The three of them entered the villa together. Rather than heading straight to the underground lab, Tony led the two to the living room instead.
After everyone took a seat, Tony went to his liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of 50-year-old Highland Knight single malt whiskey.
He handed Bulma a bottle of juice, then uncorked the whiskey and poured two glasses in square tumblers—placing one in front of Smith Doyle, and keeping one for himself.
"Cheers."
Bulma raised her juice and mimicked the toast with Tony and Smith.
Smith took a small sip and found it quite good. But Tony's behavior surprised him—he downed the entire glass in one go.
Then, without a word, Tony refilled his glass.
Watching Tony gulp down such a strong drink right away and seemingly ready to go for another, Smith Doyle got the sense that something wasn't right emotionally.
Wasn't this supposed to be a triumphant moment for Tony? He'd just completed a new Mark armor model. Unless... had he discovered Obadiah's attempted assassination?
"Tony, weren't we supposed to spar a bit?"
"You planning on fighting drunk?"
"Or did you learn Drunken Fist and want to apply it to your armor?"
Tony set the whiskey down, glanced at Bulma, and said:
"There are some things I'd rather not talk about with a kid present…"
Smith sighed—looked like Tony still hadn't gotten over being called "uncle."
"Tony, Bulma's one of us. As long as it's not some sleazy story, there's no problem."
"You're not seriously feeling old, are you?"
Tony shot back, "What are you talking about?"
"Don't you know? Men are boys until they die. I've got at least twenty more years of play in me."
Then he slung his arm around Smith's shoulder and turned to Bulma.
"Smith and I are friends. Next time, don't call me 'uncle.' Just call me Tony."
Bulma lit up at being called "one of us." She beamed and nodded.
"Okay, Tony!"
Hearing that, Tony finally dropped the banter and grew serious.
"Yinsen is dead."
Smith Doyle froze at the name—he remembered Yinsen, the surgeon who'd been with Tony when he was kidnapped. But that shouldn't be a fixed point in time, right? How could he be dead?
"I thought he went back to his hometown?"
"What happened?"
Tony's expression darkened.
"His hometown is Gulmira."
"Last night, I saw him on a warzone news broadcast. He was publicly hanged by a Ten Rings warlord."
"I went today hoping to recover his body for a proper burial, but a tank shell…"
Tony didn't finish the sentence, but Smith understood.
This outcome was even more brutal than in the original timeline. Neither of them had known that Yinsen's home was in Gulmira—the very place caught in the middle of the conflict.
If Tony had known, he probably would've insisted on bringing Yinsen back to New York.
Smith raised his glass.
"My condolences."
He then downed the whiskey in one go. Tony followed with another swig of his own.
After two glasses, Tony was visibly tipsy—flushed and a little dazed.
"Smith, you don't know what it was like. I had him in my arms, trying to recover his body. Then came the tank shell… and all that was left was a cloud of blood and a piece of shredded meat in my hand…"
Smith could feel Tony's rage from the way he spoke.
"After I got back, I looked into your League's philosophy."
'Justice must be achieved by our own hands.' I respect that."
He understood now—everything stemmed from Stark Industries' weapons being sold on the black market. Tony intended to fix it in his own way.
Smith nodded.
"But you also need to be ready to bear both the glory and the tragedy that comes with it."
Tony gave a heavy nod. He understood exactly what Smith meant.
Just then, J.A.R.V.I.S.'s voice chimed in:
"Sir, the armor has been fully repaired."
Bulma looked around in surprise at the unfamiliar voice.
Smith explained:
"That's J.A.R.V.I.S., Tony's AI butler."
Bulma nodded thoughtfully, her eyes scanning the room.
Tony stood up.
"Smith, since my Mark armor is ready, let's go have that spar."
He led Smith and Bulma down to the underground lab.
Smith commented as they walked:
"Bulma, a lot of your lab equipment was arranged by Tony."
Bulma turned to Tony and said, "Thanks, Tony. But I still have a long list of equipment pending delivery—counting on you."
Tony looked surprised.
"I thought your friend here was some kind of superpowered fighter like you. Didn't expect her to be a scientist."
"Smith, don't tell me all that gear was for her alone?"
Smith nodded.
"That's right. It's her personal lab."
"Tony, don't underestimate Bulma. She's my chief scientist."
Tony looked even more stunned now—being chief scientist under someone like Smith was no small title.
Then the two of them dove into a technical discussion. Tony quickly realized she had knowledge that far surpassed most of the researchers in his own company.
"Not bad, kiddo—but still not quite at my level when I was your age."
Smith laughed.
"Don't be so sure. When you were her age, I doubt you were half as impressive."
"She's the lead on one of our upcoming projects."
Tony wasn't convinced and shot back with his usual sarcasm:
"You're not from a top university, so you wouldn't understand how big the gap is between scientists."
"Remind me again—what school did you graduate from?"
That smile of his didn't disappear. It just shifted targets.
Seeing Tony's smug grin, Smith made a mental note to show him no mercy in their upcoming spar.
Bulma, watching the two banter, couldn't help but wonder:
Is this what male friendship looks like?
Smith changed the topic.
"Tony, show Bulma your invention. Maybe she'll reverse-engineer it for me later."
Tony didn't even flinch—without his arc reactor, any armor was just a showpiece.
He walked over to the suit-up area.
"J.A.R.V.I.S.!"
With that call, mechanical arms rose from the floor, starting to equip him with the Mark III armor.
Watching the process, even Smith had to admit—there was a beauty in machinery. It really did look cool.
Bulma, on the other hand, watched the whole thing with intense focus.
—End of chapter—
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