This was President Maya being merciful—she didn't want to screw Tony over. (Tony, clutching his broken leg: THIS doesn't count as screwing me over?!)
Ahem. Fine. Her Excellency was merciful enough not to screw Tony over fatally.
There. That was accurate.
If she hadn't been so considerate, Tony wouldn't have gotten off with just a broken shin. He'd been flying as high as dozens of stories up. Never mind a hundred-foot drop—even losing signal at sixty or seventy feet (about 20–30 meters) up would have required not a rescue helicopter but a crematorium van.
And yes, a broken leg was still pretty miserable. But Her Excellency had already said sorry beforehand!
With that, President Maya went to bed without the faintest twinge of guilt.
Powerful people controlled narratives. But celebrity powerful people only ever directed narratives—because their every move played out under the spotlight. Every word and action would be over-analyzed.
Tony Stark was a celebrity powerful person. He never bothered suppressing negative press. Whenever he had information to bury, he'd simply detonate a bigger, flashier story—like publicly partying with Maxim cover models, complete with duos, trios, and foursomes.
The choice of distraction depended on how much narrative redirection he needed. Tony genuinely loved beautiful women and was undeniably a player—but he was not a man ruled by his lower half. Many of his scandals were calculated performances. His playboy image was a carefully maintained disguise.
The public couldn't help slapping labels on public figures. What they didn't realize was that most of those labels were sold to them on purpose.
Consider Hong Kong's entertainment industry in the eighties and nineties—the so-called golden age. Everyone believed it was an era overflowing with "jade girls"—wholesome, pristine screen goddesses—and sighed nostalgically about how today's entertainment world was just a cesspool of scandals waiting to be exposed.
But was that really true?
Not remotely. Anyone with half a brain knew that eighties-and-nineties Hong Kong was a wildly prosperous, wildly chaotic place. The entertainment industry was an open laundromat for organized crime. The level of exploitation behind the scenes was beyond imagination.
Nobody was holding a gun to anyone's head today. Nobody was forcing talent into slave contracts. Nobody was coercing actresses into adult films.
So why had the "jade girl" image been so popular back then?
Because the speed of news and the flow of information were glacial.
As technology advanced, virtually everyone got a phone, everyone went online, everyone could be a reporter or a paparazzo. Anyone with basic computer skills could doxx you inside an hour.
A celebrity went out to buy groceries? The whole world knew within minutes. She met a man at a café? Inside of ten minutes, his entire biography was trending.
How could anyone maintain a pristine image under those conditions?
Hong Kong's last few screen goddesses had gotten rebranded practically overnight from "jade girls" to "jade-less girls"—and you could trace the exact moment it happened.
We all loved Hong Kong's golden age of cinema, and there were genuinely transcendent actresses from that era—no one was denying that.
Early Hollywood had its "jade girls" too, by the way. But eventually, almost nobody bothered maintaining that image anymore.
What? You're calling me a good girl? Screw that—I'm coming out!
Wait, nobody even called me a good girl? Doesn't matter—don't you DARE call me innocent! This year, I'm going through ten boyfriends!
At the end of the day, "jade girl" was just another persona. Just like today's "I eat SO much but never gain weight" food-goddess persona, or "Sure I change boyfriends a lot but I REALLY care about African orphans" certain-Emma persona, or "I'm amazing at video games AND get straight A's" happy-boy persona, or "Always showing up at charity galas but actually—"
SMACK-SMACK-SMACK.
Alright, alright—snapping out of it now!
The point was, Tony was selling a persona too. "Young, rich, genius playboy"—that was his brand.
So why did someone as formidable as Tony Stark need a persona in the first place?
It had nothing to do with being formidable or not. Everyone had an identity to protect, interests to advance.
Tony Stark was also the world's biggest arms dealer.
Not one of the biggest. THE biggest. The single largest weapons manufacturer on Marvel's Earth, bar none.
When you heard "arms dealer," what image came to mind?
Blood-soaked hands, a face like a side of beef, cold dead eyes. Maybe a shaved head, a cigar clenched between his teeth, an immaculate suit, lurking in a dark corner with a predatory smirk...
Arms dealers were synonymous with executioners, butchers, and war profiteers.
But when you thought of Tony Stark?
Wow, he's so handsome!
Look—he just walked into the hotel with Tristi, the Maxim cover girl!
Did you hear? Tony had a threesome with those twin sisters last night. I'm SO jealous! Why isn't that guy me?
Yeah, why isn't that woman me?
I went to Tony's party last night. So much. So much. So. Much.
Tony's a genius—he just invented...
Every other arms dealer on the planet was despised and reviled. But Tony? Even if you didn't like him personally, you'd never associate him with the blood-drenched label of "war profiteer." That was exactly why competitors like Justin Hammer seethed with envy.
Through a steady stream of tabloid gossip, Tony had buried Stark Industries' massive weapons deals under layers of celebrity fluff.
But this time? Forget foursomes and fivesomes—unless he was on the receiving end of a gangbang, nothing was going to save him.
The next morning, "Spider-Man" and "Tony Stark" carpet-bombed every newspaper, magazine, and TV screen in America. The news had been running on loop since the previous night and was still going strong by noon.
Since no one could get to Stark himself for comment, Anna's ABC exclusive became the only primary source. Every outlet was quoting her footage.
And so: Tony clutching his broken leg and howling in agony. Tony's face contorted as his hair was ripped from his scalp. Tony's blank, slack-jawed "confession" face when his "secret trauma" was "exposed." (Tony: I did NOT confess! I was just too shocked by Anna's shamelessness to respond!) The high-definition close-up of Tony's shattered shin...
In short, the fallout was bigger than even President Maya had anticipated. The hundred-plus Influence Point notification chimes rattling through her brain were proof enough.
Each chime represented one thousand points. A hundred chimes meant a hundred thousand Influence Points. And they were still climbing.
That weekend at her part-time job, for example, President Maya discovered Old Huang gushing to a visiting friend—a woman everyone called Aunt Blue.
"Aunt Blue, you really missed out by not being there last night! That kid Stark was incredible—so flashy, so stylish! His ODM rig was the real deal! The only shame is it's clearly still a prototype—way too unstable. Once Stark Industries releases the consumer version, I'm buying one, guaranteed!" Old Huang said, practically drooling with envy.
Aunt Blue ran a restaurant near Wall Street—though despite serving every cuisine under the sun, she'd inexplicably named the place as if it were a noodle shop.
The woman was an enigma. She looked to be in her thirties, but her eyes carried a depth and gravity that suggested decades of hard experience.
Hearing Old Huang's gushing, she furrowed her delicate brows and sighed with an air of quiet concern. "Huang, put Tony Stark aside for now. I didn't come by just to chat. Let's talk in the back room."