Tony opened the armor case and stared at the charred Soldier: 76 uniform inside. "Whoa! What the hell did you guys do to it?"
Ronin shrugged helplessly. "It took a direct rocket hit. Can you fix it?"
One glance was enough to see the damage. The metal plating was punched through in multiple places, the internal systems were fried, and the outer fabric was shredded to pieces. The core components were toast.
"I think building a new one would be easier than trying to repair this mess," Tony said. In the time it would take to fix it, he could probably crank out two fresh suits.
"Mr. Stark, maybe we could thicken the metal plating a bit?" Thomas suggested.
Tony eyed Thomas's less-than-impressive physique and raised an eyebrow. "You sure you can even move if we make it heavier? This suit doesn't have thrusters—it runs entirely on your own strength."
"I've been hitting the gym hard these past few days," Thomas replied.
He flexed his arm, trying to show off his biceps. The result was… underwhelming. It looked more like a gentle rolling hill than a muscle.
"Then add two millimeters," Tony decided.
"Five millimeters!" Thomas shot back.
"Five?" Tony looked at the determined expression on Thomas's face. "Fine. But if it ends up too heavy, don't come crying to me."
"No problem. Just use the toughest metal you've got, please," Thomas said, giving a slight bow.
He didn't have Soldier: 76's natural speed. In a real fight, he'd still get hit while running around. Rather than dodging, it made more sense to tank hits like Iron Man—stand there and take it, then dish out maximum firepower in return.
"Don't worry. I'll use the exact same alloy as the Mark IV. With that extra five millimeters, the defense will be damn near Mark V level. You trying to turn into an Iron Man that just looks like Soldier: 76?" Tony asked.
"Pretty much," Thomas scratched his head with a goofy grin.
Thomas set the armor case aside and clapped his hands. "That's settled then!"
Ronin pulled a script from his briefcase. "Here's the Iron Man screenplay. If there's anything you're not happy with, we can discuss changes."
Tony's eyes lit up with interest. He took the script and started reading. The more he read, the more it felt strangely familiar.
It didn't take long for him to realize why. "This is basically my life, just polished up into a movie script?"
"You don't think it's a cool story? I pulled from a ton of real news reports and added my own touches," Ronin said.
"But everyone already knows what happened to me. Will people still want to watch it?"
"Trust me—they will. They know the broad strokes, but they have no idea about the details. Add in top-tier special effects, and boom—visual spectacle guaranteed!" Ronin said, clearly proud of himself.
"Plus, turning your real experiences into a movie is like making an on-screen autobiography. When you're old and can't suit up anymore, you can proudly show it to your kids and say, 'See? That's what Dad actually lived through.' Doesn't that sound awesome?" Ronin kept selling the idea.
Tony nodded slowly. It did sound pretty good—recording his past on film for the world to see, then looking back on it in his old age. Kind of cool.
"But I think this part needs changing. Look here…" Tony pointed at a section of the script.
"I don't think so."
"And this bit feels illogical. It should be adjusted…"
"I don't think so."
"Here too…"
"I don't think so."
...
Tony brought up several issues he thought needed fixing, only to get shot down every single time. He was seriously annoyed. Hadn't Ronin said they could discuss changes if he wasn't satisfied? Was that just talk?
Seeing Tony's frustrated face, Ronin tried to comfort him. "Tony, those changes really aren't necessary. I'm the screenwriter—I know what audiences want. So please, just trust me."
"Fine. When do we start shooting?"
Faced with this genius screenwriter, Tony didn't have the nerve to keep arguing. Since he couldn't tweak the script the way he wanted, the only thing left was to hope filming started soon. He'd been bored out of his mind lately and needed something to do.
"Tomorrow," Ronin answered casually.
"Tomorrow?!"
Tony was stunned. He was eager to start, but this was moving way too fast. It almost felt like Ronin was in more of a hurry than he was.
Winston had just premiered, and they were already jumping straight into Iron Man. The pace was insane.
"The cast is already lined up. Since Soldier: 76 and Iron Man have a similar vibe, and Director Hopkins is great with this style, he'll be directing again," Ronin explained.
"You're serious?" The breakneck speed caught Tony completely off guard.
"No money, gotta keep shooting movies. If I don't shoot, I don't eat. Gotta keep the lights on somehow," Ronin said.
Tony almost wanted to call bullshit. The guy had two massive global hits back-to-back and was still claiming he had no money?
He had to be shooting so fast because the money was rolling in like crazy and he'd forgotten why he started making movies in the first place…
Then again, Ronin's original reason for making Soldier: 76 had been to make money and revive the family business. Most filmmakers were in it for the money. Passion projects were nice, but cash was what kept the engine running.
Ronin had made money, so now he had even more drive to keep making movies. Made sense.
"Alright. What do I need to prepare?"
"Director Hopkins will contact you tomorrow. Just bring yourself," Ronin replied.
"Not bringing the Mark I?"
"We won't need the Mark I in the early stages. Filming doesn't happen in one day, you know?"
"Fair point." Tony nodded, then looked at Ronin. "You're not coming?"
"The company's pretty busy. I'll drop by the set when I have time."
In truth, he was just making an excuse for being lazy. He barely went to the office as it was—he definitely didn't feel like hanging around a film set. Showing up occasionally would be plenty.
Once business was settled, Ronin went home and resumed his lazy lifestyle.
Thomas's downtime routine was hitting the gym. Ronin had thought about joining him once or twice, but his chronic laziness won every time.
The whole moving-house idea hadn't gone anywhere either. Even if he moved, anyone determined enough would still track down his new address. Might as well stay in this familiar place. The view was nice, it was quiet, and he was used to it. Moving somewhere new always felt off—you needed forever to get comfortable again.
With nothing much going on these days, Ronin just stayed home: eat, sleep, play games. That was his daily schedule.
A carefree heart leads to a plump body.
Then one day, Ronin felt something incredible awaken inside him. More accurately, his appetite had awakened—and it was monstrous.
A seven-layer beef burger that he used to barely finish? Now he could polish off five. A dozen fried eggs? Not even enough to fill the gaps between his teeth.
Had he developed some kind of hyper-eating disorder? But even that didn't explain it—his stomach felt like it had expanded several sizes.
He called in America's top doctor for a house visit. The diagnosis? Perfectly healthy. No issues at all. The doctor even told him with a straight face that "being able to eat is a blessing."
Ronin was speechless. Had the guy ever seen someone eat this much?
He was finishing a week's worth of groceries in half a day. Was this supposed to bring blessings, or just future health problems?