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I Am Iron Man (MHA) Chapter 266: Setting up Lunch
🕑 Added 2025-09-01 16:50:54 +0000 UTC[Third Person POV]
Both Class 1-A and Class 1-B stood frozen in place, their mouths collectively hanging open as they tried to process the sheer absurdity of what they were witnessing. Above them, blotting out a good portion of the sky, hovered a colossal high-tech cargo plane—its sleek design bristling with weapon ports, turbines, and glowing repulsor engines. It was no doubt a Helicarrier.
And there it was, descending gracefully with a mechanical hum that rattled the ground beneath their feet. Painted across its steel-gray hull in massive bold letters, visible to even the most near-sighted among them, was the unmistakable logo: STARK INDUSTRIES.
Kota, small and wide-eyed, clung tightly to Mandalay’s leg, peeking out only when curiosity overwhelmed fear. His tiny hand gripped the fabric of her pants while Mandalay rested a gentle, reassuring hand on his head. Still, even her comforting presence couldn’t hide his awe. To Kota, the descending helicarrier was a technological marvel he had never seen before.
The air vibrated as a large panel on the underside of the ship began to lower, revealing its cavernous interior. From the shadows emerged… Baymax. This Baymax wore a bright neon-yellow traffic vest, noise-canceling earmuffs, and in each of his stubby hands he clutched glowing traffic wands.
He raised both arms high with mechanical precision and cheerfully announced, “Hello. I am Baymax, your personal traffic assistant. And I am here… to help.”
“BAYMAX!!” Class 1-A erupted with joy, their voices carrying pure excitement. Mina leapt into the air waving both hands.
Meanwhile, Class 1-B could only exchange confused glances.
Off to the side, Aizawa pressed his fingers to his temples, massaging in slow, deliberate circles. His expression was one of a man whose patience was already worn thin.
Baymax began walking backward in slow, deliberate steps, waving his glowing wands to signal movement. From the shadows of the helicarrier, a procession emerged. At first, the students thought they were real people—but as the figures came closer, it became clear. Butlers in crisp tuxedos and maids in pressed dresses rolled out long, lavishly covered banquet tables. Each tray was concealed under silver domes.
But on closer inspection, it was obvious—these were no ordinary servants. The movements were too synchronized, too precise. Their eyes glimmered with faint blue light. These were robots, androids made to look like butlers and maids.
Baymax stood proudly to the side, continuing his flawless routine of waving wands, guiding the android staff to position the tables into a perfect symmetrical square.
“Tony,” Aizawa finally spoke, his voice carrying the weariness of a man aged a decade in mere minutes, “what are you doing…”
From where he stood, Tony leaned against the railing of the helicarrier ramp, arms crossed and a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “What does it look like? I’m setting up my lunch.”
“That’s not at all what we had planned for today!” Pixie-Bob burst out, her voice climbing an octave as her hands shot up in exasperation. “This is the second time you’ve derailed our schedule! Today you guys were supposed to cook your own meal—!”
“PFFFTT—” Tony bent at the waist, clutching his stomach as laughter erupted out of him like a dam breaking. “Hahahahahahahaha! Wait—you—you expected me to cook my own meal?! Me?! Oh, wow, that’s—oh, that’s precious!” He doubled over again, wiping tears from his eyes. “Adorable! Absolutely adorable!”
Pixie-Bob’s face twitched violently. Tony, however, was far from done. He glanced at Melissa and Momo, gesturing with his thumb toward Pixie-Bob as if to say, ‘Can you believe this woman?’
Melissa pressed her lips tightly together and shut her eyes, because she knew if she so much as looked at Tony right now, she’d break into uncontrollable laughter herself. Although not for the same reason as Tony more so because of Tony’s performance.
“Hahahaha! She actually wants me to cook my own meal!” Tony stumbled forward a few steps, his shoulders shaking as he cackled uncontrollably. “What a woozy! Oh, man, my sides…”
The students and teachers alike watched in a strange silence as Tony walked off, still laughing loud enough to echo. His voice carried far across the training grounds as he mocked Pixie-Bob from a distance:
“Cook your own meals, she says! Hahahahaha! What am I supposed to do? Take some kitchen utensil and start peeling potatoes?! Hahahah! You know what that sounds like? Poor people activity!!”
Melissa yanked up her shirt collar, burying her face into the fabric as she shuddered, her whole body trembling as she fought tooth and nail not to laugh.
Even still, Tony wasn’t finished. In the distance, they could see him tapping his ear, his voice carrying clearly.
“Friday, Friday ” Tony said, still chuckling, “call my dad. He needs to hear this. I know he’s gonna get a kick out of it…”
“..”
“Dad! You won’t believe what just happened to me, you’re going to love this!” Tony said, still laughing as he tapped his ear. “Get this—these people actually wanted me to cook! Hahahahaha! Can you believe it?! A Stark in the kitchen! What’s next, I scrub toilets and wash dishes too?!” He doubled over laughing again. “Put Mom on, she needs to hear this one.”
Melissa, fighting for her life not to laugh, grabbed Momo’s shoulder and buried her face into it, muffling her shuddering breaths. Momo patted her arm gently, torn between sympathy and trying not to laugh herself.
Pixie-Bob turned toward Aizawa with a flat expression that screamed both anger and exhaustion. “What the hell is his problem?”
“He’s filthy rich,” almost everyone in Class 1-A replied in perfect monotone unison, like they were reciting a chorus line they had rehearsed.
Melissa peeked up from Momo’s shoulder, her lips twitching as she added with amusement, “You basically just told the richest person on Earth to grab a mop and start scrubbing floors.”
“Is that seriously how he behaves?” Mandalay asked, her tone tinged with disappointment. “He showed such promise before…”
“Nah,” Melissa replied, shaking her head with a small laugh. “That’s just Tony putting on a performance. If he really thought that way… there wouldn’t be so many tables being set up right now.”
“What?” Ragdoll blinked rapidly, clearly lost.
Before Melissa could clarify, Tony’s voice boomed across the field. “Well, what are you all waiting for!? These seats aren’t going to fill themselves!”
Class 1-A smirked knowingly and began moving toward the grand square of tables, eager to see what kind of madness Tony would unleash next. Class 1-B, on the other hand, exchanged wary looks, their hesitation painted across every face. Still, curiosity—and perhaps peer pressure—drew them forward.
…
“And then she said,” Tony recounted loudly as everyone settled in, “and I quote, ‘Today you guys were supposed to cook your own meal’—Hahahaha! Can you believe that?” He slapped the table, nearly tipping over his drink as he roared with laughter.
“You’re really milking this bit, aren’t you?” Denki asked, resting his chin in his hand, a grin plastered across his face.
“Absolutely,” Tony replied without missing a beat, his expression turning dead serious for emphasis.
Before anyone could respond, a sudden whoosh of air drew every eye toward the center of the square. Rising dramatically from a hidden platform in the ground was Baymax. This time, the inflatable robot had been outfitted in a tall chef’s hat that wobbled slightly with each move, a crisp white uniform with a bright red ribbon tied around the neck, and in his hands—two spatulas gleamed under the sunlight.
“Hello,” Baymax greeted in his calm, robotic tone. “I am Baymax, your personal hibachi chef. It is my job to ensure you are fed… and satisfied.”
The ground shifted as hover technology activated. Around Baymax, floating grills and flat-top stoves levitated into place, each one accompanied by cutting boards, bowls of fresh ingredients, and a dazzling array of sauces.
Baymax’s thrusters roared to life, lifting him gracefully into the air. He moved with shocking agility, gliding like a mechanical figure skater across the hover platforms. With precise, calculated motions, he tossed vegetables into the air, chopped them with blinding speed, then flipped them into sizzling pans. Flames erupted skyward in dazzling bursts, making the students flinch at first before leaning in with awe.
“WOOOAH!!” voices rang out from every direction.
“Say ‘ahhh,’” Baymax instructed calmly, his tone identical to when he was in medical mode.
“Ahhh!!” Pony from Class 1-B cried out with giddy excitement, standing from her chair. A perfectly cooked bite of food soared across the air in a flawless arc, landing straight into her mouth. She chewed happily, her eyes widening with delight before thrusting both arms into the air. “Delicious!!”
“Oooh, me! Me next!” Mina hopped up from her chair, bouncing on her toes. “Ahhh—!!” A second later, another piece of food flew directly into her mouth. Mina clapped her hands and wiggled in excitement, “Mmhmm!! Perfect!!”
Students from both classes erupted into cheers, laughter, and requests, their skepticism forgotten as Baymax zipped around the square like a jet-powered chef. Every toss, flip, and flame burst felt like a fireworks show combined with fine dining.
Mandalay, watching the chaos with a hand on her chin, glanced at Kota, who sat beside her. His wide eyes gleamed, reflecting the flickering fire as he tracked Baymax’s every graceful move through the air. The boy’s eyes were wide open, awe clear across his face.
Mandalay nudged him gently, then tilted her head toward Baymax. She exaggeratedly opened her own mouth—only for a piece of meat to land perfectly inside. She chewed and smiled, encouraging him with a small gesture.
Kota, however, scoffed and turned his head away, arms crossed. Stubbornness burned in his expression, though his eyes betrayed his interest.
Mandalay rolled her eyes and, with an evil little smirk, reached out and tickled his ribs.
“Haha—Oomph!” Kota barely had time to laugh before a morsel of food zipped into his mouth mid-giggle. His eyes widened as he chewed, glancing at Mandalay, who was looking smugly satisfied with herself.
His cheeks flushed bright red, and he quickly looked away, practically grumbling under his breath. But a faint smile tugged at his lips. Leaning forward against the table, his eyes locked back on Baymax, transfixed by the flying chef in the center of the spectacle.
Comments
Juanpa Issler
Asking Tony to cook is like asking Hitler to be a communist.
