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"Alright, alright, stop there. I think I more or less get what you mean," Tony Stark said. But after a moment, he added, "Still… is two hundred million dollars really that much?"
Henry was left speechless. After a pause, he could only say,
"Young Master Stark, why don't you ask that same question to literally anyone else and see whether they try to beat you to death."
"It's just a number." Tony waved it off. "Fine, forget that. I said I wanted your opinion."
"Ask away," Henry replied. "Though I don't think I'll have anything useful to say."
Tony Stark naturally ignored that weak counterattack and went straight to the point.
"Sony wants Stark Pictures to join their digital alliance. What do you think?"
Henry answered without hesitation:
"Is that really necessary? The HD digital VCR consortium they set up a few years ago defined standards for consumer camcorders. What we're doing is film digitization—it's a completely different track.
"Besides, our primary market is Hollywood. Stark Pictures itself is part of Hollywood. Partnering with Sony is basically opening another gate into Hollywood and giving them a foothold.
"Sure, Sony can provide a world-class market. But Stark Industries' strategic focus is the military–industrial complex, isn't it? Are you planning to enter the home audiovisual appliance market too?
"I'm not interested in playing that big of a game. And if the two sides cooperate while Stark Pictures can't commit enough commercial power, then sooner or later we'll be reduced to Sony's manufacturing plant or R&D lab. If you're fine with that, I have no objections."
As he said this, Henry realized something.
This wasn't something Tony Stark couldn't have thought through—he simply couldn't ignore the idea once it occurred to him.
So when Tony said he wanted Henry's "opinion," he wasn't really asking about the pros and cons.
He was just asking whether Henry wanted to play along.
As if confirming Henry's realization, Tony asked again,
"You're not interested?"
Henry replied calmly:
"Like the example I gave earlier. For me, a car just needs four wheels and the ability to run once you fuel it. If you put a fighter jet in front of me, I'll admire it—but I won't want to fly it."
If I want speed, I'll just fly myself.
A Kryptonian could afford that kind of pride.
"I understand," Tony Stark said, not pressing the issue further.
This man's purpose was clear—he stayed in Hollywood for his girlfriend. Beyond money, what other benefit would there be in playing an even bigger game?
They were nearing the villa now. A group of secretaries—men and women, young and old—were waiting at the entrance.
Henry still couldn't tell whether Pepper Potts, the woman who might one day become Mrs. Stark, was among them.
Tony gave the group instructions as he walked past.
"Move the beach party inside the house. Get things ready."
With that, he entered the villa and headed upstairs.
At gatherings like this, the first floor was public space—anywhere not explicitly closed off was fair game. The second floor and above were private living quarters; unless specifically invited, it would be rude to go up.
Henry, of course, had no intention of following Tony Stark upstairs. From both an etiquette standpoint and an optics standpoint, that would have been strange.
He stayed on the first floor instead, taking the chance to look around this villa—his first visit—while carefully staying out of the way of the event staff setting things up.
This was another Stark property, and Henry had been to one before: the Beverly Hills villa where Katharine Hepburn had once stayed. That one had been old-fashioned in style, very much in line with the tastes of early-20th-century elites.
The villa in front of him now was also an estate-style property, but the interior décor was… well, hard to describe.
There were antiques, yes—but far more of the furnishings reflected an engineer's obsession with functionality.
Worse, the changes clearly hadn't been guided by a coherent design philosophy. The result was an interior that felt like two incompatible styles dragging each other down.
Forget aesthetics—Henry felt uncomfortable just looking at it.
No wonder this place would later be torn down and replaced with a villa better suited to its owner's taste.
If Henry had to name the best house he'd ever seen, it would still be the Mellon family's Oak Springs Farm. The gardens, carefully designed by the lady of the house, Rachel Lambert, and the consistent taste throughout the interior, radiated understated excellence.
They didn't need gold toilets or gaudy jewelry to scream wealth. Everything in the house was something the old-money couple actually used, and not a single item was cheap or boring.
What left the deepest impression on Henry was a mug Mrs. Lambert loved to use. It had a picture of kittens chasing butterflies among flowers.
He'd assumed it was some famous artist's work, the kind of mug that sold for tens of thousands of dollars—something befitting the Mellon family.
It turned out she'd bought it at a market for five dollars, and she'd been using it for over ten years.
That wasn't thrift—it was taste. Her judgment wasn't determined by price. She wasn't like the kind of rich people who only cared whether something was expensive, not whether it was good.
As for Tony Stark, his current state of mind probably matched this house perfectly. Old and new colliding, not in harmony, but in confusion. That was likely why he could live in a place that felt so awkward.
Chattering voices filled the air as the girls from the beach—now changed into light, breezy dresses—entered the villa. The warmth brought color back to their cheeks.
Everyone looked relieved. Finally, they didn't have to act like idiots playing on a beach in the middle of winter.
Most of them couldn't read the meaning of this house at all. They clustered around the food and bar, looking for warmth through calories or alcohol.
A smaller group gathered near the DJ, asking about the upcoming music so they could plan how to perform.
There were still plenty of girls aiming to become Mrs. Stark.
Not long after, Tony Stark reappeared at the party, now dressed casually.
Happy Hogan popped up from who knew where, carrying a silver tray with a glass dome. Beneath it was a cocktail he'd just mixed himself, delivered to Tony at precisely the right moment.
Finding the music too tame, Tony Stark raised his glass and shouted,
"Music! Hard liquor! Ladies, let's move!"
With the boss's command, the atmosphere instantly transformed. The DJ switched to trendy electronic dance music.
The thunderous rhythm made everyone's body move instinctively. The girls danced wildly, each trying to showcase herself and win the young master's attention.
It was chaotic—but strangely orderly. No one deliberately shoved toward Tony Stark. Everyone just danced confidently where they stood.
Even Henry was impressed by this bizarre spectacle.
As Tony Stark passed by Henry, he raised his glass in invitation.
"Don't be a buzzkill—move a little! Relax, I won't tell your girl about what happened today."
With that, he plunged into the crowd of women.
Listening to a line that practically screamed "there's no silver here", Henry felt… oddly reassured.
Yeah right. I totally believe you.
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