Gul stood outside the courthouse, eyes fixed on its imposing doors, and took a deep breath, attempting to steady his racing heart.

He had finally resolved to act, to confront Tony Stark, the Iron Man. Yet, in truth, Gul still had no concrete plan.

Resources were practically nonexistent. He was merely a fourteen-year-old boy, unfamiliar with the city and without any allies. Everything rested solely on his own efforts. Procuring a gun was out of the question.

Firstly, there were no channels available to him. As a minor, he couldn’t purchase a firearm legally, and he lacked the connections to obtain one illegally. Moreover, he worried that even if he found a way, his age and ethnicity might make him a target for exploitation.

In the end, Gul's only weapon was a knife—a mere fruit knife. Yet, it was sharp enough, having already cut through the body of The Little Evil God, and would suffice for his deadly purpose.

Devoid of exceptional intellect, influential connections, or formidable strength, Gul possessed only a fierce resolve. He questioned whether sheer determination alone could fulfill the dying wish of the body’s former owner.

His hand, gripping the cold knife handle, was slick with sweat.

He inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly, repeating the process.

Gul's presence at the courthouse was due to a news report stating that Tony Stark would be appearing for a trial today, likely a governmental attempt to acquire Stark's Iron Man suit.

Gul knew this trial would be futile, merely providing Stark an opportunity to mock his adversaries.

As the minutes ticked by, Gul's mind grew increasingly rigid. Despite having tested the knife and witnessed blood, he still struggled to accept the reality of his mission.

Eventually, commotion arose at the courthouse entrance. Reporters clustered around, bombarding Tony Stark with questions as he emerged.

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Stark appeared nonchalant, a relaxed smile on his face, tinged with arrogance and disdain. By his side was his rotund, endearing bodyguard, Happy.

Drawing a deep breath until his lungs could hold no more, Gul lunged toward Stark.

Yes, it was impulsive and unplanned. But this was the only course of action Gul could conceive.

Being just a child, he initially drew little attention. Pushing through the crowd, his eyes blazing with anger, his mind was consumed by a singular rage.

This rage belonged to the body’s original owner—a boy who had lost his family and ultimately his life due to Tony Stark. The boy’s anguish and hatred now fueled Gul.

"Tony Stark, die!"

He yelled, pulling the fruit knife from his sleeve, still stained with red, and aimed it at Stark.

No one anticipated an assassination attempt here, especially not by a mere child. Even Stark’s bodyguard, Happy, was caught off guard. In fairness, expecting him to react quickly would be unreasonable.

Stark's carefree demeanor vanished, replaced by wide-eyed shock as he instinctively raised his arm.

Pain seared through Stark’s arm as the knife cut into him, but it prevented a more lethal blow.

Eyes still aflame, Gul pressed his attack.

This time, Stark evaded more deftly.

With a thud, Gul was pinned to the ground.

Happy had finally acted, using his considerable bulk to immobilize Gul.

“Oh, my God!”

“Someone tried to assassinate Tony Stark!”

“And the assailant is a child?”

Cameras clicked furiously as journalists documented the scene, their minds racing with potential headlines.

“Kill you! I’ll kill you!” Gul shrieked, his voice raw with fury, flailing the fruit knife in a desperate attempt to reach Stark.

Stark’s brow furrowed as he studied Gul, etching the boy’s frenzied image into his memory. He couldn’t fathom why a child harbored such lethal hatred toward him.

With a blow to the head, Gul was rendered unconscious.

Cold water splashed over Gul’s face, jolting him awake. His arm and the back of his head throbbed with pain.

“Alright, you’re awake. Now tell me, you little brat, why did you try to kill Mr. Stark? Who put you up to this? Spill everything, and you might avoid some suffering. Otherwise...”

Gul groggily registered the malicious voice. Before him sat a police officer, his uniform crisp, a desk between them bearing paper, pen, and a solitary lamp, the room’s only light source.

“Shaking your head means refusal, huh? Listen, kid, don’t think being a minor will save you. You tried to kill Mr. Stark. Do you know who he is? He can easily have you thrown into hell. If you want to avoid more pain, you’d better cooperate.” The officer’s voice dripped with menace. His servile attitude toward Stark suggested he hoped to gain some advantage.

Gul, bewildered, realized the gravity of his situation. He hadn't anticipated ending up at the police station. This was far from what he had imagined.