In the backstage lounge, the air was frozen solid.
The roar of the press conference was completely sealed off by the heavy, soundproof door, leaving only a suffocating silence.
Tony Stark, the man who had just dropped two bombshells on the entire world, now stood in the center of the room like a guilty child, his eyes darting away, not daring to meet the gaze of the boy on the sofa, whose arms were crossed and face was an icy mask.
"You didn't ask me."
Paul finally spoke. His voice wasn't loud, but it was like a blade dipped in ice, striking precisely at the heart of Tony's guilt.
"Hey, kid, listen," Tony cleared his throat, trying to summon his playboy charm. "That scene out there, how cool was that? You're an overnight sensation! Tomorrow's headlines will be all about you. 'Genius Prodigy Paul Stark.' How does that sound? Much better than 'Tony Stark's illegitimate son,' right?"
He forced a smile he thought was suave, but it only earned him an even colder stare from Paul.
"So, I'm supposed to thank you?" Paul rose from the sofa and walked step by step until he was in front of Tony, looking up at him. The fourteen-year-old boy's height only reached Tony's chin, but his presence was no less intimidating.
"You used me, and you used Baymax, as a tool to divert attention. You announced you were shutting down the weapons division, the stock plummeted, and all of Stark Industries is paying the price for your 'meaningful journey.' Then you pushed me out like a new act in your circus, telling everyone, 'Don't worry, we still have this.'"
Paul's every word was crystal clear, the chain of logic so flawless that Tony couldn't refute it.
He really had thought that way.
In that instant, Tony felt as if he were seeing a version of himself from decades ago. Under the same kind of spotlight, his father, Howard Stark, had proudly pushed him to the forefront, showing off his genius, his creations, to the world, but had never once asked him, *Do you want this?*
That suffocating feeling of being treated like a showpiece, a part of the family assets, traveled across time and enveloped him once more.
"I…" Tony opened his mouth, but the prepared excuses—the "this is for your own good," the "you'll have to face this sooner or later"—were all stuck in his throat.
He looked into Paul's clear, sharp eyes and, for the first time, felt utterly defeated in front of his son.
"I screwed up, didn't I?" he said quietly, a trace of weariness and vulnerability in his tone that he himself hadn't noticed.
Paul didn't answer, merely watching him in silence.
The standoff between father and son settled into a strange stalemate. The atmosphere was tense, yet tinged with a hint of comedy from the sight of Tony being so thoroughly checkmated.
After a long moment, Tony sighed, giving up all resistance.
"Alright, you win." He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "You're right. I used you as my PR card. I apologize."
Tony Stark was actually apologizing.
A flicker of surprise crossed Paul's eyes, but it was quickly replaced by calm. He knew this was only the first step.
"An apology won't get my life back on track," Paul said. "From today on, I'll be recognized on the street. My every move will be put under a microscope. I just want to do my research in peace, not be some mascot."
"I get it. I totally get it." Tony walked over to the bar, poured himself a glass of whiskey, and downed it in one gulp. The fiery liquid burned his throat, and also cleared his chaotic mind a little.
"So, let's talk compensation." Tony turned, his expression growing serious. "You're right. You shouldn't be a mascot. You should be… a founder."
He looked at Paul and said, word by word, "I will establish a brand-new tech subsidiary, named after you. Baymax, and all your future inventions—the patents will belong to you personally, with the company holding exclusive operating rights. I'll give you the startup capital, the best labs, and complete autonomy. You won't have to report to anyone but yourself."
This was no longer just compensation; it was an entrustment.
Tony Stark was preparing to hand the future of Stark Industries to this son he had only known for a short time.
Paul's heart skipped a beat.
He remained outwardly calm, but his mind was racing. He saw the enormous benefits behind the proposal, and more importantly, the possibility of realizing his own plans. Having a company entirely under his control meant he would have his own power, his own foundation. In a world full of unknown dangers, this was the best talisman.
"The company's name will be 'Macroverse,'" Paul stated calmly.
"Macroverse?" Tony raised an eyebrow. "A bit… on the nose? But whatever you want. As long as you're happy."
"I'll review the terms of the agreement myself."
"Of course."
"I want a fifty-one percent controlling stake."
"No problem," Tony agreed with surprising ease. He saw the glint in Paul's eyes—a gleam of ambition and calculation for the future that was both foreign and familiar. He smiled. "Anything else, my little boss?"
Paul gave him a deep look and made no further demands.
"Deal."
He extended his hand.
Tony paused for a second, then extended his own hand, grasping the one that was still slightly small and young.
Two hands, one large and one small, representing two Starks, two geniuses, at that moment sealed an agreement that would profoundly impact the future.
…
Pepper Potts felt like her head was about to explode.
Ever since the press conference ended, her phone hadn't stopped ringing. Inquiries from the board, furious calls from investors, the media hounding her at every turn… Stark Industries was experiencing an unprecedented earthquake because of Tony's impulsive decision.
When she walked into the lounge carrying two cups of coffee, she saw Paul helping Tony straighten his tie.
The father and son seemed to have reconciled, the atmosphere much calmer.
"Pepper, perfect timing." Tony's face lit up with relief when he saw her. "Help me deal with those wolves outside. My partner and I need to discuss the future blueprint for our new company."
Pepper shot him a helpless glare and handed one of the coffees to Paul.
"Paul, are you okay?" she asked gently, her eyes filled with concern. She didn't approve of what Tony had done, but she felt for the boy who had been forcibly thrown into the spotlight.
"I'm fine, Pepper," Paul said, taking a sip of the coffee. "I just might be more trouble for you from now on."
"It's nothing."
Paul suddenly leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a volume only they could hear. "Pepper, what's your take on Obadiah Stane?"
Pepper froze, not understanding why he was suddenly asking this. She thought for a moment and answered cautiously, "Mr. Stane is a veteran of the company, and… an old friend of Tony's father."
"Is that so?" A cold smirk touched the corner of Paul's mouth. "When I was on stage, I had the clearest view. When Tony announced he was closing the weapons division, the look on his face wasn't what you'd expect from an 'old friend.'"
Pepper's heart sank.
She recalled Obadiah storming the stage, the murderous glare in his eyes, and the veins bulging on his arms as he had grabbed Tony.
"He feels like everything he built was destroyed by Tony with his own hands," Paul continued. "A man like that is dangerous."
"Paul, that's just speculation…" Pepper hesitated. Obadiah was highly respected in the company; you couldn't make such accusations without proof.
"I don't need proof. I just need to be prepared." Paul's gaze was not that of a child, but of a master strategist planning his moves. "Pepper, I need you to do me a favor."
"What is it?"
"With the money Tony gave me, and the licensing fees from Baymax for the next year, I need you to… buy the dip on Stark Industries stock for me."
Pepper was utterly stunned, nearly spilling the coffee in her hand.
"Buy the dip? Now?!" she hissed, her voice filled with shock. "Stark's stock is in freefall! No one knows where the bottom is! This is a gamble!"
"No, it's an investment." Paul looked at her, his eyes unwavering. "Tony closed the weapons division, but he also showcased Baymax. The market is in a panic right now, but they'll soon realize that the future of the medical and health industry is far more vast than the arms trade. The stock will recover, and it will climb to new heights."
"Most importantly," Paul's gaze deepened, "I need a seat at the table. On the board, within Stark Industries. Only then, when the real danger comes, will I have the power to protect the people I want to protect."
The identity of "the people I want to protect" was self-evident.
Pepper stared at the boy before her, momentarily speechless. His analysis, his foresight, his maturity and decisiveness far beyond his years, were all staggering.
She hesitated for a few seconds before finally nodding.
"I understand." She chose to believe in the miracle this boy had created.
"Thank you, Pepper." Paul offered a genuine smile.
Their conversation over, Pepper turned to leave, ready to face the real storm waiting outside the door.
But just as she pulled the door open, a tall figure flashed past the corner at the end of the hallway.
Obadiah Stane stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the chaotic crowd below. The savage fury on his face was gone, replaced by a chilling, deathly calm.
He picked up his phone and dialed a number.
"It's me."
A hoarse voice came from the other end. "Mr. Stane."
"How's the research coming along on those things from the desert?"
"Progress is smooth, sir. We've almost finished repairing the big guy's external armor."
A cold arc slowly spread across Obadiah's lips.
"Excellent. Speed it up." He looked out at the massive Stark Industries sign, his eyes glinting with greed and murderous intent.
"Tony, you gave up your kingdom with your own hands. So don't blame me… for taking your place."