In Marvel With Unique Skill Great Sage (MCU)

Pepper's voice floated back almost immediately. "What's wrong? Don't like the clothes?"

Footsteps approached. Pepper rounded the corner and stopped short.

Lemu stood half-hidden behind the bathroom door, only his damp, flushed face and a bit of bare shoulder visible above the oversized towel. His wet hair clung to his cheeks, and his hesitant, almost shy demeanor hit Pepper like an arrow straight through the heart.

Her breath caught.

Too cute.

Some things in this world were so overwhelmingly adorable that they left people drowning in sweetness—and this was one of them.

Pepper's voice softened instinctively, as though speaking too loudly might scare the poor thing away. "It's okay, sweetheart. What's wrong?"

Lemu fidgeted slightly, tugging the towel higher. "It's not that I don't like them. It's just… uh…" He hesitated before blurting out the rest.

"I'm a guy."

Pepper blinked. Then blinked again.

She tilted her head, examining Lemu critically—ten seconds, then twenty.

"…Really?"

Her tone was less disbelief and more gentle skepticism, as if trying to humor someone insisting the earth was flat.

"Seriously," Lemu protested, his voice growing softer. "Can you… please just get me a set of men's clothes?"

Desperate to seal the deal, he widened his amber eyes and gazed up at her with the most pleading look he could muster.

Pepper's composure shattered instantly. She nodded so fast it was a wonder her neck didn't snap. "Of course! I'll be back in no time!"

She spun on her heel and hurried out the door, her car peeling out of the driveway moments later.

Lemu exhaled deeply, sagging against the doorframe.

Thank god.

Still, he couldn't help but glance at his reflection one more time.

…Nope. That outfit and this form were a disaster waiting to happen. He'd have to be more careful with his transformations in the future.

With Pepper gone and time to kill, Lemu made his way to the living room, the bath towel still securely fastened.

For now, the mansion was empty. And that, at least, was a small relief.

….

The living room opened up to a panoramic view of the ocean, separated only by a vast glass wall. 

Through it, the endless stretch of blue seemed to blend seamlessly with the horizon, and if Lemu strained his ears, he could just barely hear the rhythmic crashing of waves.

The space radiated comfort—plush sofas lined up neatly against the wall, a fireplace resting unlit, and musical instruments scattered about, including a grand piano, a guitar, and a violin. Despite its grandeur, the room felt lived-in, like a place someone actually called home.

On the coffee table sat a massive bag of snacks—easily over ten kilograms' worth of treats. High-end brands, too.

Pepper's seriously the best. Lemu thought, sizing up the haul. Buying snacks by the kilo? Now that's a friend for life.

Flopping down onto one of the sofas, Lemu set the bath towel aside and began surveying the loot.

Suddenly, the soft whirr of wheels interrupted the quiet.

A small mechanical arm rolled up, clutching a glass of water in its gripper. It stopped a respectful distance away and extended the glass.

Lemu blinked. "Wait… is this that dumb robot?"

'Notice: Dummy. Word meaning 'fool' or 'dummy,' the Great Sage chimed in.

"Oh! You're Dummy?" Lemu grinned, taking the water.

The robot made a slight squeak, its arm lowering in what seemed to be disappointment. Its mechanical claw drooped like a sulking puppy.

Unable to resist, Lemu patted Dummy's arm before popping open the snack bag. He poured himself a glass of yogurt, nibbled on a cookie, and—feeling generous—handed Dummy a piece of chocolate.

Of course, the robot couldn't eat it, but that wasn't the point.

Yet something still felt off.

Maybe it was the outfit—or rather, the skirt.

Lemu had been feeling… different since earlier. The usual sharpness in his demeanor seemed dulled. He felt softer somehow—like the skirt had infected his very personality.

Normally, showing any sign of weakness—let alone asking for help in a half-sulking, half-pleading tone—was completely out of character.

Ugh. He sighed. Guess everyone has at least one or two embarrassing chapters in their lives.

And if anyone dared bring it up later? Well, burying witnesses was always an option.

Still, the breeziness of the skirt made him acutely aware of how… empty things felt between his legs. He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa.

Distraction. I need a distraction.

"Dummy, is there a computer or a TV around here?"

Before Dummy could respond, a rich, smooth male voice filled the room.

"The screen has been activated for your use. The touchpad on the table can access both computer and television functions."

Lemu nearly jumped out of his seat, instinctively reaching for a weapon he didn't have. The enormous glass wall facing the ocean lit up, transforming into a massive display.

"Oh, right… Jarvis."

Tony Stark's famous AI assistant.

Lemu leaned back, exhaling slowly as the adrenaline wore off. It wasn't like he could forget that this house had another 'resident'—one that lived in the walls, saw everything, and had a voice like velvet-wrapped steel.

"Uh, thanks, Jarvis."

"You're welcome, sir."

The screen flickered, displaying a sleek, modern interface filled with options—news channels, research databases, internet browsing. It was state-of-the-art technology, and it was all his to use.

For the first time since entering this world, Lemu let himself relax, just a little.

But as his eyes skimmed through the endless data streams, a new thought took root—a wild, ridiculous, yet completely plausible thought.

What if I didn't just use this stuff? What if I owned it?

The mansion, the AI, the cutting-edge labs, the army of robots—what if it all belonged to him?

Lemu smirked, tossing another cookie into his mouth.

Tony Stark, you better hold onto your company tight. Because someday? It might just end up with my name on the logo.

J.A.R.V.I.S.—Tony Stark's personal artificial intelligence.