"Good afternoon," he began, his voice transmitting clearly through the high-quality sound system to every corner of the hall—steady, clear, and possessing a unique, slightly raspy magnetism.
"Or, perhaps for those friends who have been waiting outside for seven or eight hours only to snag a terrible seat, the afternoon might not be quite so good."
It was a typical Tony-style opening, carrying a touch of harmless sarcasm that slightly eased the overly tense atmosphere, drawing a few scattered, cautious chuckles.
But the expression on his face held no hint of a joke.
"I know you have many questions," he continued, speaking slowly and enunciating every word clearly. "About the unusual 'bonfire party' at the private dock on the North Shore of Long Island last night, about the accidental death of Obadiah Stane, former Chief Operating Officer of Stark Industries and my former mentor and partner, about where Stark Industries is headed after closing its weapons manufacturing division, and..."
He turned slightly, raised his arm, and waved it casually toward the massive LCD screen behind him.
"About this."
The screen lit up in response.
Without any long-winded preamble or blurry long shots, a meticulously edited, high-quality video, clearly captured from multiple angles, began to play.
In the footage, the night sky was illuminated by fire and tracer rounds, as a silver-blue, streamlined, and futuristic-looking Iron Man suit engaged in a fierce battle with a massive, clunky, and menacing black giant armor among the dock warehouses and shipping containers.
The blue light of pulse cannons intersected with the fiery chains of Gatling guns, and fireballs from explosions erupted from time to time.
The video skillfully highlighted the agility and precision of the silver-blue suit against the madness and clumsiness of the black armor, ultimately freezing on the moment when the light in the black armor's chest surged, followed by an earth-shattering explosion, while the silver-blue suit hovered against the background of the exploding flames like a god of war descending.
The video was short, only about forty seconds, but it was packed with information.
The hall was initially deathly silent, with only the sound of machinery running and suppressed breathing audible, and then, a roar of gasps, sharp intakes of breath, and incredulous murmurs exploded! It was like a bomb dropped into the crowd.
Tony turned back to face the media, who had fallen into chaos.
He did not raise his voice to suppress the clamor; he simply waited quietly, his hands resting lightly on the edge of the podium, his posture relaxed, even carrying a hint of scrutiny.
Only when the wave of sound, after the peak of shock and excitement, began to shift toward more specific, eager desires to ask questions, did he lean forward slightly, closer to the microphone.
"Yes, that is true." His voice rang out again, cutting through the noise steadily. "The footage has not been digitally enhanced; it is not a movie trailer, nor is it some piece of performance art. That is the fact of what happened last night. And that," he pointed to the frozen image of the silver-blue suit behind him, his tone as flat as if he were introducing a newly manufactured appliance, "is me."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room again, and clearly enunciated the words: "Tony Stark is Iron Man."
An absolute, pin-drop silence.
This lasted for about five seconds.
Everyone stared with wide eyes and open mouths, digesting this simple, direct declaration that was enough to overturn countless perceptions.
Then, a cataclysmic roar of noise erupted!
The reporters went wild; they sprang from their seats, waving their arms and shouting questions, trying to break through the fragile human wall formed by the security staff.
The roar nearly tore the roof off: "Mr. Stark! Do you admit that the suit is a weapon?! Does it violate international arms embargo regulations?!"
"Did Obadiah Stane die at your hands?! Is this murder or self-defense?! Will the Department of Justice intervene?!"
"You publicly announced the closure of the weapons manufacturing division, yet you privately developed such a highly lethal single-soldier armor; is this not extreme hypocrisy and a double standard?!"
"The potential Military application of this technology is immense! Do you intend to cooperate with the Military? Or will you hand it over to the government?!"
"What is the energy system of the suit?! Is it safe?! Is there a risk of nuclear leakage or overload explosion?!"
"How did you complete such complex technical development in such a short time?! Was there support from foreign forces?!"
Tony stood quietly on the podium, facing the chaotic roar, his face expressionless, simply raising his right hand slightly.
This simple gesture seemed to carry a kind of magic, and the clamor strangely began to subside—not because he had any superpowers, but because everyone was waiting, waiting for him to explain this earth-shattering declaration, waiting for him to personally reveal more bombshells that would dominate the headlines for weeks to come.
"One at a time." When the noise subsided slightly, he spoke, his tone even carrying a hint of impatience, as if he were dealing with a group of noisy children.
"First, let's correct a term. It is not a 'weapon,' at least not in its original design intent or primary function. It is a... highly integrated 'Personal Security and Emergency Response System.' Or, in terms you can understand, a high-end, wearable 'prosthetic' and 'tool kit' tailored specifically for me."
He spread his hands, his expression calm: "Yes, I built myself a high-end tool that can fly, fight, and handle some personal trouble. I believe it was justified and necessary to use it to clean house and stop a conspiracy of technology theft and murder, planned by a traitor at the highest level of the company, targeting me and potentially endangering the public."
He ignored the uproar that erupted again and continued, his logic clear and his tone growing colder: "Obadiah Stane betrayed the trust the company placed in him, and he betrayed the friendship I personally held for him for decades. He planned and executed a kidnapping and murder attempt against me—yes, just last night, in my own home. He stole the company's core energy technology and attempted to trade it with unidentified, dangerous forces. What happened at the dock last night was preventing a crime, it was self-defense, and it was the elimination of a huge threat to the company and to social stability. All relevant evidence, including records of his illegal transactions, evidence of his private weapons development, and the scene records of the attempted murder, will be submitted in full to the New York police, the FBI, and the relevant congressional oversight committees shortly."
This statement was packed with information, nailing Obadiah to the pillar of shame as a traitor and criminal, while also draping the actions of himself and "Iron Man" last night in the mantle of legitimate self-defense and heroic behavior.
The reporters frantically recorded everything, and the flashes once again merged into a continuous stream.
"As for the ownership and future use of the technology," Tony pulled the topic back, his tone becoming relaxed again, carrying that confidence of someone in control of everything, "it is my personal invention, and the intellectual property belongs one hundred percent to me, Tony Stark. Currently, I have no plans to militarize, weaponize, or commercialize it. It is safe, at least in my hands. Energy?" He pointed to his chest, where his suit lay flat, showing no abnormalities, "A compact, efficient, clean 'arc reactor.' It saved my life, and now it powers that suit. Perhaps one day in the future, when it becomes more stable and cheaper, we can sit down and talk about how to use it to power all of New York City, rather than using it to fire pulse cannons."
It was typical Tony style, brushing over serious technical and political issues with a slightly playful and forward-looking approach, answering the questions while leaving huge room for imagination and subsequent discussion.
Just as the Q&A session seemed about to fall back into a tug-of-war over technical details, company stock prices, and legal procedures, a senior reporter standing in the front row, belonging to the Daily Bugle, known for its incisive reporting and digging for inside information, seized a brief gap and, using a voice amplified by a loudspeaker, asked a question that instantly silenced the entire room again:
"Mr. Stark! According to information our newspaper has obtained from multiple independent sources, last night at the dock, in addition to your 'Iron Man' suit and Mr. Stane's... giant armor, it seems there was a third-party force involved!"
He deliberately emphasized the words "third-party force," successfully capturing everyone's attention.
"More than one witness has claimed that during the most intense stage of the battle, a'strange white holy light' appeared over the dock, and they felt 'unusual energy fluctuations' and a'strong sense of mental soothing.' Even some dockworkers nearby used their mobile phones to capture extremely blurry footage, vaguely showing the figure of a young woman holding a long staff, appearing near the battlefield at the critical moment before the explosion! How do you explain this? Is this mysterious woman your new ally? Or is she some undisclosed, cutting-edge technological product completely different from your suit technology? Who is she? Which organization does she belong to?"
This question was like an ice cube dropped into boiling oil, instantly sparking an even greater reaction!
Many reporters showed expressions of sudden realization or extreme curiosity; clearly, the sporadic rumors about the "white light" and the "mysterious woman" had already been quietly circulating in their small circles.
The reporter from the Daily Bugle was merely the first to openly bring it to the table.
The relaxed, in-control expression on Tony's face faded almost imperceptibly.
He did not immediately refute or deny it, but instead remained silent for two seconds, his gaze seeming to look past the noisy, excited crowd toward the distant sky outside the high windows of the media hall, a flicker of extremely complex emotions flashing in his eyes—surprise, gratitude, confusion, and a hint of gentle reminiscence.
"You saw it, huh?" He finally spoke slowly, his voice a bit lower than before, with less of a performative quality and more genuine emotion. "About that... I didn't expect anyone to notice. After all, the scene was a bit chaotic at the time."
He deliberated over his words, as if cautiously touching a fragile, precious memory.
"She is not an 'ally,' at least not in the way you usually understand it—a relationship based on contracts or interests. She is a friend. A friend who, when I... when my life was at its lowest, darkest moment, reached out without reservation and gave me a second chance."
"Her name is Aerith." Tony said the name, his tone very light yet exceptionally clear, transmitting through the microphone across the silent hall, "A... very special girl."
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