An Overextended Analogy

"What was its objective?" Well-traveled and knowledgeable as she was, Ina did not make a fuss.

"There's no need to worry about its objective. For now, it isn't our enemy," Luke reassured her.

"As long as you know what you're doing." Hearing that the matter had not slipped beyond Luke's and her own control, Ina finally let go of the anger in her heart. Given how well she knew Luke, she guessed that he might be planning to use this incident to do something or achieve some goal. But since Luke did not say so, she would not ask. She understood very well that sometimes, keeping silent was not a sign of distrust, but a form of protection.

When Luke thought he could tell her, she would naturally know everything. Since he was not saying anything now, she would not make things difficult for him.

That was provided things did not spiral out of control and remained within Luke's grasp. If they did get out of control, then it would become something the two of them had to face together.

Watching Ina leave for the company with her usual decisive efficiency after getting her answer, Luke, now fully rested, went back to modifying his Prototype. Although Snoke's Security Squad was now in place, the necessary safety measures he could prepare still had to be prepared. He could not become Superman for the time being, so the best option was naturally to learn from Tony Stark and build himself an iron box.

As for S.H.I.E.L.D.'s surveillance and attention?

Luke did not take it to heart. He had known five years ago that lying low was not an option for him. Even if he reduced his exposure as much as possible, it was useless. He knew clearly that at his current rate of growth, entering certain circles and drawing the attention—and scrutiny—of certain people or organizations was inevitable. There was no escaping it.

Unless he gave up his cheat and stopped leveling up, gambling on having absurdly good luck and narrowly escaping death every time future disasters struck.

But passivity was not Luke's choice.

The idea of hiding from the start, lying low until he reached max level, then emerging to stun everyone had always been nothing more than a beautiful fantasy. Only by facing obstacle after obstacle, overcoming them one by one, and seizing enough benefits and foundations for growth from them could success be truly solid.

Since he had decided to come into contact with those people and those items, he was bound to cross paths with an organization like S.H.I.E.L.D. sooner or later. Rather than suddenly popping up later with all kinds of technology and startling Nick Fury, making him deeply suspicious and view Luke as some sort of schemer, it was better to go with the flow and reveal some information from the outset, letting the other side believe that he possessed more than enough intelligence.

In any case, it was only information that was not highly classified and had nothing to do with his ultimate trump cards. It did not matter if it leaked out.

For the time being, Luke had no intention of butting heads with Nick Fury, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s excessively suspicious director, or doing anything of the sort. As long as the other party harbored no ill intentions, he was more than happy to enjoy some of the conveniences S.H.I.E.L.D. could offer. Right now, he wanted nothing except to keep his head down and develop.

Malibu Villa.

Tony Stark was painstakingly redesigning his Mark II Armor. Every step, every program adjustment, every mechanical energy output required gradual calibration and testing.

His Underground Laboratory beneath the villa had been turned into a complete mess by his nonstop experiments, to the point that even Pepper Potts was having trouble tidying it up.

"The energy output needs another adjustment. Record it, J.A.R.V.I.S."

Having just been sent flying backward by the energy and slammed onto the padded floor, Tony Stark grimaced in pain as he rolled over and sat up. His head rose above the workbench as he spoke to his Intelligent System, J.A.R.V.I.S.

Only when the energy output was refined to a level that both the Mechanical Arm and his own arm could withstand could the experiment barely be considered a pass.

Then came the next one.

It was complicated, uninteresting, and tedious, but Tony Stark was completely immersed in it.

Originally, he had not intended to personally take the field and use himself as a test subject. In his initial plans, these cumbersome verification procedures should have been carried out by more specialized professionals. To that end, he had visited his friend James Rhodes. However, as Tony still disagreed with his friend on matters concerning weapons, James Rhodes had told him to go back and think things over before Tony even had a chance to make his request.

That meeting had ended on bad terms.

Still, these past few days, personally experimenting bit by bit and creating the things he had envisioned in his mind felt pretty good.

So he decided to do everything himself. Before he succeeded, he did not want to pay attention to anyone or deal with anything. Even when Obadiah Stane, whom he regarded as an elder, came to complain that the Board of Directors wanted to drive out Tony, the culprit behind the company's plunging stock price, and asked Tony to give him something so he could speak up for him and shut everyone else up, Tony had no interest in dealing with it. He was practically possessed now, focused only on building the Mark II.

Even now, a fire was still burning hotter and hotter inside him.

If he did not vent that fire, he would never get past the hurdle in his heart, nor would he dare recall the face of Yinsen, who had sacrificed his life so Tony could escape safely.

Hebron Industrial Park.

Enclosed Training Grounds.

A soldier wearing silver-gray Iron Armor shot directly into the air. After twisting and turning wildly in midair, he failed to brake in time and crashed into the soft dirt below. The soldier rolled over and got back up, sitting half-upright as he shook his head. His faceplate opened, revealing a relatively young face, followed by Snoke's amplified roar: "Control your energy output! Lack, in Team B, only you—only you—still can't perfectly control the armor's flight!"

"This is too hard, sir!" Lack cried in despair.

"Whose fault is it that your Drift scores are so terrible? If you could reach Drift Stage Two, controlling the armor's energy output would be as easy as controlling how much force you put behind a punch! Your Drift training will be increased by one hour today!" Snoke roared again.

"Sir, I think we should replace him if he can't do it. I suggest that Drift Stage Two should be the minimum requirement for joining the Mechanic Squad in the future." A female soldier nearby, who had been jeering, curled her lips. After having a miniature receiver implanted, someone at Drift Stage Two could control the armor remotely as easily as moving their own limbs and bring out a certain degree of combat power. Beside her stood an Iron Armor making the same contemptuous gesture. It was pink, slimmer and more eye-catching than the other Iron Armor around it. She loved her Iron Armor so much that she nearly hugged it to sleep.

"Tiny, I'm almost at Drift Stage Two!" Lack shouted. Then, under Snoke's death glare, he lowered his faceplate, got to his feet, and once again began steadily releasing energy to fly.