Amid thunderous applause and the unceasing click of camera shutters, Tony Stark—the heir to Stark Industries, a byword for genius, and America's biggest playboy—strolled toward the podium.
He deftly fielded the reporters' questions, whether pointed or teasing, and his witty answers drew wave after wave of laughter.
A dozen minutes later, he raised both hands slightly to quiet the room.
After making sure every camera was pointed at him and every photographer had a finger on the shutter, he looked first at Pepper Potts, then at Obadiah, who was smiling around a cigar.
Just as the latter thought this cash cow was about to lay another golden egg, Tony took a deep breath and told the reporters, with unshakable resolve, "I saw young soldiers killed with my own eyes, cut down by weapons I had intended to protect them."
Obadiah's expression changed.
The reporters grew excited!
"I also realized that I was becoming part of this irresponsible world... I came to my senses. I realized I could contribute more to the world than just making weapons. So, I've decided..."
Obadiah strode toward the podium, but Tony's loyal bodyguard, Happy, blocked his way. The cameras clicked incessantly, and everyone waited for the next words from the man onstage—words powerful enough to shake the world.
"I've decided to shut down Stark Industries' weapons division, effective immediately!"
"Mr. Stark!"
"May I ask..."
"..."
The room erupted. Obadiah, held back by Happy, glared resentfully at his eldest nephew, who was still speaking eloquently onstage. He tossed aside the cigarette in his hand and left the press conference without a word.
What a fucking surprise!
"So, do you think it's for real, Yuri?"
Mark looked up at the TV they'd just set up and used a fork to fish a piece of steak out of the bubbling Hot Pot, placing it on his plate.
At first, he'd strongly opposed this Chinese-style dinner. But after Yuri's enthusiastic recommendation and the bookstore owner's vivid description, he'd decided to give it a try.
"Damn, that's good!"
After Stark had said, "Shut down Stark Industries' weapons division," Yuri had grabbed his computer and started working furiously. He was following the memories of other transmigrators, taking advantage of this golden opportunity to pour all his money into Stark Industries stock.
Hearing Mark's question, he replied without looking up, "Who cares if it's true or not? Plenty of people are bound to jump off rooftops tonight, and plenty of reporters will spend the night writing up their stories."
Mark cut the steak, now soaked in the hot pot broth, with a knife, speared a piece, and stuffed it into his mouth. He savored his dinner, blowing on the food as he went, and mumbled his opinion through a full mouth. "I think it could be true!"
"You know, you're probably the only rich kid on Earth who'd volunteer for a summer internship in the Middle East. Tony Stark's just a playboy, but after facing death in Afghanistan, he's bound to change something."
"Maybe... this is the change he's making?"
Yuri nodded perfunctorily. The old man was too busy stuffing his face to pay attention, and the two of them each had their own concerns. Neither cared what the well-read Mark had just said.
"Fuck!"
Mark cleared the meat from his plate and was about to reprimand the two rude bastards when he heard the doorbell ring.
Yuri and the old man looked up together. "Go answer it!"
Mark wished both of them a long list of misfortunes, then clenched his Table Knife and stormed downstairs. "This place is closed! Are you fucking blind? Why are you still knocking—Tony Stark?!"
Tony wore a well-tailored little suit and a flashy, old-fashioned Gentleman's Hat. With his hands crossed in front of his waist, he leaned on an Etiquette Cane and gave Mark, who smelled strongly of hot pot, a slight bow. "So, you're not going to let me in?"
"Oh, sorry!"
Mark discreetly put away the Table Knife, opened the door, and stepped aside to let Tony in.
Happy, who had just been blocking Obadiah on TV, followed close behind. After sniffing the air a few times on the first floor, he asked the question Tony was also eager to know the answer to: "What's that delicious thing you're eating?"
"Fire Boiler!"
"Hot Pot!"
Tony's eyebrows rose. What the hell was that? Could you even eat it?
Mark closed the door and led the three of them to the dining room on the second floor.
"Hey, Yuri!"
As soon as Tony came in, he warmly greeted Yuri, who had just finished working. Then, making himself right at home, he took two sets of tableware from the cabinet, handed one to Happy, and squeezed in beside Yuri and the old man without so much as a by-your-leave.
"This kid's so rude. He's nowhere near as polite as you, Yuri!"
Rogers moved his chair as far away from Tony as possible, grumbling bluntly about the behavior of America's famous playboy.
Yuri, who'd been caught in the crossfire, looked up in bewilderment and stubbornly retorted, "Don't compare me to him. I'm not rude!"
On the TV, the host was describing Tony's recent announcement in an exaggerated tone. The man himself sat beside the steaming table, copying Mark and using a fork to pick up a slice of lamb Yuri had put in the pot.
After chewing a few times, the suspicion on his face gave way to delight. He pointed at the copper pot, which looked like a bottle of potion belonging to an evil wizard in a children's fairy tale, and nodded as he gave a thumbs-up. "Damn, that's good! Really!"
After several rounds of drinks and a good meal,
Yuri clinked glasses with Tony, who was sweating profusely, and asked, "So, what brings you here? To hide from the cover girls fighting to get into your bed, or to reminisce about the deep friendship the three of us forged in the Middle East?"
"Forget deep friendship!"
A little tipsy, Tony patted the Gentleman's Hat he refused to take off even though he was drenched in sweat. He stood up with half a glass of liquor in hand, leaned on the sofa, and let out a long burp.
"Come on, Yuri! Use that damn hypnotism of yours on me!"
"I, Tony Stark, fear nothing!"
At that, Happy and Mark exchanged a look. Happy had no idea what his boss was talking about, while Mark had a vague idea of the truth.
And the old man?
The old man, who shared a name with Captain America, clearly couldn't hold his liquor. After downing two bottles of brandy, he'd slumped over the table and fallen fast asleep.
"Mark!"
"Happy!"
Yuri and Tony looked at each other and spoke at almost the same time. "Sorry to trouble you—take the old man back to his bookstore."
Happy and Mark exchanged a look. Those two sounded like they'd rehearsed the whole thing. Anyone who didn't know better would think they were filming a movie here.
"Come on, come on, Happy. Give me a hand."
Mark grabbed the old man under the arms, while Happy lifted his legs. The two men, neither of whom had received any proper medical training, carried the old man out of the dining room the way they'd haul a corpse off a battlefield.
Once the two of them were out of sight, Tony seemed a little less drunk. He drained his glass, stood tall with his Etiquette Cane, and fixed his bright eyes on Yuri, who was still sitting at the table and eating.
"Do you know, Tony?"
Yuri scooped up the last piece of meat from the copper pot and stuffed it into his mouth. After chewing it up, he washed it down with a drink. "I really want to be your friend, and friends shouldn't fight!"
"So, how about we make a deal?"
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