Inside the fashion gala venue, crystal chandeliers cast brilliant light, and amidst the bustling crowd, various perfumes intertwined with the scent of alcohol.
Some people held highball glasses, sipping red wine, the swirling liquid reflecting the hazy light; others gathered in small groups, conversing animatedly, their gestures flying as bursts of hearty laughter occasionally erupted; in the center of the dance floor, to the accompaniment of soothing yet rhythmic jazz, men and women gracefully danced to the beat.
Tony pushed through the noisy crowd and approached the bar, leaning one hand on the counter as he addressed the bartender: "Give me a whiskey, I'm parched."
While waiting for his drink, three people next to him caught his attention.
The middle-aged man closest to him, wearing a suit with a receding hairline, was of no particular note; what truly drew his attention were the other two.
One was a young man, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously, constantly tugging at his collar, looking very uncomfortable in the suit.
When questioned by the high-foreheaded man in the suit opposite him, he would frequently glance at his companion, as if he couldn't make decisions, and only his companion could.
Clearly, he was not accustomed to the current environment; his expression wasn't just nervous, it was awkward.
The young man had merely piqued Tony's curiosity, but the person next to the young man truly captured Tony's interest.
She was a woman with fiery red hair.
Her ponytail swayed gently with her movements as she spoke, and her tailored suit accentuated her graceful curves; her every gesture blended softness with a spirited elegance.
She held nothing in her hands, simply stood there smiling, conversing elegantly with others, the curve of her lips conveying just the right amount of confidence; though not the traditionally hot and sexy type he usually preferred, she made Tony involuntarily take a few extra glances, even forgetting to urge the bartender to hurry with his whiskey.
At this moment, the middle-aged man in the suit with the concerning hairline appeared very earnest, his gaze gently fixed on the uneasy young man beside him, and he sincerely said, "Mr. Peter Parker, we truly need extraordinary individuals like you to join us. Please consider it."
As soon as he finished speaking, the red-haired woman subtly raised an eyebrow, a hint of playfulness in her eyes. She stepped forward, a gentle smile on her face, but her words were anything but polite: "The esteemed Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, poaching an employee right in front of their company—isn't that a bit much?"
Tony, who had been leaning against the bar, subtly leaned forward, his fingers unconsciously tapping the counter.
The whiskey had already been delivered to him by the bartender, and the ice cubes in the glass clinked softly with his movement.
Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division? This long, unwieldy name—Tony felt he had heard it somewhere before.
It was like the organization that had contacted Pepper earlier.
What exactly did this organization do? It didn't seem much different from the FBI or CIA.
His gaze shifted back to the young man named Peter, his confusion deepening.
Poaching someone right in front of their company, what special ability did this young man named Peter possess?
Just then, the middle-aged man pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses, his smile undiminished, his tone still amiable, and he spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness: "Ms. Wayne, please don't misunderstand. We are truly just eager to find talent, and we absolutely have no intention of looking down on your company."
"What we wish to discuss with Mr. Parker should also not involve your company's related business. If we require Mr. Parker and it affects your business, we will compensate you."
The red-haired woman's lips curved into an arc at his words.
She felt she was smiling quite mockingly, but in reality, everyone watching could only see a gentle smile, though a subtle aura emanated from this seemingly young woman.
"Eager to find talent? Then I suggest your Division first clear out all the HYDRA hidden within your own ranks before meddling in external affairs."
When she spoke the words "HYDRA," she deliberately elongated her tone, enunciating each word, as if emphasizing a key point to the other party.
The middle-aged man, who had been wearing a benevolent smile and speaking eloquently moments before, instantly froze.
He subtly straightened his back, exuding a calm yet authoritative aura, his tone still steady but with an added, undeniable seriousness: "Ms. Wayne, could you elaborate?"
The woman's smile remained, and she elegantly smoothed a wrinkle on her suit cuff with her fingertips, her fiery red ponytail swaying gently with the movement: "Go check for yourselves. I'm not your nanny."
Hearing this, the middle-aged man thought he had misunderstood her meaning.
Perhaps the word HYDRA was just mentioned by her unintentionally, and it wasn't the HYDRA he was thinking of.
Just as the middle-aged man's tensed shoulders were about to relax, the red-haired woman opposite him spoke again.
"Oh, and one more thing."
Hearing this, the middle-aged man instinctively looked up.
The woman said in a voice only the two of them could hear: "Tell Nick Fury to be wary of the former Director."
Hearing this, the middle-aged man no longer hesitated, his face instantly darkening. Without further delay, he immediately turned and prepared to leave.
As soon as he turned around, he discovered that his main target for the evening—Tony Stark—was leaning against the bar not far away, staring blankly in their direction.
Tony also hadn't expected the other party to suddenly turn around, and he was startled in this unprepared situation.
And when he realized his current behavior was eavesdropping, Tony Stark, for once, felt awkward.
The middle-aged man didn't notice his awkwardness, quickly putting on a standard professional smile and earnestly saying to Tony: "Mr. Stark."
Tony twitched, his hand holding the whiskey glass steady as he raised it slightly and nodded to the middle-aged man: "Hello."
He appeared composed, but was in fact trying hard to hide his discomfort at being caught eavesdropping, the tips of his ears flushed with a suspicious red.
Agent Coulson, in a hurry to leave, didn't notice his abnormality, and with a polite smile, introduced himself: "I am Agent Coulson."
Tony took a small sip of whiskey, using the action to mask his discomfort, then nodded, his voice steady but with a hint of deliberate formality: "Pleasure to meet you."
Agent Coulson's eyes were sincere, showing full respect: "We all know, Mr. Stark, that you narrowly escaped death and surely need a good rest upon your return. However, we truly urgently need some information. I wonder if we could schedule a time? Seven PM on the 24th, meeting at Stark Industries, would that be convenient for you?"
Coulson spoke very quickly, but every word was clear.
Tony's Adam's apple bobbed. The embarrassment of being caught eavesdropping still lingered, and in his haste, he could only nod in agreement again.
No sooner had he agreed than Coulson turned decisively, his steps hurried, walking towards the exit of the venue without looking back.
Tony's hand, holding the glass, hung in mid-air. He opened his mouth but no words came out.
Awkward. It was so damn awkward.
Tony took a deep breath, just about to take a drink to calm his nerves, when a graceful figure appeared before him.
His secretary, Pepper Potts, wearing a magnificent gown he had never seen before, with her entire back exposed, was conversing with someone else.
Suddenly, everything they had discussed, everything awkward, he completely forgot in an instant.
His legs moved uncontrollably towards her.