With the announcement of his victory, everyone knew Tony Stark had advanced.
But unease rippled through the audience—Tina still stood outside the ring, unmoving.
Darcy Lewis frowned. "What's wrong with her? The fight's over, but she hasn't budged."
Thor glanced at Tina, his expression grim. "Something's off. She didn't throw the fight. That was… something in her body."
Jane Foster nodded. The cameras had shown her arms already healed mid-battle; Tony's late barrage had hurt her, but not enough to cripple her.
Kingo turned to Gilgamesh. "So what do we do now?"
Gilgamesh considered. "Best option is… nothing. Leave her. If she recovers on her own, fine. Otherwise…" He flexed his fists. "I'll knock her out and bring her back."
The others winced at the thought. With so many eyes watching, such a spectacle could cause trouble.
Ajak intervened. "Sersi, inform the host. No one approaches Tina for half an hour. If she hasn't recovered by then, Gilgamesh, you bring her back."
The Eternals nodded. Sersi quietly explained the situation to Eddie Brock, who relayed it to Smith Dole. He agreed, leaving Tina alone while Baymax units repaired the shattered stage.
The audience whispered, restless, but with the organizers calm, they could only wait.
Meanwhile, Tony returned to his corner. From Happy's case he swapped out his nearly depleted reactor for a fresh one. Only ten percent had remained; now, at least, he could breathe.
He studied Jarvis's display grimly. Multiple red zones marked critical armor damage. His arsenal was almost exhausted—Zeus' rotary gun spent, missiles gone. All that remained were interference charges, a few bombs, twin armor-piercing shots, and his core repulsors.
And his next opponent? Wenwu.
Tony rubbed his forehead. His blasts couldn't crack Wenwu's shield. His armor couldn't withstand Wenwu's strikes. Something had to give.
"Jarvis," he said finally, "drop Mark 40 from orbit."
"Yes, sir."
Across the arena, Mordo watched silently. "Garbage time now," he muttered. Everyone could see it: unless Wenwu collapsed like Tina, Tony's odds were close to none.
Elsewhere, Xialing leaned to her father. "He's your opponent for the next three matches, Father. This time, we'll claim the championship."
Shang-Chi added, "But he'll switch armor for sure."
Wenwu only smiled. "Three matches? Perfect. It means no single mistake can rob us. I'll take my time. Victory will be steady."
He held four Dragon Balls now, Tony three. Even a single-elimination round would be unfair—reducing his advantage to nothing.
But Tony thought differently. If they dragged this through three grueling rounds, his chances plummeted. Better to gamble. He wanted one decisive fight: win, and Wenwu surrenders three Balls. Lose, and he himself falls out entirely.
He approached Smith Dole. "Smith. I've got an idea."
Smith arched a brow. "Go on."
Tony folded his arms. "Why not let one match decide the fate of three Balls? Otherwise it's just me and Wenwu circling endlessly."
Smith chuckled. "In principle, I agree. Watching you lose three in a row would get boring."
Tony's face soured. "Excuse me? How about me beating him twice instead?"
Smith smirked. "If you believe it, then prove it."
The truth was, Smith's scouter had already pegged Wenwu's power—far beyond Tony's reach unless Stark invented an Infinity-Stone-powered suit.
Tony exhaled sharply. "So? My proposal—viable or not?"
Smith answered, "It's Wenwu's call. This rule change would cut into his rights. If he accepts, so be it. If not, you fight as scheduled."
Tony shrugged. "Then I'll ask him on stage. If he bites, one match seals it. If not… well, then we play it out."
(End of Chapter)
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