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"Wow!" Katharine was the first to exclaim in amazement. "Little Henry, are you seriously bulletproof?"
"Well, I'll admit—it does hurt. But the bullet doesn't go through." Henry told a small lie.
Truth be told, there was no pain at all. Even the slight indentation in his palm and the recoil were just for show. He didn't want to come across as too inhuman in front of others.
"Wait a minute!" Tony Stark shouted, cutting off everyone else before they could speak. He lowered his head in deep thought. "Let me think this through first."
"Uh... what is there to think about?" Henry asked, confused.
"So you're saying," Tony began, "during the shootout, you were basically walking around in an invisible bulletproof suit behind me. And I—like an idiot—thought you needed protection, so I kept shielding you, putting myself in danger. Is that it?"
Henry shrugged, wearing an infuriatingly innocent expression. "Mr. Stark, I seem to recall advising you not to get involved in the gunfight. I told you to hide somewhere safe.
"And as for what happened afterward... why can't you see it as me covering your back from surprise attacks? Not that anyone actually tried to shoot you from behind."
Tony jumped to his feet, getting more and more agitated. "So I was like some naked fool, charging at professional killers with a pistol… while you could've just walked up to them and knocked them out one by one? That's what you're saying?"
Henry answered seriously, "That's impossible. Any sane person, upon realizing their bullets don't work on the enemy and seeing them walking forward unscathed, would just run away. No one's stupid enough to stick around."
He cleverly dodged the part about punching people into next week.
"So what you're saying—" Tony slammed his hand on the table—"is that what I thought was a life-or-death battle was, for you, basically like playing paintball in a backyard survival game!"
"Well, sir, if that's how you want to put it, then… I wouldn't say you're wrong. But I'd suggest calming down and looking at the bigger picture."
"How the hell am I supposed to calm down?! You never told me any of this! If you had, I could've come up with a better plan instead of playing hero like an idiot!"
"Seriously now…" Henry widened his eyes and put on a mock-shocked face. "Who in their right mind goes around announcing, 'Hi, I'm Henry Brown. I'm bulletproof!'
"Ninety percent of people would think I'm crazy. The other ten would assume I'm joking. And even if I wasn't, how would I prove it to them?"
"Well, you just proved it tonight!" Tony snapped.
"That's because this is a job interview. I had to provide proof that I'm qualified as a driver and a bodyguard. Otherwise, what do you want me to do—pull out a gun and shoot myself every time I meet someone new? Even a lunatic wouldn't go that far."
"But you could've told me! Whether I believe you or not is my problem!"
"Oh? So tell me, Mr. Stark—do you go around introducing yourself like: 'Hi, I'm Tony Stark. My dad is Howard Stark, I'm heir to Stark Industries, and I'm a certified genius at Caltech!'"
"Wait!" Tony interrupted indignantly. "I enrolled in MIT's electrical engineering program at fourteen and earned my PhD in engineering physics. I'm only visiting Caltech while working on another doctorate in aerospace engineering. So yes—I am a genius. But I'm definitely not just some random Caltech student."
"Sure, sure." Henry rolled his eyes and raised his hands dramatically. "But do you go around bragging about that to everyone you meet? Like a peacock flashing its feathers?"
"Of course not! I don't need to flaunt it. And let me just say—I've never taken a cent from my family since I turned twelve. I paid all my tuition and expenses using patent royalties I earned myself!"
"Exactly. So why expect me to announce my abilities to everyone when you don't? Seems a bit hypocritical, Mr. Stark."
Maybe Henry's sarcasm hit a nerve, because Tony's anger suddenly took a sharp turn. His tone dropped. "I told you, call me Tony. The only thing I share with that other Stark is DNA. Nothing more."
"Heh." Henry looked around at the lavish mansion, the five-figure outfit Tony was wearing, and the multi-course French meal in front of them, already at dessert. He couldn't help but jab, "And I suppose your genius brain thinks the only kind of support that counts is cash in hand. What, inheriting Stark Industries doesn't count? Everything you have here—this house, your clothes, your lifestyle—you earned all of that yourself?"
Tony stiffened, clearly struck by the remark. He grumbled, "Having a place to live, clothes to wear, food to eat—that's normal, isn't it? If I refused even those, wouldn't that be a little too dramatic?"
"Sure," Henry replied with a shrug, "whatever helps you sleep at night."
Tony hesitated for a moment, then said, "So… you could've saved Josh Hilton, right?"
Not in a million years would Henry admit he could have saved the guy. And besides—he didn't want to. What was Tony going to do about it?
"That's impossible! You're bulletproof. You could've taken the shot for him. You're telling me you let an innocent man die because you held a grudge?"
"I don't know if that guy was innocent—I'm not a judge," Henry replied coolly. "And if I were going to save him, I'd have had to run across the pool, beat the bullet, and jump in front of a man wider than I am tall. You really think the gunmen would've let me do that?"
Considering the pool layout and the hostages being controlled by the shooters, it really would've been impossible to get there in time—unless you had literal super speed.
Still, Tony protested, "But you didn't even try!"
"And wasting effort on something I know I can't do—that's what saints do. Me? I'm just an average guy… with a little something extra."
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