"So if I don't pay you a salary, technically that doesn't count as employment, right?"
Antony smiled the moment the words left his mouth.
"Ha? Dream on, Mr. Stars and Stripes."
Across the table, Tony Stark threw his hands up so dramatically he nearly knocked over his iced coffee.
"Let me get this straight. You expect me—Tony Stark—to provide free labor for Vought? My time is billed by the second. Even when I do charity work, I demand naming rights."
"You're free to refuse."
Antony shrugged and calmly picked up the tablet on the table, swiping open a public relations assessment titled: 'Avengers Out-of-Control Incident Report.'
"But considering your 'outstanding performance' over the past forty-eight hours—including, but not limited to, attempting to turn Manhattan into a crater with mass missile deployment, and illegally administering unauthorized substances to the Hulk—the federal government and the Security Council are taking a very firm stance."
Antony flicked his phone. A document projected onto the wall.
"They're demanding mandatory psychiatric and neurological evaluations. Minimum duration: three months."
"Three months?" Tony's eyebrows shot up. "Sorry, I don't have time. I have a yacht party in Saint-Tropez to attend—"
"You're not going anywhere, Tony."
Antony cut him off, voice calm but ironclad.
"You owe the public an explanation. You need to prove your mind is completely free from that Asgardian banshee's influence. You need to prove you won't randomly fire repulsor blasts at pedestrians."
He paused, eyes flickering slightly.
"And besides… you can't just freeload here."
Tony narrowed his eyes. "So?"
"So you're going to work." Antony spread his hands. "You'll provide Vought with full-spectrum technical support."
He added lightly, "Of course, free of charge."
"That's blackmail." Tony's jaw tightened. "The House of Stark does not respond to blackmail."
"I'm giving you a dignified exit."
Antony stood, walked around the table, and clapped him on the shoulder.
"And honestly? Sometimes I envy you."
Tony snorted. "Envy me?"
"Yes." Antony glanced toward the window, tone turning contemplative. "You have Pepper Potts. When you were losing your mind and turning your tower into a personal harem, she was the one holding Stark Industries together—fielding board members who wanted to tear you apart."
"If not for her, you'd probably be bankrupt by now."
He looked Tony directly in the eyes.
"Be better to her, brother. Women like that don't come around twice."
For a moment, Tony's expression froze.
Guilt flooded past his arrogance like a rising tide.
"…Fine."
He let out a quiet breath, voice subdued.
"But I have conditions. My lab equipment gets moved here. And I don't drink instant coffee."
"Deal."
Antony snapped his fingers.
…
In the corner of the conference room, Thor had been standing silently by the window, seemingly detached from the conversation.
"So," Antony raised his voice slightly, "are you returning to Asgard, Your Highness?"
"Just so you know, you've officially been classified as an 'unwelcome extraterrestrial' by the United Nations. Next time you visit Earth, you'll need to apply for a Vought-issued visa."
"No."
Thor turned around.
The arrogance that once defined him was gone. In its place was something quieter. Something almost humble.
"I will not leave. I lost Mjolnir… and I nearly lost Jane."
His fists clenched, eyes burning with determination.
"That banshee may have controlled me—but she forced me to confront my heart. I cannot be without Jane."
"I will stay," he said firmly. "At her side."
Tony couldn't resist. "As what? A bodyguard? Tea server? Tool-fetcher? You don't even have a hammer anymore."
"Yes."
Thor ignored the mockery.
"I will be her assistant. As I once was. I will carry her equipment, drive her car, support her research—whatever she requires."
His voice deepened.
"I will win her heart again."
"Impressive spirit," Antony nodded. "I'm sure Jane will feel your sincerity. Just remember—lab equipment is expensive. Don't break anything."
"I'll have HR process you as an intern."
Thor inclined his head solemnly. "Thank you."
…
Last to speak was the man slumped across the table.
Clint Barton, Level 7 S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.
At this moment, though, he looked less like a master marksman and more like an exhausted middle-aged father facing a midlife crisis.
"And you, Agent Barton?" Antony asked. "Vought's head firearms instructor position is still open."
"No… I think I'll pass."
Clint forced a weary smile.
"I think… I want a long vacation. Maybe retirement."
He pulled out his phone, thumb brushing over the lock-screen photo.
"Laura's still waiting at home. I know I was under control this time, but… I feel like I've made a mess of everything."
"I want to fix the fence on the farm. Practice archery with Lila. Help Cooper with his math homework."
Antony studied him carefully.
In truth, this mortal archer didn't hold much value in Antony's internal calculations. No superpowers. No super-soldier serum. In an era where superhumans filled the skies, Clint's skillset felt… outdated.
If he wanted to leave, Antony had no reason to stop him.
"I understand."
He nodded, projecting warmth and reason.
"Family always comes first. That's also Vought's core corporate philosophy."
"What about the evaluation?" Clint asked hesitantly.
"The evaluation?"
Antony waved it off casually.
"You caused minimal destruction during the incident. Most people were too busy watching Iron Man, Thor, and the Hulk. Not many noticed you firing arrows from the sidelines."
Clint's mouth twitched. That didn't sound particularly comforting.
"Public memory is short," Antony continued. "Your evaluation will be a formality. A week, at most. After that, you're free to return to your farm."
Antony stepped closer and patted him on the shoulder.
"Go home. Be with your family."
He paused.
"I heard your tractor broke down?"
Clint blinked. "What? Yeah… how did you know?"
"Natasha mentioned it."
Antony smiled mysteriously.
"As a farewell gift, I'll send you two brand-new John Deere tractors. The latest models. Air-conditioned."
"Consider it thanks for your service to the world."
Clint's eyes widened instantly.
"Seriously?! Oh my God, thank you! Laura's never going to complain about me slacking off again!"
Watching the unfiltered joy on Clint's face, Antony couldn't help but laugh inwardly.
The happiness of mortals…
…was often this simple.
[Special Popularity Gained +10,000 (From Clint Barton)]
Antony's gaze flickered faintly.
The Popularity System responded in silence.
For gods and billionaires, fulfillment came wrapped in ambition, ego, or redemption.
But for a mortal?
Sometimes all it took…
…was an air-conditioned tractor.
--------------
T/N:
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