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In the afternoon, beneath the Stark family's grand villa on Malibu Beach.
A bikini party was in full swing on the sand. A group of young, beautiful girls played and laughed in the chilly November sea breeze.
Their enthusiasm and liveliness didn't quite look like genuine enjoyment, though—it was more as if they were trying to shake off the cold through movement.
The owner of this stretch of beach was Tony Stark, who had become the darling of the news media in less than a year.
Endless gossip headlines filled the papers. On any day the paparazzi didn't catch Tony Stark on a date with some beauty, that was considered real news in the industry.
And then came floods of text-only rumor pieces—Tony Stark hospitalized with syphilis, Tony Stark undergoing treatment for impotence, Tony Stark… As if a headline only needed the words "Tony Stark" in it to be publishable.
It could be said that, aside from his own employees, Tony Stark had found a rather unconventional way to support an entire workforce.
Yet the man lounging on a beach chair today wasn't like he was in summer—no parasol, no beach shorts, no bare upper body. Instead, he was dressed casually, basking directly in the sunlight and enjoying the rare warmth.
Henry, who had been invited to this bikini party, was dressed in a sharp, formal suit. He looked nothing like someone there to have fun.
Earlier, he had gone to Sheep Cave Valley Laboratory to retrieve the last remaining piece of hand-built tech in his possession—Kitty's tiger translator. It was something he'd removed in advance, back when he was preparing to get himself arrested.
Being called back halfway by this guy naturally put him in a foul mood.
But watching Tony Stark shiver as he drank cocktails in the cold sea wind, Henry couldn't help laughing. "Committing to the act all the way through, huh. Young Master Stark, with that level of professionalism—are you aiming for an Oscar for Best Actor?"
"Achoo!" After sneezing and finally realizing how stupid he looked, Tony Stark said to the people nearby, "Happy, get the girls inside the villa. I already thought this was a bad idea. Why didn't any of you stop me?"
The loyal head of security just shrugged. He knew full well that offering advice wasn't his role, so he treated the young master's grumbling as everyday background noise.
Setting the ill-timed cocktail down on a side table, Tony Stark stood up and headed toward the hillside. His villa sat atop the slope, built right along the edge of a cliff.
Its design wasn't the minimalist, modern style of his future home, but rather something older—like a nineteenth-century manor left behind by history. Perhaps it would be renovated someday.
Whenever Tony Stark came to the West Coast, he stayed here. Whether it was for the one-of-a-kind ocean view or some other random reason, Henry had no idea.
As they climbed uphill, Henry noticed that Tony Stark moved with an easy, brisk stride. Was it youth—or did this guy actually keep up with fitness?
Thinking of scenes from the movies—Tony sparring with Happy Hogan, or swinging a hammer nonstop in a cave while building his armor—his physical condition, while nowhere near those super-soldiers injected with all sorts of serums, was clearly above average.
There were even people online speculating that his Iron Man suits must contain some kind of inertial dampeners or other black-tech to help him withstand G-forces.
But had anyone considered that this guy's physical conditioning might simply be at fighter pilot—or even astronaut—levels? Sure, dampeners existed, but not to some absurd sci-fi extent.
Truly worthy of a rich family's heir.
Even in dress shoes, Henry easily kept pace with his boss. After all, he was still eating from Stark's bowl.
Since this entire area was private estate land, security inside wasn't especially tight. At least, when Tony moved, he had Happy lead the guards to keep their distance, deliberately leaving space for a private conversation with Henry.
"First thing," Tony said. "About that call you made to me earlier—don't tell me anything about it. My aunt asked me to pass on a message. The reason they didn't make you sign a nondisclosure agreement is because some information isn't sealed by fines or prison time.
"Those people believe only the dead keep secrets. Even someone like you—who's hard to kill—is no exception. They'll always find a way. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"I understand," Henry replied. To be warned only now was actually a bit surprising to him. Still, it was very much the style of secret intelligence agencies. He asked, "Who's this 'aunt' you're talking about?"
"Peggy Carter. A hard-as-nails grandma who fought in World War II."
From the way Tony Stark ground his teeth when he said it, it was obvious he'd been spanked plenty by that woman as a kid. Henry didn't tease him about it, though. Instead, he said, "I'm actually surprised you're not curious about any of that."
"Why would I be curious about that kind of thing?"
Tony's counterquestion left Henry momentarily speechless.
Thinking seriously about Tony Stark's personality, it became clear that he was extremely goal-oriented—once he identified a problem, he solved it. His scientific progress followed the same pattern: find the issue, fix the issue.
He might overdo it and create new problems along the way, but he didn't have an especially strong curiosity drive. He wasn't much like a traditional scientist—his temperament was closer to that of an engineer.
Even his investigation into S.H.I.E.L.D. only happened because Nick Fury and others appeared directly in front of him, and because it might involve himself.
Otherwise, if he wanted to know what his father had done back in the day, Edwin Jarvis was still alive. As the head of Stark Industries, all Tony needed was to open his mouth and ask. Did anyone really think that loyal old butler could keep secrets from him?
Yet this young master didn't even know that his own father was a founding member of S.H.I.E.L.D., and he still managed to live indulgently until the age of thirty-eight.
That wasn't just a lack of curiosity—it was outright indifference.
As for remembering the name of the girl he slept with yesterday, that was hardly worth testing him on. It was no different from asking what he'd had for dinner a week ago.
Tony Stark's lack of interest was a good thing for Henry. At least he didn't have to think about spinning lies or deciding how much truth to reveal.
After all, "Kryptonians" played no small role in this whole affair—even if Henry himself had been dragged onstage against his will.
So Henry asked out of genuine curiosity, "If you're not interested in that, then what did you call me here for?"
"The explosion. What was that about?"
Henry replied without hesitation, "Misjudged the charge."
Tony Stark stopped in his tracks, turned around, and stared at him for a long moment.
Henry put on an innocent expression and shrugged. "It's not like I asked them to take the bomb from my house and then not give it back. I use it as an alarm clock—what, that's not allowed? Besides, it can't even blow me up."