On the dedicated helicopter for the Stark Expo, the roar of the propellers sounded muffled through the thick glass.
Tony Stark held a glass of champagne, eyeing Paul, who was busy clanking away at his side. His brow furrowed.
"Kid, let me get this straight one more time. You're sure you want to make your entrance with this... pile of scrap metal?"
He pointed at the jumble of parts at Paul's feet: a bicycle frame, two wheel hubs glowing with blue light, and a mess of unidentifiable wires and metal strips. The outfit was even more ridiculous—a tight-fitting cycling suit with a strange, umbrella-like contraption strapped to his back.
If this thing had turned up in a scrapyard, Tony wouldn't have given it a second glance.
Paul didn't even look up, expertly snapping the last superconducting module into a groove on the wheel hub with a crisp 'click.'
He clapped his hands, stood up, and flashed Tony a grin so brilliant it was almost asking for a punch.
"Dad, relax. Tonight, I'm going to show you what real art looks like."
With that, he put on a streamlined helmet, leaving only his gleaming eyes visible, and added mysteriously, "I guarantee it'll blow you away."
"I just hope it's not a scare," Tony muttered, sipping his champagne.
*He* was supposed to be the main event today. The new Iron Man suit, the revolutionary Arc Reactor technology... He had prepared a grand, "god-descending-from-the-heavens" style entrance, designed to make the whole world scream for him.
But no, his upstart son just had to tag along, insisting he had a "little surprise" of his own for everyone.
Looking at Paul's cobbled-together bicycle, Tony was filled with doubt. He was already calculating the best landing pose to steal the audience's attention back from the inevitable fiasco.
"Sir, we have reached the designated airspace. Altitude is ten thousand meters," J.A.R.V.I.S.'s voice announced in the cabin.
"Excellent." Paul stretched his limbs and walked to the open door.
"Wait!" Tony shot to his feet. "You're not actually planning to jump from..."
His words were cut short. Paul had already given him a jaunty salute before taking a leap, disappearing into the thick cloud cover below.
"Maniac!" Tony cursed, rushing to the window, but all he could see was a churning sea of clouds.
A sense of unease grew stronger within him.
"J.A.R.V.I.S., pull up the live feed from the Expo. Maximize it!"
The next second, the massive screen inside the helicopter lit up, displaying a real-time view of the main stage. Tens of thousands of spectators were looking up in anticipation, massive searchlights crisscrossing the night sky, the atmosphere electric.
Suddenly, a silver speck of light pierced the clouds, plummeting toward the ground at an incredible speed!
"What is that? A shooting star?" the announcer shouted excitedly.
The camera zoomed in, and everyone saw it clearly. It wasn't a meteor at all. It was a person! A young man on a bicycle, hurtling through the night sky in a way that defied comprehension!
"My God..." Tony's champagne glass trembled in his hand, the liquid spilling unnoticed.
On the screen, Paul's figure weaved through the skyscrapers of New York, his simple bicycle seemingly alive. The blue rings of light beneath his wheels pulsed, each flicker allowing him to turn or accelerate at an impossible angle.
He wasn't flying; it was more like he was skating on a vast, invisible sheet of ice formed by the city's entire magnetic field!
One moment he was drifting sideways along the glass facade of a skyscraper, kicking up a brilliant shower of electromagnetic sparks; the next, he was pulling up sharply, carving an elegant parabola through the air, drawing gasps from the entire crowd.
This wasn't an entrance; it was a one-man show, a fusion of extreme sports and futuristic technology!
"COOOOL—!"
The crowd went absolutely wild! Whistles and screams erupted like a tsunami, engulfing the venue. They forgot who they had been waiting for, every eye captivated by the mysterious figure tearing recklessly through the night sky on a bicycle.
In the VIP section, an Asian woman in a black trench coat with a stern expression looked up, a flicker of surprise in her eyes as she watched the spectacle.
Beside her, Agent Coulson adjusted his glasses and murmured, "May, it looks like our 'Stark problem' just got more complicated."
Melinda May said nothing, simply watching in silence, committing the incredible scene to memory.
In the helicopter, Tony stared blankly at the screen, at the figure weaving and darting between the buildings. He glanced down at the completely frenzied crowd and felt a sharp stab in his heart.
His carefully prepared speech, his rehearsed landing pose, his pride and joy "god-descending-from-the-heavens" entrance...
In that moment, it all became a joke.
A complete and utter joke.
"Sir," J.A.R.V.I.S.'s voice chimed in, with a hint of what could almost be... sympathy? "Mr. Paul is approaching the main stage, ETA ten seconds."
On the screen, Paul completed one last, difficult spin, aiming the front of his bike at the center of the stage. He retracted the glider-wing on his back, and both he and the bike went into a vertical drop.
Just as everyone thought he was going to crash, the blue rings under the wheels flared brilliantly, and an invisible repulsive field pushed precisely against the ground.
With a soft "whumm," Paul and his bike hovered steadily a meter off the ground before landing gently in the middle of the stage without another sound.
He propped himself up with one foot, took off his helmet, and revealed a young face, beaded with sweat but beaming with a brilliant smile.
"Good evening, New York!" Paul waved to the roaring crowd like a rock star who had just won a world championship.
*BOOM—!*
The atmosphere exploded.
"Paul! It's Paul Stark!"
"Tony Stark's son!"
"My God! Are all the Starks monsters?"
In the helicopter, Tony's face was grim, his teeth grinding together. He watched the punk down below who had stolen all his thunder, now basking in the cheers of thousands. The rage in his heart felt hot enough to short-circuit the Mark IV's internal wiring.
He descended slowly, his heavy metal boots landing on the stage with a thud that drew barely any attention.
He walked up to Paul, his expression a complex mix of shock, annoyance, and a sliver of... pride... that he would never admit to.
"You little..." Tony's voice was squeezed through clenched teeth. "Are you really planning to keep stealing my spotlight?"
Paul turned, gave him a wink, and put on an innocent face. "Of course not. I'm just the appetizer, warming up the crowd. The main course is still you, the one and only Iron Man, right?"
It sounded like a compliment, but paired with that smug grin, it was more infuriating to Tony than a direct insult.
Fine.
Very fine.
You want to steal the show? You think my entrance is cliché?
Tony Stark abruptly raised a hand, and with a sharp *CLANG*, snapped his faceplate shut.
The data stream in his HUD flickered wildly as insane plans formed and were discarded in his mind.
Finally, the corner of his mouth curled into a dangerous smirk.
"J.A.R.V.I.S."
"At your service, sir."
"Push thruster output to three hundred percent. I'm gonna give them a real show!"
"Sir, that will cause structural overload. There is an eighty-two percent chance of mid-air disintegration..."
"Do it!"
Tony's voice was cold and resolute.
*If you want to play, then I'll play along.*
*Let's see who the real star of the show is tonight!*