Chapter 53: The Stray Dog Bares Its Fangs

"Oh? Didn't you say you were exhausted tonight and needed to sleep early? Why are you out running now? Where are you heading? Want me to pick you up?" Blake asked, puzzled. His girlfriend was acting oddly tonight.

"No, no, I'm almost done—ah, ah, ah…"

"Betty, I ..."

"Don't talk to me, I'm hanging up—ah—"

Aetheris poured a bottle of vintage red wine—aged over twenty years and brimming with rich aroma—all over Betty Ross.

At that same moment, Betty dropped her phone, and no matter how many times Blake called out to her, she didn't respond.

Sweat from her run had smeared across the phone screen. With one swift kick, Aetheris sent it flying, and it landed with a splash in the swimming pool below.

Betty Ross, breathless from the sprint, had no strength left to fight back. She could only let Aetheris do as he pleased.

"Come on, finish this glass—there's more where that came from!"

"And after that, three more!"

Meanwhile, deep within the hidden Hans Industries base, Hans stormed toward Ivan's lab, two burly bodyguards flanking him.

Ding.

Despite the aggressive entrance, Ivan didn't even look up.

"There you are, you bastard," Hans spat, voice trembling with rage.

Earlier that day, Hans had been golfing with a high-ranking military official and had wanted Ivan to demonstrate the autonomous Iron Armor. Ivan, however, refused. He claimed he only designed weapons for killing—not for show.

That refusal humiliated Hans. Not only had he been embarrassed in front of the military, but his pride had been thoroughly stomped on.

A scruffy, ragged Russian who knew a little physics and chemistry suddenly believed he was a god—completely disregarding a business magnate like him?

Unforgivable.

"You've grown attached to that bird, haven't you?" Hans stood over Ivan, thinking he'd already shown enough humility. Surely, this backwater genius should show some gratitude.

But instead, Ivan treated him like thin air.

Hans snatched the white-feathered parrot.

"You love this thing, don't you?"

Ivan's lips twitched slightly. He couldn't guess what this smug man in glasses was up to.

"Take the bird away!" Hans had initially wanted to wring its neck himself, but decided it wasn't worth dirtying his hands.

"Cawwwk—!" the white parrot screeched as one of the bodyguards seized it and stuffed it into a sack.

"Take his pillows too! And his shoes—take everything!" Hans barked.

"How does it feel having your stuff taken away? Feels terrible, doesn't it? Good because that's how I've been feeling too!"

Hans practically roared the last line.

Ivan's repeated defiance had drained what little patience he had left.

"We had a deal! I saved your life, gave you food and shelter—even let you play with your bird! In return, you were supposed to build me the Iron Armor. That was the agreement, and you haven't delivered!"

"A man without integrity has no place in the world. That's a truth we hold sacred!"

Hans paced the lab like a fool trying to regain his dignity.

"I don't know if you're a genius or just a con artist. I don't even know what you are."

Ivan leaned back against the wall, his face expressionless. He looked like a dead man unbothered by boiling water.

"It's not time yet."

"Screw you! I don't speak Russian, you damn commie!"

Not that it mattered anymore. The energy problem had been solved. Hans no longer needed to tolerate this bony freak.

The top engineers at Hans Industries had deciphered the arc reactor design Obadiah had left behind. They had succeeded in replicating the miniature energy core used by Iron Man.

Hans Industries was on the verge of surpassing even the UK and the US—poised to become the world's top arms manufacturer, leaving Stark Industries choking in their dust.

Everyone who had ever looked down on him would soon bow before him.

Tonight, he would return in triumph as a king.

"I'm heading to the expo. Might even pick up a hot girl while I'm at it," Hans sneered, pointing at Ivan.

"You two—watch him closely. Once the expo's over, I'll deal with him myself. I'll make him wish he were dead."

With that, Hans kicked open the door and strutted out, high on his own delusions of glory.

No more begging, no more humiliation. It felt good.

Toothpick Boy eyed the two guards on either side of him like they were piles of trash and sneered inwardly.

Did Hans actually believe these two slabs of meat could contain him, Ivan?

His lip curled in contempt. He shook his head.

"Hey, old man, what are you smirking at?" one of the guards snapped.

Both were ex-Marines, trained to take on five opponents at once. This white-haired guy who looked over forty? One finger would be enough to flatten him.

"Young men, don't get cocky. Arrogance won't get you far."

"Stop speaking nonsense!" the guard snapped again.

"Ah!"

(End of Chapter)

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