Paul's faint "Oh, crap," had barely faded before he was gone like a gust of wind.
He didn't spare Tony or Pepper another glance, rushing straight for his room. The door slammed shut with a deafening "BANG!"
The entire living room fell into a dead silence.
Pepper's hand, holding the tablet, froze in mid-air. The gentle smile on her face stiffened, replaced by sheer bewilderment.
Tony Stark, the tech mogul who had just been enjoying the slightly awkward, slightly smug feeling of being "found out" by his son, now had his brow furrowed into a knot.
"What's gotten into him now?" he grumbled, glancing at his watch. "Pepper, tell him I'm waiting five minutes. The jet won't."
"Tony!" Pepper said, putting down the tablet helplessly. "He's just a kid. Maybe… maybe he suddenly remembered an important experiment he didn't finish?"
Even she found the excuse weak.
The look on Paul's face just now—that raw, bone-deep terror and coldness—was far more than just a forgotten experiment.
It was a despair that looked as if the sky itself was falling.
"A kid?" Tony scoffed, walking to the bar to pour himself a glass of water. "A kid who can build Baymax? Who can discuss graphene with me? Pepper, don't underestimate him."
Despite his words, he didn't turn and leave. He just leaned against the bar, sipping his water, his eyes flicking occasionally toward Paul's closed door.
The seconds ticked by, one by one. Pepper could feel the tension in the air growing thick.
She knew Tony's patience was wearing thin. To buy time, she began to walk around the living room, making idle chat and pretending to tidy the already spotless tabletops.
"Sir, about this trip to Afghanistan, is it really necessary for you to go in person—"
CRACK!
Pepper's words were cut off by a dull thud and her own cry of pain.
Trying to get around an oddly shaped sculpture, she hadn't been watching her feet and had slammed her little toe right into the metal leg of the coffee table.
A piercing pain shot from her toe through her entire body.
"Hiss—" Pepper sucked in a sharp breath, hopping on one foot, tears welling in her eyes.
"Oh, damn!" Tony was startled, quickly putting down his glass and coming over. "How could you be so clumsy?"
Just then, a gentle, endearingly robotic voice sounded in the living room.
"Hello. I am Baymax, your personal healthcare companion."
The red case Paul had left casually in the corner of the sofa clicked open. A white, chubby, inflatable robot rapidly inflated to its full size and waddled toward Pepper with short, "thump-thump-thump" steps.
"I detected a sound of distress," Baymax said, blinking its two simple black dots for eyes and tilting its round head. "On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?"
Pepper instantly forgot the pain, staring dumbfounded at the "marshmallow" that had emerged from the case.
"Uh... about a three?" she answered instinctively.
"My scan indicates a minor contusion to your fifth right metatarsal," Baymax said, extending a soft, inflatable arm to gently touch Pepper's foot. "I recommend a cold compress to reduce swelling and pain."
As it spoke, a small compartment popped open on Baymax's belly, revealing a self-cooling ice pack.
"Wow…" Pepper took the ice pack, feeling its perfectly cool temperature. The shock she felt was immense.
She looked at the adorable and considerate robot before her and exclaimed with genuine admiration, "Tony, Paul… he's a genius!"
Tony, who was about to help Pepper sit down, froze. His expression turned a little strange.
He cleared his throat, his gaze shifting away as he said, rather unnaturally, "Well… this one… wasn't me."
For Tony Stark, admitting his son was more brilliant than him, especially in front of a woman he admired, was almost more painful than having a hole punched in his chest.
It was a complex cocktail of pride, jealousy, relief, and a touch of indignation.
Just then, with a "click," Paul's door opened.
The young man had dark circles under his eyes and his face was pale, clearly having gone through an intense mental and physical ordeal.
But his eyes were astonishingly bright.
He was holding a neatly folded suit. He walked quickly to Tony, his tone urgent and unquestionable.
"Dad, put this on!"
Tony paused, looking down.
It was a dark gray, custom-tailored suit. The fabric looked ordinary, but it had a strange texture to the touch—smoother than silk, yet with the faint coolness of metal.
"What's this?" Tony raised an eyebrow. "A burial suit? I'm still young, kid."
"Cut the crap!" Paul shoved the suit into his arms without ceremony. "This is a good luck charm I made for you! The fabric is a blend of Kevlar and carbon nanotube fibers. It can stop standard caliber bullets. Most importantly…"
Paul lowered his voice conspiratorially, a glint of excitement in his eyes.
"I've embedded micro-servo motors and motion-capture chips in the joints, linked to a basic combat algorithm. Simply put, it's 'one-touch activation, instant master'! You can call it the 'Kung Fu Suit'!"
"Kung Fu Suit?" Tony looked like he'd just heard the funniest joke of the century. "Why would I need that? I can make an entire mountain dance with the push of a button."
His words were dripping with sarcasm, but his fingers were unconsciously caressing the fabric.
He could feel that the technology within this suit was far more complex than Paul was letting on.
More importantly, he saw the unconcealable worry deep in Paul's eyes.
*The kid... he's worried about me.*
That realization struck the softest part of Tony's heart like a faint electric current.
The heart, long encased in layers of wealth, fame, and flippancy, felt a warmth from his own flesh and blood that it hadn't felt in a long time.
His Adam's apple bobbed. In the end, he took the suit.
"Fine," he said, feigning disgust. "I'll humor your little show-off moment. But let me be clear, if it's uncomfortable or messes with my poses, I'm tossing it the second I get back."
With that, he turned and headed for the upstairs dressing room, his steps a little quicker than usual.
He decided then and there. When he got back from Afghanistan, he would find time to have a real talk with this "genius son"—not as the CEO of Stark Industries, but as a father.
A few minutes later, when Tony came downstairs in the suit, his entire aura had changed.
The perfectly tailored suit flawlessly outlined his powerful physique. The dark gray fabric had a subtle metallic sheen under the light, making him look even more imposing and dangerous than usual.
He moved his arms and legs, feeling the faint force feedback from within the suit, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.
"Feels… not bad," he admitted, a rare positive comment.
Paul said nothing, just stood there, his eyes fixed on Tony.
From the moment he fastened the last button, to picking up his briefcase, to walking to the door with Pepper… Paul's gaze never left him.
Just as Tony was about to step out the door, he suddenly looked back, his eyes meeting Paul's.
Father and son's gazes locked in mid-air.
Tony opened his mouth as if to say something, but in the end, he just gave Paul a slightly firmer nod, then turned and left without a second thought.
The door slowly closed, shutting out the world.
In the living room, only Paul and the silently standing Baymax remained.
He stood there, frozen in that position, for a long, long time.
It wasn't until JARVIS's voice broke the silence. "Master Paul, Mr. Stark's plane has taken off."
Paul's tense body shuddered violently, as if all his strength had been drained away.
He clenched his fists, his nails digging deep into his palms, and prayed over and over in a voice only he could hear.
"It has to work… It has to hold until I get there…"
"Dad… please, please don't let anything happen to you."