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Life has been… subpar these days. And truthfully, subpar is a reach at best, but that’s a truth that Justin Hammer’s pride would never allow him to share with anyone. Even in his own head, he prefers to significantly pad the edges of it.
Ever since what was dubbed by the media — though he was sure Anthony Stark had something to do with it — the Hammeroid attack of 2010, the career high he was riding plunged to an all-time low. A rock bottom that Justin was quietly referring to as his own phoenix rising from the ashes moment. Sure, it was no being kidnapped by a terrorist organization in Afghanistan, but it was his own version. Comparable, if people were willing to look at it correctly.
Anton Vanko was a terrorist in his own right, one who had taken advantage of Justin and subsequently landed him in a year of jail and then two more of community service… all while causing his company to tank in the process. If anything, Justin had been the one caught in the crossfire of someone else’s agenda. That was the part people conveniently ignored.
He was determined now — three years free of any of that incident looming over his life, in ways outside just reputation — to reclaim the HammerTech name. The last three years had been spent building the company back up from nothing. While the military wouldn’t work with him anymore, there were still plenty of people willing to see past the unfortunate events. Especially now that he was no longer looking to continue in the weapons sector.
And no… he was not copying Tony Stark.
No matter how successful that particular pivot had turned out for him.
It was just… market demand. Circumstantial. People didn’t want to work with him in weapons anymore. He didn’t have a choice.
Which leads him to now — trying to build his team, his future, his company back from the ground up. He still had a few loyal employees who had survived the last six years, keeping the company afloat just enough that it didn’t disband completely… but not enough to carry them into any sort of meaningful future.
So he was scouting.
The annual New York State Science Bowl was one of the most highly recognized, invitation-only science competitions on the East Coast. It was known mostly for college scouts looking to pick out promising young talent emerging from the high school sphere, but in more recent years, science-forward companies had started to scope out that same talent pool too.
Five years ago, Oscorp had given out two internships to seniors heading into college, and straight out of college those same interns went on to work full-time for the company. According to reports now, they were some of the most promising young scientists the company had hired in a while — loyal to the team that had gotten them where they were.
That’s the kind of team Justin needed to foster.
Investing in youth meant investing in the future of his company. If he could find a couple of young students to take under his wing, shape into the exact kind of leaders he wanted them to be… he could start promising something again. Something tangible. Something impressive.
So he secured himself an invitation and showed up at the conference center in Manhattan bright and early Sunday morning.
The Science Bowl takes the top three performing students across sophomore, junior, and senior grades in the entire Northeast region and hosts them for a full day of four events spanning several different areas of science. As the events go on, the competition pool gets smaller and smaller and smaller, until only a top three remains. Those students are awarded varying amounts of money to put toward a college of their choosing. Of course, that’s not the only prize — even if it’s the most publicized. Doing well throughout the competition means gaining the interest of recruiters from colleges and companies alike.
Justin Hammer wasn’t necessarily looking for the winner — though if he could get that, he certainly wouldn’t be upset. He was looking for excellence. A bright mind with a creative, optimistic edge that could help propel him back into relevance as they built something together. A partnership. Mutually beneficial.
The hope — his hope, though his team would frame it differently — was that by showing up himself, instead of sending some lower-level recruiter like everyone else, he could establish a rapport. Build a reputation with the students competing today as someone who was willing to invest personally in their future.
Justin didn’t particularly care for kids. But give it a few years, and they wouldn’t be kids anymore. And if he wanted his company back, this was the way to do it.
The first round is a written exam comprised of sixty multiple-choice questions spanning the major scientific disciplines — chemistry, physics, biology, math, and logic. Students are graded and ranked by class level, and the results are processed quickly enough that screens placed around the building display scores in real time as scantrons are fed through. The top forty of each grade level move on to round two.
For the first portion of the day, he keeps mostly to himself. Observing. Watching. Letting the numbers speak before he does. It’s too early to tell who is actually worth his time, and he’s not in the business of wasting it.
But then the leaderboard updates.
A sophomore.
Peter Parker.
The name sits at the top — not just for his grade level, but across the entire room.
Justin’s pen moves almost immediately, scribbling Peter Parker at the top of his page as one to watch. Underlined once. Then again. There’s no surprise when he checks the school code and sees Midtown School of Science and Technology. Of course. That school practically bred geniuses.
Still. A sophomore leading the entire room?
That’s not just impressive. That’s a future he could invest in.
The unfortunate problem with the first round, Justin is finding, is that there are so many children here. And yes, they all wear name tags, but unfortunately trying to pick out Peter Parker amongst a sea of 240 students is not as easy as he would like. It’s inefficient. Poorly organized. There should be a better system for this.
“Boss,” Alyssa, his personal assistant, elbows him, “you look weird when you do that… You’re going to scare people away.”
He grimaces when he realizes she’s right. Going around to students and squinting to look at their name tags is… not exactly his best look. His eyesight isn’t the best and glasses only help so much, plus whoever printed these stupid name tags really should’ve invested in a larger font so people could better identify the students — but that, unfortunately, is not his problem to fix.
“In round two they’ll be up on stage and their name will be displayed when they answer questions, you’ll be able to find the people you’re most interested in then,” Alyssa explains. “If we go now, we can probably get a good seat over at the stage.”
She’s right. She usually is.
Though many people seem to be having the same thought process, Justin and Alyssa are among the first few to move, which means they secure seats in the row right behind the judging panel. Prime positioning. This is perfect — he’ll be able to spot Peter Parker immediately, along with the couple of other names he’s jotted down from the upperclassmen categories, and know exactly who to look for. Who to try and corner before, undoubtedly, all the other vultures get their hands on them.
The one saving grace is that most of the recruiters here, from what Justin can tell, are college recruiters. Which means he isn’t necessarily facing direct competition. In fact, he may even be able to work alongside a collegiate recruiter to sweeten the deal for a student if they’re promising enough. He spots the Oscorp representative and the PymTech representative a few seats down, and those are likely his biggest competitors.
Stark Industries doesn’t seem to concern themselves with this event. Justin would like to believe it’s because they’re snotty and stuck up — just like their owner. But a quieter, more logical voice in the back of his mind suggests it’s because they don’t need to be here. Everyone already wants to work there.
He straightens slightly in his seat, jaw tightening just a fraction.
One day, that would be his company. He would see to the downfall of Tony Stark and Pepper Potts, and his company would be back on top. People would be begging to work with him, looking to him for the future, for vision.
And it would start here.
In a room Stark Industries didn’t even bother to show up to.
“Got your eye out for anyone?” he asks the man who takes the seat beside him — an older Black man with a graying buzz cut.
“Too early to tell for sure,” the man responds, giving Justin a brief glance before returning to the notes scribbled on his tablet.
Justin leans just enough to catch the logo stitched onto the man’s jacket. MIT. Of course. Then the name tag: Booker Jackson, MIT representative.
Right.
MIT is the school every STEM nerd wants to go to — one of them, at least. While it’s not technically an Ivy League university, it might as well be in the circles that matter. Everyone knows the bigger names that have come out of there. One in particular threatens to rise to the top of Justin’s tongue. He swallows it down.
Focus.
If he can get in with the MIT rep, he might have a real shot at one of the top performers.
“Peter Parker from Midtown Tech seems to be leading the charge,” he says, continuing the conversation with the man who had already gone back to his notes.
There’s a shift — subtle, but there. A small smile pulls at the corner of Booker’s mouth when Justin says the name, and Justin notices immediately.
Good.
Too early to tell doesn’t mean too early to start paying attention.
“He is rumored to be the one to beat here,” Mr. Jackson hums, turning slightly more toward him.
Rumored?
Justin hadn’t heard that circulating, but that likely just means he’s not tapped into the right conversations yet. Something to fix.
Dark brown eyes take Justin in more fully now, and he does his best to maintain his carefully curated air of confidence. The last six years of scrutiny — from the industry, the media, the public — have taken their toll, whether he wants to admit it or not. But it’s nothing he can’t come back from. Nothing he won’t.
“HammerTech?” Booker raises a brow, his expression more scrutinizing than Justin cares for.
Fake it till you make it.
“Justin Hammer in the flesh,” he says with a broad smile, holding his hand out for the man to shake.
Booker raises a brow at the gesture, hesitating just long enough to be noticeable before taking it. Not the reaction Justin was hoping for, but it’s not outright dismissal either. If this were someone more aligned with Stark, he might’ve scoffed at Justin outright. At least this is neutral.
“Booker Jackson,” he says curtly. “MIT representative. I thought your company was done for?”
Justin inwardly winces, grateful for the control he’s learned over the years. Getting a read on this guy is difficult. Polite, technically. But not impressed.
Not yet.
“Making our big comeback this year, sir,” he replies smoothly, slipping into his pitch voice without missing a beat. “We’re moving away from weapons and taking a new approach to technology and engineering. I’m here looking for the future of HammerTech.”
“And you’re looking at Peter Parker?” the man asks, something almost amused threading through his tone.
Justin doesn’t get the chance to respond because the lights are dimming and the stage is filling with the thirty sophomore students who’ve advanced to the next round. The timing is almost irritatingly convenient. They have new identifiers now — a white square with a number printed largely across it, their first initial and last name in bold font underneath. Clean. Legible. Finally.
Number one is P. Parker.
It takes him all of a second to realize the numbers are ranked. Which means the kid didn’t just do well — he outperformed everyone.
“Alright everyone. This lightning round marks the start of round two of today’s events. Starting with our sophomore students, the first three students of Group A will come up to the buzzer. You will be presented with a question from one of our judges and the first to answer and get it correct will score a point. The top point scorer from each round will go on to compete in our elite lightning round. Are you ready to start?” the announcer asks, earning a chorus of yeses from the students.
“Very well. Group A: 1. Peter Parker. 11. Pauline Chant. 21. Devon Vigliotti. Please take your podiums. Do not hit the buzzer until the entire question has been asked, and remember you have ten seconds to begin giving your answer upon buzzing in.”
Justin leans forward slightly, attention locked. His eyes — like everyone else’s — land on Peter.
The kid looks… younger than he expected. There’s a softness to him. A mop of well-trained curly brown hair and wide brown eyes, a kind of open, almost naive optimism written all over his face even from this distance. It’s disarming. Strategic, almost — whether the kid knows it or not.
It’s no surprise when he ends up being the only point scorer for Group A. With the boy sitting at the top across all grade levels, anything less would’ve been disappointing. But the way he answers… quick, clean, efficient… it’s more than just correctness.
It’s instinct.
It’s confidence.
It’s the kind of thing you can’t teach.
Justin can already feel the ideas forming — scenarios stacking one after the other. What this could look like. What HammerTech could look like with someone like that attached to it early. Shaped properly. Guided. Positioned.
Beside him, Booker is tapping away at his phone, seemingly uninterested as they move through the other groups and then the other classes. Either the man doesn’t feel the need to perform interest… or he’s already made up his mind.
He pulls his focus back to the task at hand, setting that curiosity aside in favor of jotting down a few additional names. Insurance. Peter Parker is promising — extremely promising — but he’s not foolish enough to put everything on one kid. Not when every other recruiter in this room is watching the same leaderboard.
“And now into our elite round. The lowest scoring student will be cut and the top eight will advance onto round three.”
Peter takes podium one again, looking every bit confident and ready for the next set of questions. Justin finds his knee bouncing before he can stop it, a restless energy settling under his skin. The kid is at the top — yes — but these questions should be harder now. They should push.
“Question one: If an object approaches the speed of light, what happens to its relativistic mass and why can it never reach light speed?”
Buzzers go off in near unison, a sharp synchronized hum — but the one that lights green first is Peter Parker.
Of course.
“Its relativistic mass increases as it approaches light speed, so it would require infinite energy to keep accelerating — which is why it can’t actually reach it.”
Quick. Efficient. No hesitation.
The next questions follow the same flow.
“Why is DNA replication considered semi-conservative?”
“If you increase temperature in an endothermic reaction at equilibrium, what happens?”
“What is the decimal value of binary 101101?”
Each time, Peter buzzes in first, confidence only growing more noticeable as the round progresses. There’s a rhythm to him now. Anticipation. Like he’s not just answering questions — he’s already ahead of them. It’s on question five that a student from Jersey Tech beats him to the buzzer. Then question six — a junior from Bronx STEM edges him out. Seven and eight go to the Jersey Tech senior again.
Justin feels something unexpected settle in his chest. Relief? Because if Peter Parker completely obliterates the competition, every recruiter in this room is going to be on him the second this round ends. This — this is doable. He could potentially recruit Peter Parker.
By the end of the twelve minute lightning round, the top eight are solidified.
- Peter Parker from Midtown Tech — sophomore
- Isaiah Grey from Jersey Tech — senior
- Hillary Moore from Midtown Tech — senior
- Aiyana Brown from Bronx STEM — junior
- Axel Tillman from Long Island STEAM Academy — senior
- Nicolas Vanberg from Jersey Tech — junior
- Abel Mars from Midtown Tech — junior
- Savannah Thomas from Liberty Academy of Technology and Arts — sophomore
Justin scans the list once, committing it to memory.
“The next sixty minutes are our scheduled lunch break! Head over to Ballroom B with the ticket you received in your student or recruiter packet and fuel up for our last two events of the day,” the announcer calls over the speaker.
And just like that — the room shifts.
Movement. Noise. Opportunity.
This is when the real work starts.
Recruiters begin to move, branching off toward students — those who made top eight and those who didn’t alike. Because even the ones who didn’t make it are still among the brightest minds in the region. Still valuable.
Still usable.
Justin tears a piece of paper from his notebook, ten messy names scrawled across the lines, and hands it off without hesitation.
“Go check out those people for me, would you, Alyssa?”
He’s already halfway turned around by the time she takes the paper from him, heading off in search of one Peter Parker and the other top eight scorers. Delegation at its finest. Efficient. Strategic. Exactly how this is supposed to go.
Everyone seems to be giving the students a moment to grab their lunch — recruiters and faculty lingering toward the back like vultures pretending they aren’t vultures. Justin resists the very real urge to cut straight through the room and make a beeline for Peter Parker. Timing matters. Optics matter more. The last thing he needs is to look overeager, even if that’s exactly what’s buzzing under his skin right now.
So he waits. He’ll get his lunch after. Let the kid sit. Let him settle. Then approach.
Controlled.
Calculated.
Professional.
Still, his eyes track Peter across the room. He’s not the only one. Oscorp. PymTech. Several colleges. They all have that same look — interest sharpened into intent. Justin knows it well. If he can just get there before the other two major players, he’s in. The smaller companies don’t concern him.
And yes, HammerTech may currently sit somewhere on the lower end of the food chain, but there was a time — not that long ago — where they brushed shoulders with the top. That name still carries weight.
It has to.
Especially for a kid smart enough to recognize potential when he sees it.
The plan to be first circles the drain the moment Justin spots Booker Jackson already seated at a table — with Peter Parker.
Of course.
Naturally.
Fine.
First is overrated anyway. Second is still strategic. And they’ve already exchanged names, moved past surface level pleasantries. There’s a foundation there, however thin.
“Mr. Parker. Mr. Jackson,” he greets smoothly, slipping into that practiced ease as he approaches the table. “Justin Hammer of HammerTech.”
He holds his hand out to Peter.
Peter just… looks at it.
Justin keeps the smile in place. Holds it. Just long enough that it doesn’t become embarrassing.
Booker stifles a laugh, looking down at his tray with a shake of his head. “You’re just like your dad, kiddo.”
Peter smiles, ducking his head slightly as he takes a bite of his sandwich.
Justin’s brow furrows, just a fraction. That’s… new information. Booker hadn’t mentioned knowing the kid personally. So that’s where the rumor comes from? Family connection? MIT lineage, maybe. He retracts his hand smoothly, tucking it into his pocket like that was always his plan.
“You’re quite the smarty pants, kid,” Justin says, easing himself onto the bench beside Booker and across from Peter. “I know you’ve still got some time, but given much thought to your future yet?”
He ignores the way Booker shifts slightly away. Personal space. Some people are particular about it.
Peter blinks a few times, looking between him and Booker before shaking his head. “I have given my future lots of thought. HammerTech isn’t a company I’m interested in doing work with.”
Justin feels it — sharp, immediate. That drop in his chest he refuses to acknowledge as anything more than surprise.
Right.
Kids are blunt.
“Is this about the whole Hammeroid thing? Because I can assure you we’ve moved on from that —”
“I almost died that night,” Peter says flatly.
Justin’s smile falters.
Just a little. Of all the—
“I was wearing an Iron Man mask and one of your droids locked onto —”
“Well, the Iron Man mask was your first mistake,” Justin cuts in lightly, forcing a laugh that lands somewhere between charm and desperation. He’s trying to pivot. Redirect. Recover. It’s not… going well, if Booker’s expression is anything to go off of.
A throat clears behind him.
Justin turns, expecting competition — Oscorp, PymTech, a line of recruiters ready to swoop in. Instead, he’s face to face with Pepper Potts and Tony Stark.
…of course.
“Anthony! Virginia!” he laughs, a touch too loud, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t realize Stark Industries was sending representatives for this.”
“And I didn’t realize HammerTech was even still a functioning company,” Tony shoots back, already moving past him to sit beside Peter like Justin isn’t even there.
Justin straightens immediately. Posture first. Always.
“We’re branching back out,” he says, tone tightening despite his best efforts. He glances at their dressed-down clothes, grasping for footing. “This is how you show up to look for new recruits?”
“No,” Pepper says simply, settling on Peter’s other side, “this is how we show up to support our child.”
Justin stills.
Their child?
His gaze flicks back to Peter — the way he leans into Tony without thinking, like it’s second nature. Booker’s earlier comment clicks into place, pieces shifting uncomfortably.
Father.
Oh.
“What were you saying about my mistake being the Iron Man helmet?” Peter asks, raising a brow.
There it is. That expression. That tone. Unmistakably Tony Stark, just hidden behind a layer of wide-eyed optimism. Justin didn’t see it before, but now it’s glaringly obvious. The resemblance isn’t physical (though that’s apparent too) — it’s behavioral. That same sharp edge wrapped in something deceptively casual… paired with an unmatched intelligence.
He smiles tightly, glancing at Booker, who looks entirely too entertained by all of this.
“No one here is going to work with you, Mr. Hammer,” Booker says with a shrug, as if discussing the weather. “You should really cut your losses and not waste your time and energy.”
Justin opens his mouth — ready to push back, to reframe, to—
“Boss—” Alyssa’s voice cuts in as she approaches. “No such luck with the names you gave me. How’s it going over — oh.”
Perfect timing.
Truly.
“The door’s that way,” Pepper offers politely, gesturing toward the exit like she’s doing him a favor.
And just like that, they turn back to each other. Conversation resumes, and it's like he was never part of it. Justin stands there for half a second longer than he should, gathering what’s left of his composure, his dignity, before stepping back.
Behind him, Tony groans, “Now go back for a minute, underoos — please don’t tell me you were the kid with the helmet the night of the expo.”
Peter nods, sheepish.
Tony exhales heavily, pulling the kid against his chest and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “So you’ve been the death of me for much longer than I thought, huh?”
Justin doesn’t stay to hear the rest. There’s nothing here for him. Not anymore. He falls into step beside Alyssa, moving quickly and purposefully toward the exit.
“I think Oscorp is talking with Aiyana and Isaiah already, but we could —”
“No, Alyssa…” he cuts in, voice quieter now, tighter. “Let’s just — let’s go back to the office.”
He pushes through the doors before she can respond. Because he doesn’t need to stay to know how this ends. Peter Parker is going to win. And he already belongs to Tony Stark.