Nick Fury's single eye remained calm, without a ripple.
He didn't even look at Happy, simply extending a hand calmly with his palm open.
It was an indisputable command.
Happy, as if he had found a lifeline yet was also handing over a hot potato, hurriedly handed the phone over.
Fury placed the phone to his ear, and the moment he spoke, the air pressure in the entire room seemed to drop a few degrees.
"Stark."
No title, no greeting, just two words, cold and hard like the permafrost of Siberia.
There was a distinct pause on the other end, and immediately after, Tony Stark's signature voice, a mix of frivolity and swagger, exploded through.
"Cyclops? Why are you holding Happy's phone? Did you kidnap my guy? I'm warning you, don't think I don't know about S.H.I.E.L.D.'s tactics: lock them up first, shine a light on them, and finally serve a cup of terrible coffee and a hundred-page non-disclosure agreement!"
"His overtime pay is very expensive; from the second you picked up the phone, it's billed by the second, deducted directly from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s secret budget!"
Fury's face betrayed no emotion as he glanced at the eight empty bowls stacked neatly on the meal cart.
"He is currently enjoying a late-night snack provided by S.H.I.E.L.D.—eight bowls of udon noodles plus a pile of donuts. The bill will be sent to Stark Tower later."
The other end of the line fell into a three-second deathly silence.
"Pfft—"
Tony seemed to have choked on something, followed immediately by a burst of exaggerated laughter.
"Hahahaha! Udon? Donuts? Since when did S.H.I.E.L.D.'s interrogation methods become so—down-to-earth?"
"Looks like my hostage is being treated quite well. Seriously, Nick, don't give me the bureaucratic runaround. I want to see those two people. They saved Happy, which makes them my future friends, and I need to thank them in person."
"There are many ways to express gratitude."
Fury's voice didn't have the slightest fluctuation.
"You could establish a charitable foundation named after them, or buy a week's worth of advertising space in Times Square. But 'meeting' is not an option."
"Don't kid yourself, Nick." Tony's tone became more serious.
"Do you think a foundation can appease people who can squeeze eighty tons of glass into a ball? I'm trying to help you."
"They are uncontrollable factors, right? Then hand them over to me, and I'll handle it. My place has the best liquor, the softest sofas, and the best night view in New York."
"It's better than eating noodles and donuts in your moldy Underground Room. Let them experience the hospitality of Earthlings, not the paranoia of you Agents in black."
"My 'Underground Room' is very clean and can withstand a nuclear strike." Fury's single eye swept across the alloy walls of the room.
"Your tower just had a giant hole poked in it by aliens last time."
"That was a technical adjustment! It's stronger now, and this time I'm inviting them to my private luxury seaside Villa, and there's a party! Not Stark Tower." Tony's voice rose again.
"Listen, Nick, I'm not asking for your permission. I want to see them. You bring them, or I'll come pick them up myself."
"You know my entrance style is always high-profile, and I'm not sure if the ceiling of your secret Base can withstand a full-speed landing of the Mark series."
A naked threat.
Happy Hogan's heart was about to jump out of his throat. He looked at Fury's gloomy face and began to imagine the chaos of an iron armor crashing through the ceiling, making a grand entrance accompanied by AC/DC music.
The corner of Coulson's mouth twitched imperceptibly, and he instinctively looked up at the ceiling.
Just at this tense moment, a steady, deep voice slowly echoed in the room.
"I am also quite interested in the 'party' Mr. Stark spoke of."
It was Fujitora.
He had been sitting there quietly, as if in meditation, yet clearly he had "heard" everything perfectly. His voice was not loud, but it easily pierced through the air and reached the phone's receiver.
On the other end of the line, Tony's voice went silent instantly. A second later, his excited and curious tone rang out again:
"Hey, Cyclops, who is this gentleman next to you? Sounds like he's right up my alley. I like it! A man with taste!"
Fujitora ignored Tony's comment; his unfocused eyes turned toward Fury, as if he could see through the calculations deep in his heart.
"Since someone has set up a new gamble, there is no reason for me not to enter the game." He laid his cane sword horizontally across his knees, gently rubbing the scabbard with his fingertips.
"Director Fury, don't you want to see what kind of numbers these two strange Dice will roll when they change to a new table?"
This sentence was like a precise straight punch, hitting the bullseye.
Fury's single eye narrowed sharply.
A gamble. This word again.
This blind man not only understood the clash between himself and Stark, but also took the opportunity to push him onto the poker table, turning the tables on him.
Accepting meant he had to bear the risk of Tony Stark, a huge variable, and putting two "highest-level threats" into the center of Los Angeles.
Refusing meant admitting he feared unknown variables and dared not place a bet. For Nick Fury, who controlled everything, this was another form of failure.
The room was left with only the faint static of the current.
Happy Hogan didn't dare to breathe. He looked at Fujitora, then at Fury, feeling as if he had witnessed a duel of invisible swords.
After a long while, Fury finally spoke again, his voice showing a fatigue that had never been there before.
"Stark, tomorrow night at eight. Send over your guest list for the party; everyone must undergo a background check."
"Deal!" Tony on the other end snapped his fingers.
"Knew you'd come around, Nick! Don't worry, my friends are all decent people—mostly. Remember to dress sharp; stop wearing that black leather jacket all the time, it looks like you're going to collect a debt and will scare my date."
"Beep—"
Tony hung up the phone unilaterally.
Fury expressionlessly handed the phone back to Happy. Happy took it in a flurry, feeling that the small piece of metal weighed a thousand pounds.
The atmosphere in the interrogation room became subtle again because of this phone call.
Orihime Inoue, who had been quietly eating snacks, seemed to sense that the serious conversation had ended. She put down the small cake in her hand, blinked her clear, large eyes, and curiously raised her small hand.
"Um—excuse me—"
Everyone's gaze focused on her.
"Will there be snacks and juice at Mr. Stark's party? I'm still young and can't drink alcohol—"
"—"
In that instant, Nick Fury felt the blood vessels in his temples throbbing.
The interrogation rhythm he had carefully constructed, the high-intensity psychological game between him and Tony Stark, his deep concerns about World security—everything was reduced to nothing by this innocent question.
He turned around and said to Coulson, who had been silent behind him, in a tone that seemed to have exhausted his lifelong energy:
"Coulson."
"Yes, Officer."
"Contact the medical department and prepare the highest dose of stomach medicine for me; my stomach hurts a bit."
Fury rubbed his brow, his single eye full of bloodshot veins.
"Also, connect all traffic, network, and power monitoring permissions within a five-kilometer radius of Stark's seaside Villa to me. I want to see whether every pigeon flying past that building is male or female."
He paused, looked at Orihime Inoue, who was full of anticipation, and Fujitora, who was resting with his eyes closed, and added a sentence.
"I have a premonition that starting tomorrow, we will have a very, very long vacation cancelled."