It was the little things that stumped Tony the most. Coming back to the room to find dishes still undone, the bed unmade. Little things that Tony had never had to do himself, had never really learned to do. Tony, a man in his thirties had never had to clean up after himself. He could solve the world's most pressing mathematical matters but he couldn't boil eggs, and wasn't that a little sad?
Then there was waking up without Jarvis, instead of hearing the groan of metal as silent feet ran across the hostel's roof.
Tony had grown up in estates and penthouse apartments, with maids and nannies and butlers. It took him days to learn to sleep in the noise of the village. He'd tried to walk it out when he was restless, but the shinobi were quick to find him and inform him of his curfew. He was stuck in the room until the sun rose and he wasn't keen on testing those consequences.
So many things he'd never done and now he was thrown into the air and told to fly. Tony could fly if he had the time, or Jarvis, or his bots. If Tony had the right tools he could achieve the impossible, but Tony didn't have the right tools for this. He had to complete a task so far out of his expertise.
Tony had to find a job.
He'd tried writing a C.V, skill, education, that sort of thing. His grasp of the written word was still sloppy, not to mention his characters would probably never be up to scratch. Of by the time he'd managed the first draft he realized all his skills and education meant nothing to the people of this world. It was fiction for them.
He was left without an option. Tony went from store to store, market place to market place verbally asking for work. He quickly found that: A. a genin could do it. B. they had a nephew, niece or some other family member already in line for the job. Or C. he simply looked to foreign and old to do the work.
His options were running out. Tony was currently living on the charity of mercenaries, shinobi, and that charity was running out quick. He'd never been poor. Hell, Tony had never been upper-middle class.
It was awful.
If he ever found a way home, Tony was ending poverty. He hadn't eaten today after the last count of his leftover Ryo had sent him into a panic. It was cheaper to buy groceries than to eat out, but Tony didn't know how to cook so he had to eat out. Then it was more expensive so he had to buy one meal and try and stretch is though the day. Tony had never been hungry so he ate it all at once and...
His chest was constricting like someone had a chain wrapped around his chest, and they pulled it tighter with every breath.
Oh.
This was new, Tony had always had his breakdowns in private.
He should probably get used to it, the street, not the breakdown, he only had a couple of days left in the hostel before they evicted him.
God, what fucking failure.
From multi-billionaire to living on the street. He could just hear his parents. Howard is smug, talking about how he built an empire from nothing and Tony can't last a minute and his mother is silent to his side, she never says anything, that would be too bold to go against Howard. Tony wants to drown it all out.
He can't afford that either.
A shadow fell over him, and Tony looks up, he would take anything to block out the ghost of his greatest critics. The shadow was a shinobi, was dressed in the standard village military uniform, some kind of flexible body armour with dark underclothes. Tony could make something better. Smoke swirled around his face, but he was young, maybe just hitting his twenties, with a wisp of sideburns and maybe the beginnings of a beard.
The shinobi then sat down beside him and held out a pack of cigarettes. Tony shook his head at the offer. Cigarettes made your brain faster, he wanted to drown and disappear not recount all his failure with the help of nicotine. The shinobi shrugged and finished his with a long drag before starting another.
"Shitty day?"
Tony laughed. It was a wet, wrapped up in all his fears and stress.
"The worst."
"Surely it can't be the worst? I mean, like there has to be a shittier day than this?" The young ninja joked.
"Nope, this is the worst," Tony replied. It was meant to be humour, but his voice cracked on the last word. One every other shitty day of his life, he'd had the power to change it, the knowledge that it could get better, or there was someone to make sure he got up tomorrow.
Tony had none of that.
"You're from beyond the continent, that's what Dad said."
Huh, young shinobi was related to someone important, only the village leader and his council knew that, or well, the truth. He was from beyond this world itself.
"Tony Stark," he introduced, hold out a hand.
The shinobi eyed it and simply nodded his head.
"Sarutobi Asuma." He took another drag of his cigarette. "Do you know anything about smithing? Heard you used to work with weapons."
Tony did have the experience, He'd had a couple of hyper-focused months of interest on the subject. He understood the techniques and science behind it all, but the practice needed to get the results he wanted was far too arduous between MIT and his Dad's 'challenges'. It had been dropped.
"I know enough to get me started," Tony answered, though he was trying to figure out where he'd heared the name Sarutobi, he was always terrible with names. "Sarutobi, I know that… I should know that. Shouldn't I?"
The shinobi chuckled, releasing short puffs of smoke with each breath.
"Third head on the right," he said pointing to the third scowling face of the four carved on the giant cliff face. "Dear old dad." Tony wondered what you had to do to get up there.
"Oh. Who the others?"
"Maybe later." Sarutobi dismissed. "Anyway, I know you've been doing the rounds and it's hard to get started here without connections."
"Very," Tony agreed.
"Well, Old Saburo is looking for a hand in his forge, he hasn't got any family that needs apprenticeships, and he can't stand young people, and anyone older looking is already set in their ways."
"In other words, I'm the only option."
"Ha, no. I called in a favour."
"Thanks?"
"Don't thank me. Now you owe me a favour." he sighed, Leaning against the wall, relaxing a bit into his spot. "I was holding onto that one as well, but it was really sad watching you slowly turn to beg."
"I…"
"We both know it was going to happen. Konoha is pretty closed-minded place. Most shinobi Villages are."
"Thanks, anyway."
"Eh. Meet him at his shop in the shinobi district, he'll take you to the Iron district from there, over by the Naka river, that's where all the forges are."
Saburo's shop was was more of an indoor stall set in the front of a three-storey building. It was in the Shinbi district sure, only a few blocks over from the Tower, tucked into a little courtyard with a couple of other businesses.
It was pretty unassuming, but you know, ninja. The only sign it gave of being a weapon store was a kunai carved on a wooden beam with a nine by nine checkerboard on a tilt carved just under it. Tony had had to ask for direction twice, and one of the kids tried to make him pay for the information.
He was greeted by a cream coloured puppy, Tony couldn't tell you the breed but it exuded happiness and lounged in the doorway. Perking up as Tony approached and yipping at him. It bounced in his way, only relenting after a good head scratch.
The inside was just a counter with a little corridor leading to a backroom. Like the old grocery store's Tony supposed, you passed them your list and they went and got everything for you. Saburo was waiting for him behind the counter. Tony had been expecting the smith to be old, but he was maybe in his late forties, with grey hair that would have stuck up oddly if it weren't for a black bandana holding it back.
"You Tony?"
"That's me."
The older man sighed, "Come on, I don't show up for the shop often, the young ones around here take turns minding it. We'll probably only come in when customers come to collect orders."
Tony nodded as the man lead him out, setting a quick pace as they headed towards Face mountain. Although Saburo was quick to get him started on the basics.
"All the forges and workshops are in the Iron District. If you get lost, just walk toward the fourths head and then follow the Naka river east. Do not follow it west, that takes you into the training grounds and civilians are only allowed there under special permissions. Got it?"
"Got it," Tony said and followed the old guy closely. Staring up at the cliffs trying to puzzle who was who. The smoker had said the third head was to his dad, did that mean the guy next to him with spiky hair was the fourth or was it the other one. Did they go left to right or right to left? Tony sighed before asking, "Who is the fourth?"
Saburo sighed again, long and heavy. Stopping abruptly, Tony walked straight into him.
"Okay, let's establish some things here and now. I am taking you on as a favour to someone, I don't like people, foreign or otherwise. So for me to keep you on, when I ask you if you understand and you don't understand you will say no. If you do you will say yes." Hard eyes bore into Tony. " Did you understand what I said?"
"No."
"Good, what don't you understand?"
"I don't know who the fourth is."
"Last head on the right. Do you understand now?"
"Yes."
"Excellent." Saburo resumed his pace. "Just like that. I can't have you doing things wrong in my shop. It can be hard and dangerous work. If you don't understand anything about an instruction you have got to ask."
"Okay."
That was new, not knowing the answer meant Tony got mocked. The teachers felt smug and vindicated because they had got something over the little seven-year-old genius. There was suddenly an opportunity to knock him down, to prove that the kid wasn't all that. As if one moment was enough to disprove all his other achievements.
Tony didn't know if he could admit that he didn't understand something. He guessed he'd have to learn.
The Iron district was huge. Building sprawled everywhere with gravel road worn down by hand-drawn carts. Open canals and aqueducts ran between nearly every workshop, powering... trip hammers if Tony had to guess. The bang of hammers echoed from everywhere, accompanied by workers shouting, talking.
People of all ages walked long side the carts, most were in old shirts and Japanese styled wear, there were a couple more western styles intermingled. Most were dressed like Tony, long pants, a robe-like top with three-quarter sleeves - though Tony had found some t-shirt in a second-hand clothing bin - and covered shoes. A rarity here it seemed. Although he noticed some shinobi accompanying a cart still had the normal open-toed sandals.
"All the forges are here?" he asked.
"Well, most are. Old Clan compounds may still have their own, like the Akimichi, but they'll mainly be making specialised items. Like the armour."
Tony listened, all the while watching the shinobi, as they went from place to place collecting crates and stacking them in the carts.
"What up with that?" he said moving his hand in the direction of the shinobi, only for Saburo to grab it and hold it down.
"Don't point, they don't like it," he said, before explaining. "They're collecting tariffs. Stockpiling in case of emergencies."
"What kind of emergencies?"
"War, Invasion, maybe a couple of good smiths die and they need to wait a bit to train up more. Anything that drastically slows down weapon production. Don't worry, I paid mine yesterday, don't have to deal with them."
Saburo slowed and turn towards a workshop just slightly smaller than the ones alongside it. Worn but clean. With the same kunai and tilted checkerboard from the beam painted next to the entrance. The inside was spacious and well organised with a whole wall being dedicated to hanging up the tools and moulds, and another to material. On another, there were doors leading to what Tony assumed were storerooms.
"This is us."
To the right there was a side door, leading to the actual forge. With an old but well-loved tilt hammer, a series of the different forge; open, closed. Barrels of water and oil for cooling and tempering the metal. Another wall of tools, accompanied by its own set of shelves and material.
"Great set up," Tony said. Everything was split between the two, exactly where it was needed, Tony could see the logical order and felt more at home then he had for a week.
"You know you're way around a workshop. Great, least I don't have to waste much time on that."
"I was an engineer where I came from." And physicist, futurist, inventor. Tony was whatever the hell caught his interest. Already he could see things he could improve, there was space for a proper belt sander. He hadn't seen any power lines out here, but he could get the aqueduct to power it for sure if he was desperate.
"Fancy, electricity? That sort of thing..?"
"No, weapons, bombs, missiles, guns that sort of thing."
"Can't say I've heard of anything like that."
"I know. You discovered electricity before you created ballistic weaponry. It's kinda impressive."
No, instead they had ninja, a living weapon sold at a reasonable rate. A moral-less army hidden deep in the forest. Well, if it weren't for the cliff and the giant faces.
Saburo gestured for Tony to follow him, leading him towards the closed doors.
"I mostly fill Jounin orders, ninja gets more finicky as they get older." he slid open the first door to an office as orderly as his shop. "Like to have more control over equipment and weapons. Don't want the standard from the quartermaster. Now, I will fill Chunin orders. But we don't supply genin, cause if I get another moron thinking he can go wielding tri-pronged kunai like the fucking fourth, I'm gonna slap that brat and dump him in front of some Iwa nin."
The most prominent feature was a large calendar colour coded with dates and time periods, it looked like a study timetable. With different days blocked out for different things.
"This is the calendar, there's another one back at the store. When anyone comes to make an order, we have to negotiate with them and this. Always allow for at least two more days than you need, never let it conflict with an ongoing order. Always have the order ready on time." Saburo explained, before moving on to the next room.
"You've got order till the end of the year."
"Good weapons take time, and they order in bulk, they know what to expect." The next room was a storeroom with tall shelves and crates. "This is where we keep unfinished orders. The finished parts are wrapped and put at the bottom and protected then the unfinished are on top. Orders aren't moved to the shop until the whole thing is done. Got it?"
"Yep, orders only go to the shop when finished."
"Right then, let's get started."