Los Angeles under the cover of night was like a spread-out piece of black velvet studded with crushed diamonds.
A custom SUV, sleek and pitch-black, glided silently along the coastal highway leading to Malibu.
The windows were one-way; from the outside, they only reflected the dazzling, radiant images of the city.
Inside the car, the atmosphere was a Stark contrast to the bustle outside.
"Wow, how beautiful!"
Orihime Inoue had nearly pressed her entire body against the car window, her orange hair swaying slightly with the vehicle's gentle bumps.
Her eyes were wide open, reflecting the neon lights and street lamps flashing past outside.
"It's so much brighter than Karakura Town! It's like someone took all the stars from the sky and hung them on the houses!"
Happy Hogan, sitting beside her, wore an expression of exhaustion mixed with the shell-shocked look of someone who had just survived a disaster.
He felt his career had upgraded from "bodyguard" to "keeper of fantasy creatures."
He cleared his throat, attempting to fulfill his duties as a guide:
"Ahem, Miss Orihime, when you meet Mr. Stark later—you don't need to be nervous. He—he just talks a lot and likes to joke around; just don't take him too seriously. Also, try not to touch anything in his workshop, especially the things that glow."
"Mm-hmm!"
Orihime nodded vigorously, then curiously asked Coulson, who was behind the driver's seat.
"Mr. Coulson, what kind of person is Mr. Stark? I heard from Mr. Happy that he seems very impressive!"
Coulson glanced at the back seat through the rearview mirror, wearing his signature, impeccable, gentle smile.
"Mr. Stark is a—passionate and creative genius scientist." He chose his words very tactfully.
"Talking to him, you'll feel time fly by."
So fast it makes you want to jump out of the car—Happy silently grumbled to himself.
From start to finish, Fujitora sat quietly in the most spacious corner of the back seat.
He didn't lean against the backrest; his spine was straight, and his cane sword rested steadily across his knees.
His lifeless eyes seemed to be "looking" out the window as well.
But what he "heard" was far more than what Orihime saw.
He heard the beating of millions of hearts in this city—some leaping with love, some heavy with bills, some echoing lonely in silent apartments.
He heard the rhythm of the waves hitting the beach, and the music drifting from a distant party, mixed with alcohol and desire.
This was a place full of vitality, yet also full of contradictions.
It was far more interesting than that oppressive, cold iron box of S.H.I.E.L.D.
"This city," Fujitora suddenly spoke, his steady voice resounding inside the carriage.
"is like a giant casino. Everyone is placing bets, using their time, emotions, and even their lives."
The conversation in the car stopped instantly.
Happy was stunned; he hadn't expected this blind uncle to suddenly say something so philosophical.
Coulson's hands remained steady as a rock on the steering wheel, but his eyes, through the rearview mirror, held a hint of inquiry.
Fujitora did not continue.
The vehicle smoothly passed through a hidden gate, drove up the private driveway, and finally stopped in front of a modern Villa perched on a cliff, brightly lit.
The massive floor-to-ceiling glass walls exposed everything inside, and soothing jazz music flowed out, interweaving with the sound of the distant waves.
This was the home Tony Stark had built on the sea cliff.
Coulson got out first and opened the back door.
"We've arrived."
Happy took a deep breath, feeling as if he were about to go into battle.
Orihime, like a primary school student on her first spring field trip, curiously poked her head out.
When she saw the massive terrace and pool that overlooked the entire Pacific Ocean, she couldn't help but let out a small gasp of wonder.
The last to get out was Fujitora.
His burly figure emerged from the car, and standing before that futuristic Villa, it created a strong visual contrast.
He wore a simple Japanese yukata, with a Marine coat emblazoned with the word "Justice" draped over it, traditional wooden clogs on his feet, and he leaned on a seemingly ordinary cane sword.
The cross-shaped scar on his face and his tightly closed eyes appeared exceptionally solemn under the warm lights of the Villa.
He was completely out of place with everything here.
The Villa's glass door slid open automatically, and a man wearing a well-tailored casual suit, holding a glass of amber whiskey, walked out with long strides and his signature smile.
"Happy! My buddy!" Tony Stark opened his arms and gave Happy a firm hug.
"I knew you wouldn't die; the bad ones always last for a thousand years. Look at you, you're in good spirits; it seems the udon noodles at S.H.I.E.L.D. really have miraculous effects."
He released Happy and turned his gaze toward Orihime Inoue, looking her up and down with undisguised, scientist-like curiosity.
"You must be the amazing young lady? Hmm, you look very energetic. This hair color—Jarvis, record this shade. I think the next generation of armor could try this paint job; it would definitely blind the enemies on the battlefield."
Orihime Inoue felt a bit embarrassed by his comments, so she just bowed politely: "Hello, Mr. Stark, my name is Orihime Inoue."
"Nice name, Miss Orihime."
Tony took a sip of his drink, and finally, his gaze landed on that silent man, who stood as immovable as a mountain.
In that instant, the ever-composed smile on Tony Stark's face faltered, just for an imperceptible moment.
His brain processed at high speed in 0.01 seconds, matching all the data provided by Jarvis—"gravity manipulation," "eighty tons of glass," "suppressing high-energy explosions"—with the image of the person in front of him.
Match failed.
He had imagined what the other person would look like.
Perhaps a muscular brute, perhaps a cold-eyed superhuman, or even an alien in strange attire.
But he hadn't expected it to be an elderly, blind Japanese man who looked like he had just walked off the set of a period drama.
That weather-beaten face and that plain, unassuming cane were far removed from the concept of "power" as he knew it.
The contrast was just too strong.
But Tony Stark was Tony Stark.
It took less than half a second for his brain's CPU to reboot.
The smile on his face became brilliant again, even brighter than before.
The best way for him to hide his surprise was to cover it with even more exaggerated words and actions.
"And—this tall gentleman," he raised his glass, gesturing toward Fujitora, his tone full of theatrical flair.
"I must say, your entrance look completely exceeded my expectations. I was expecting to see some guy in a spandex suit with a lightning bolt on his chest."
"I didn't expect a Master full of Eastern mysticism, very much like the protagonist of a Japanese movie I watched, called Zatoichi, who, like you, is blind."
He stepped forward and stopped in front of Fujitora; the scent of high-end cologne and alcohol followed him.
"You look more like the kind of mentor who would teach me how to improve my spiritual realm through meditation, rather than a powerhouse who can crush a building's worth of glass into marbles. But that's fine, I like surprises."
Tony extended his hand in an inviting gesture.
"Tony Stark," he introduced himself, then jerked his thumb toward Happy.
"His boss, and the host of tonight's party. All of this is to thank you."
Fujitora did not take the extended hand; he simply bowed his head slightly as a return greeting.
On that calm, unruffled face, no emotion could be detected.
"Fujitora Issho," he spoke, his voice deep and steady.
"Just a wandering gambler."
A gambler?
The word was like a small pebble tossed into the lake of Tony Stark's thoughts.
He withdrew his hand, feeling no embarrassment at all; instead, the interest in his eyes grew even stronger.
He looked at Fujitora's tightly closed eyes, then at the cane on his knees.
A blind gambler who can manipulate gravity.
This was much more interesting than any alien or superhuman.
"A gambler?" Tony's mouth curled into a wide arc.
"I like this identity. Life is a high-stakes gamble, isn't it?"
He turned around and waved toward the inside of the Villa.
"Then, Mr. Gambler, and Miss Amazing, welcome to my gambling table. Tonight, drinks are unlimited, and the stakes—are just having fun."