"Sssss—"
A block of butter slid from the wrapper and landed in the frying pan, releasing a soft hiss.
The pale yellow slab slowly melted into liquid gold, its aroma spreading gently through the air.
Aiden Cross turned the heat down to its lowest setting and placed a slice of bread into the pan.
Two burners were active at once—one pan crisping toast in butter, the other frying eggs.
The eggs had just been taken out of the refrigerator, thawed properly, and strained clean. Cooked this way, the finished result was not only visually perfect, but rich in flavor.
"Ooooh… that's amazing."
Standing on tiptoe with both hands resting on the counter, Flame Prodigy Annie watched with wide eyes as Aiden moved with calm, practiced precision.
As the butter crackled softly, the sweet toast gradually turned a chef's ideal golden brown—lightly crisped at the edges, releasing a warm, rich fragrance.
Annie had spent most of her life living in forests, eating fruit or roasting food directly with Tibbers' flames. This kind of careful cooking—turning simple ingredients into something fragrant and comforting—was entirely new to her.
"Three… two… one."
Aiden lifted the lid at exactly the right moment.
A perfectly fried egg was revealed, its edges lightly crisped, the yolk and white cleanly separated like something straight out of an illustrated cookbook.
"Alright. Eat while it's hot."
"Then Annie won't hold back!"
She scampered over to a compact, high-tech table and sat down, her legs swinging back and forth.
Taking a bite of the toast, her eyes lit up as sweetness spread across her tongue.
She cupped her cheeks with both hands, clearly delighted.
Aiden silently concluded that children really were the most honest critics in the world.
"…Senior, don't tell me you're especially fond of kids?"
Mash Shieldheart, dressed in casual clothing, leaned forward slightly with her hands clasped behind her back.
Aiden reached out and gently pinched her cheek, smiling in a way that was far more dangerous than friendly.
"Mash. Some things shouldn't be said out loud."
"Ah—okay, okay, I'm sorry! Please stop!"
"Good. Don't repeat it."
"T-That's unfair…"
Mash covered her slightly reddened cheek, pouting.
As the Hero League expanded, more and more heroes had begun operating openly across New York.
Heavy weapons were effective against Tiger- and Demon-level disasters, but no government could deploy them freely in populated cities.
Tanks and fighter jets could not roll through urban streets every few days without causing chaos.
Under these conditions, the League's B-, C-, and D-Class heroes became indispensable. They handled monster suppression efficiently, earning widespread public support.
As for government complaints about unidentified operatives?
Those vanished the moment Tornado of Terror dragged a meteor out of orbit.
That single act silenced every objection. At that point, the League was no longer something human authority could challenge—it was a walking catastrophe deterrent.
"Morning. Looks like breakfast is underway."
Still wearing his Iron Man armor, Tony Stark, now officially promoted to C-Class, strode inside.
He disengaged the helmet, revealing his familiar smug grin.
"You're still using palladium?"
"Yeah. Otherwise the shrapnel in my chest finishes the job."
Tony shrugged.
At this stage, he had yet to obtain a new arc reactor design. His armor development was still stuck at the Mark V level.
That said, his combat strength had improved.
By hunting monsters and earning energy points, he had reinforced his armor directly through the League bracelet—doubling its defensive output without adding a single gram of material.
It made absolutely no sense by conventional physics.
The upgrade had cost him every point he had saved.
"Go talk to the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. Your father left something behind for you."
"…Left me something?"
"It'll solve your palladium problem."
"Well. Here's hoping."
Aiden could theoretically remove the shrapnel with psychic force alone—but without proper medical intervention, the risk of killing Tony outright was too high.
Until a medical-specialist hero joined the League, that option remained off-limits.
"You're in the way."
With a lollipop in his mouth and a newly built backpack on his shoulders, Child Emperor spoke flatly.
Now equipped with advanced gear, his combat rating had reached B-Class, allowing him to confront Demon-level threats.
As for his ultimate combat platform—
If it was going to be rebuilt in this world, it would use the finest material available: vibranium.
Unfortunately, even Stark Industries didn't possess enough vibranium for a construct of that scale.
A true Vibranium Dreadnought would require at least one hundred tons of the metal.
"Heh. Kid, didn't your parents teach you to respect adults?"
"I respect competence," Child Emperor replied calmly. "That doesn't include people who rely on sarcasm."
"…Right."
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