Chapter 4868

Stark really was on the verge of breaking down. He couldn't make sense of it. One of his friends had suddenly turned into a terrifying monster wearing human skin, while another had become a mad scientist who seemed intent on using him for human experiments. What had happened to this world?

Seeing Stark's terrified expression, Strange finally reined in his power. He lowered his eyelids and then said: "I'm not joking with you. The eyes are the windows of the soul. What kind of eyes a person has reflects what kind of soul they possess."

"I still don't get it." Stark stepped forward, quickly catching up to him, and then said: "When you used to talk to me before, didn't you notice my eyes? Or have I been wearing an eye mask all this time, or are you following some strange etiquette rule that says you can't look someone in the eye when speaking to them..."

Strange suddenly stopped walking, nearly making Stark stumble. He looked into Stark's eyes and said: "You've been avoiding eye contact, Tony."

Stark was completely frozen in place. By the time he reacted, Strange had already vanished. He began to ponder Strange's words. Had he really avoided eye contact with others in the past?

But it wasn't that he had never done so at all. And if he hadn't made eye contact with others before, how much better was it now?

Stark still thought they were spouting nonsense. Being young and old were only a few days apart—how could there be such a huge change? Surely someone was just trying to be mysterious.

But because everyone else was so insistent, Stark also began to waver. He made an excuse to go to the restroom and checked himself in the mirror at the sink.

The moment he saw his reflection, he froze. The face in the mirror was indeed his younger self, but not entirely.

Young Tony Stark did indeed look like that, but his gaze was completely different.

Young Stark drank heavily, had a history of drug abuse, and indulged excessively in sensual pleasures, often leaving him not entirely sober. He remembered himself always looking half-asleep and dazed.

But Stark now was not like that. He had matured greatly, his gaze was clearer and more resolute, appearing bright and spirited. This made his already affectionate-looking eyes—so deep they seemed to love even dogs—even more noticeable.

Furthermore, after becoming younger, many fine lines on his face had disappeared, eliminating distractions and making his features appear more three-dimensional. And the most three-dimensional part of Stark's face was his brows and eyes, allowing people to notice his eyes immediately.

Rich emotion was both his curse and his gift. Stark's feelings were so abundant they seemed to overflow from his soul, with his eyes being the first to show it. Stark reached out and gently touched the corner of his eye, observing his own gaze. In his moist eyes lay an indescribable, pitiful tenderness.

And then it struck him: he had been walking around with these eyes for so many days, no wonder the number of people giving him flirtatious looks had increased exponentially. Could they all be misunderstanding his intentions toward them?

Stark rubbed his face hard. His reputation wasn't great to begin with, and most people didn't believe he'd truly turn over a new leaf. With such eyes, even normal eye contact could easily be misinterpreted as flirtation. To make matters worse, he was now on a movie set full of cameras, and his wife was nicknamed "Little Chili Pepper." This was going to be trouble.

Strange walked into the changing room. He picked up a shirt intending to change into it, then instinctively flipped the collar. After seeing the shirt's brand, he sighed and tossed it aside.

He then picked up a light beige sweater, flipped the collar, found it satisfactory—it was also a brand-name item. He walked around the changing room once, then exited exactly as he had entered.

The stylist asked somewhat strangely: "What's wrong?"

Afterwards, he recalled Stark's warning and then said: "Oh, you're a doctor, right? You don't need to worry—all the clothes in here are new, just taken apart and reassembled to check the size. No one has worn them, and no one has touched them..."

The stylist assumed Strange was just a germaphobe who didn't want to wear costumes others had worn. Strange rubbed his temples with a headache and then said: "Go get Tony."

The stylist didn't know what exactly Strange was dissatisfied with, but could only nervously go call someone. After a while, Stark arrived, looked at Strange, and said: "What's wrong? Is there a problem with the clothes?"

"Aren't we filming my college days?" Strange turned to look at the changing room and said: "Any random piece of clothing in here could cover my tuition for a year. You know how expensive medical school is, right?"

Stark looked at the stylist. The stylist summoned the wardrobe consultant, who said: "Some of these are sponsored by the investors, some are chosen for wearing comfort, and the others are personal clothes provided by your stylist..."

"This completely doesn't match the character's background." Stark said: "Can't we just find some ordinary clothes?"

"I don't know what you mean by 'ordinary'..." The wardrobe consultant also looked embarrassed. He wouldn't dare let Stark wear street vendor clothes—if something went wrong, who would take the blame? Letting his few friends wear them wouldn't work either—what if they were picked on? What then?

Stark had a headache. Having no say in the crew was unacceptable, but having too much say would also cause problems. Everyone would worry about offending him, even sacrificing film quality just to appease him. It was like a giant live-action role-play murder mystery, with everyone accompanying the prince in his studies.

"Go get Mr. Bloch over here." Stark said.

When Eddie arrived, summoned by him, he still looked somewhat dazed and asked: "What's up? Is there any interesting behind-the-scenes gossip here? I thought we'd have to wait a while before filming again..."

"If I let you be the production assistant... well, actually, let you be the producer—could you handle it?"

"Why would I..."

Stark gave him a brief rundown of the situation. Eddie suddenly understood. The entire crew combined didn't have as much influence as Stark alone—this film simply couldn't be made. Even if Stark didn't deliberately throw his weight around, everyone would be so tense they couldn't perform professionally.

"Alright." Eddie said: "Get me a press pass embedded with the military unit, and I'll help you manage things."

"No problem." Stark said: "This isn't exactly a plum assignment, but if you're willing to go, they'll be glad to have you. I'll put you on Steve's boat—he can teach you some basic skills."

Eddie reported for duty quickly, starting with wardrobe. As soon as he saw those designer clothes, he knew they wouldn't work and hurriedly had people buy some ordinary shirts. The only issue was they weren't tailor-made, so they didn't fit as well. Stark found them increasingly awkward to look at.

"Why not just wait for the tailor-made ones?" Stark said, looking at Strange's slightly tight shirt: "Your chest measurement is clearly too small—this won't do..."

Strange let out a cold snort: "Where would I get the money for tailoring..."

Stark seemed somewhat puzzled. Strange took a deep breath, his cloak flew out from mid-air, slightly blocked by the corner of the changing room, a flash of magical light followed, and a tall, slender young man stepped out.

Seeing the young Strange, Stark also froze. He opened his mouth and then said: "Can you talk? You look a bit like that kind of high-IQ killer..."

Indeed, the young Strange had sharper brows and eyes, his brow ridge pressed low, his eyes slightly narrow, giving off a faintly inhuman coldness. Combined with his tall, slender frame, he was perfect for playing the killer in a campus horror slasher film.

When young, Strange was even slimmer—the originally slightly tight shirt now fit well, though his waist was a bit too large. Stark's obsessive-compulsive tendency kicked in, and he wanted to say a few more things, but Strange conjured up a pair of glasses and put them on his face, saying: "I don't have the money for tailoring, Mr. Stark. Please, just bear with it."

After saying that, he squeezed past Stark from the side. Stark turned to look at Strange. What had he just called him? "Mr. Stark"? Good grief, things just keep coming one after another.

The three "young people" finally met face to face. To put it bluntly, whoever looked at whoever felt awkward, to the point that the atmosphere became instantly uncomfortable, like three Spider-Men pointing at each other.

"I really didn't expect this." Stark said from the heart: "When we were young, we actually turned out to be this... incompatible."

In truth, he had already started to feel uneasy inside. According to the original plot, this should have been a warm-hearted youth growth film. Now it looked like warmth was impossible, youth was questionable, and growth would be better off not happening at all—maybe the film wouldn't even work out in the end.

Stark's head was splitting, and he truly didn't know what to do. Even if these two could cooperate, he feared he couldn't act out any tender scenes with them—just looking at them twice made him want to call the police—hoping the Avengers could step in and manage things.

"I say," Eddie interjected at the right moment: "Don't you think your images aren't really suitable for portraying college life?"

"I just realized," Stark said listlessly: "Isn't it a bit late now?"

"Actually, it's not too late." Eddie said: "You're not short on money—as long as you pay salaries on time, everyone will be willing to wait while you rewrite the script."

"What's your suggestion?" Stark asked: "From a professional standpoint, should we revise or not?"

"My suggestion is definitely to revise." Eddie said: "Honestly, films expressing familial love, friendship, and growth are already too common. If done poorly, they'll be criticized; if done well, they still won't stand out—probably not the effect you're aiming for."

"What do you think then?"

Eddie's gaze swept across their faces: "I think you're better suited to make a suspenseful murder mystery."

"Spare me!" Stark nearly screamed: "If I make a murder mystery with those two, what am I supposed to play? A corpse?"

Shiler couldn't help but laugh, propping his chin with his hand, seemingly enamored as he stared at Stark's eyes: "I guarantee you'll make a beautiful corpse."

"Why not combine them?" Eddie still tried to hold firm: "A murder case happening at university?"

"Oh, that actually makes sense." Strange spoke up: "Every time finals review comes around, I feel like killing someone. To be precise, every medical student does."

Stark collapsed face-first onto the desk.

But in the end, he still compromised. Because the film indeed relied heavily on the actors' chemistry. Sometimes the script is set up well, but if the actors don't click, the result is still garbage. Conversely, some films have bizarre plots, but precisely because the leads share a subtle chemistry, they turn out to be quite enjoyable.

Clearly, the chemistry among the three of them was probably not that of a warm-hearted, mischievous bunch of buddies. Or perhaps, the older versions of them could be like that, but once they became young, the atmosphere changed completely. As the people making this film would say, it's full of story potential. The previous script would now seem too stiff.

But changes can't be made recklessly, and Stark was truly out of options, so he could only spend a fortune to hire Chris, who was still busy with the Magic Academy movie. As he knew, Chris was also a genius, after all being a director who could get along well with every one of Shiler's personalities, and he would surely be able to fix this mess.

As expected, Chris's eyes lit up the moment he saw the three of them, and he immediately began shouting: "I've got inspiration!"

Stark was terribly unlucky.