"Fuck you… I'll punish you… damn it!!!"
Even backed into a corner, Tony Stark refused to drop his arrogance. His voice was sharp, his posture rigid, and despite the situation spiraling out of his control, he still carried himself like a man who believed he was untouchable. It wasn't bravery so much as pride refusing to bend.
Leonardo watched him quietly, his expression tinged with something that almost resembled pity. He studied Tony from head to toe, and for a brief moment, memories of his own training surfaced. The four of them hadn't always been this disciplined, and without Master Splinter's strict guidance, they would have turned out very differently.
He knew exactly how much those lessons had hurt.
If this guy can last thirty seconds, he's tougher than he looks.
Before that thought could fully settle, the air shifted.
Master Splinter had already raised his staff.
His eyes were calm, but there was a cold edge beneath the surface as he spoke in an even tone.
"I like your spirit," he said. "A stubborn one is always harder to correct."
The next second, the staff came down.
It struck Tony squarely on the backside with a sharp, echoing crack.
The impact was humiliating in a way no battlefield injury had ever been. It wasn't a clash of equals or a heroic exchange of blows—it was discipline, plain and simple, like a teacher correcting a misbehaving child.
Even Splinter himself might have admitted, in a different moment, that he was perhaps a little too skilled at this.
Within seconds, Tony's expression began to change. His face flushed from its usual pale tone to a bright, furious red, then deepened further until it bordered on an unhealthy shade. Finally, it darkened completely, his composure unraveling under the relentless barrage.
He cared deeply about his image.
This was a man who curated every aspect of his life, who chose his company carefully, who ensured that even the women he dated were figures of prestige and recognition. Reputation wasn't just important to him—it was everything.
And now, he was being chased around and beaten by a rat wielding a stick.
It wasn't just physical pain. It was an assault on his pride.
Tony clenched his teeth, forcing his expression into something cold and detached, as if he could weather the storm through sheer willpower alone. It was his way of maintaining control, of refusing to let the situation break him completely.
But Master Splinter had no intention of easing up.
The staff moved again, swift and unavoidable, and even Leonardo, watching from the side, felt a chill run down his spine. The memory of his own training resurfaced vividly, and for a moment, he was reminded of just how terrifying their master could be when he chose to enforce discipline.
Nearby, Raphael—who had already subdued Steve—took a moment to glance over. His lips twitched as he watched the scene unfold, clearly entertained by the spectacle. Tony Stark, the invincible Iron Man, was being chased across the battlefield with no dignity left to his name.
It didn't matter how much Tony endured.
This wasn't a fight he could win.
"This is what happens when you don't learn early," Raphael muttered, folding his arms. "Spare the rod, spoil the kid."
Michelangelo snickered under his breath, barely containing his laughter as he watched Tony scramble to avoid another strike. Donatello adjusted his grip on his staff, his expression calmer, but even he couldn't deny the absurdity of the situation.
April, standing off to the side, finally let out a laugh she had been holding in. The tension that had weighed on her earlier lifted, replaced by a sense of satisfaction she hadn't expected. Just moments ago, she had been cornered and threatened, forced into silence.
Now, the roles had completely reversed.
The so-called heroes were the ones struggling.
"Click. Click. Click."
The camera kept rolling, capturing every second of the chaos. April crossed her arms, her voice steady but filled with lingering anger.
"You bullied me," she said. "Don't think I'll forget that."
Tony staggered back after another hit, his movements slowing as exhaustion set in. His back hit the wall, and for a brief moment, he stayed there, breathing heavily as he glanced down at himself.
Bruises were forming everywhere.
His pristine image was gone.
The calm confidence he had worn like armor had shattered, replaced by something far more human—frustration, humiliation, and a rising sense of disbelief.
This was too much.
How old was he?
Even his father had never laid a hand on him like this.
And now this—
This rat—
What right did he have?
The sound of the staff cutting through the air snapped him back to reality.
"Swish. Swish."
The strikes came again, relentless and precise. As Splinter advanced, Tony's composure finally cracked. His face changed drastically, the defiance draining away as something else took its place.
He lowered his head.
"I… was wrong."
Splinter didn't stop.
"Wrong how?" he pressed, his voice calm but unyielding.
Tony's fists clenched, anger flaring for a split second. But there was nothing he could do. The situation was completely out of his control, and resistance would only make things worse.
"I shouldn't have used my power to bully and threaten that reporter," he said through gritted teeth.
Splinter nodded slightly.
"And now that you understand," he said, lifting the staff once more, "what should you do?"
Tony froze.
This wasn't just about admitting fault.
This was about humiliation.
His entire life, problems had been solved with money, influence, or sheer intellect. Apologizing like this, in front of everyone, after being beaten into submission—it was something he had never experienced.
His chest tightened.
Was there really no dignity left?
His eyes reddened as he turned toward April, forcing the words out.
"I'm sorry!!!"
The shout echoed across the area.
For a moment, everything else seemed to pause.
Even Clint and Natasha, still engaged in combat moments earlier, were stunned into stillness. They exchanged glances, disbelief written across their faces.
They had known Tony for years.
Even at his lowest point, even when poisoned and facing death, he had never looked like this.
Could it really be that simple?
Was discipline… actually effective?
Their thoughts didn't last long.
Both of them were knocked to the ground almost immediately afterward, weapons pressed against them as the turtles reasserted control. The entire battle—from the moment it began to its conclusion—had taken less than three minutes.
It was overwhelming.
Absolute.
If Steve had still been conscious, he might have tried to stand again, might have forced himself back into the fight with that stubborn line he always repeated.
But he wasn't.
And the outcome was undeniable.
Master Splinter stood at the center of it all, his staff resting lightly in his grip. His posture was relaxed, but the aura he gave off was anything but.
He had trained these turtles for ten years.
His hands had long since lost any hesitation.
Nearby, Bruce Banner stood frozen, his mind struggling to process everything he had just witnessed. He hadn't been attacked, hadn't been dragged into the fight, but the sheer intensity of what had unfolded left him shaken.
A realization settled in quietly.
No matter what, you should never provoke someone with connections.
Especially not a woman who could call in reinforcements like this.
…
The Avengers had fallen.
But they didn't stay down.
One by one, they forced themselves back up, battered and bruised, their movements slow and unsteady. It wasn't easy—far from it. After enduring Splinter's relentless "discipline," even enhanced individuals like them struggled just to stand.
Tony had suffered the worst of it.
His determination to resist until the end had earned him the harshest punishment, leaving him sprawled on the ground earlier, howling in a way no one would have ever expected from him.
Clint fared slightly better, but his hands still trembled as he avoided thinking about what had just happened.
Natasha and Steve weren't in much better shape.
Their enhanced physiques had made them tougher opponents, and as a result, they had received far more "attention" during the fight. Now, they could barely move, lying on the ground as the effects of the battle caught up with them.
Bruce became the only one still fully functional.
He moved between them, helping where he could, making calls for backup, his frustration spilling over as he spoke.
"I told you to talk it out," he muttered. "But no, you had to push it. You had to make it worse. And now look at you."
…
As for the turtles and their master, the rewards were substantial.
Their actions had pleased Liam.
With a simple gesture, he granted them knowledge far beyond what they had known before—chakra cultivation, along with three fundamental techniques: the Body Flicker Technique, the Substitution Technique, and the Transformation Technique.
In another world, these might have been considered basic.
Here, they were extraordinary.
The turtles, already seasoned fighters, adapted quickly. Their years of training gave them a natural affinity, and among them, Master Splinter stood out the most.
On his very first attempt, he grasped the essence of chakra.
Moments later, he executed the Body Flicker Technique flawlessly.
The talent was staggering.
If he were placed in another world…
He might have reached even greater heights.
And with their actions today, they had firmly crossed a line. In Liam's eyes, that made them allies—part of his growing network.
He had gained something valuable.
But just as he was savoring that success—
Elsewhere, another situation was unfolding.
And this time, it wasn't a victory.
It was a crisis.
Iron Fist had stepped into something far more dangerous than he realized…
.....
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