Tom Buchanan adjusted the hem of his tailored suit as he sat with an air of practiced confidence, though there was an uncharacteristic restraint in his demeanor. He subtly signaled to the young attendant who had brought refreshments, offering a slight nod of acknowledgment. It was a small gesture, but it caught Daisy's attention.
Her husband was not a man given to unnecessary politeness, particularly toward the help. Usually, waiters were as good as invisible to him. This newfound refinement, this sense of restraint—it intrigued her.
Across from them, James Howlett lounged in a silk cigar robe, his presence both effortless and commanding. He took a fresh silk cloth from the ever-dutiful butler, Casper, dabbed at the corner of his mouth, and then raised his cigar in a silent offer.
Tom, ever eager to prove his worth among men of status, reached forward, selecting one carefully before lighting it with deliberate precision. The rich scent of tobacco filled the air, mingling with the faint hint of salt from the nearby waters.
As Daisy sat beside him, her attention drifted to an object by the side of the hall—something peculiar, almost menacing in its design. It was a helmet, sleek and silver-gray, its reflective surface glinting under the light. The shape bore a resemblance to some great predator, feline and fierce.
"Mr. Howlett," she asked, tilting her head with genuine curiosity, "what is that rather... formidable-looking helmet? Is it some new avant-garde piece?"
James cast a sidelong glance at the object and inwardly sighed. Azazel never did bother to pack his things neatly.
"A souvenir," he replied smoothly. "From a trip to Africa some years ago. It belonged to a tribal chief."
Daisy's eyes widened slightly in admiration. Africa—a place of mystery, of adventure. She turned to Tom, her golden curls catching the light. "Darling, we really must visit the continent someday," she mused. "Imagine the stories we could tell."
Tom, now feeling more at ease with his host, exhaled a cloud of cigar smoke and settled into casual conversation.
"My father has often spoken of the Howlett family's legendary accomplishments," he remarked, his tone carefully measured. "It's a privilege to finally make your acquaintance."
James offered a polite smile, ever accustomed to such flattery. "Much of that legend belongs to my father, not me. I'm just a man who prefers a quiet life, away from all the fuss."
Buchanan chuckled, shaking his head. "A quiet life? Forgive me, but a man like you could hardly live in obscurity. Your name alone carries weight, Mr. Howlett."
James inclined his head, acknowledging the truth in that statement. It was not by choice that the world watched him—it simply always had.
The conversation soon turned toward business, as Buchanan expressed a keen interest in deepening relations between their families. He spoke of trust, of investment, of mutual benefit. Daisy listened, her delicate hands resting lightly in her lap. She was no stranger to wealth, but even she was beginning to understand that the kind of power James Howlett wielded was something altogether different.
When it was finally time to take their leave, Tom stood with a flourish.
"Looking at you," he said, offering a confident grin, "I'd wager you're quite the athlete. If ever you have the time, you must visit my estate and try your hand at polo. I have a rather excellent field—though, of course, it's nothing compared to your grand estate."
James gave a short laugh, shaking his head. "I'll take you up on that one day."
The Buchanans were escorted from the manor, leaving behind the lingering scent of expensive cigars and Daisy's laughter echoing faintly in the halls.
As they drove away, James exhaled, running a hand through his dark hair. He called for Azazel a few times, but the usual response—some sharp-witted remark or an indignant protest—never came. The man was off somewhere again.
No matter. There was work to be done.
---
The Howlett Institute of Technology – Brooklyn, New York
The name alone carried weight. In an era where the term "science and technology" was often met with skepticism, where charlatans peddled false miracles and quack inventions, the Howlett Institute stood apart.
It was no mere factory or laboratory—it was the beating heart of American innovation. The government watched it closely, its fingers ever-reaching toward the advancements being made within its walls.
James stepped through the reinforced doors, his boots clicking against polished marble as he descended into the underground research facility. Here, away from the public eye, some of the most groundbreaking experiments of the modern age were being conducted.
Dr. Varden McCall, dressed in light work attire, greeted him with a firm nod.
"Mr. Howlett," McCall began, gesturing to the latest project. "We've made significant progress in the application of sound-absorbing steel. Many of the remaining hurdles are due to current limitations in power models and basic scientific understanding."
James folded his arms, regarding the prototype machines before him—engines, automobiles, even motorcycles, all enhanced with this remarkable material.
Zhenjin. Vibranium, as some called it.
A metal unlike any other. It absorbed vibrations, stored kinetic energy, and defied conventional physics in ways that scientists still struggled to understand.
"How's the fusion testing coming along?" James asked, his voice even.
Dr. McCall sighed, rubbing his temple. "No alloy combination has proven superior to pure Vibranium. Every attempt at mixing it with other metals only enhances the existing material properties rather than creating something fundamentally new."
James frowned but nodded. This was expected. Material science was not a field that offered quick breakthroughs. It required patience—years, even decades.
"Keep at it," he instructed. "But be mindful of our supply. Use the Vibranium for research only. No mass production until we know exactly what we're dealing with."
McCall smiled wryly. "A metal this rare—I can only imagine how difficult it must be to acquire. We're fortunate to even have what we do."
James said nothing.
If only McCall knew the true origins of the metal. The secrets that had been buried deep beneath the African soil, hidden from the world.
But that was a thought for another time.
For now, his attention turned to another research matter—one that troubled him far more than metallurgy.
The heart-shaped herb.
A plant of legend. A biological anomaly. And one of the few things James Howlett did not fully understand.
His family had long excelled in engineering, in industry, in the sciences of metal and machine. But biology—true biological advancement—was a field in which they lacked a true leader.
And James knew, somewhere out there, was the mind he needed. A scientist whose name he did not yet know, but whose work could change everything.
For now, he would wait.
And when the time was right—he would find them.
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