Paul lifted his foot, clad in black riding boots, from the ground, one hand resting on the handlebars while the other casually slipped into his pocket. He raised an eyebrow at the red-and-gold armored figure before him, a smirk playing on his lips that was just begging for a punch.
"Stealing the spotlight?" he chuckled softly, his voice low but carried clearly across the plaza through the tiny microphone on his collar. "I thought we agreed to split it fifty-fifty. You handle the explosions and noise, I handle the elegance and finesse. Looks like the audience is leaning toward my side."
Tony's faceplate was still retracted, revealing his handsome face, now wearing an expression so vivid it could grace the cover of any fashion magazine with the headline: *How a Billionaire Father Gets Publicly Schooled by His Own Son*. He could feel his blood pressure spiking in sync with the output of his arc reactor.
*This little punk!*
The crowd below couldn't hear the father-son banter, but they could see the crisp close-up on the giant screen. One was a mysterious young man descending from the sky like a futuristic knight. The other was the long-awaited, god-like Iron Man. Standing side by side, one rebellious and untamed, the other exuding commanding charisma, the image alone carried an unparalleled impact.
"Whoa…" someone in the crowd let out a dreamy sigh. "Is this what Stark genes look like? Buy one, get one free?"
"Shut it, you little traitor!" Tony hissed through gritted teeth, all while maintaining his superstar smile and waving to the crowd. His facial muscles were on the verge of cramping.
"Alright, alright," Paul raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin only growing brighter. "The stage is yours, Dad. After all, you spent all that money on lights and dry ice. Gotta make it worth your while."
With that, he leaped off his futuristic bike, *Son of the Wind*, which automatically folded into a briefcase-sized metal block that he effortlessly picked up. Stepping back, he gestured toward Tony with a flourish, like a lead guitarist yielding the spotlight to the frontman—respectful, yet dripping with the implication of *"You're nothing without me."*
Tony took a deep breath, suppressing the urge to grab his son and give him a good spanking.
He stepped forward, claiming the center of the stage.
In that moment, the world seemed to shift for him.
*BOOM!*
The holographic screen behind the stage blazed to life, AC/DC's wild guitar riffs roaring like a battle anthem. Dozens of spotlights converged on him from all directions, the red-and-gold armor glinting brilliantly. Dry ice erupted from the floor, enveloping him in a cloud of mist, as if he were a war god stepping from the heavens into the mortal realm.
"Ladies! Gentlemen! And all you sneaky reporters out there!"
Tony's voice boomed through the suit's amplification system, resonating across the sky. He spread his arms wide, embracing the tidal wave of cheers, his face lit with that signature Tony Stark grin—a blend of arrogance, charm, and fervor.
"I know you've missed me!"
"AAAAH—TONY!!"
"IRON MAN!!"
The crowd erupted, their frenzied screams threatening to shake the entire plaza.
Paul stood behind him, watching his dad's over-the-top theatrics and barely suppressing a massive eye-roll. He could almost picture JARVIS in the background, coding "speechless" into the data stream.
*Give this guy a stage, and he'll turn the Earth into his personal disco ball.*
"That's right! I'm back!" Tony strutted across the stage, basking in the spotlight, every move and pause meticulously calculated to whip the crowd into a frenzy. "And I've brought a better future with me!"
He pointed to the Stark Expo grounds behind him, a futuristic city of steel and glass shimmering in the night.
"Some say I created Iron Man. No, I didn't." Tony's voice dropped, low and resonant. "It was you. This era created me. And I, Tony Stark, will spend the rest of my life giving back to this era!"
His speech was passionate, electrifying, and dripping with charisma.
Paul, standing off to the side, was half-asleep, mentally calculating whether the spit flying from his dad's speech could power a tiny hydroelectric generator.
"…So, today, I stand here not just to show off this sleek suit…"
Paul bowed to the crowd with a practiced, distant smile, inwardly screaming: *Yes, you are. You even picked the flashiest red-and-gold color to make sure no one misses you.*
"…Nor just to introduce this guy next to me," Tony suddenly slung an arm around Paul's shoulders, pulling him close, "this equally brilliant, occasionally disobedient… my pride."
Half the spotlights shifted to Paul.
Caught off guard, Paul froze at the words *"my pride."* He glanced up, catching a fleeting, complex, and genuine emotion in Tony's eyes. It wasn't an act.
*Okay, fine. This guy… can be a dad sometimes.*
Paul's internal snark paused. Clearing his throat, he leaned into the mic and said, "Thanks, everyone. I'm just an ordinary high schooler who likes riding bikes."
"Pfft—"
A reporter in the crowd couldn't hold back a laugh.
Tony's face darkened.
Determined not to let his son steal any more of the show, he seized control of the narrative.
"He's very humble!" Tony declared loudly, steering the conversation back. "And humility is a time-honored Stark family virtue!"
Paul's eye-roll practically reached the heavens. If the Stark family's "virtues" were a book, it'd be titled *The Actor's Guide to Self-Love*.
"Tonight, we gather here for a shared purpose!" Tony's voice soared again, his arm raised high, fingers splayed as if grasping the future itself.
"The Stark Expo is more than a platform to showcase technology! It's a promise! An invitation! A celebration for every genius in the world!"
"For the next year, I'll be here, waiting for you! Waiting for every soul with a dream, with wisdom, with the courage to change the world! Be it energy, medicine, artificial intelligence, or transportation… bring me your wildest ideas! Stark Industries will provide everything you need!"
"Because the future isn't built by one person!" Tony's gaze swept the crowd, finally landing on Paul.
"The future is forged by all of us, together!"
"And now, I declare!"
He paused, the entire plaza so silent you could hear a pin drop.
"The Stark Expo… officially open!"
As his words rang out, the expo grounds behind him blazed with light! Brilliant fireworks rocketed into the sky, spelling out "STARK EXPO" in the New York night.
The crowd went wild!
Cheers, music, and the crackle of fireworks merged into a triumphant symphony of the future.
Tony stood with arms wide, basking in his glory. Paul stood beside him, watching the sea of excited, hopeful faces below, a ripple of emotion stirring in his chest.
Maybe this spotlight-hogging dad wasn't *always* unreliable.
At the peak of the stage's brilliance, no one noticed a pair of eyes in a shadowy corner of the backstage, coldly watching the father and son through a monitor.
Those eyes held no fervor, no excitement—only a deep, unfathomable calm and a faint, almost imperceptible flicker of… jealousy and resentment.
On the screen, Tony Stark's triumphant face was magnified endlessly.
In the shadows, the figure's lips curled into a cold, twisted smirk.
He raised a hand, clutching an old lighter with a whip emblem, and with a soft *click*, sparked a dim yellow flame.
The firelight illuminated his grimy fingertips and eyes burning with destructive intent.
"Your future…?"
A hoarse voice, thick with an Eastern European accent, whispered in the shadows.
"Your future was built on my father's grave, Stark."
"Now… it's my turn."