Tony Stark stood at the bar, his attention captivated by a woman across the ballroom.
Her crimson dress accentuated every curve of her figure, the hem swaying hypnotically as she moved. Crystal heels tapped rhythmically against the marble floor—tap, tap, tap—keeping perfect time with his quickening pulse.
Her face combined delicate elegance with dignified poise, but it was the mischievous gleam in her eyes that truly drew him in. She occasionally glanced in his direction, raising an eyebrow in what seemed like deliberate invitation.
Damn.
This living, breathing woman was infinitely more alluring than any glossy magazine photoshoot.
His eyes brightened as he straightened his tie. Just as he prepared to make his approach, a tall Asian man abruptly stepped into his path.
"Hey! You're the famous Tony Stark, aren't you? I'm a huge fan—you're even more handsome in person!"
Stark felt a flicker of satisfaction. While he generally dismissed flattery from ordinary admirers, the man before him was undeniably handsome himself. Recognition from one's peers carried a certain weight.
He shrugged casually. "Though I'd love to compliment your excellent taste, I'm afraid I have pressing matters to attend to, so if you'd please—"
"I must say, you're much shorter than I expected. You barely reach my... chin!"
Stark blinked in confusion. What is he talking about?
"Mr. Stark, please don't take offense at what I'm about to do next," the man continued with an oddly sincere expression. "After all, I consider you my idol!"
What?
Before Stark could process this bewildering statement, the handsome stranger suddenly raised his voice to a theatrical volume: "Oh my God! You're actually a racist? I've admired you for years—how could you say such things to me, Mr. Tony Stark?"
In an instant, the entire ballroom fell silent, all eyes swiveling toward them.
Seizing this opportunity, David slipped unnoticed beside Marcus and activated his device.
Stark stood frozen in bewilderment. What did I allegedly say?
Jason turned his back to the crowd, winked conspiratorially at Stark, and silently mouthed: Sorry!
"You can't address me like that, Mr. Stark!" he continued loudly. "You can't call me a 'Chink' and say I'm 'as loud and stupid as those people'!"
The prominent Black businessman nearby blinked in confusion. I'm the only one here... was he talking about me?
Stark felt the weight of suspicious stares—especially from the woman in the red dress, whose lips had parted in astonishment. Fury surged through him.
Tony stepped in, grabbing Jason by the collar with a glare that could cut through steel. "Are you out of your damn mind? I never said that. What is this—some kind of cheap smear campaign?"
Their faces mere inches apart, Jason whispered urgently, "I apologized in advance—please don't be genuinely angry."
Then he shouted dramatically: "Oh God! Please don't hit me, Mr. Stark! I'm terrified! Someone help me!"
The crowd erupted in scandalized murmurs.
"Stark, you need to calm down..." someone advised from the side.
The yellow-haired real estate developer leaned in, covering his mouth as he whispered loudly enough for several people to hear: "Stark, while these minorities are obviously inferior, you can't say it to their faces, and you certainly can't assault them in public..."
The Black businessman overheard this, his nostrils flaring as he glared. "What did you just say?"
The developer's expression turned sheepish as his eyes darted around. "Well, I... I have many Black friends..."
Meanwhile, Happy Hogan—who had been contentedly sampling pastries at the dessert table—finally noticed the commotion.
Though clueless about the situation, Happy recognized Stark's flushed face and furious expression as signs he'd neglected his bodyguard duties.
Ahh…!
He immediately pointed an authoritative finger at Jason. "Hey, you! Release Mr. Stark immediately!"
With that declaration, Happy launched himself forward like an overweight eagle, his body describing a surprisingly graceful arc as he hurtled toward Jason.
The spectators gasped—whether at Happy seemingly confirming the "racial discrimination" or at his surprisingly "agile" trajectory remained unclear.
Several women, including the lady in red, watched wide-eyed, hands covering their mouths in shock.
A subtle smile played across Jason's lips as he used his superior strength to pull Stark backward two steps.
This maneuver ensured that Happy, originally targeting Jason, would crash directly into his employer.
The ever-observant Stark quickly recognized this impending collision and attempted to sidestep—only to discover that he wasn't restraining the Asian man; rather, the Asian man was restraining him.
The hands gripping his shoulders felt like industrial vises, immobilizing him despite his desperate efforts to break free.
At the last moment, seeing genuine fear flash across Stark's eyes, Jason relented.
He abruptly shifted Stark sideways, causing Happy to miss both targets and crash unceremoniously to the floor.
Jason glanced toward David, who offered an almost imperceptible nod of confirmation.
Suddenly laughing, Jason slung his arm around Stark's shoulders and gave him a friendly pat on the chest.
"Stark, you played along perfectly! Don't worry, everyone—he and I have been friends for years. This was just a inside joke between us. My sincere apologies if anyone was alarmed!"
Tony Stark, still trapped in Jason's embrace, worked his jaw silently, conscious of the arm around his shoulders. His expression remained taut, but he said nothing.
Happy, disheveled and confused, stood up and assessed the scene with bewilderment.
He couldn't recall his boss mentioning any Asian friends. Noting Stark's rigid expression, he attempted a discreet signal: "Tony, are you okay? If you're being held hostage, just blink twice."
This earned him a devastating eye-roll from Stark.
An eye-roll? What does that mean?
Regardless of Happy's confusion, the onlookers—observing that Stark hadn't contradicted Jason's explanation—accepted the resolution and gradually dispersed.
Jason patted Stark's shoulder companionably. "My good friend, I must take my leave—pressing engagements elsewhere. I'll see you next time."
"By the way, your bodyguard shows commendable courage. Perhaps next time, employ someone with matching intelligence?"
Stark watched Jason's retreating figure, eyes narrowed in silent contemplation, fists clenched at his sides.
Jason rejoined David, and together they headed toward the elevators.
"Ding~"
As the doors slid open, Jason froze in shock. Instead of a uniformed attendant, they were greeted by an imposing Black man in a leather trench coat, wielding a shotgun.
Blade? Why is he here?
Before Jason could process this unexpected development, Blade had already raised his weapon.
Jason instinctively shoved David's head down as they both dodged sideways.
"BOOM!"
The shotgun blast reverberated like thunder, and Jason felt the heat of the discharge pass inches from his face.
This guy isn't messing around!
Blade advanced while continuing to fire, transforming the elegant gathering into pandemonium.
Though Blade wasn't indiscriminately targeting civilians—his focus remained on the vampire elder Marcus—the pure-blooded vampire's exceptional physical attributes and tactical use of human shields made him a challenging target...
Stark concluded he was having an exceptionally unlucky evening.
He'd never considered New York particularly dangerous until tonight. Having just endured public humiliation by a mysterious Asian man, he now found himself in the middle of an armed confrontation.
The most alarming development? The individual being pursued appeared determined to use Stark himself as a human shield!
His loyal bodyguard Happy stepped protectively in front of him, and then...
Was promptly knocked aside!
Watching Marcus charge toward him, Stark knew he was in serious trouble.
At that critical moment, a wine bottle hurtled through the air with astonishing velocity, striking Marcus squarely in the head. To avoid the improvised projectile, Marcus was forced to dodge sideways.
This momentary deviation gave Blade the opening he needed—the vampire, abandoning his hostage plan, turned toward the nearby window and leapt through it.
Blade followed in close pursuit.
Stark, having narrowly escaped becoming collateral damage, quickly looked toward the source of the thrown bottle—only to see the same Asian troublemaker from earlier.
The man even offered him a gentlemanly salute.
Stark's expression transformed into something fascinatingly complex.
As security personnel arrived to organize an evacuation, Jason decided to follow Blade. He suspected that Frost's ultimate scheme was approaching its culmination, and partnering with Blade during the final confrontation seemed strategically prudent.
He instructed David to exit through conventional means during the confusion, while he himself approached the shattered window.
With everyone focused on escape, no one noticed as he withdrew a sleek, silver-white mask with distinctly mechanical aesthetics from inside his jacket and secured it over his face.
Just as he prepared to jump, an unmistakable sensation prickled the back of his neck—someone was watching him intently.
Turning, he spotted Stark standing perfectly still amidst the fleeing crowd, staring directly at him with undisguised shock.
Why is this guy looking at me?
Jason hesitated, then deliberately raised his index finger to his lips in the universal gesture for silence, followed by sliding his thumb across his throat.
The message was unmistakable: Keep quiet about what you've seen, or I'll find you.
With that, he climbed through the window.
Stark's expression grew increasingly intrigued as he rushed to the window's edge.
In the silvery moonlight, he glimpsed the figure descending the building's exterior with inhuman agility before vanishing into the street below.
He drew a deep breath, his voice barely above a whisper: "No matter who you are or where you hide, I will find you."