He had even tried to hide on purpose, finding an excuse to go to Los Angeles to attend a technology forum, staying at the most luxurious hotel, and registering under a fake name; even Pepper didn't know exactly where he was staying.
As it turned out, on the second night of the forum, while Tony was drinking at the hotel bar, a familiar voice rang out from behind him.
"So, this is where you are."
Tony turned his head sharply and saw Marvica sitting at the other end of the bar, holding a glass of juice and looking at him with a smile.
She was wearing simple travel clothes, looking weary from the journey, but she was in high spirits.
"How did you..." Tony's words got stuck in his throat.
"Howard said you might have come to Los Angeles," Marvica said nonchalantly. "I asked a few local riders, and they said the bar in this hotel was good, so I came to try my luck."
Tony stared at her for a few seconds, then tilted his head back and finished the whiskey in his glass.
He didn't know if Marvica was really "trying her luck" or if she had some method he wasn't aware of.
But the fact was, she had found him, at the time and place where he thought it was least likely to be found.
"What's wrong with the motorcycle again?" Tony asked, his tone devoid of surprise, replaced only by a deep weariness.
"The front wheel is a bit off," Marvica said. "The handlebars shake at high speeds, and I suspect the rim might be warped."
Tony sighed and beckoned the bartender to settle the bill.
"Let's go," he said. "Take me to see the motorcycle."
Although he didn't know how Marvica managed it, Tony felt helpless.
This woman was like a force of destiny, a fixed fact that he could neither predict nor avoid, and could only accept.
She would appear in his life, demand he fulfill his promise, and then leave with a satisfied smile, leaving him with a pile of parts that needed repair.
It was late at night. Tony sat alone in the workshop, holding a severely eroded bearing in his hand.
This was taken off Marvica's motorcycle today; it had been less than two weeks, and it was already scrap.
The workshop lights were cold white and bright, shining on the precision instruments and scattered parts.
Hanging on the wall was a structural diagram of the motorcycle, with all the replaced parts marked in red ink; almost the entire diagram was covered.
Tony leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
If Heaven gave him another chance, he swore he would never have gone to join the fun and meet Marvica that day.
He would absolutely not have run to the Villa to see the motorcycle his father had customized out of a moment of curiosity.
He would absolutely not have greeted Marvica with that frivolous attitude when he first saw her.
And he certainly would not have promised to handle the follow-up matters for the motorcycle.
But regret was useless; the promise had been made, and Marvica had become a fixed, immovable part of his life.
And honestly...
Tony opened his eyes and looked at the photo of the motorcycle on the workbench. That was how it looked when it was first finished—brand new, perfect, shining in the sun.
Although it was troublesome, although it took up time, and although it left him with almost no social life...
But every time he fixed the motorcycle and saw the happy expression on Marvica's face when she rode it, and heard the sound of the engine running smoothly again, Tony would feel that perhaps it wasn't entirely unacceptable.
"At least..." Tony muttered to himself, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "This is still more interesting than those boring parties..."
He stood up, walked to the workbench, and began to study the damaged bearing.
Under the lights, his expression was focused and serious; the exhaustion and complaints were temporarily cast aside.
Outside the window, the night view of Los Angeles was as brilliant as a galaxy of stars.
...
Time, like sand slipping through fingers, silently slid from 1990 to 1991.
The seasons changed; leaves turned from green to yellow, then fell away, only to sprout again in the warm spring sun.
On the streets of New York, people changed from heavy winter clothes to light spring attire. Cafes by the street put their outdoor seating back out, and the air began to fill with a scent mixed with coffee and flowers.
For Marvica, this period of her life was the most relaxed and comfortable phase since she came to Earth.
In addition to riding her motorcycle everywhere to speed and cruise, and finding Tony to fix the motorcycle every few days, she also developed a new interest—professional racing.
This suggestion was made by Tony.
It was an afternoon in February 1991. Tony was replacing the sixth drive chain for Marvica's motorcycle, while Marvica sat on a work chair nearby, flipping through a motorcycle magazine.
"I say..." Tony didn't even lift his head, the wrench in his hand turning skillfully.
"If you like speeding so much, why don't you participate in official races? At least on the track, you can run without any worries, without worrying about speeding tickets, and without worrying about hitting small animals that suddenly rush out."
Marvica lifted her eyes from the magazine: "Official races?"
"Uh-huh." Tony straightened up and wiped his forehead with his oil-stained gloves.
"motorcycle championships, AMA Superbike, or even MotoGP—with your skills, winning a championship shouldn't be difficult."
He paused and added, "And the race bikes are provided by sponsors, so you don't have to fix them yourself, although I think with your riding style, the sponsors might regret it very soon."
Marvica smiled. She closed the magazine and seriously considered this suggestion. Official races... the track... competing with other riders... this sounded really interesting.
"I can give it a try," Marvica said. "How do I sign up?"
Tony rolled his eyes. "I was just mentioning it, are you really considering it? But..."
He thought about it. "With your level, you really should go to the track and show off; it's better than scaring ordinary drivers on public roads."
So, with Tony's help, or rather, with the help of Tony's connections and resources, Marvica registered as a professional racer.
As for the issue of Marvica's identity, Howard had already taken care of it for her long ago.
This was not a problem for Howard at all. With his influence in both political and business circles, helping Marvica obtain a complete, impeccable set of identity documents was as simple as filling out a form.
"Marvica Odinson, born in... 1970? Isn't that too young?" Howard looked at the date of birth on the document, somewhat hesitant.
"Let's go with this," Marvica said nonchalantly. "Anyway, I look about that age."
Howard nodded and signed the document. Thus, the World gained a new legal citizen named Marvica Odinson, possessing a complete birth certificate, social security number, driver's license, and even a fictional but quite reasonable educational and work history.