Click.
With a soft snap of his fingers—a subtle use of his powers to trigger the switch—the lights in Leander's room bathed the space in a warm glow. He sat down at his computer, his hands flexing, eager to engage with the outside world. He logged into his encrypted messaging group, a digital hub for metal model enthusiasts and commission middlemen.
The chat log immediately scrolled into chaotic life:
'Kay: "Leo, hey! A friend of mine is on the hunt for a special Gundam model. Is that something you can handle?"
'IronHeart-7': "Kay, seriously? You're asking if Leo can handle a model? He's basically a metal demigod! You should just tell him what it is."
'MetalSculptor': "Yeah, Leo's skill is insane. His past works sell for multiples in the collectors' market. Don't be shy, Kay."
'Kay': "Hold up, guys! This time it's huge. This friend is obsessed with Mobile Suit Gundam, and since he's absolutely loaded, he wants a massive, all-metal model—a real statement piece for his private collection villa!"
'RichGuyHunter': "Whoa. You know a guy with a private collection villa? Introduce me, Kay!"
'Sculptor-X': "Seriously, Kay, let's be friends!"
Leander smiled, shaking his head at the predictable greed of the group. He bypassed the noise and replied directly:
@kai "How big are we talking?"
'Leo is online! Quick, bow down!'
'MetalMaestro-Fan': "Leo, do you ever consider taking apprentices? I'll shine your shoes!"
'MeetupMaven': "Leo, there's an offline meetup this weekend. Come through! I'll cover all your expenses, no questions asked!"
The group, comprised of about twenty members—mostly middlemen and a few extremely wealthy, secretive enthusiasts—was immediately focused on the source of their profits.
'Kay': "Everyone, silence! I'll just bring him in, okay? @Leo"
'IronHeart-7': "Wow, Kay is actually sweating. This must be a gigantic job if he's nervous about the quote! Ha ha! @kai"
Not long after, a new user joined the chat: Harry.
Welcome! Welcome, esteemed expert! Hello, Boss! The group instantly showered the new arrival with fawning compliments.
Leander observed this flurry of sycophancy. These guys were sharp. They knew that Kay wasn't one to waste time on low-paying fluff. A new wealthy client was a lifeline in their niche market.
'Harry': "Kay said there's a really talented model maker here. Is that true?"
'RichGuyHunter': "True? Leo is a legend! He's produced over a hundred different, classic metal models. Their prices multiply several times over in the collectors' industry, @Harry."
'Sculptor-X': "Leo is the most precise model maker I've ever seen, and his prices are surprisingly reasonable. It's a miracle he doesn't flood the market, or the rest of us would be unemployed! @Harry"
Leander stepped in before the sales pitch got too ridiculous. "@Harry, what model do you want? And be specific about the size. Just a warning, a meter-tall, solid metal model is massive. It takes a specialized truck to move it."
'Harry': "Really? I want one that's taller than me!"
'ModelVet': "A one-meter, all-metal statue is over a thousand pounds, kid! Maybe wood with gold plating?"
'Harry': "No, I want it all metal! And I want it to be 1.3 meters tall! @Leo"
'IronHeart-7': "1.3 meters? All metal? That's going to cost a fortune."
Leander sighed. Only he dared to ask the next question, based purely on the buyer's cavalier attitude: "@Harry, how old are you, exactly?"
'Harry': "How much? I'm eight years old already!"
Liu Chong was utterly speechless. An eight-year-old demanding a 1.3-meter, solid-metal, museum-grade statue.
Is this real life? Or just a very confusing prank?
'Kay': "Leo, trust me. He can afford it."
'Harry': "How much is it? @Leo"
Leander did a quick mental calculation of material costs (which were technically zero for him, but he had to maintain market price integrity), complexity, and labor. "About fifty thousand US dollars, @Harry." He factored in the $5,000 commission he'd give to Kay.
'Harry': "Fifty thousand? Oh, I thought it would be over a hundred thousand! My allowance can handle fifty thousand easily. That's not expensive! When can you finish it?"
A wave of astonished emojis and exclamation points flooded the chat. This is the world of the wealthy, Leander realized with genuine shock. Fifty thousand dollars is pocket change for a little kid.
Leander calmed himself. "Okay. Send the model design to Kay, and have him send me half the deposit. I'll start sourcing materials and prepping."
He pushed the computer away, glanced at his dwindling stock of iron bars, and headed for the garage.
The garage was his sanctuary. Jenny and George had cleared it out for his "art," believing it was just a serious hobby. Leander entered, quietly closing the heavy door behind him. This enclosed, metal-rich space was his favorite environment. The bright, exposed light bulbs and the stacks of various fittings provided a deep sense of security.
He sat down at his workbench and, with a subtle exertion of willpower, summoned several rough silver metal blocks. They flew and settled onto the bench with a soft thud.
"First, resupply," he murmured. "I was so focused on the Abomination, I forgot to recall the titanium knife. I need to replace all the specialized blades."
His hands moved, not squeezing, but reshaping the metal blocks with an internal command. The rough metal flowed like thick, cooling lava. In under a minute, three gleaming, razor-sharp throwing knives—perfectly balanced and honed—appeared on the bench. He picked them up, casually testing their weight and edge.
"Ordinary metals are still garbage against the big threats," he sighed. "Fine for ordinary thugs, but useless against an Abomination. But I can't just stroll into a military base and steal high-grade alloys."
With a casual toss, the three newly forged knives zipped through the air and smoothly slotted themselves into the hidden knife pouch attached to his calf.
He then moved on to his tactical gear. Metal wires, thin rods, and joint protection devices separated themselves from the bulk scrap. A small block of metal transformed into thin metal filament—no more than a millimeter in diameter—which coiled itself neatly into a pocket at his waist. Another block became two centimeter-thick metal rods and several auxiliary control plates.
He continued his internal monologue, a mixture of self-pity and high ambition. "I really need to know what Adamantium tastes like, and Vibranium too. I have to get to Wakanda someday. Imagine the raw power!" His eyes sparkled, betraying his elemental craving.
Leander understood his limits. With his current Control Level of fifty, he could dominate common alloys. But truly advanced metals—Vibranium or Adamantium—would require a higher tier of control to be fully manipulated or structurally deformed.
Suddenly, his eyes glowed. He went to a locked, small warehouse cabinet and pulled out a nondescript container. Inside was a single metal block, no larger than five centimeters, shining with an otherworldly brilliance.
Gold-Titanium Alloy.
He had tracked a covert military transport vehicle, sensing the presence of this high-grade material. After days of tailing, he'd managed to pilfer three small pieces during a chaotic unloading. Two were sacrificed to the Abomination. This was his last piece.
No more wasting this on simple tools. He had a better idea: Body Enhancement.
"My defense is far too weak," he thought, looking down at his small frame. "If I get hit by anything with kinetic energy, even a basic ice bullet from a low-level villain, it could take me down. I need to improve my survivability."
Leander gathered the gleaming gold-titanium alloy with both hands and initiated the absorption sequence. He focused a strange energy from his mind, pulling the golden light radiating from the alloy into his core.
A film of brilliant, mysterious light formed on his skin, slowly sinking, adhering, and seeping inward.
His internal display updated:
Enhancement: Golden Eyes (54%), Copper Skin (4%), Steel Bars (0%), Iron Bones (0%)
The Copper Skin component began to grow rapidly: 5%, 6%, 7%, and finally resting at 8%.
The golden light on his body faded. The glittering metal block in his hands became dull, shrinking noticeably, its complex structure destroyed by the process. He casually tossed the remains into a scrap barrel; it shattered into worthless fragments.
Leander pinched his cheeks and forearm. They felt subtly harder, more resilient.
Just then, his cell phone beeped. A text notification showed that $25,000—the deposit—had hit his bank account. Attached was a detailed image of the requested Gundam model.
'Kay': "Leo, the money's there. I'm only taking three thousand this time. Listen, this buyer is the son of the Osborn Group Chairman. I went through hell to get this connection. Please, do not mess this up!"
Leander smiled widely, a genuine, thrilling smile. Osborn. That name meant Green Goblin, advanced technology, and major future conflicts. The plot was unfolding beautifully.
He flicked his wrist. "1.3 meters of all-metal beauty. Looks like I'll be pulling an all-nighter."
What about student homework?
Please. Fourth graders are still learning basic addition in this version of the MCU. That can wait.