Marvel Transmigration: I Possessed Iron Man

I don't know of any rich guy in the Marvel universe who puts on a helmet and goes out at midnight to catch thieves.

Of course, DC is a different story. The richer they are, the more likely they are to throw on a mask and roam the streets at night, turning once-decent cities like Gotham and Metropolis into chaotic, crime-ridden messes.

"This is Dr. Ethan's latest upgraded portable Mark III armor. It features ten-second deployment, a lightweight build, and several other enhancements."

Aetheris took the suitcase. It weighed less than twenty kilograms.

"We used cutting-edge molecular tech, reducing the original titanium alloy's weight significantly. Peter Parker contributed a lot to this," Ethan said, glancing over at Aetheris, who was already suited up.

"Let me know if anything feels off. This version has auto-resizing—adjusts itself to your body."

"Perfect. It's almost weightless, and the joints are way more flexible than before," Aetheris said, testing it with a few fluid close-quarters strikes.

The straight stance, sun-punches, and rapid chain strikes didn't feel completely instinctive yet, but compared to the clunky system-issued Mark II Hellfire Armor, this was a huge leap forward.

What Aetheris valued most was its portability. In the future, every one of his women would have a suit like this. Their safety would be guaranteed.

Situations like Pepper getting kidnapped could never be allowed to happen again.

"This is amazing. Ethan, Peter, I'm doubling your salaries!" Aetheris said joyfully, removing the armor. It neatly folded itself back into the suitcase.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Stark! May God bless you!" young Peter blurted out, overjoyed. With that money, he could finally help Harry Osborn—whose family business had collapsed after his father fled.

"By the way, Peter, how are things going with Mary Jane lately?" Aetheris asked, clearly intrigued.

"Uh, not bad. We've gone out to dinner a few times."

"That's not what I meant. I'm asking if you've hit a home run yet."

"Home run? No, no. Mary Jane is my goddess. I'd never treat her like that. Besides, she said she wants to wait until we're married," Peter said, cheeks flushing.

"Tch. 'Wait until marriage'—classic line. You two are dating, not negotiating a business contract. If you keep playing it safe, she'll lose interest. Trust me," Aetheris said, sharing his "sage" advice.

Though he hadn't had much of a chance to test these theories before, his recent outings with Betty Ross had shown just how effective they could be.

"Do you know when women are most likely to give in?"

"No," Peter admitted honestly.

"You're hopeless. Work's not everything. Settle your love life first—only then can you really focus on your job. Isn't that right, Ethan?" Aetheris turned to him.

But Ethan was quietly studying an old newspaper clipping, lost in thought.

"What're you looking at?" Aetheris leaned over.

It was a faded front page. The headline read: Soviet Scientist Defects. A young Russian man stood proudly in the photo.

"That's Anton Vanko. Ivan Whiplash Lightning Fist's father," Aetheris said.

"Yeah. My doctoral advisor mentioned him. He said Vanko was one of the Soviet Union's brightest physicists," Ethan replied wistfully.

"Too bad he was born in the wrong time. If he'd focused solely on research, he could've accomplished incredible things."

Aetheris shrugged. He wasn't one for tragic backstories.

"These videotapes were left by your father. Don't you want to watch them?" Ethan asked.

"Not really into antiques. You and Peter can study them. I've got more pressing matters—like figuring out how to ensure humanity's survival."

Aetheris grabbed the Mark III suitcase. "I'm taking this one."

"No worries. We've got extras. Go nuts."

"Tch, you make me sound like a spoiled brat," Aetheris muttered, curling his lip.

Beep beep—

Aetheris's phone buzzed with a message.

"Are you there?"

It was from Betty Ross.

"I think, therefore you are!" he replied instantly.

"Something wrong?"

"I'm feeling really down. Can you come keep me company for a bit?"

Aetheris checked the time. Nearly midnight. Staying up late and rising early wasn't a healthy lifestyle. Still, he didn't hesitate:

"No problem. Where are you?"

"School sports field."

Originally, he'd planned to go visit Nova, but he turned the car around and headed straight to Calf University.

At the field, he saw a lone figure on the bleachers—Betty Ross.

Her delicate face was lightly made up, pink lipstick standing out. Through her black stockings, pale skin shimmered faintly beneath. Her cheeks showed subtle streaks—she'd clearly been crying.

Aetheris noticed a few empty bottles by her feet and muttered to himself, Damn, this girl can drink.

"I didn't think you'd actually come," Betty said, a little surprised.

"We're friends, aren't we? A friend in need gets help from all corners," Aetheris replied casually, sitting beside her. Maybe it was a little chilly, but when Betty leaned into him, her warmth made one side of his body soft and hot—and his thoughts wandered.

Betty pouted. "So… did you come just because a friend asked?"

It was midnight, yet plenty of students were still walking around—both guys and girls. Aetheris couldn't help but admire their energy. No wonder those night-loving uncles liked it here.

"Want a smoke?" Aetheris pulled out a pack of Tianshan Snow Lotus.

"No, but I like watching you smoke," Betty murmured, eyes dreamy.

As Aetheris was about to light up, she snatched the lighter.

"Let me do it for you."

The flickering flame danced in her eyes, mysterious and seductive under the night sky.

Aetheris leaned closer. Betty's breath brushed his face—sweet, with a touch of wine. Intoxicating.

"Here." Betty handed him a half-empty bottle of red wine.

Aetheris didn't hesitate. As long as it wasn't hard liquor, he could handle it.

He took a swig. The chilled wine blended with the taste of Betty's lipstick and the coolness of a New York midnight.

"Hah, that's the good stuff!" Aetheris laughed heartily.

Now this... this is life.

Betty looked at him with admiration—wild, free, and utterly unrestrained. Something truly enviable.

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