"This motorcycle was only delivered a week ago; logically, it should be able to ride at least five thousand kilometers without needing major maintenance..."
"I might have... ridden it a bit too much." Mavuika rarely showed a hint of embarrassment: "And some roads were very dusty."
Tony looked at him, suddenly having an ominous premonition.
The third time, it was only a day later.
This time the problems were more complex: the front fork was leaking oil, the shock absorber had failed, and the handlebars were shaking severely at high speeds.
"Where on earth did you ride it to?" Tony was practically interrogating him.
"The front fork seal is broken; this kind of damage only occurs after a strong impact. Did you jump off a cliff with it?"
Mavuika blinked: "I just went over a rather high step."
"How high?"
"...Maybe less than two meters?"
Tony closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
When he opened his eyes again, there was a sense of resigned calm in his gaze.
"Mavuika..." he said, his voice unusually calm, "We need to talk about how you use this motorcycle."
But the conversation clearly had no effect.
At most three to five days, never more than a week, and at least one or two days, Mavuika would call Tony's number and say in that lighthearted tone: "Tony, the motorcycle has a small problem again. Where are you? I'll come find you."
Tony was speechless.
What is wrong with this guy? Is he riding the motorcycle or intentionally destroying it? How can it break so quickly?
Does he not have a job or work to do? Does he have nothing else to do every day but ride around wildly?
These questions swirled in Tony's mind, but he never asked them directly.
On one hand, he vaguely felt that Mavuika's identity was not simple, and these questions might involve privacy; on the other hand... every time he saw Mavuika appear riding the motorcycle with that free-spirited attitude, Tony felt that perhaps this was the lifestyle he had chosen.
It's just that this lifestyle is too harsh on the motorcycle.
What made Tony even more devastated was the frequency of repairs. As a genius inventor and heir to Stark Industries, his time was very precious.
Designing new weapon systems, improving the company's product lines, handling various business affairs... and his favorite parties and social events.
But now, all this time was being squeezed out by Mavuika's motorcycle.
"Mr. Stark, the meeting with Hammer Industries has been moved to tomorrow at 3 PM. Is that okay?" Pepper asked over the phone.
"No, I have to repair a motorcycle tomorrow afternoon," Tony answered subconsciously.
There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone: "...Repair a motorcycle?"
"Yes, a motorcycle. The front shock absorber needs to be replaced entirely. It will probably take two hours."
"Do you need me to arrange for technicians to handle it?"
"No, I'll do it myself. I promised someone." When Tony said this, there was a complex emotion in his tone.
It was both a sense of responsibility to fulfill a promise and regret for his own hasty commitment back then.
After hanging up, Tony looked at the motorcycle repair manual spread out on the workbench and gave a wry smile.
He had specially written this manual for that motorcycle because it was a custom model, and there was no ready-made information available on the market.
Over the past two months, the manual had become dog-eared from him flipping through it, and it was filled with dense notes and improvement suggestions.
Over these two months, although it looked no different on the outside—still that fire-red motorcycle, the streamlined body, the shiny paint finish...
...but Tony knew that almost every part of this motorcycle had been replaced from top to bottom.
The engine had been disassembled and reassembled once, and the piston rings and valves had been replaced.
The gearbox had been replaced entirely because the third-gear cog was shattered. Tony still didn't know how Mavuika had managed that.
Although the frame was still the original, many welding points had been reinforced.
The suspension system was completely upgraded using Stark Industries' latest adaptive hydraulic technology.
The braking system had been changed three times. Finally, Tony simply designed a set of carbon-ceramic composite brakes that, theoretically, would last until the motorcycle was scrapped...
...but with Mavuika's usage style, Tony couldn't guarantee how long this "theory" would hold up.
The electrical system was comprehensively upgraded, adding GPS, tire pressure monitoring, and even a simple self-driving function...
...which Tony had added secretly, hoping that Mavuika would reduce the possibility of driving it himself... perhaps then the motorcycle's shelf life would be a bit longer.
It wouldn't be wrong to say that it was a new motorcycle now.
No, it should be said that it was more powerful, advanced, and durable than a new one.
But even so, the speed of replacement and repair still couldn't catch up with the speed at which Mavuika broke it.
The tires changed yesterday might blow out today.
The brakes upgraded last week needed adjustment again this week.
The frame reinforced last month had new stress cracks discovered this month.
Tony felt like he was becoming a professional motorcycle mechanic; every day he was either repairing the motorcycle or on his way to repair it.
In his private workshop, motorcycle parts and tools occupied more and more space, while those precision electronic instruments and weapon prototypes were pushed into the corners.
Employees at Stark Industries began to gossip privately, wondering if their future boss had become obsessed with motorcycle modification lately. Why was he fiddling with that red motorcycle all day?
Once, when Tony was on a date with a model at a high-end restaurant, Mavuika's call came in.
"Tony, the clutch isn't working very well. Are you free right now?"
Tony looked at his date opposite him, who had exquisite makeup and expectant eyes, and then listened to Mavuika's matter-of-fact tone on the phone, suddenly feeling a sense of absurdity.
"I am... on a date," Tony said, lowering his voice.
"Oh, then you go ahead and be busy," Mavuika's tone was very understanding. "I'll find you tomorrow."
But the next day, he really called again.
And that model, Tony never contacted again. It wasn't that he didn't want to, but he really didn't have the time...
With no other choice, in order to still have time to manage freely, Tony started thinking of ways to deal with it.
He tried pretending not to receive the calls. The first time, Mavuika called again after half an hour. The second time, he sent a text message directly: "I know you're there, call me back."
Tony didn't know how he was sure, but the tone of that text message made him feel like he had been seen through.
He tried turning off his phone directly, but the result was that the next morning, Mavuika appeared directly in the garage of his Malibu Villa, leaning against that motorcycle, smiling and looking at Tony, who was in his pajamas and bleary-eyed.
"Good morning!" he said: "I couldn't reach you last night, so I came over directly. The turn signal isn't working; can you help me take a look?"
Tony's expression at that moment, as described later by Pepper, who happened to come over to deliver documents that morning, was: "Like he had seen an alien—surprised, confused, and with a trace of resigned despair."