Chapter Sixteen: The Overbearing CEO’s Personal Bodyguard

Hapi introduced Arthur to several other colleagues, all veterans responsible for the company's security. These seasoned security guards looked down on the young Arthur at first, but when he swiftly took down four of them in an instant, Hapi immediately invited him to become Tony’s personal bodyguard.

Arthur even met the villainous boss of Stark Industries, Obadiah Stane. Regarding this new personal bodyguard assigned to Tony, Obadiah merely nodded slightly and said he understood, without expressing any particular opinion.

With the onboarding procedures complete, Arthur finally met Tony Stark at his home. Looking at the man before him—so reminiscent of Robert Downey Jr.—Arthur felt an unexpected sense of familiarity. After all, Iron Man had always been his favorite Marvel superhero.

Tony regarded the young man with a frown. “Sent by the Department of Defense? Supposedly skilled? I don’t need a bodyguard. You can leave.”

Arthur hurried to explain, “I’m here because someone asked me to be. After your recent incident, the Department of Defense wants to ensure your safety. Do you think I actually want to protect you?”

“The Department of Defense sent you? Just you? How old are you, even? Are you sure you’re an adult? Looks to me like you need me to protect you,” Tony sneered.

Arthur wasn’t bothered by Tony’s disdain—he knew Tony was always like this: trusting no one but himself, changing only after a long series of experiences.

“I’m twenty. Don’t worry, most people are no match for me. I’m more than capable of protecting you!” Arthur struck a pose, as if he could take on ten men at once.

“Fine. I agree. You can stay here,” Tony finally relented. “But unless I say otherwise, you’re only allowed on the first floor. Hapi, get him a room.” With that, Tony turned and headed back to his workshop.

Hapi arranged a room for Arthur, explained his duties, warned him not to enter Tony’s workshop without permission, and handed him a phone for contact.

Thus began Arthur’s life as a personal bodyguard. But within a few days, he grew restless. Tony was always holed up in his workshop, seldom emerging, leaving Arthur with little to do but train in martial arts in the yard or doze on a lounge chair.

One day, Arthur saw a delivery truck arrive, bringing in several large crates. He checked them—just metal parts and materials.

Tony emerged from the villa. “They’re delivering the parts I ordered. Have them move the crates to my workshop.” He patted Arthur on the shoulder.

Arthur realized Tony was beginning work on his Iron Man suit. He instructed the workers to move the crates into Tony’s workshop.

It was Arthur’s first time in Tony’s workshop, which was located two floors underground, beneath the parking garage. It was vast—more warehouse than workshop—filled with all manner of machines, no fewer than twenty computers, heaps of parts everywhere, and even a modified car.

Arthur regarded Tony as if looking at a mad scientist, amazed at how the man could spend his days buried in this heap of parts, utterly absorbed in his research.

Tony offered Arthur a glass and a bottle of liquor. “Care for a drink?”

Arthur accepted the glass and pointed at the table covered in parts. “Is this your hobby?”

Pouring half a glass for Arthur and clinking it with his own, Tony replied, “You wouldn’t understand. I’m working on something incredible. I’m about to do something big. Cheers!”

Arthur downed the drink. “What is it? Can I see?”

Tony said mysteriously, “You’ll know when it’s done. I’m telling you because I find you agreeable, but you have to keep it secret.”

“Okay,” Arthur replied with a shrug. I already have a good idea what you’re making.

...

One evening, as Arthur lounged in the yard, a Mercedes drove up and stopped in front of him. Out stepped Obadiah and Pepper Potts, Pepper carrying a box of pizza and a small package.

“Where’s Tony? Mr. Stane needs to see him,” Pepper asked.

“He’s in the workshop. Just go down and find him; he never answers when I call on the intercom,” Arthur replied.

After Pepper left, Arthur led Obadiah into the living room. “Please wait here a moment.”

“No need to mind me; being here feels just like home,” Obadiah said, moving to the piano and starting to play.

Soon, Tony and Pepper entered the living room together. Tony munched on the pizza Obadiah had brought, Pepper sat nearby working through some files, and Arthur quietly slipped out to continue relaxing outside.

Obadiah tried to persuade Tony, citing shareholder dissatisfaction and urging him to abandon his decision to halt weapons production. Tony refused, and the conversation quickly fell apart.

As Obadiah was leaving, he said to Arthur, “Tony is stubborn. Many shareholders are unhappy with him and want to push him out of the company. I hope you’ll try to talk some sense into him.”

“I’ll do my best,” Arthur replied with a smile.

...

For a while, no one came to visit Tony except Pepper, who stopped by daily. Tony never emerged from his workshop, and Arthur marveled at his workaholic nature.

One evening, Arthur made himself a late-night snack. Every day, someone delivered meals and groceries to the house, but Tony often forgot to eat because of his work.

Arthur was dozing on a lounge chair in the yard, enjoying the breeze, when suddenly a loud crash from the roof startled him awake.

Had the villa been hit by a meteorite? Arthur rushed inside, staring speechless at the gaping hole in the ceiling, the smashed remains of the piano, and the crater in the floor.

He hurried down to the underground parking garage, where he found Tony sprawled atop a blue sports car, clad in a battered silver suit of armor.

Arthur walked over. “You alright? Is this the amazing thing you’ve been working on?”

“That was just a mishap. Come help me out,” Tony said, reaching out.

Arthur grasped Tony’s hand and pulled him off the crushed car.

“You’re strong!” Tony exclaimed.

“What are you going to do about all this?” Arthur gestured to the hole above and the flattened car.

“I’ll have someone take care of it tomorrow. That car’s beyond repair—just get rid of it,” Tony replied nonchalantly.

Arthur gave him a thumbs up. “No wonder you’re an arms tycoon—rich enough to toss out a luxury car without a second thought. I can’t even afford a junker.”

“Don’t call me an arms tycoon. See one you like? Take your pick,” Tony said, pointing to a row of sports cars.

“Just kidding. But your suit is pretty cool—does it transform?” Arthur joked, mimicking the sound of a Transformer.

“This isn’t a Transformer. Come help me get out of this thing—I’m stuck,” Tony said.

“How do I do that?”

Under Tony’s guidance, Arthur helped him dismantle the suit piece by piece until he was finally free.

“This suit is a hassle—putting it on and taking it off takes forever,” Arthur complained.

“This is only the second version. I’ll improve it next time. Ugh, my head hurts—could you get me some ice? Thanks,” Tony said, clutching his head.

Arthur fetched some ice and applied it to Tony’s head. Tony looked at him and said, “We’re friends now, right?”

“If you say so,” Arthur replied.

“Since we’re friends, you have to keep this a secret. So far, you’re the only one who knows about this suit. Don’t tell anyone, especially not the Department of Defense. Got it?” Tony looked at Arthur seriously.

“No worries, I’ll keep your secret. I’ve got a secret too, actually—I don’t really know anyone from S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Arthur replied.

“...Alright, I believe you. If you ever need anything, just ask—I’ll take care of it,” Tony promised.

“I want a raise.”

Tony stared at Arthur, speechless. Is that really all you care about?