Reigning Supreme in Every Reality

"Go home, kid, before I break your arrogance." Steve turned and walked away after speaking.

He picked up his jacket and shield from the floor, leaving Tony with a graceful view of his perfectly sculpted backside.

"Shit. Hey, before you aim that America's ass at me, shouldn't we finish what's between us first?"

Tony straightened up, eyeing Steve's rear, then casually tossed aside his blazer and began rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

Given his current physical condition, he could easily tank a 7.62mm rifle round without injury. Taking a punch from Steve was nothing more than him being respectful to the elderly—a good enough excuse to go easy when he inevitably beat the crap out of him in a minute.

"You really want to fight? Fine. I'm happy to oblige," Steve shot back as he turned around.

"Let's hope your suit of armor is as tough as your mouth."

Staring at Tony, Steve added coldly, "Put on your suit."

"What suit? Sorry to disappoint, but what I'm wearing right now is my suit." Tony flexed his wrists, loosening them up.

He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, gray slacks, and crocodile leather shoes.

The man looked less like Iron Man and more like a ringside commentator… who had suddenly decided to jump into the ring himself.

Steve frowned at the sight.

In his eyes, Tony without a suit was just an ordinary man. Ten of him wouldn't pose a problem.

He shook his head in exasperation, sighing deeply, ready to let this childish drama drop.

But Tony wasn't letting it go—he stepped in, closing the distance with light, bouncing footwork straight out of a sanda match.

"I'm going to knock you out with a single hook," Tony even had the nerve to give a warning before attacking.

Steve scoffed, unimpressed. "Without your suit, you're just some guy who knows a little—"

He didn't get to finish that sentence.

Tony suddenly stepped in from two meters away.

A hook punch exploded like lightning, the sound of it breaking through the air completely drowned out by an even louder sonic boom!

Steve's eyes widened in disbelief. His combat instincts flared instantly, and he reflexively raised his shield to guard his front.

The edge of the shield met Tony's fist—CLANG!

A heavy, resonant crash echoed through the empty gym.

The massive force sent Steve flying backward, slamming him hard into the wall with a deep thud before collapsing to the ground.

It was pure reflex that saved him.

Fortunately, Tony had pulled back some of his strength, and the vibranium shield absorbed most of the impact.

Otherwise, that one punch would have blown a hole straight through the wall.

"You..." Steve scrambled back to his feet, utterly stunned. "You're not even wearing a suit!"

"Captain America isn't the only one who's been enhanced by serum, you know."

Tony grinned, clearly thrilled to have the upper hand.

"Without the suit, I'm still a superhero!"

Tony felt that he had completely surpassed Steve, proving that the man wasn't nearly as perfect as everyone made him out to be.

He even tried to persuade him, "Cap, you can still admit defeat. It's not too late."

But Steve slowly shook his head. His gaze suddenly sharpened, and he raised his shield. "I can do this all day."

"Oh God, you really said it." Tony clicked his tongue and charged straight at Steve.

Both of them shouted at the same time.

Fist and shield collided violently. The heavy, rhythmic thuds sounded like an agitated monk hammering on a wooden fish—fast and relentless.

Every time Tony threw a punch, Steve would rely on his combat instincts to raise his shield just in time.

The vibranium shield absorbed most of the force with every strike, but the impact still forced Steve back a step each time—just a step—before he launched his counterattacks.

But Tony was faster. He could deflect Steve's counterattacks while throwing his own punches in return.

The two exchanged blow after blow, locked in a fierce, relentless fight.

Sometimes, Steve would dodge and then hurl his shield. The shield would ricochet off walls multiple times before smashing right into Tony's face.

Sometimes, Tony would grab hold of the shield, yank it aside, and slam Steve with a brutal headbutt that left him seeing stars.

In the end, as night fell, both of them were lying on the floor, utterly exhausted and gasping for air.

Steve's face was streaked with blood, while Tony's head was completely covered in dust.

Both of them stopped, lying on the floor staring at the ceiling, gasping for air, neither willing to say another word.

Tony had, without a doubt, been holding back.

He had gone all out in terms of strength—because his punches were either dodged by Steve or blocked with the shield.

But when it came to speed, he intentionally went easy.

Otherwise, if he had really gone full speed and one punch landed squarely on Steve… the man would've died right in front of him.

And then the next day, he'd be on the front page of every newspaper as "The Man Who Murdered Captain America."

Lyon would definitely give him a thumbs-up and say, "That's my big brother, ruthless as ever. If you've already killed the Winter Soldier, might as well finish the job and take out Cap too. Savage Asshole!"

Still, even with Tony holding back, Steve looked like an absolute wreck.

His body was covered in bruises, scrapes, and gashes. His forehead and the corner of his eye were a mess of blood and torn skin, and one side of his face was swollen badly.

Glancing sideways at Steve's miserable appearance, Tony nearly burst out laughing.

"Whew..." He let out a long sigh, pushing himself off the floor first.

He dusted off his clothes, kicked aside a pile of broken bricks, and pulled out his suit jacket from underneath.

"Here," Tony said, tossing it down next to Steve, "you still owe Carter a dance. Go find her, and finish that dance."

From inside his shirt, Tony pulled out a jade bottle along with a slip of paper that looked like instructions and placed them in front of Steve.

He said, "The most important thing for a superhero is to keep their word. She waited for you all those years. Now you two can start over."

Steve, his eye swollen and bruised, looked up at Tony in confusion.

"What is this?" he asked.

After beating each other half to death, the anger between them had finally been worn away, and they could now speak calmly.

"A gift you'll need."

Tony stood at the door, the orange glow of the setting sun spilling over the side of his face through the narrow gap.

"Oh, and by the way... welcome back, Captain. I bet ten bucks—you're gonna fall in love with this crazy world all over again."

After Tony left—In the dim room, Steve slowly sat up, breathing heavily.

He picked up the jade bottle and the note. As he read the instructions, his eyes lingered for a long time, still unable to believe what he was seeing.

After hesitating for a moment, he gently uncorked the bottle and took a sip of the spring water.

In an instant, all the injuries on his body healed completely.

Steve stared blankly at the jade bottle in his hand, suddenly realizing… he had misunderstood Tony.

Something this precious, yet Tony still gave it to someone he just called an "enemy."

Tony clearly had a warm heart—completely different from what Steve had once thought.

…

Time returned to the present.

The tape reel played on a loop, the clicking sound like the gears of time turning.

Steve Rogers watched the interview footage of Peggy Carter on the screen—over and over again.

It wasn't until the sun was setting that he finally clenched the jade bottle in his hand, made up his mind, and left the memorial to head toward the destination in his heart.

It was a nursing home, aged with the marks of time.

The walls were painted white but had already faded yellow, and vines crept along their surface.

Though the sky wasn't fully dark yet, a few incandescent lamps had already lit up the corridors.

Following the room number the nurse gave him, Steve pushed open the door.

As soon as he looked up, the orange-red glow of dusk rushed in, enveloping him completely.

The heavy curtains were pulled wide open, and the windows were left ajar.

The sunset and the evening breeze flowed in together, painting the walls opposite the window with brilliant shades of orange.

By the window stood the room's only bed, and the shadows of swaying branches mixed with the sunlight fell upon the bed—and upon the white-haired woman sitting there, quietly gazing out the window.

Steve stared fixedly at the white-haired figure sitting with her back to him. Countless emotions surged in his heart, along with countless words he wanted to say.

But at this moment, none of them could be expressed. He couldn't speak.

After a long hesitation, he finally opened his mouth hoarsely. "Peggy…"

The elderly woman slowly turned her head when she heard the voice. The moment she saw Steve, her eyes flickered with disbelief and surprise.

"Steve?" Her voice carried a tremor of both certainty and astonishment.

"Peggy." Hearing her call his name, Steve finally summoned the courage to step fully into the room.

He slowly walked toward Peggy Carter. Staring at the face etched by time—beneath the deep wrinkles—it was still the familiar face he knew so well.

"I'm sorry… I missed our date," he said softly.

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