January in New York was still locked in ice. The snow had yet to melt, and nighttime temperatures often dipped to around minus three degrees Celsius.
Pedestrians hurried along the streets bundled in thick winter coats, heads tucked down against the cold wind. Of course, there were also fashionable women who braved the chill in short skirts and stockings, adding a flash of color and vitality to the otherwise muted winter streets.
Clara wrapped herself tightly in a heavy padded jacket. Her exposed cheeks and nose were flushed red from the cold, while her large eyes darted back and forth, curiously observing the endless stream of people passing by.
The rented room deep in the alley received no sunlight at all, leaving it cold and damp. With nothing inside to pass the time, Clara had gone out early in the morning.
Squatting in a sheltered corner away from the wind, she watched people from all over the world gathered in this vast metropolis. Even now, it still felt novel to her.
An elderly man with snow-white hair approached her. Though clearly advanced in age, he looked energetic and spirited, his complexion rosy. Wearing sunglasses, he somehow managed to look cool.
"Little girl," he asked kindly, "can I buy some flowers from you?"
Selling flowers was now Clara's main source of income—of course she had brought her basket with her.
"Of course!" she replied brightly. "Which flowers would you like, sir?"
Seeing a customer approach, Clara sprang to her feet like a startled rabbit. Holding up her basket, she patiently explained the meaning of each flower and the occasions they suited, speaking with surprising confidence and clarity.
"Very impressive," the old man laughed. "I'll take all of them. How much?"
He bought out her entire basket in one go.
"Thirty dollars in total!"
Landing such a big customer right at the start of the day made Clara beam, her smile bright as a sunflower.
The old man pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. Clara didn't have nearly enough change to break it.
"Would you mind waiting two minutes?" she asked cautiously, pointing at a nearby supermarket. "I'll go get change."
She had chosen this spot precisely because of that large supermarket—breaking big bills would always be convenient.
"Go on, kid," the old man said casually, lifting the basket himself. "Bring me back two cups of hot cocoa while you're at it."
He handed over the flowers without the slightest worry that Clara might run off with his money.
Clara moved fast. In less than two minutes, she returned carrying two steaming cups of hot cocoa.
But the old man was gone.
She craned her neck, scanning the passing crowd again and again, but couldn't find him anywhere.
She was still holding his fifty dollars.
Where had he gone?
"Hello there."
A gentle voice sounded beside her.
"You're Clara Johnson, right? I'm Pepper Potts, Tony Stark's personal assistant. I went to your home earlier, but you weren't there. One of your neighbors said I could find you here."
Pepper's sharp professional attire made Clara instinctively tense up. Successful people carried an aura of confidence and maturity that made her feel small and timid by comparison.
"H-hello, Ms. Potts," Clara stammered. "I—I've seen you in the newspapers… W-would you like some hot cocoa?"
Nervous and unsure what else to say, Clara lifted one of the cups.
"Oh, thank you," Pepper smiled warmly. "I was just feeling cold."
The two of them sat on a public bench across from the supermarket, each holding a cup of hot cocoa. The January sunlight wasn't strong, but it spread gently over them, warming their bodies all the same.
Pepper suggested going to a café on the corner, but Clara insisted on staying near the supermarket entrance. She wanted to wait for the old man—maybe he had just stepped away briefly.
On the way there, Pepper had been thinking carefully about how to tell Clara the truth without hurting her.
How do you tell a thirteen-year-old who had just lost her mother that the man she believed to be her father… wasn't?
And that her real father was a disgraced street thug who had long since died?
For a moment, Pepper didn't know how to begin.
"Clara… about your relationship with Tony—"
She hesitated.
Pepper feared Clara wouldn't be able to bear the truth. But in Clara's eyes, Pepper's hesitation meant something else entirely.
"Ms. Potts," Clara said quietly, lowering her head and twisting her fingers together, "I know being an illegitimate child could hurt Mr. Stark's reputation. He's a hero in New York now. I won't publicize anything… really. I just… I just need a little help…"
She wasn't fragile. She wasn't afraid of being told off.
But Clara had always believed in relying on herself. Asking for help—especially like this—was something she felt deeply ashamed of.
She knew far less about Iron Man than she did about Spider-Man. And what she did know about Tony Stark—from newspapers and magazines—was that he wasn't an easy man to get along with. Some people could tolerate the world's flaws, but not stains on their own lives.
"No, no, that's not what I meant," Pepper said quickly, her heart softening. "Tony just… needs a little time to process things. He's used to his freedom. You have to give him some time."
Pepper believed Clara was hurting, and in that moment, she made a decision.
She wouldn't tell Clara the truth yet.
At least not now.
Not when a child had just lost her mother.
"Really?" Clara looked up cautiously. "Mr. Stark doesn't think I'm… a stain on his life?"
To be honest, Tony Stark not coming in person did make Clara feel a little disappointed.
After all, if she really was his biological daughter, shouldn't he at least come and see her?
But it was only a small disappointment.
Clara had never expected much from Tony Stark in the first place. Setting aside the title of Iron Man, his reputation when it came to personal relationships was… notoriously bad.
"Oh my goodness," Pepper said, putting on an exaggerated expression. "How could you think that? If we're being honest, Tony's life is far from perfect. He's full of flaws—narcissistic, stubborn, always trying to be clever. He has no right to look down on such an adorable girl."
Pepper's over-the-top gestures and expressions finally made Clara laugh.
"That's better," Pepper smiled, gently pinching Clara's thin cheek. "Little girls should smile like that. You're really cute when you smile."
The faint ache in her chest lingered.
"Thank you, Ms. Potts," Clara said softly—this time, from the bottom of her heart.
Since coming to this world, Clara had always felt as though a heavy stone was pressing on her chest, making it hard to breathe. Pepper's kindness gave her a sense of belonging.
The stone disappeared.
For the first time, this unfamiliar country felt bright.
"Call me Pepper," she said gently. "That way, we're like friends. You don't need to worry about the future—I'll take care of everything."
As CEO of Stark Industries, Pepper was extremely busy. Several calls soon came in urging her back to the company. She promised Clara someone would come pick her up later, then drove away from Lesper Falls Town.
After Pepper left, Clara didn't move from her spot.
She waited.
She waited for the old man who had bought her flowers to come back.
From morning to afternoon.
From the sun rising in the east… to it setting in the west.
He never returned.
It seemed the old gentleman had truly forgotten about his 50 dollars.
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