Eric could barely contain his excitement.
Fucking hell, I’m finally home.
The thought echoed in his head like a victory chant.
Only he knew what that year in the Solo Leveling world had been like.
For a self-proclaimed lazy bum like him, it had been pure torture.
That place wasn’t built for guys who preferred kicking back with snacks and scrolling through feeds.
The world there had been on the brink of total destruction multiple times, with universes resetting like some twisted game level.
He hadn’t known the full extent of his System’s capabilities back then, and before he’d received the Monarch power, the stress had nearly broken him.
Every shadow, every monster ambush had felt like it could end him for good.
Even after gaining that insane strength, he wasn’t as recklessly bold as Sung Jin-Woo.
He’d still almost died several times pushing his limits to level up, scraping by on wits, luck, and sheer stubbornness.
But now?
He was back in Marvel 616.
His original universe.
The familiar chaotic energy hummed in the air, and it felt right.
Eric’s heart swelled with excitement as he scanned the rocky terrain and the scattered camps.
His gaze landed squarely on the middle-aged man nearby.
Tony Stark.
The famous genius, playboy, inventor.
Even before the whole Iron Man saga kicked off, the guy was a household name across North America and most of the world.
A few isolated countries might not know the full details, but they’d still heard of him—the billionaire with the golden spoon, the mind that could outthink supercomputers, and the charm that could win over anyone.
Born into wealth and legacy, Howard Stark had left him a multi-billion-dollar empire and an intellect that matched it.
Tony’s life had been the envy of 99% of the planet: sleeping with whoever he wanted, buying anything that caught his eye, living the ultimate dream.
Parties, fast cars, cutting-edge tech—it was all his.
Until one day, some poor bastard’s curse must have finally landed.
In a single moment, everything flipped.
A missile of his own design exploded right in front of him, like the universe was mocking how perfect his work had been.
Captured by random thugs in this godforsaken cave system, Tony had faced the fear of death like anyone else.
But honestly?
He didn’t care that much about dying.
He’d already lived more in his years than most people ever would.
No family ties holding him back, no one depending on him.
What really burned him up was the humiliation.
Those bastards forced him to work like a slave, building weapons for their cause.
For the great Tony Stark, working under someone else’s thumb was worse than death.
Fuck those guys.
His mind raced with plans even as exhaustion weighed on him.
Escape was priority one.
Second?
Blowing this entire place sky-high for at least two days straight, nonstop.
He’d already pulled off the impossible: crafting a mini arc reactor in these primitive conditions.
The thing glowed steadily in his chest, a beacon of defiance.
Now he was piecing together a suit that could channel that power—something to fuck those captors over before he made his getaway.
He refused to be anyone’s tool in this life.
Even if it killed him, he wouldn’t bend.
But deep down, Tony knew the odds were shit.
He’d need a miracle to escape this cave alive.
He’d already resigned himself to dying here, hammer in hand, fighting until the end while working on his armor.
That’s when everything got completely messed up.
He’d been focused on his work for the past month, tools scattered around the dim cave, when suddenly a figure appeared out of nowhere.
At least, that’s what it looked like at first—a boy materializing in the middle of the space.
Tony blinked, his bloodshot eyes straining.
Then came the chaos: multiple explosive sonic booms echoing like thunder, crazy rushes of displaced air that nearly knocked over everything in the cave.
Debris rained down from above, and a perfect human-sized hole now punctured the ceiling where the kid had punched through.
It forced an absurd conclusion on Tony.
This wasn’t some hallucination or trick of the light.
The boy hadn’t just popped into existence—he’d fallen from the damn sky at speeds that could’ve wiped Afghanistan off the map if he’d hit the ground full force.
Tony’s eyes and brain hadn’t even processed the descent at first, so it seemed instantaneous.
He shook his head, trying to clear the fog.
Hallucination.
Gotta be.
After a month of no sleep and constant pressure, it made sense.
But then he glanced at the equally flabbergasted face of Yinsen—his fellow captive nearby—and that gave him confidence.
If the other guy saw it too, then Tony wasn’t losing his mind.
Not completely, anyway.
The kid started looking around, scrutinizing the cave and the rocky surroundings.
His eyes eventually fell on Tony and lingered.
A small smile crept onto the boy’s face.
He muttered something under his breath in what sounded like another language—probably German.
Then, clear as day in English: “I am finally back, baby?”
The shout wasn’t loud enough to shake mountains, but it carried a burst of energy that stirred a small gust of wind around him.
Tony, who’d been staring stupidly, felt his eyes sting from the sudden rush.
A curse slipped from his own lips as he squinted and rubbed at them.
When he opened his eyes again, the boy was running both hands through his hair, straightening it back with casual flair.
He looked straight at Tony with a full-blown grin stretching ear to ear, recognition sparkling in his eyes.
Tony’s thoughts whirled.
This guy seemed to know him.
Maybe—maybe—he could actually save them both from this nightmare.
Who the hell wanted to die if they could live instead?
Hope, a dangerous and unfamiliar feeling after so long, flickered in his chest.
“Man, can you save us?” Tony’s words came out laced with raw excitement, his voice hoarse but steady.
Eric’s grin widened even more.
He tilted his head slightly, taking in the ragged genius before him—the messy beard, the glowing arc reactor peeking through the torn clothes, the hammer still gripped tightly in one hand.
The cave smelled of sweat, metal, and desperation, but none of that dimmed the moment.
Eric could feel the weight of Tony’s exhaustion, the defiance that refused to die.
It was surreal, standing here face-to-face with an fictional character, even if this version of Stark looked like he’d been dragged through hell.
The distant sounds from the enemy camps outside filtered in faintly—shouts, footsteps, the clink of weapons.
“Do you need a lift?” Eric asked, his voice casual and confident, like he was offering a friend a ride home after a long night out.
“I’m also going to New York.”
The words landed like music.
Tony felt like he’d just heard the sweetest sound in the world—more beautiful than any engine roar, any successful prototype click, or any victory toast.
A genuine laugh threatened to bubble up from his chest despite everything.