In the corridor behind the backstage leading to the exit, a man blocked their path.
He wore a slightly cheap gray suit, his hairline a little high, with the polite smile of an earnest man.
"Mr. Stark, Mr. Henry, may I take a few minutes of your time?"
Henry raised an eyebrow.
Of course he recognized that face—wasn't this the famed Phil Coulson? The Beginner Village Chief!
Tsk tsk, must admit… his looks…
"Yo, isn't this the agent from the Department of Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics?" Henry deliberately mangled the long, tongue-twisting title.
"And what brings you backstage at a press conference? Selling insurance? Or investigating whether we've been dodging taxes?"
Tony scanned him from head to toe, his sharp tongue immediately joining the ridicule:
"I have to say, sir, your suit is as… unique as that concerning hairline of yours. Didn't your mother ever tell you that a man should at least have one proper bespoke suit?"
Despite the brothers' relentless mockery, Coulson maintained his professional smile, unaffected on the surface—but his heart raced.
How do they know?! Could there be a spy in the organization?
"I am Phil Coulson, from the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Department," he said, producing a business card and offering it.
"Our department's name is admittedly long—officially, the Strategic Homeland Advanced Recon and Logistics Bureau. We'll consider shortening it in the future."
Tony glanced at the card, then tossed it to Henry with a look of disdain.
"Sounds like an insurance company or some cheap security firm."
Coulson's lip twitched ever so slightly, but he maintained his smile.
"Mr. Stark, Mr. Henry, we noticed your recent heroic actions. We can help manage all the fallout from your armor exposure—media, government, military. We can make it as if nothing ever happened."
"Oh? How generous of you," Henry smirked.
"And the cost?"
"The cost," Coulson's expression grew serious, "is that you cease unauthorized, public use of high-risk equipment. Additionally, we sincerely invite you to join us as consultants."
"Join you? Work for you?" Tony laughed. "Do you know who I am? I'm Tony Stark! You expect me to work for a government agency whose name even I can't pronounce? Can you pay my salary?"
Henry glanced at Tony, then at Coulson—whose expression already screamed that he had anticipated this reaction—and smiled.
S.H.I.E.L.D. agents always act as if they are above the world, untouchable.
Especially that bald guy in black—the one nicknamed "Egghead"—whose motto is to control everything beyond his reach.
Some might assume, with a motto that grand, he must be powerful, able to fight the Hulk with his bare hands or stand toe-to-toe with Thor.
Wrong. Dead wrong.
That bald director has no superpowers, just a self-important ego.
"Hey, Agent Coulson," Henry leaned close so only he could hear, in a low, casual tone.
"The agency you mentioned… isn't that the one run by a certain black-clad, eyepatch-wearing bald guy? You're planning something called the Avengers Initiative, right? The plan to gather a frozen old guy from the ice, a grumpy green giant, a muscle-bound mythological dude, and a few agents, forming a superhero circus to repel alien invasions?"
Coulson's professional smile froze instantly.
His pupils constricted, beads of cold sweat formed on his forehead.
He stared at Henry like he had seen a ghost, his mind blank.
These were the highest-level secrets of S.H.I.E.L.D.! Fewer than five people in the world knew about the Avengers Initiative.
How did Henry Stark find out?!
Although he didn't know who the mythological muscle guy was, it was clearly beyond their reach.
Through Coulson's earpiece, a calm but stunned voice sounded—it was Nick Fury.
The S.H.I.E.L.D. director was monitoring Henry's teasing expression via a tiny camera.
Hearing "Avengers," Tony perked up and interrupted.
"Avengers? Sounds like a second-rate rock band, or some washed-up boy band. Honestly, your taste, like your department name, is… questionable."
"How I know? You don't need to know," Henry said, watching Coulson's pale face, reverting to his usual nonchalant grin.
"Just tell your bald boss that we run our own lives. Stop sending people to bother us. If we need help, we'll call. Though… probably not."
Coulson froze, about to say something, but Fury's voice came through the earpiece: "Withdraw."
Coulson took a deep breath, forced a smile, nodded at the brothers, then turned and disappeared down the corridor.
Outside, Pepper was swarmed by reporters, flustered and panicking.
Tony and Henry, unfazed, slid into the waiting Audi R8 that Happy had driven, already parked outside.
The car roared to life and sped off.
On the road, Tony watched the streets whizz past and stayed silent for a long moment before speaking.
"Obadiah… does he know about that?"
Henry knew he meant the evidence Pepper and Happy had collected.
"Not yet," Henry said calmly, eyes on the road.
"But it doesn't matter. By tomorrow morning, he'll be arrested for multiple corporate crimes and treason. And, probably, he'll suffer a sudden heart attack in custody."
Tony blinked, turning to see his brother's calm profile, slightly surprised.
"Don't need me?"
"Nope," Henry smiled.
"I can handle this dirty work myself."
Tony was struck again.
He looked at Henry's relaxed grin—so confident, so assured.
He was silent for a moment, then spoke with seriousness:
"He's family. Don't make it too cruel."
Henry looked at him, smiling as brightly as ever.
"Don't worry, brother. I will."