Zhou Yi had almost relegated the matter to a minor database entry—a footnote in his urgent list of priorities—when, four days after leaving the message with Jarvis, the response from Tony Stark finally pinged through his secure comms.
"Hey buddy! Heard you were looking for me. Things have been… busy. I've got a literal boatload of talent here—seriously sweet girls. Forget the science for a night, let's get you out of that lonely genius cave and party at sea."
Tony's opening was predictably juvenile, the voice dripping with the self-satisfied arrogance of a man who equated his technological brilliance with his ability to attract beautiful women.
Zhou Yi often found himself wrestling with the cognitive dissonance: how could a man whose mind was a high-speed fusion reactor of invention—the true heir to Tesla and da Vinci—be simultaneously hampered by the moral maturity of a hormonal teenager?
"A few sweet girls, Tony? That sounds remarkably understated, even for you. Tell me, what celestial training academy did you raid this time?" Zhou Yi replied, unable to suppress his own competitive ego. In their own strange way, they understood each other perfectly, viewing social interaction as a competitive sport.
"It's a small, curated selection," Tony bragged, the sound of feminine giggling audible in the background.
"Victoria's latest batch of runway refugees, supplemented by a few starlets testing the Hollywood waters. I threw some investment at a director—you know the drill—and now I'm conducting… intensive preliminary casting."
Zhou Yi leaned back, a genuine, albeit sardonic, smile touching his lips. "You know, I genuinely think this is the most productive application of your financial resources since you stopped making guided missiles. You've done well, friend."
"I've had a few moments of regret," Tony mused, his voice shifting to a conspiratorial whisper designed to be overheard. "I think Hogan must've rattled my equilibrium during our sparring session. Generally, I'd hoard this caliber of beautiful distraction all for myself."
"Well, please ensure Hogan gets a commendation for his accidental public service," Zhou Yi shot back. "But before we descend into mutual moral decay, did you catch the serious part of my message?"
The girls clinging to Tony clearly realized they were being dismissed for 'business.' Tony sighed dramatically. "Alright, ladies, Daddy has to talk to his banker friend for two minutes. Head out to the yacht, find the bar, and wait for the show." A chorus of mock protestations followed.
Tony then directed their attention to the colossal vessel anchored in the distant harbor, his voice amplified by the comms. "Which yacht? The biggest, most glorious, most obscenely over-the-top barge you've ever seen. The one that makes every other ship look like a bathtub toy. You can't miss it!"
Zhou Yi listened to the ensuing gasps of surprise and excitement with a detached sense of familiarity. He knew Tony was making a spectacle for the women, but the vessel itself was truly an object of unparalleled technological excess: the M.Y. Dream.
Tony hadn't just bought a yacht; he'd commissioned a 175-meter floating fortress of hedonism, a naval masterpiece built in the elite yards of Italy at a cost that approached a billion dollars.
This was no mere pleasure craft; it was a mobile palace and a statement of untouchable wealth and genius. The Dream boasted nine distinct decks, its superstructure rising to the approximate height of twelve stacked double-decker buses.
The lower decks were dedicated entirely to advanced power generation and storage, housing berths for two custom mini-submarines and several high-speed tenders. The second deck was primarily for crew and essential services, but also featured a compact, soundproofed disco and holographic game room.
The truly extravagant spaces began on the mid-decks. The Dream was designed to comfortably accommodate up to 30 guests in eight opulent suites. The owner's suite, Tony's sanctum, occupied the entire fifth deck, covering over 465 square meters.
It featured floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows, two massive master bedrooms, and, in the ultimate touch of absurdity, a small, humidity-controlled Zen garden directly connected to a private veranda. The entire ceiling of this suite was designed to retract automatically, allowing Tony to literally sleep exposed to the stars, should he feel the dramatic urge.
The guest accommodations were equally lavish, each of the five double suites and two single suites featuring a private, ocean-view balcony, full-sized cinema screens, and custom-designed jacuzzis. The interior design, entirely executed by Jarvis, was a blend of minimalist modernism and technological integration.
The massive main living room and banquet hall were connected by a sweeping loggia, culminating in an arched structure at the stern that provided a breathtaking 270-degree panoramic view of the ocean.
Perhaps the most telling feature was the pools: a colossal outdoor infinity pool that spanned three decks of the aft terrace, complete with surrounding bars, and an additional indoor pool that was depth-adjustable, transforming into a fully integrated, automated dance floor at the touch of a button.
Crucially, the Dream was almost entirely automated. Controlled by Jarvis, it required only a handful of service staff (chefs, mixologists, and waiters), completely eliminating the need for a helmsman or security detail—a necessity given the vulnerability of a billionaire at sea.
It was one of only two fully automated luxury yachts in the world; the other, Zhou Yi's slightly smaller, half-cost M.Y. Sunshine, paled in comparison.
Zhou Yi knew Tony's display wasn't just about the girls; it was a silent, opulent competition. Tony, as his largest shareholder, perpetually insisted on outdoing Zhou Yi in every measurable metric of excess.
As the background chatter finally subsided, Tony's voice returned, carrying a rare thread of genuine concern.
"Okay, business time. Adamantium—that's what you asked about. You understand this isn't like ordering a new engine part, right? It's not just restricted; it's dangerous. The supply chain for the raw metal runs through the darkest corners of the military-industrial complex."
"I'm aware of the classification. I need it for a specialized project, purely recreational, but requiring the toughest material known. I figured you, as the primary source of all things restricted, might have a small cache sitting around," Zhou Yi pressed. He didn't elaborate on his need for an Adamantium Katana to counter Logan; Tony didn't need to know his strategic vulnerabilities.
Tony's tone dropped further. "Let me put this in perspective. The primary military custodian for all active Adamantium production and R&D is an influential Colonel, a nasty piece of work, obsessed with… certain kinds of experimentation. This guy has, let's just say, actively removed entire low-income tribes in Africa for controlling meteor strike zones. He's truly dangerous, Zhou Yi. Even I try to avoid the paperwork trail that leads back to General Stryker."
Zhou Yi raised an eyebrow, the name confirming his earlier suspicion. Stryker was indeed on his long-term elimination list—a key architect of mutant persecution.
"Understood. A blacklisted individual. All the more reason to avoid direct contact. Do you have any stock whatsoever? Something small. A souvenir from Howard's archives, perhaps?"
"I have less than twenty pounds. A lump of pure, unalloyed True Adamantium dagger, intended for Captain America's belt, I think. It just sits on a pedestal in my study now, completely useless, but ridiculously sentimental," Tony admitted, a slight edge of annoyance entering his voice.
"You'll have to go through military channels for bulk orders, and trust me, you do not want to deal with that particular Colonel for a 'hobby' project."
"Perfect," Zhou Yi declared, seizing the opportunity. "That useless twenty pounds is now mine. I will trade you something of genuine value for it. Consider that dagger an extremely valuable paperweight I am relieving you of."
Tony chuckled, a mixture of self-interest and mischief. "I'm willing to trade. It's a glorified decoration anyway. But, my friend, the item you bring must be irresistible. If it's less than spectacular, the dagger stays exactly where it is."
"Don't worry. I guarantee a trade that will satisfy your avarice," Zhou Yi promised, smiling. "I'll be there in an hour. But just to be clear, I need to know the setup. You said it wasn't just the two of us?"
"Hardly! We have to have witnesses for my unparalleled charisma. I invited Roddy. The three of us can determine, once and for all, who is the true apex predator in a room full of beautiful distractions." Tony's laugh was arrogant, his confidence absolute.
Within the hour, Zhou Yi's personal high-speed boat deposited him alongside the towering hull of the Dream.
As soon as he stepped onto the aft deck, he spotted the two figures standing near the large outdoor pool: Tony, surrounded by admiring, bikini-clad women, and Colonel James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Tony's long-suffering best friend and Head of the U.S. Air Force's Weapons Development.
Rhodey looked genuinely miserable, his posture stiff, his expression a masterpiece of contained exasperation—like a man trying to maintain military decorum while slowly sinking in quicksand.
"Gentlemen!" Zhou Yi greeted them, accepting a perfect cocktail from a passing waiter. "Rhodey, my man, what is with the face? You look like a man who just discovered his tailor used polyester. Tony throws a party like this, and you're wearing the look of acute constipation. Straighten up! It's a spectacular day!"
Zhou Yi, in his own way, was just as venomous as Tony, particularly towards the easy target of a friend's misery.
Rhodey shot a dark look at Tony, who was casually preening, adjusting his perfectly tailored shirt. "I wish I hadn't made the mistake of showing my face to this group. I should've known this was a competition of humiliation, not a party."
"A competition? Tony suggested a competition to see who gets the most attention from the ladies," Zhou Yi remarked innocently, taking a sip of his drink.
"Exactly! A competition he and you clearly rigged before I even left the base!" Rhodey threw his hands up in defeat.
"I walk onto the deck, and this absolutely stunning blonde—Victoria's top model, I think—zeroes in on me immediately. I thought, 'Finally, a breakthrough!' And she walks straight up, all smiles and shimmering allure, and asks the most bizarre question."
Zhou Yi leaned in, his own smile sharpening. "Let me guess. Did she ask a profound question about the ethics of military budget allocation?"
"I wish!" Rhodey groaned, his voice laced with indignation. "She says, and I quote, 'Hello, Colonel Rhodes! Everyone says you're the most distinguished man here. But I'm confused. I was told you only date other guys now? Is that why you brought your wingmen?'"
The memory clearly stung. Rhodey threw his hands up in exasperation. "Wingmen! Tony! You told these women I was in a relationship with another man just so they would back off! Half the yacht has been giving me looks of intense pity or veiled judgment! Who told her I preferred men? I don't even know who she is!"
Zhou Yi feigned wide-eyed surprise, mirroring the shocked expression of a bikini-clad waitress carrying a tray of exotic fruit slices, who swiftly moved away from the volatile trio.
"Wait, you don't like guys, Roddy? You kept that a secret," Zhou Yi pressed, leaning closer. "But seriously, man, if you did, I think it would be in your best interest to keep that classified, judging by the reactions."
The comment was the final psychological straw. Rhodey stared from Zhou Yi to Tony, the malicious brilliance of their coordinated attack finally registering.
The competition was indeed rigged, designed to eliminate the one decent, grounded man on the ship, leaving the two amoral billionaires free to pursue their 'casting interviews' without serious competition.
Colonel James Rhodes, a decorated officer and genius engineer, realized that against the combined tactical malice of his two closest friends, his military training and ethical code were utterly useless. He was naive. He was utterly, pathetically naive.
The party—and the negotiation for the world's hardest metal—had officially begun.