At the press conference, Colonel Rhodes announced loudly:
"Mr. Stark has prepared a statement. He won't be taking any questions. Thank you!"
Tony stepped up to the podium, scanning the sea of reporters staring back at him.
"It's been a while since I showed my face. Guess I'll just read from the script."
Backstage, Smith was watching the live feed with a faint smile as Tony Stark appeared on screen.
"There's been speculation that I was personally involved in the incidents on the expressway and at the industrial park."
Before he could continue, a familiar reporter interrupted:
"Excuse me, Mr. Stark."
"You really think we'll believe that was just a movie shoot? I mean, come on—usually the truth is—"
Tony looked straight at her—a beautiful reporter he had a brief fling with—and smirked.
"I get what you're saying. It's fine to question the official story."
"But no matter what, it's out of line to randomly suggest I'm some kind of... superhero."
Christine quickly raised her hand.
"I never said you were a superhero."
"You didn't?"
"Good. Because that would just be ridiculous."
"Totally absurd."
"I mean, I'm not cut out to be a superhero. Clearly I've got too many personality flaws, made too many bad choices—not exactly role model material."
Seeing Tony begin to ramble, Rhodes leaned over and whispered urgently:
"Just stick to the script. Don't improvise."
Tony stared at the script in his hands, reading it silently.
Then, he paused.
He set the paper down.
And said:
"I am Iron Man."
The room exploded.
"Wait, seriously? Did he just say he's Iron Man?"
"Mr. Stark! Why are you admitting this now? How did you build that suit?!"
A barrage of questions erupted from the reporters. Christine stood and raised her voice:
"Mr. Stark!"
"According to my latest intel, you weren't the one who took down that giant robot. Isn't that right?"
The crowd fell silent.
Everyone turned to Christine. Her words had dropped a second bombshell—almost as big as Tony's admission.
She pulled out a photograph.
"Mr. Stark, according to a witness on the scene, it was someone without any armor—this person here in the photo—who actually defeated the giant robot. Is that true?"
"Online, they're calling him... our very own Superman."
In the corner, Coulson slapped his forehead.
"Dammit. I knew Tony wouldn't follow the script…"
"Now what about Smith? Don't tell me he's going to blurt it out too."
"And weren't the reporters briefed ahead of time? Who let her ask that?"
Tony stepped down from the podium and walked over to Christine.
"Mind if I take a look at that photo?"
She handed it over without hesitation.
Tony studied it. The image was blurry and distorted, but he recognized the figure instantly—Smith Doyle, dressed in martial arts gear.
He turned back to the podium.
"I am Iron Man. A superhero."
"And having a powerful, like-minded friend? That makes total sense."
"He's the one I called in as backup. We took down the villain together…"
Tony paused.
"The villain—Obadiah Stane, the Iron Monger."
"To put it in DC movie terms, I guess I'm a beefed-up Bruce Wayne. As for my friend here, well… looks like you guys are calling him 'Superman.'"
"So now, let's hear from the man himself."
Tony stepped aside, making room at the podium.
Smith Doyle emerged from backstage, walked to the mic, and shared a quick embrace with Tony.
As the reporters buzzed with anticipation, Smith raised both hands, calming the room.
"I'm the other person involved—Smith Doyle."
"But no, I'm not some farm boy named Clark Kent. I'm not from Krypton."
The room chuckled—everyone knew Superman was an alien.
One reporter asked:
"Mr. Smith, are you saying you're not from outer space?"
Smith grinned and shook his head.
"Don't insult me like that. I don't power up by lying in the sun."
"You probably don't know much about me, so let me introduce myself."
"I'm the CEO of Capsule Corp, and the newest shareholder of Stark Industries. The paperwork's already been filed with the exchange."
"Capsule Corp is a tech company focused on transforming everyday life."
Tony chimed in from the side:
"So yeah, Smith Doyle's definitely not some small-town nobody. And soon, he'll be joining Stark Industries' board of directors."
Now the reporters got it—he was just like Tony Stark: a powerful capitalist with deep pockets.
Though they couldn't help but wonder—what kind of backing was behind this sudden rise of Capsule Corp?
"As for yesterday's events, Tony already admitted it, so there's no point in me hiding anything."
"Yes—we took down the villain, Iron Monger, together."
A reporter jumped up:
"Mr. Smith! So you are our Superman?"
Smith shook his head.
"I'm not Superman. I'm not some comic book superhero. I'm just me—Smith Doyle."
"I want to say something to the public: justice is something you must pursue yourself—not rely on someone else to deliver."
"Even the Justice League can't save you from every disaster."
"Of course, ordinary citizens can always call the FBI—we are taxpayers, after all."
"Oh, and one more thing—Capsule Corp will soon launch a brand-new product. We'll be holding a press event soon."
"And the lead scientist behind this product? A brilliant young woman who could rival Tony. She's only sixteen!"
All eyes turned to Tony Stark.
Tony didn't miss a beat.
"I've met Bulma. She's got incredible creative talent, sharp ideas, and a rock-solid foundation."
"She's definitely comparable to me—at age sixteen."
With Tony's endorsement, the excitement in the room reached a fever pitch. It had been a day full of headline-worthy revelations—and every single one was a bombshell.