Marvel: A Lazy-Ass Superman

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Henry's refusal couldn't have been clearer, and Tony Stark wasn't some toddler who couldn't function without a nanny holding his hand.

Besides, the "invite" had been more of a casual afterthought than a critical part of his plan. Whether Henry came along or not, Tony would move forward.

Especially since this whole mess had that island's shadow looming behind it. If things got noisy, someone might decide to tie up loose ends. And Stark sure as hell didn't want to be one of them.

So—quiet moves only.

Refocusing on the gala, Tony was already in the mood to shake off the buzzkill at his side and find some actual fun. But one glance around the hall and his good mood evaporated.

"Why is it that no matter where I go, this jackass always shows up?" he muttered.

That, of course, got Henry's attention immediately.

Ordinary nobodies didn't even register to Tony Stark. If Tony actively liked or hated someone? That was special. That meant something.

So Henry leaned in with genuine curiosity. "Who're we talking about? Don't tell me it's that blowhard genius you bickered with back at Caltech."

Tony blinked, then chuckled bitterly as the memory clicked. "Justin? Please. He's a clown—harmless. No, that guy is the real pain in the ass." He jerked his chin toward a corner of the ballroom.

Henry followed the gesture. His eyes landed on a young man who looked prematurely worn down. Scruffy stubble, rumpled academic vibe, though his brown hair was at least combed. His polite smile carried a thin edge of arrogance that rubbed certain people the wrong way.

"You know him?" Henry asked.

Tony's lip curled. "Back when I was finishing my PhD at Caltech, he came back to collect one of his doctorates. I ran into him. Let's just say it wasn't pleasant."

"And he is…?"

"Some self-proclaimed genius idiot. Collected more degrees than I can count. I say he's just a professional grant leech. Name's Reed Richards."

The name hit Henry like a blank note—then clicked.

In the MCU, the debate over who's the smartest usually split into camps: Tony Stark or Wakanda's Princess Shuri. Some fans even threw Rocket Raccoon into the mix.

But in the Marvel Universe proper? There was an official answer. Leader of the Fantastic Four. Mister Fantastic. Reed Richards.

Sure, in terms of raw IQ, characters like Moon Girl or even Richards' own daughter Valeria scored higher. But in terms of accomplishments—and disasters? Richards was unmatched.

His résumé basically boiled down to:

Step 1: Break the universe.

Step 2: Clean up his own mess.

Repeat forever.

Even the Illuminati—the so-called council of Marvel's greatest minds—was basically just Reed doing the same thing on a bigger scale. Blow holes in reality, patch them up with duct tape and guilt, then wait for the cycle to restart.

It was the purest example of Marvel's guiding principle: with great power comes catastrophic screw-ups… and then responsibility.

If you were in the DC Universe, the person to avoid at all costs was the Flash, forever mucking with timelines. In Marvel? It was Reed Richards, walking disaster generator.

Not exactly the guy you wanted as your patron saint. Ask Hulk—he could write volumes on how fast Richards would sell out a "friend" if the calculus demanded it.

Henry glanced back at Tony. "You called him a conman. You got proof, or just rumors?"

Honestly, Henry just wanted to know what this pre–cosmic-ray Reed Richards had done to piss off the future Iron Man so thoroughly. Purely for intel. Definitely not because he was dying to gossip. Nope. Not at all.

Tony, on the other hand, wasn't about to protect Reed's reputation. If anything, he relished the chance to vent.

Scowling, Tony began: "Before he left campus, one of my professors suggested I pay him a visit. His lab was full of flashy toys. Gotta admit, some of them were impressive."

He ticked them off on his fingers.

"A butler robot. Not some R2-D2 trashcan with wheels, but a crawler with treads, two articulated arms, and camera lenses for eyes. Better than the mechanical arm I built for my undergrad thesis, I'll give him that.

"Mag-lev prototypes. Micro-batteries. A bunch of gadgets, some finished, some not. I'll admit, I was curious about how he pulled half of it off. Even the unfinished stuff had good bones."

Tony's expression soured.

"But when I asked him questions? He looked at me once—no, scratch that, he didn't look at me at all. Just kept tinkering and told me I was too dumb to understand his explanations, so why bother wasting his time.

"Oh, and get this—none of it was for sale. Not a single piece. All 'too far beyond existing science' to risk letting it out. His words. Basically told me I could browse the zoo, but no, I couldn't take a monkey home. Buy a ticket, stare through the glass, then leave."

Henry bit back a laugh, but Tony was on a roll.

"Guy spent the whole time talking to his soldering iron. Never once looked me in the eye. So I left. Later I found out that's just… him. Every university he's passed through has the same story. He demands research grants, refuses to publish results, hides behind 'classified breakthroughs.' Eventually they kick him out and hand him a degree just to get rid of him."

Tony's voice dropped to a sharp, cold tone.

"When academia stopped paying, he started chasing Wall Street investors. Hoping some rich idiot wanted to buy their way into the tech sector. Maybe he's brilliant enough to lawyer his way out when the lawsuits come knocking. But if not?" Tony sneered. "Give it time. He'll be panhandling on the curb. And no, I won't feel sorry for him."

Tony drained his glass and set it down with finality.

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