Once Black Widow ditched her lesson plan on how to seduce enemy agents with sultry glances and slit skirts, her class became much more interesting. Turns out, her driving skills could give any Fast & Furious character whiplash, and her high-tech gadgetry demos had everyone wide-eyed like kids at a magic show.
As Daisy left class, she heard a familiar, calm voice call her name.
"Ms. Johnson."
It was none other than Phil Coulson—the friendly-faced agent whose whole vibe screamed guidance counselor more than super-spy. Honestly, if there was a Mr. Rogers of espionage, it was this guy.
Daisy turned, slightly cautious but not alarmed. This man, who in another timeline was practically a father to her, still gave off warm dad-energy vibes—even if their current connection wasn't quite as deep.
"Mr. Coulson, just call me Daisy. What's up?"
Coulson offered a pleasant smile. "Alright, Daisy. I heard from the Director that you're going to be taking on a bit of work?"
Daisy sighed internally. It felt early to be tossing assignments her way, but remembering how much SHIELD training had sharpened her skills, she nodded.
"Okay, shoot. What's the mission?"
"It's less of a mission, more like a... homework project. You know Tony Stark, right?"
Daisy gave him the most deadpan look imaginable. "Of course."
Coulson nodded like he was unveiling the secret to life. "Then you probably know his dad, Howard Stark, helped found SHIELD."
Was he testing her on SHIELD trivia now? She just blinked. "Yeah."
"Well, we've gathered background on Tony, but most of it's from surveillance and secondhand reports. The Director would like a more... personal read. Your analysis. He'd like you to observe him, interact if possible, and write a report."
Ah, there it was. Homework with a billionaire side character.
But it wasn't the worst gig, especially when she remembered her Sky Data Analysis Company already had a scheduled brush with Stark Industries. Someone upstairs had clearly been snooping on her calendar.
"Alright, I'll meet him and file the report," she agreed.
Coulson handed her a pair of keys. "Brand new ride for your trouble. Don't scratch the paint."
She grinned, took the keys, and later found the new car in the underground garage: a pristine Chevrolet. In SHIELD, Chevrolet was practically an official mascot. There should be a bumper sticker: Not all who drive Chevy are spies—but all spies drive Chevy.
She fastened her seatbelt and gunned it out of SHIELD Academy.
Back in New York, Daisy went straight to her company headquarters.
Sky Analysis had bloomed nicely over the past couple of months. What started as a rebellious idea had become a rising name in niche data circles. Their analytics were now slick enough to draw the eye of Obadiah Stane, the current head honcho at Stark Industries.
James Wesley, her sharply dressed general manager, was thriving in the executive shark tank. He made schmoozing with billionaires look like networking at a book club.
David Lieberman, their tech hermit, continued fine-tuning the company's data algorithms with his squad of like-minded nocturnal engineers. Their next big focus? Health and medicine analytics—less dangerous than politics, more profitable than social media.
Miss Matsumoto, her iron-willed maid and leader of the legal team, greeted Daisy with an expression that cracked into a smile only for her.
"Miss, welcome back! I've kept my eyes on that guy. So far, he's clean," she whispered.
The 'that guy' was none other than Wesley, whom she still didn't entirely trust. Daisy appreciated the loyalty, even if it felt a little K-drama-esque.
She teased, "You're the best. I'll reward you with a home-cooked dinner—your cooking, of course."
Later in Wesley's office, the whole squad gathered to review plans for the Stark Industries meeting.
Daisy mostly tuned out the strategic gymnastics. It was simple: Stark Industries was the giant, they were the ants. But Wesley was jazzed, sketching out potential approaches like a five-star general prepping for corporate war.
"Are you seriously going dressed like that?" he finally asked, frowning at her jeans and sneakers.
Daisy looked down. Okay, maybe Converse weren't exactly boardroom material.
She groaned but relented. Time to look like she didn't just roll out of a hacker bunker.
She and the maid hit the nearest upscale boutique. But skirts were not her thing. Pencil skirts? Death traps. One-step skirts? Tactical nightmares.
"I can't even walk in these, much less run if a Hydra agent pops out of the potted plants," Daisy grumbled.
Eventually, she settled on slacks. They weren't her beloved combat pants, but at least she could breathe.
A pink blazer and tailored trousers combo gave her a polished look that screamed "respectable tech exec" and not "SHIELD field agent here to punch you in the kneecaps."
Shoes, however, were inevitable. Heels. The high heel gods demanded tribute.
She grabbed a modest 5cm pair—enough to pass, not enough to kill her arches.
Accessories followed: real earrings, real necklace, real handbag. All legit brands. She wasn't about to let Tony Stark sniff out knockoffs.
The final touch? A more polished hairstyle, courtesy of her maid-turned-makeup-artist.
Daisy stared at the mirror. She looked like someone who read Forbes and yelled at interns. Mission accomplished.
Now all that remained: facing the genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist himself.