."

"No, no, no. You're not getting moved. That thing's way too heavy."

Meanwhile, in the living room, Big Claw was out of commission. Short-circuited, it had been sparking all night. The yogurt it had spilled the previous evening still clung to its metallic surface, forming crusty, white streaks along its frame.

….

Lemu's Morning

Lemu finally dragged himself out of bed around 11 a.m.

The mattress might have been hard, but it was still leagues better than sleeping on sand under the Afghan night sky.

Opening the door, he noticed a mattress propped against the wall outside his room. Was that supposed to be for me?

Yawning, he shuffled to the bathroom, washing up and brushing his teeth. He rubbed his sleepy eyes and stared at his reflection in the mirror.

The face staring back was… stunning.

Not just handsome—otherworldly. Like a forest elf stepping out of ancient myths.

Wait. Who's this beauty?

Oh, right. It's me.

Downstairs, Pepper was seated in the living room, her expression grim as she monitored the stock market.

With Stark's sudden return and the media frenzy surrounding his kidnapping, Stark Industries' shares were bleeding red—and in the U.S. market, red meant plummeting prices.

Pepper's fingers tapped anxiously at her keyboard, trying to stay ahead of the situation.

Then Lemu walked in, freshly washed, his dewy complexion practically glowing.

Like a rain-kissed flower.

Pepper's stress momentarily evaporated. Her mood lifted as she smiled at him.

"Good afternoon."

"Morning," Lemu muttered.

After a quick breakfast of bread and milk, Pepper gave Lemu a tour of the mansion.

The place was impressive—spacious rooms, extravagant décor, and cutting-edge facilities.

But Lemu wasn't impressed.

He trudged through the halls, clearly still drowsy, and his half-lidded gaze betrayed his disinterest.

Sure, it's big, fancy, and expensive.

But the problem is—it's not mine.

'One day,' Lemu vowed, he'd build a mansion even more extravagant than this.

He wandered through the villa, but Stark was nowhere to be found.

"Where's Tony?"

Pepper glanced up from her laptop, her fingers still tapping away. "He went out—probably to meet his friend, James Rhodes. You've met him—the Air Force colonel who flew you both back."

Lemu nodded casually. "Got it. Well, don't worry about me getting lost. I'll just look around a bit."

"Sure. There's plenty of food in the fridge and snacks in the cabinet above it. Help yourself if you get hungry."

Pepper patted his shoulder with a warm smile before turning back to her work.

But as her eyes fell once more on the stock market graphs, her expression darkened. Red lines bled across the screen—Stark Industries' stock was still plummeting. Pepper's brows furrowed as if physically pained by the losses.

So Stark isn't home? Interesting.

Lemu strolled down to the basement.

He gave the keypad a nudge—no response. Then he tried the oldest trick in the book, punching in 123456.

Beep. Error.

A calm voice suddenly chimed in.

"Access granted. You may enter using password 6***. Welcome, Mr. Echeverria."

J.A.R.V.I.S.

"Morning," Lemu greeted casually as he keyed in the correct code. The door slid open with a soft hiss, and he stepped inside.

His eyes roamed the room.

A disassembled mechanical claw rested on the workbench—similar in design to Big Claw.

Nearby, a large screen hung on the wall above a plush sofa and coffee table. A fridge stood in the corner, its shelves stocked with sleek bottles of high-end drinks.

Two sealed doors flanked the screen, their purposes unknown.

But the centerpiece of the basement was the trio of computers connected to a 3D holographic projector.

Suspended mid-air was the fragmented design of the Mark II armor—still incomplete but already exuding a futuristic brilliance.

The hologram spun gently, its intricate framework casting soft shadows on the walls.

Lemu's eyes lit up. He reached out instinctively, brushing his fingers through the light. The projection spun several times in response.

This is it. This is the dream.

A lab filled with cutting-edge tech, interactive holograms, and limitless possibilities—it was every man's fantasy brought to life.

As Lemu studied the blueprints, something clicked.

He could understand most of it.

Thanks to Great Sage and the vast reserves of technical knowledge in his mind, the schematics weren't completely foreign.