Marvel: I am the bastard son of stark (Remade)

The jet's engines hummed softly as it soared above the Pacific Ocean, the evening sun casting its amber glow across the horizon. Harry Wayne sat in the leather seat, his piercing blue eyes scanning through a file of documents. Despite his youth, his demeanour carried a weight far beyond his years. The legacy of the Wayne name followed him like a shadow.

His butler, Sebastien, stood nearby, hands clasped behind his back. Sebastien was a man of imposing stature, his sharp features and steely gaze exuding both intelligence and authority. He had served the Wayne family for decades, first under Harry's late uncle, Norman Wayne, and now for Harry himself.

"Master Harry," Sebastien began, his voice refined yet firm, "are you quite certain about this venture? Your father and uncle always preferred to keep their investments closer to Gotham."

Harry glanced up, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "This isn't just about investments, Sebastien. Mr Miyagi's dojo represents something more—discipline, structure, and hope. Gotham isn't the only place that needs those things."

Sebastien inclined his head, his expression neutral but thoughtful. "Very well, sir. The arrangements have been made. Your car will be waiting upon arrival in Los Angeles."

Harry set the file aside, leaning back in his chair. "Good. Let's see what Mr Miyagi has to say."

The streets of Los Angeles were alive with energy, the neon signs flickering against the backdrop of a bustling cityscape. Harry stepped out of the sleek black car, his tailored suit immaculate, a testament to his upbringing. Sebastien followed closely behind, his presence as commanding as ever.

The dojo stood out amidst the urban chaos—a small, modest building with a distinctly traditional design. The wooden sign above the entrance bore the name Miyagi-Do Karate. The air smelled faintly of wood polish and incense.

Harry pushed the door open, the soft chime of a bell announcing his arrival. Inside, the dojo exuded a sense of calm. Photographs and calligraphy adorned the walls, and the wooden floors shone under the soft glow of paper lanterns.

At the centre of the room stood an elderly man, carefully tending to a bonsai tree. His movements were slow and deliberate, every snip of the shears precise. He looked up as Harry entered, his sharp eyes meeting Harry's with quiet curiosity.

"You are Harry Wayne," Mr Miyagi said, his voice calm but firm. "Why you come to Miyagi-Do?"

Harry offered a respectful nod. "Mr Miyagi, I've heard about your dojo and the philosophy behind it. I believe it's something worth preserving—and expanding. I'd like to offer my support."

Miyagi set down his shears, studying Harry with an unreadable expression. "Support? What kind of support?"

"Financial support," Harry replied. "With the right resources, you could reach more students, provide better facilities, and ensure that the values you teach live on for generations."

Miyagi's gaze didn't waver. "Money not solve all problems. Why you want to do this?"

Harry hesitated for a moment, then spoke earnestly. "Because I believe in what you're doing. I've seen what happens when people lack guidance, when they have no one to teach them discipline and respect. Your dojo offers more than martial arts—it offers a path. I want to help you keep that path open for as many people as possible."

Miyagi regarded him silently, his expression thoughtful. Finally, he nodded. "Words good. But words easy. Trust take time. You come back tomorrow. We talk more."

Harry smiled, recognising the wisdom in the old man's words. "I'll be here."

Later that evening, Harry stood on the balcony of his hotel suite, overlooking the sprawling city lights. He held a glass of whisky in one hand, lost in thought.

Sebastien approached, his footsteps barely audible. "A promising meeting, sir?"

Harry nodded slowly. "Miyagi's a man of principle. It's rare to find someone like that these days. He's not just teaching martial arts—he's teaching how to live."

Sebastien allowed himself a small smile. "Indeed. And yet, such men often attract trouble. I trust you're prepared for what may come."

Harry's gaze hardened, a flicker of determination in his eyes. "I didn't come here unprepared, Sebastien. Gotham may be my city, but the world's a much bigger stage. It's time I started making my mark."

Sebastien inclined his head. "As you say, sir."

As the night deepened, Harry's thoughts turned to the future. The Wayne name carried weight, and he intended to use it to build something that would endure—a legacy not of wealth, but of hope.