Genius Sets Out Again (Part 2)

When Peter stepped into the laboratory, he was still feeling the chill of the morning air. The cold morning wind had made his cheeks a little red. He exhaled and put down his backpack.

The warm air in the lab made his forehead slightly sweaty. He took off his coat and tossed it onto the back of the chair. Stark was still a little groggy from waking up. Peter said, "I heard from Doctor Schiller that you're having some troubles. Since school's out today, and I'm not interested in those football games, I think we can work together to solve these problems, but first..."

He pulled a bag out of his backpack, holding it a little too tightly because it was so hot, and said, "I brought the best pancakes from near the school. Luckily, I swung them fast enough, so they're still warm."

Then he turned around, glanced at the coffee machine in the corner, put the bag of biscuits aside, and ran to the coffee machine. While fiddling with it, he said, "Let's have a coffee. Doctor Schiller's espresso is too bitter. I really can't stand it. Let me see. I'd like a double-milk, double-sugar latte. What do you want, Mr. Stark?"

Stark sat by the window, propping his head up with his hand; his head was still a little dizzy.

Peter, busy running around, exuded a youthful energy and vitality unique to his age, like a bustling New York morning. Although it seemed too eccentric and even a bit comical, it was this vitality that made Stark's heart, which had been frozen during the night, beat again.

Peter held up two cups of coffee on a tray in one hand and a bag of biscuits in the other, then dumped them all on the table.

Peter unwrapped the tortilla, squeezed the included sauce onto it, and handed it to Stark. Stark didn't really like receiving things, but he took it anyway and took a bite.

Actually, Peter and Stark have different tastes. Peter likes to eat things with strong seasonings and likes to add all kinds of sauces, but Stark prefers a lighter taste. He took a bite of the tortilla, and the somewhat pungent seasoning masked the aroma of the tortilla itself. In Stark's opinion, it wasn't very delicious.

Fortunately, just as Peter said, the pancakes were fresh out of the oven that morning. Peter was incredibly fast, carrying them across most of New York City, and they were still warm. Paired with a fragrant cup of coffee, Stark felt a surge of warmth in his chest, as if he had come back to life.

Throughout the entire night, Stark did not feel like crying, or rather, the emotion remained bottled up inside him, unable to reach his eyes.

But it was this ordinary breakfast that gave Stark a feeling of salvation. He never imagined that he would be so moved as to cry over a two-dollar pancake.

Peter across from me wasn't eating very well. He squeezed out too much sauce, and a lot of it was still stuck to the corners of his mouth. As usual, he took a big bite and kept chewing it in his mouth.

The steaming hot breakfast made him sweat even more, and he tugged at his collar, making his clothes look a little disheveled.

This image and this breakfast are completely out of place in the Stark Tower, a place filled with cold metal, high-end experimental instruments, and regularly flashing lights.

It's like someone forcibly painting a strip of colored paint onto a cold, neat mechanical part.

But Peter was not affected at all. He first quickly finished a pancake, then gulped down a large cup of coffee, and finally slumped back in his chair with a satisfied sigh.

Peter wiped his mouth and said, "That's great. I used to only be able to eat here once a week because, you know, this place is delicious, but it's actually a bit expensive. If I ate at the school cafeteria, it would be half the price."

"But I really don't like the sausages in the school cafeteria, so whenever Uncle Ben gives me pocket money, I'll go eat them."

"Gwen also likes to eat here, and now we go there for a meal every day after school. I used to complain that there weren't enough seats, but with Gwen, we squeeze into a corner, eat and chat, is there anything better than that?"

Stark glanced down at his hand; what was once a whole pizza was now just a wrapper with some sauce residue on it, and the coffee to his left was empty.

"This is the first time I've ever eaten this," Stark said.

Peter said with some surprise, "Really? Pancakes are quite popular where we are; almost everyone at school loves them."

"You know Thompson, right? I told you about him before, the big guy in our class who plays football. He can eat five meals in one go. Last time he insisted that I bring him breakfast. If it weren't for the extra tip he gave me, I wouldn't have carried so many bags."

Then Peter said somewhat casually, "But it's okay, there's always a first time. How is it? Not bad, right?"

Stark clicked his tongue. He had to admit that human taste buds do crave richer flavors. While those sauces might not be healthy, they were actually quite delicious.

After finishing his meal, Peter stood in front of the lab bench, intending to see if Stark had any new mecha ideas. Instead, he noticed the stacks of books and documents.

In stark contrast to Pepper, Peter could understand complex experimental data, but he couldn't understand these lengthy explanations at all.

He picked up one of the articles, glanced at it, then covered his eyes and said, "I feel like I don't know English anymore! Help! I think I know every single word, but they all seem so unfamiliar..."

"I think sooner or later you'll have to learn these things too," Stark said.

Peter shook his head and said, "That's why my dream has never been to start a company or become the world's richest person. I know I don't understand these things. I probably wouldn't even be able to hire a single employee because I don't understand what they're thinking, and I'd probably mess up any business deals..."

Stark's hand holding the book stiffened for a moment.

Peter's words reminded him that he wasn't being forced to learn these things; he had chosen to protect Stark Industries. In fact, if he had chosen to give up the company and become an independent street hero like Peter, he wouldn't have needed to learn these things at all.

As long as he has that genius brain, he can build mechs even if he has to scavenge for materials in a junkyard.

Why did he choose to save the company? Stark thought, the pain of learning these things didn't seem any less than rummaging through a junkyard.

Then Stark thought of Pepper, Obadiah, and his father.

Just then, Jarvis announced, "Mr. Steve is here."

"Close the door and refuse visitors."

But it was too late. Steve had already appeared at the lab door, arms crossed, and said, "Schiller said you seemed to be in some trouble, so I came here specifically to mock you."

"Shut up, or I'll put on my mech suit right now and beat you up."

"I haven't settled the score with you yet for the time you used your mech to blow me up."

"That's what you deserve."

The two exchanged a few words and were about to come to blows Peter stood between them, stretching out his arms to stop them.

Steve said, "I originally had some clues about your father's belongings, but it seems you don't want to hear them."

Stark was taken aback. He said with some suspicion, "My father has other belongings. You're not lying to me, are you?"

Steve shook his head and said, "I don't know the Truth your father's death, but I know things aren't that simple. He may have been prepared for this..."

So Stark pursed his lips and asked, "Where's the thing?"

"It should actually be at the old site of Stark Industries, but you'd better not get your hopes up too high; he wouldn't put anything important there."

"You mean Howard Motors? Jarvis, isn't that where you got the Obadiah Research data last time?"

"Yes, sir, but there are two sites of this former location. Stark Industries has relocated, and I have sent Jaegers to search both locations separately."

"It seems you really care about your father," Steve said.

"No, I just..."

"No, I'm serious. You don't need to deny it. I can only tell you that the operation your father was involved in and his death were not so simple. He..."

Steve paused, seemingly hesitant, but still said, "Perhaps in your eyes he wasn't a good father, but in my eyes he must have been a good partner. What do you think made that difference?"

Stark frowned. He sensed that Steve seemed to be subtly hinting at something but unwilling to elaborate, which made him somewhat anxious.

He now understood Schiller's intention in having him read these theoretical books. Now, he could find corresponding entries in his mind for every move Steve made, which made it easier for Stark to view his attitude from a more objective perspective. In the past, he would have grabbed Steve by the collar and made him explain his reasons.

But now, he could sense that Steve wanted to remind him of something, but couldn't say it outright. Even if he asked, it would only lead to a fight, and Steve might think he was being unreasonable.

For the first time, Stark realized the wonderful use of what he had learned. It allowed him to avoid wasting his efforts and also made him appear smarter and more unpredictable in the eyes of others.

Steve was somewhat surprised to see that Stark didn't react much and was just standing there thinking. What was wrong with Stark today? Was he sick? He had been prepared for Stark to become hysterical and force him to tell the Truth.

Does Stark know something too?

However, it's not impossible, Steve thought. The Stark family are all extremely intelligent people. Maybe young Stark just didn't like him before, but he should still be reliable when it comes to important matters.

Peter couldn't quite understand the subtle atmosphere between the adults, so he asked, "Captain, would you like a cup of coffee?"

"No, I just came to deliver a message. I haven't gone for my morning run yet."

"Oh, right." Peter pulled a lunchbox out of his bag and said, "This is the lunchbox I took from Doctor Schiller a few days ago. Captain, if you pass by the clinic, please return it to him. Oh, and there are two pancakes inside, one for each of you. The sauce is in the compartment next to it..."

Steve opened the lid, glanced at it, and said, "Take them all to Schiller. I don't like things with too much sauce. In fact, I don't know why you guys love Mexico food so much; the flavor is too strong."

"Alright, then take them all to the Doctor. See you later."

Soon after Steve left, mechs flew in through the window. One of the mechs was carrying a somewhat worn leather bag. Stark ignored the dust on it, rummaged through it, and found only a rather old-looking notebook inside.

Stark opened the notebook and looked at it. Half of the notebook seemed to have been soaked in alcohol. After opening it, he didn't find any useful information.

It was indeed Howard's handwriting, but it was mostly nonsense he wrote when he was drunk, along with some random underlines and messy letters, making it impossible to read anything.

Stark put down his notebook, feeling both disappointed and relieved.

His father had better not play the savior at this time; Howard wasn't someone he should think of in his sadness and despair.

"A genius, "Stark thought. "There can only be one genius Stark in this world, and that's him, Tony Stark."