Chapter Forty-Three: An Unpleasant Encounter

Martha glanced at Jack, suddenly remembering something, and hurried after them.

“Michael, you've just recovered from a serious illness. You shouldn't drink,” she said.

“I know my limits,” Michael replied, unconcerned. His body now was so strong that not only could he drink, he could easily endure a night of endless revelry.

Martha shook her head helplessly and turned to look at Jack.

Jack's heart skipped a beat—he sensed trouble.

“You have a weak heart. No alcohol for you,” Martha said, picking up his drink and placing it safely back on the wine rack.

Michael walked to the window, sipping his wine as he admired the scenery outside.

“Not enough, not enough at all,” he muttered, pushing himself up and, with a burst of strength, leaped over the eaves onto the rooftop.

He raised his head to gaze at the full moon, drinking wine worth hundreds of thousands per bottle. Michael was elated.

“Life must be lived to the fullest; never let golden goblets stand empty beneath the moon,” he recited.

“Nature grants each talent its purpose; squandered fortunes will return anew.”

The wine left him sober, but his spirit soared with bravado.

With a leap, Michael rode the wind, flying higher and higher. The skyscrapers below grew insignificant in his eyes.

But New York was the city that never sleeps. Even before midnight, the downtown lights shone brightly.

Michael looked at the myriad lights across the city, yet felt little attachment—he only ascended higher.

Perhaps the Green Goblin was the one who truly understood this city. Norman Osborn, young as he was, had surpassed his father, making Osborn Industries one of New York's leading enterprises.

As Michael flew higher, the wind intensified, and he couldn't help but laugh out loud in exhilaration.

Having finally gained such extraordinary powers, how could he not enjoy them to the fullest?

There was no denying it—flight, one of humanity's greatest dreams, was a truly wonderful thing.

Feeling the wind brush his fingertips, Michael soared with ever-increasing joy.

…

Rhode watched the figure flying across the sky. He suspected it wasn't Tony.

This guy had been flying for over ten minutes, apparently just for fun.

“Hey, Tony,” Rhode called.

Tony picked up the phone. “Hey, what's up, Rhode?”

“What are you doing?”

Tony smiled. “Forging iron.”

“Forging iron? At this hour? You’re still working?” Rhode was baffled. The night was deep, but his playboy friend was forging iron—wasn’t he supposed to live up to his reputation?

Tony tried on a golden mask, then set it aside.

“It’s late and I can’t sleep, so I’m working on a new suit to pass the time. What about you? What are you up to?”

Rhode breathed a sigh of relief.

“There’s someone flying at supersonic speed over New York. Not sure who it is.”

On hearing this, Tony’s demeanor grew serious.

“I’ll check it out.”

He donned the Iron Man armor and flew out of his villa, heading for New York.

Anyone flying at supersonic speed over New York either had a suit as advanced as his or was an alien.

Using satellite tracking, he quickly located Michael.

Tony was astonished when he saw him.

“That’s a person? He’s not wearing a suit, not using any external help. Good heavens, Jarvis, am I hallucinating?”

Tony questioned his own reality.

“No, sir,” Jarvis replied.

Michael heard Tony’s voice and stopped to glance his way.

“Jarvis, scan his face and check the police database,” Tony ordered.

Jarvis soon responded.

“Sir, this individual has no criminal record.”

No criminal record—that was good. Perhaps they could talk.

“Hey, man, what are you doing? Going for a night run?”

At supersonic speed, Tony’s words should have been impossible to hear—but Michael possessed super hearing, even echolocation, making it easy for him to catch Tony’s words.

Michael halted, using the airflow to hover in mid-air.

“Yes, Tony Stark. Are you here to enjoy the midnight starlight too?”

Away from the city’s glare, the faint glow of stars became guiding lights. Under such moonlight, sharing the moment with someone else wasn’t bad.

Michael hadn’t expected to meet Tony under these circumstances.

Tony stopped as well, circling Michael, yet discovering nothing.

“How does he do it?” he wondered.

Jarvis, using the suit’s camera system, quickly deduced Michael’s flight mechanism.

“It’s the wind. There are high-speed rotating air currents around his body.”

“Incredible,” Tony muttered, barely believing his eyes, but he quickly composed himself.

“Hey, sir, I don’t care what kind of alien you are, but flying is forbidden above New York.”

“And you?” Michael retorted without backing down.

Tony coughed to hide his embarrassment. “Actually, I have a flight permit.”

Michael chuckled. “Please show your credentials, sir.”

Tony was puzzled—it felt like he was being checked for drunk driving.

“Sir, let’s be clear: I’m the one checking you, not the other way around.”

Michael laughed again, unable to help himself.

“Then please show your police badge.”

Tony was bewildered. What police badge? What was this guy up to? Didn’t he realize he was Iron Man?

“I’m Iron Man, not a cop.”

“Then what gives you the right to check me? Who granted you that authority?”

Tony frowned, sensing something was off, though he couldn’t pinpoint it.

“Stop, stop, I’m not here to argue with you. Your actions are seriously threatening public safety…”

Michael shrugged in resignation. “You’re overreaching, aren’t you? Who exactly am I threatening?”

“I don’t know, but if I don’t show up, the Air Force might.”

Michael recalled Tony once being chased by fighter jets after his flight was tracked by satellites.

The thought of Tony being pursued by planes while lying to Rhode amused him.

“But I haven’t affected anyone else.”

“But do you know? Right now, the Air Force has a room full of people watching the monitors, working late just for you.”

Michael sighed, mocking, “This truly is a free country—just taking a flight means being monitored by the Air Force. I can hardly believe it.”

It depended on how you flew—monsters like him, flying with just their bodies, always made people uneasy.

“All right, now disarm yourself, come to the ground, and prepare for questioning.”

Questioning?

Michael knew all too well—the higher-ups in this country were smooth talkers but experts at causing trouble. If nothing went wrong, Tony was bound to be called in for a hearing soon.

“Sorry, Mr. Stark, you have no authority to enforce the law. I haven’t broken any regulations, and no one has the right to interrogate me.”

Michael turned to leave, but Tony blocked his path again.

“Stop. Dangerous people like you must be documented.”

“What do you mean?”

“You need to be restrained.”

Tony spoke seriously. A monster who could fly at supersonic speed with just his body was absolutely at a superhuman level.

“Don’t you need restraint, Mr. Stark? Aside from your fans, who actually trusts you?”

Tony frowned, troubled by the same thoughts.

Tony was telling the truth, but sometimes the truth didn’t apply. Michael had no intention of going with him.

“Mr. Stark, you should calm down,” Michael said, drawing a welding circle and waving his hand at Tony.

The circle traced through the air, perfectly enclosing Tony, and in the next moment, Tony vanished without a trace.

Michael drew another circle for himself and instantly returned home.