The soft hum of the private jet's engines filled the cabin as Alexander sat quietly in his seat.
Across from him sat Roland, as stoic as ever, while beside him was his father, Hugh Jones, who stared through one of the windows, seemingly lost in thought.
Alexander couldn't help but glance at his father again, as it was rare to see Hugh like this.
The man was usually calm, composed, and always in control. Whether dealing with Roxxon's board members, negotiating contracts worth millions, or dealing with political headaches, Hugh always projected confidence.
Now, however, there was a trace of melancholy on his face, a genuine one, and Alexander knew exactly why.
His thoughts drifted back to what Hugh had said shortly before they boarded the plane.
"Howard Stark was an insufferable bastard, but a brilliant insufferable bastard, and I have to respect that. And Maria was a charming and kind woman. Their loss is still a tragedy."
At the time, Alexander had almost laughed at the description because, despite the colourful wording, Hugh had been completely serious.
There had been no mockery in his voice, only genuine respect for a peer who passed away.
It made sense when he thought about it, as Howard Stark and Hugh Jones belonged to the same world.
They both were industrial giants, competitors, and visionaries in their own ways.
Men who built empires.
They may not have liked each other very much, but there was a world of difference between rivalry and hatred.
Alexander shifted his gaze toward the window and watched as clouds drifted past beneath the aircraft.
His thoughts inevitably returned to the circumstances surrounding Howard and Maria Stark's deaths, and only one name kept circling back into his mind, 'Hydra. The possibility of them being the ones behind Howard and Maria Stark's deaths immediately came to mind as soon as I heard the news, and a few months ago, I probably would have considered it almost certain. But now? I'm not so sure...'
Alexander almost let out a sigh as he kept his gaze trained on the clouds outside as his reasoning continued, 'The more I learn about my current reality, the less willing I am to blindly trust the memories of another world and for a very simple reason. This isn't the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Not exactly. There are similarities, many similarities, enough similarities to be useful, but there are also differences. Sometimes subtle. Sometimes significant. And assumptions could easily get me and those I care for killed. Still... Hydra remains highly suspicious.'
Reaching that conclusion, Alexander frowned slightly.
Ironically, he had almost forgotten about them, not literally, of course.
It was just that compared to the absurd monsters lurking in his memories, Hydra seemed almost insignificant.
Nightmares like Thanos, Dormammu, Galactus and the Celestials. World-ending threats capable of erasing civilisations on a whim.
Compared to those monsters, a secret organisation hiding inside governments seemed almost mundane and irrelevant.
A bitter smile appeared on his face as he thought, 'Only in Marvel could Hydra qualify as a lesser threat.'
The realisation was both ridiculous and depressing.
Alexander silently shook his head and focused back, 'Regardless of whether Hydra is responsible or not, one thing remains true. Howard and Maria Stark are dead. Nothing would change that. The rest can wait.'
The flight continued in relative silence, but eventually, the private jet began its descent as New York awaited them.
~~~▽~~~
The Stark Mansion was already crowded by the time they arrived.
Alexander had expected a large gathering, but he had not expected this.
Luxury vehicles filled the grounds, and security personnel were everywhere.
Politicians. Military officers. Business executives. Diplomats. Veterans. Scientists.
Influential figures from countless fields, people with enough power to influence entire nations and all of them gathered in one place.
For a brief moment, Alexander was reminded of something, that Howard Stark had not merely been rich; he had been important. The kind of person whose death created ripples throughout the world.
His eyes swept across the crowd, and a small part of him couldn't help but wonder how many intelligence agencies were present.
The most likely answer was probably all of them, making him conclude, 'And if intelligence agencies are present... Then secret organisations are probably present as well.'
Like that, Alexander immediately thought of SHIELD for a very simple reason: Howard Stark had been one of its founders, and as such there was absolutely no way they would miss this funeral.
He casually observed the crowd searching for some distinctive traits, but he saw no eyepatch, no long black trench coat, no intimidating bald man glaring at everyone, no one loudly dropping "Motherfucker" every other sentence.
Alexander suppressed the urge to chuckle at that last one as it was the most unlikely one.
Then again, actively searching for secret agents at a funeral was probably not appropriate behaviour, or smart behaviour, possibly both, so he stopped.
Before someone started wondering why a teen seemed unusually interested in the guests when he should look bored or, at the very least, sombre.
Eventually, Hugh led them toward the receiving line, and that was when Alexander saw him, Anthony "Tony" Stark.
Tony wasn't difficult to identify.
At twenty years old, Anthony Stark already possessed the unmistakable features of the Stark family. He stood of average height with a lean frame that had yet to fill out, dark hair neatly combed back for the occasion, and sharp brown eyes that hinted at the keen intellect behind them.
A faint trace of stubble shadowed his jaw, less a carefully cultivated style than the result of sleepless nights since the tragedy.
Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit and dark tie, he looked every bit the heir to one of America's greatest industrial empires, but today there was little confidence left in his posture. His shoulders sagged under a burden no amount of wealth could lighten.
The future Iron Man, the future founder of the Avengers, the future genius billionaire philanthropist and yet none of those titles seemed to matter right now.
Tony looked exhausted; his eyes lacked focus, his expression was blank, but not because he was emotionless; quite the opposite, it was the look of someone whose mind had been overwhelmed and simply stopped processing things properly.
A young man trying to function despite the shock.
Standing beside him was Jarvis.
The elderly butler carried himself with quiet dignity. His silver hair was neatly combed back, his lined face clean-shaven, and his posture remained impeccably straight despite his age.
Dressed in a conservative black suit with pristine white gloves, he looked less like a servant and more like the embodiment of old-fashioned professionalism.
Though grief lingered behind his calm blue eyes, his composed demeanour never faltered, making him seem like the one steady pillar holding the household together.
Perfectly dressed, perfectly composed, a pillar of stability amidst the chaos.
Alexander immediately understood why Tony trusted the man so much, as Jarvis looked like the only person keeping everything together.
Hugh stepped forward first and said, "My condolences, Tony."
His voice was calm and sincere.
Tony looked at him for a moment before giving a small nod and replying, "Thank you."
It was simple, brief and mechanical, as if he had repeated those words hundreds of times already and because he probably had.
Jarvis acknowledged Hugh as well before turning his attention toward Alexander and Roland, who also gave a faint and respectful nod to the butler and trusted ally of Howard Stark, earning a respectful response.
Alexander stepped forward and said, "My condolences, Mr Stark."
Tony looked at him and, for a brief moment, their eyes met, then Tony simply nodded and mechanically repeated, "Thank you."
That was all.
No grand conversation, no dramatic meeting between future legends, just a grieving son receiving condolences.
Alexander honestly preferred it that way, so he walked away while thinking, 'Sometimes reality is far less cinematic...'
~~~▽~~~
The ceremony itself passed quietly as speeches were given, stories were shared, and achievements were remembered.
People mourned, some sincerely, others less so.
Alexander observed more than he listened.
Years of living around businessmen had taught him how to read a room, and there were people here who were already thinking beyond the funeral, beyond grief, beyond loss.
Some were calculating, some were evaluating opportunities, some were undoubtedly wondering what would happen next.
What would become of Stark Industries? Who would fill the vacuum left behind? Which contracts would change hands? Which alliances would survive?
Power attracted people, success attracted people, and when someone powerful died, the vultures inevitably appeared.
The thought left a sour taste in his mouth before Alexander glanced toward a certain man standing a few meters away from him while thinking, 'The most obvious one in my eyes is without any doubt him... Obadiah Stane.'
The man's imposing build made him easy to pick out even among the crowd. Well over six feet tall and broad through the shoulders, Obadiah Stane possessed the kind of physique that seemed more suited to a military officer than a corporate executive.
His blond hair had already begun greying and retreating from a high forehead, leaving the unmistakable widow's peak that framed his cold blue eyes.
A neatly trimmed blond beard accentuated his square jaw, while his expensive black suit fit his powerful frame perfectly.
Even standing silently among the mourners, he projected an air of confidence that bordered on dominance.
He was further proof that his other memories weren't completely reliable.
In his other memories, Obadiah Stane was a business partner of Tony Stark and a good friend of his father, Howard Stark.
Upon Howard's death, Stane became interim CEO of Stark Industries until Tony officially took over shortly after.
Then Stane's jealousy of the younger Stark led to him betraying Stark by joining forces with the Ten Rings to organise a failed attempt to assassinate him, so Stane could become CEO once again, thus becoming the villain known as Iron Monger.
On the other hand, this Stane was the head of his own company and not a part of Stark Industries, and thanks to his father, Alexander also knew that he tried to acquire Stark Enterprises, the industrial corporation, but failed.
Still, despite the clear differences between them, the fact that Stane could in future become the villain Iron Monger wasn't something Alexander could easily dismiss.
Thankfully, not everyone present fit that description, as many genuinely mourned and many had truly respected Howard and Maria Stark, but it was still a useful reminder.
Human nature rarely changed regardless of which universe one lived in.
Eventually, the ceremony came to an end, and people gradually began leaving, conversations resumed, and vehicles started departing.
The crowd slowly dispersed, and Hugh signalled that it was time to go; Alexander followed alongside him and Roland.
They were only a short distance away from their vehicle when he felt something, a gaze, and instinctively, he looked back.
Tony Stark stood near the entrance of the mansion; their eyes met briefly but neither spoke.
In the end, Alexander simply gave a small nod, nothing more, a small acknowledgement.
Tony stared at him for a moment before returning the gesture, then Alexander turned away and continued walking.
~~~▽~~~
The return flight was considerably quieter.
Roland occupied himself with reading reports while Hugh rested with his eyes closed.
Alexander sat by the window watching the endless sky while thinking.
His thoughts drifted toward the future, which was a dangerous habit, one he indulged in more often than he probably should, 'How many of my memories are still reliable? How many of those events would actually happen? Howard and Maria Stark's deaths had occurred. That much is undeniable, but that doesn't automatically validate everything else. For all I know, half the future I remember could be completely wrong or perhaps events would happen differently. After all, different people, different circumstances may result in different outcomes... Yet "Canon Events" apparently are also a thing...'
The uncertainty was frustrating.
Then another thought surfaced, 'Should I try to stop them? Should I intervene? Should I attempt to prevent future tragedies?'
Alexander remained silent for several moments, but eventually, he sighed as he quickly found the answer to those questions, 'No. Not yet. The answer is painfully simple. I am not strong enough. I am not influential enough. I am not prepared enough. How could I dream about saving the world when I can't even guarantee the safety of the people closest to me?'
At this point, various faces appeared in his mind as he thought, 'Hugh. Roland. Ginny. Chuck. Julia. Elizabeth. Myself. Trying to save everyone while lacking the power to protect even those few would be nothing more than arrogance. The world doesn't need good intentions. The world needs results and results require power.'
His hand unconsciously clenched.
Power. Influence. Resources. Connections. All things he currently lacked, at least compared to the monsters hiding in the shadows of this world.
His gaze drifted toward the clouds outside as he realised, 'Duel Monsters. Everything ultimately returns to that. The game. The Duel Spirits. The YGO System. My opportunity and my path forward. If Duel Monsters continues growing, then I will continue growing, gaining more possibilities and more opportunities to change things.'
In the end, Alexander's gaze turned more resolved as he genuinely bared his hope and ambitions, 'Perhaps one day I will possess enough influence to genuinely make a difference. Perhaps one day conflicts could be resolved across a duelling field instead of a battlefield. Perhaps one day fewer people would have to experience losses like Tony Stark had today.'
It was an idealistic dream, maybe even a foolish one, but it was his, and until he found a better answer, he would continue moving toward it.
One step at a time. One card at a time. One duel at a time.
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