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*****
The atmosphere at the dinner table was a little tense.
Hank Pym was on high alert.
He was certain—absolutely certain—that Mike wouldn't let him off easily.
But up to now, Mike hadn't brought out any horrifying dishes, nor anything excessively spicy.
"Stop overthinking," Mike said, placing the last dish in front of Hank with a warm smile. "I'm not going to mess with you this time."
"Your body isn't what it used to be, Hank. You can't handle that kind of punishment anymore."
Hank was momentarily stunned, then gave a faint snort.
"I'm still strong as ever!"
Then he sighed and added, "I can't believe we've known each other this long."
He looked at Mike, whose face showed nothing but sincerity. With a long internal sigh, Hank said, "Sorry about earlier."
Hearing this, Mike's smile grew even warmer. "No need for that between friends."
Hank nodded slowly.
Listening to the exchange, Clark and Hope exchanged puzzled glances.
This was not how they expected things to play out.
In the past, these kinds of reunions always ended with Hank in the hospital. But this time…
The two looked at each other and sighed softly.
Was this the end of their wild old-man rivalry?
Throughout the entire dinner, Mike kept his word. There wasn't a single spicy dish—only delicious, well-prepared food.
Hank felt even more guilty about his earlier antics. During dinner, he kept raising his glass to Mike in apology.
And yet… even though everything seemed harmonious, Hank couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing.
Mike kept smiling, looking as gracious and calm as ever.
"Ha! Damn S.H.I.E.L.D.! I knew from the start they were no good! Turns out they were Hydra all along!"
"Good thing I refused to hand over the Pym Particles. If I had, we'd all be living in Hydra's world right now!"
Hank's cheeks were flushed as he raised his glass, speaking with rising excitement.
"Pfft…" Loki scoffed in disdain.
Naming something after yourself… this old man really had no shame. Was that stuff even that impressive?
Noticing Loki's expression, the half-drunk Hank glared at him and barked, "What? You don't believe me?"
Loki shrugged and raised an eyebrow, launching straight into mockery mode.
Oh boy…
Mike glanced at Loki.
He really should've been a tank—what a waste playing the role of a so-called mage.
"Hey, I'm telling you, those particles—"
"Hank!"
Mike cut him off with a low voice. "Stop going on about your Pym Particles. I know they're powerful."
If those things had fallen into Hydra's hands, the world really might've been theirs by now.
Those particles weren't just capable of changing the future… they could alter the past itself.
If Loki got it into his head to mess with that kind of tech, who knows what chaos he'd unleash?
Hank blinked, then gave Mike a knowing nod and raised his glass. "At least you recognize their value."
Mike clinked glasses with him lightly and asked, "So what brings you here this time?"
If Hank had just wanted to gloat about how wise he was for refusing S.H.I.E.L.D., or to revel in Hydra's downfall, he could've just made a phone call. No need to come all the way to New York.
Hank took a sip of wine and muttered, "What else could I be here for? I…"
"He retired. Or rather, Hank got pushed out of Pym Technologies. He came here to blow off some steam."
Hope chimed in. Seeing Hank glare at her, she blinked and asked innocently, "Didn't you always tell me honesty is a virtue?"
Hank sighed. "Honesty doesn't mean you have to ruin my dignity."
Hope chuckled. "I think retirement suits you."
"What's good about it? I've got nothing to do every day. And you're not getting married and giving me a grandchild to play with either!"
Hank gave her a resentful look, then glanced at Clark. His eyes suddenly lit up. "Clark seems like a fine young man! How about it? You two should try dating!"
"Dating? Do we even need to try?"
Hope casually draped an arm over Clark's shoulder, her tone teasing. "We'll just get married tomorrow."
"Great!" Hank immediately approved.
"And the day after that, I'll give you a grandchild."
"Perfect! Perfect!" Hank cheered, half-drunk and dazed. "Wait… the day after? That fast?"
Hope rolled her eyes. When she noticed Clark blushing, she paused and, with a mischievous smile, leaned in and blew a gentle breath in his ear. "What do you think?"
Clark quickly looked down and scooped a few bites of rice into his mouth, flustered.
Meanwhile, Gwen raised her juice glass and declared to Hope, "Then it's settled!"
"Hehehe," Hope chuckled. "You little rascal."
Gwen stuck out her tongue and sneaked a glance at Clark, shaking her head secretly.
Mike raised his glass and lightly clinked it with Hank's. "So, what's your plan from here?"
"Plan?" Hank sipped his wine. "No plan."
"He did have a plan," Hope said, stabbing him again. "He was going to teach Uncle Mike a lesson with that 'special gift' and then go on a carefree vacation."
Hank gave her a wounded look. "Are you sure you're my daughter?"
Hope only laughed and said nothing more.
Mike, on the other hand, was grinning from ear to ear.
A moment later, Clark and Hope began cleaning up the table. Mike brought out a dessert for Hank.
"Hank, this is specially made for you."
Mike set a small pudding in front of him.
"Specially for me?"
Hank froze for a moment. The alcohol-induced haze instantly vanished.
Ha! Like Mike would be this kind without a reason.
He knew Mike wouldn't let him off that easily.
So—was this pudding insanely spicy? Or was it some abomination in disguise?
Hank narrowed his eyes and actually felt a little… excited.
"What's the matter? It's just pudding," Mike said lightly.
Hank squinted. "Mike… you're rushing things too much!"
Mike smiled. "Stop overthinking. It tastes great."
"No way. Not unless you bring out the gift I gave you. You eat one bite, I eat one bite!"
Mike sighed and shook his head. "You don't trust me at all?"
"Heh."
Hank smirked coldly.
Mike looked at Hank. Hank looked right back.
Suddenly, both of them burst out laughing.
Old fox… You win this time.
Seeing the two of them face off, the others gathered around as if watching a drama unfold.
But the moment Mike pulled out that box, the four onlookers paled and bolted out the door.
"Here we go!"
Mike flung the box open. His brows lifted, and he immediately held his breath.
Then, with a conjured dagger, he swiftly cut the "Blue-Mold Cheese Baked Icelandic Fermented Shark Herring Pie" into pieces no bigger than fingernails. He made the knife vanish, picked up a tiny piece with a fork, and popped it into his mouth—chewing in front of Hank with a bold, provocative smirk.
(End of Chapter)