The morning sun cast golden light across the villa's lawn where Thor and Jane stood locked in a lingering embrace. Nearby, Hong Fei and Loki tactfully averted their eyes from the public display of affection, basking in the warmth instead.
Hong Fei squinted against the rising sun's glare.
"Go back and reform yourself properly," he said. When Loki didn't respond, he added, "Don't forget what I told you last time. Wasting your potential would be a shame. In this world, if you want something, you need the strength to take it. Schemes and conspiracies crumble before real power—they rely on others playing along. But strength? That's something you carry with you."
Loki's lips curled. "Like how you keep your subordinates in line?"
"Exactly. You've seen it yourself. Without me, they'd never work together. Now? They cooperate. They even like each other."
"And when you're not around?"
Hong Fei laughed. "Why would I care? If it bothers me, I'll just take them with me."
Loki's eyes narrowed. "You really are heartless."
"I prefer to think of it as being decisive."
Their conversation ended as Thor finally pulled away from Jane, walking toward them with obvious reluctance. Hong Fei gestured, and Big Head hurried forward to hand Thor the Tesseract.
Clutching the cube in one hand and Loki's arm in the other, Thor turned to Hong Fei.
"I owe you thanks for your help."
"Don't mention it."
"Still not coming to Asgard?"
Hong Fei shook his head. "Not yet. I've got unfinished business here."
Thor sighed. "Next time, then. I'll show you the best wine in the Nine Realms."
"You don't have anything non-alcoholic, do you?"
Thor laughed. "I'll have them brew something sweet just for you! Jane—wait for me! I won't be long. Hong, look after her."
"Count on it."
Jane stood nearby, eyes red-rimmed. Thor raised Mjolnir, and in an instant, a rainbow bridge tore through the sky, swallowing both brothers in its light.
Hong Fei was about to leave after seeing Jane off when the Bifrost rumbled back to life. A figure materialized on the lawn—silver armor gleaming, sword strapped to her back.
"Sif?" Hong Fei's eyebrow lifted.
Trouble had arrived.
She marched toward him, gaze sharp. He met her halfway, smiling. "Long time no see."
Her expression darkened. "Give me back my sword."
"Of course."
Without turning, he flicked his wrist toward the villa. A blade shot from an open window, hilt slapping neatly into his palm. He spun it once before offering it to her, hilt-first.
Sif didn't take it.
She looked at the house behind Hong Fei, then at the sword in his hand, brow furrowing.
"How did you do that?"
"With my heart."
The truth was simpler—a thread of Dragon Power woven into the Uru metal, binding it to his will. But some secrets were best kept.
Hong Fei had developed this method of utilizing Dragon Power over time.
Sif paused, then shook her head softly. She reached for the longsword and stepped into the Bifrost Bridge's transmission mark. Hong Fei's smile remained steady as Sif glanced back at him one last time.
A fleeting, chaotic thought crossed her mind. With a decisive motion, she unsheathed the sword from her back and hurled it at Hong Fei's feet. She raised the blade he'd given her high into the air. The Bifrost Bridge descended instantly, whisking her away.
Hong Fei stared at the sword embedded in the ground before him, its faint tremors betraying its power. He chuckled.
Big Head stood behind him, scratching his head in confusion.
"Boss, what's this about?"
Hong Fei didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stepped forward and pulled the sword free. As he channeled Dragon Power into the blade, he felt the divine energy surging within it and let out a soft sigh.
The sword he'd given Sif had been nearly drained of her divine power.
Sif's divine energy was the sole catalyst for activating "Odin's Blessing."
The sword had been forged specifically for her, after all. Without her presence, it would never unleash its full potential in Hong Fei's hands. That was why he'd been so eager to return it earlier. Now, things had worked out perfectly.
By swapping swords, Sif had essentially handed Hong Fei a fully charged piece of equipment.
"What a kind soul!" he murmured.
Big Head scratched his forehead, still baffled. Hong Fei lifted the blade gently, then released it. The sword soared back to its resting place on its own.
"Pack up," Hong Fei instructed. "Those who need to leave can go."
"And you?" Big Head asked.
"Do I need to report my whereabouts to you?"
"No, no, of course not. My mistake."
"Good. Find someone for me—and a company. Make sure they act fast. I don't know what's wrong with villains these days. They're so indecisive."
As he spoke, Hong Fei's mind raced.
"No need to show yourself. Use your Psychic Power to push them into action. And also..."
......
Moments later, Hong Fei drove into the city. He parked on the side of the road and stepped into the bookstore. A few customers browsed quietly among the shelves. Mei sat behind the counter, with Peter beside her, absorbed in a book.
Hong Fei approached, casting a shadow over them. They looked up immediately.
Peter nearly called out but caught himself, remembering where he was. He covered his mouth, though his eyes sparkled with excitement.
Once the bookstore emptied, Hong Fei suggested Mei close early. The three of them drove straight to Mei's house. It was the first time Hong Fei had visited. Peter clung to his hand, leading him to the sofa before darting off to fetch fruit and candies.
Hong Fei accepted it all graciously, and Peter watched him with pure delight.
Hong Fei spent the entire afternoon there, lingering until dusk. Peter was called away by friends to play with building blocks. He hesitated, torn between staying and going, but finally left reluctantly after Hong Fei gently urged him.
The room fell quiet, leaving only the two of them.
As night fell, Mei knelt by the bed, her long hair cascading over her shoulders. She pulled the quilt up to her chest and asked softly, "Are you the person from TV?"
"It's me," Hong Fei replied, his tone calm and matter-of-fact.
The simplicity of his answer left her momentarily speechless. After a long pause, she furrowed her brow and asked, "Who are you?"
Hong Fei's lips curved in a sudden smile. "Only now you think to ask?"
"I wanted to earlier," Mei countered, "but you left."
"When?"
"Last time."
"Which 'last time'?"
Heat flooded Mei's cheeks—half embarrassment, half fury. She kicked off the quilt and launched herself at Hong Fei like a storm, pinning him beneath her. Her knees locked around his thighs, palms slamming his wrists into the mattress. Her glare could have melted steel.
Even fresh from battle, fear never touched her. If anything, conflict made her bolder. The sheer audacity of it.
......
Hours later, Peter burst through the front door, home from school. He found Hong Fei lounging on the sofa, TV murmuring, while Mei lay motionless a meter away—feigning sleep or genuinely exhausted.
The boy bounded over, vibrating with excitement as he thrust his latest block creation under Hong Fei's nose.
A shockingly accurate Iron Man replica. Then, with theatrical flourish, Peter produced the actual Iron Man figurine Hong Fei had gifted him. Seeing Tony Stark's handiwork mirrored in a child's toy, Hong Fei's smile deepened.
The hidden cameras inside the model still functioned perfectly.
Tony undoubtedly knew everything about Peter by now. The boy might just inherit the Stark legacy someday. A guaranteed win—but one requiring surveillance. That damned Tony clearly had designs on Mei, and his hulking bodyguard... Well. They'd need discouraging.
Hong Fei rose to leave.
Peter caught his sleeve. "Stay? I'll take the sofa—you can have my bed!"
A sidelong glance at Mei earned him a venomous look. 'Kid, it's not that I don't want to. Your auntie would skin me alive.'
Hong Fei ruffled Peter's hair. "Sleep tight, champ. I'll visit often."
"Pinky promise?"
"Pinky promise."
......
Meanwhile, at A.I.M. Headquarters:
For a rising biotech star, the company's growth wasn't sluggish—yet its reclusive founder avoided press like the plague. Few outside the industry even knew it existed. Their downtown offices were a front; the real work happened in a fortified suburban lab complex adjoining a sprawling villa.
Aldrich Killian, A.I.M.'s mastermind, had shed his loser persona like a snake's skin. Now he radiated the polished arrogance of self-made success. Seated in his villa, he watched news footage with predatory focus—especially when Tony Stark's smirking face appeared.
As Tony launched into another sardonic interview, Killian finally snapped. His wine glass shattered against the TV screen in a burst of sparks and broken glass. He surged to his feet, chest heaving, knuckles white.
Then—
Red light pulsed through his fists, chest, eye sockets. The air shimmered with heat.
"It's time."
By the window, Big Head—ignored until now—stretched his lips into a grotesque grin.