Chapter 29: Grand Opening and Challenging the Hall

On Saturday morning, a private jet landed at New York Airport. Tony Stark, sporting a neatly groomed mustache and slicked-back hair, stepped out dressed in a sharp suit. Immediately, a swarm of reporters rushed forward.

“Mr. Stark, is your visit to New York to meet Spider-Man?”

“Mr. Stark, rumor has it you and Spider-Man have always disagreed over who is the strongest superhero. Are you here to settle the score?”

“Mr. Stark, there are whispers that Spider-Man is a young woman. Do you have any intentions of pursuing a relationship with her?”

Though some questions bordered on the absurd, the reporters maintained a semblance of neutrality—they weren’t overtly trying to pit him against anyone. The local New York tabloids, however, were far less restrained.

“Iron Man, people say your abilities rely entirely on your suit. Without it, you’re nothing, not even as capable as an ordinary person. Do you deny this?”

“Iron Man, do you really think you deserve to be compared to Spider-Man? He just single-handedly stopped the Green Goblin, who was wreaking havoc in New York, saving countless lives, while you brawled on the highway, injuring innocent bystanders!”

“Iron Man, did you bring your toy suits today? How many? If Spider-Man breaks your toys, will you cry?”

“Iron Man, some say you’re trash—not even worthy to carry Spider-Man’s shoes. Do you agree?”

“Iron Man, is your visit to New York to acknowledge Spider-Man as your godfather?”

It seemed that, regardless of the country, there were always those onlookers who thrived on chaos, fanning the flames for their own amusement. What was once just fan banter had now been amplified by the media, trending on social networks, and even confronting Tony Stark face-to-face from the moment he stepped off the plane, letting him experience the full brunt of East Coast enthusiasm.

Ever since Su Ye rose to fame as Spider-Man, it hadn’t taken long for people to draw comparisons between him and the West Coast’s Iron Man. As the only two known and active superheroes, their fans clashed endlessly, and the media in both cities seized every chance to stir up rivalry.

If Su Ye were to appear in Los Angeles as Spider-Man, he’d likely be roasted alive—the reporters there had even fewer scruples. In America, the rivalry between Los Angeles and New York was longstanding, with each city looking down on the other and exchanging barbs at every opportunity.

The debate over who was stronger had been simmering for a while, but now it had escalated to a fever pitch; everyone was eagerly anticipating a showdown—a real battle to settle the matter once and for all.

Initially, Tony Stark hadn’t taken Spider-Man seriously. Saving a few grateful housewives and not daring to reveal his true identity—such a person hardly seemed worthy of comparison; in Stark’s eyes, it was an insult. He didn’t care about fan debates, but when the media started joining in, especially with questions as ludicrous as calling Spider-Man his godfather, it became excessive. What was going on in these people’s heads—mush?

Glancing at the name of the reporter’s news outlet on his microphone, Tony didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he whipped out his phone, tapped away for a moment, then removed his sunglasses and snorted.

“You’re fired.”

“I’m fired? Are you joking, Mr. Stark?” the reporter stammered, bewildered.

“Your paper has just been acquired by Stark Industries. I’m now your boss. So, you’re fired—effective immediately. And you’ll be sued for malicious fabrication and fake news. Not only will you never work in this industry again, but you may very well end up behind bars.”

With that, Tony Stark slipped his sunglasses back on and strode away.

The reporters exchanged uneasy glances. They’d nearly forgotten: Tony Stark was not just a superhero, but a billionaire whose sheer financial clout rendered ordinary people powerless before him.

As for Tony Stark’s ordeal, Su Ye remained oblivious. He paid little heed to the antics of fans and the media. He simply had no time or inclination to care—this weekend, he was busy. The Shiranui Dojo was about to officially open its doors.

To train Su Ye, Hanzo Shiranui had delayed the opening by two whole weeks. Now, as his disciple and soon-to-be grandson-in-law, Su Ye was eager to return the favor and help run the dojo properly. After all, it would become one of his assets in New York.

Early that morning, Su Ye donned a white gi and stood at the entrance of the dojo with Mai Shiranui by his side.

“Xiao Ye, Mai, I’m leaving today’s grand opening in your hands. The dojo itself is now yours. I’m off to enjoy my retirement,” Hanzo declared, and with those words, he promptly skipped the opening ceremony altogether, heading to Chinatown to catch up with an old friend—an elderly, white-bearded, bald master from the Dragon Kingdom, renowned for his kung fu and respected throughout Chinatown.

Once things settled at the dojo, Su Ye planned to pay a visit himself. A kung fu master from the Dragon Kingdom, acquainted with Hanzo—how could he pass up the opportunity to learn a few techniques?

The Shiranui Dojo’s opening followed traditional Chinese custom, complete with lion and dragon dances, the clamor of drums and gongs, and strings of firecrackers. The scene was lively and festive.

Thanks to Hanzo’s long-standing friendship with Master Tang, many martial arts schools from Chinatown had sent representatives to offer their congratulations. Among them was Master Tang’s disciple—a young man named Shun Ying, mature beyond his years, who entered with a warm smile.

“Congratulations, Brother Su, congratulations, Sister-in-law. May the Shiranui Dojo flourish and prosper!”

Despite his youth, the boy knew how to conduct himself, addressing them as brother and sister-in-law, not mistakenly reversing the titles. He understood the proper order of respect.

Other disciples from various schools greeted Su Ye with similar warmth, treating him as the master of the dojo. The atmosphere was harmonious.

But appearances could be deceiving. Anyone familiar with Wing Chun knew that martial arts schools were never truly harmonious. In the world of martial arts, there is no second place—no one ever thinks their own style is inferior, and with a limited market, the opening of a new school inevitably breeds resentment, sometimes even enmity, from established ones.

Today, however, with the dojo just opening and Master Tang’s endorsement, no one would go too far. But starting tomorrow, Su Ye would likely have his hands full with challengers seeking matches, one after another.

This would continue until he had either bested them, or they accepted his strength.

Such was the custom.

Of course, where there are rules, there are always those who break them.

No sooner had the opening celebration ended than a young man with a mop of long hair swaggered in.

“A new dojo, is it? Perfect. I’m here to challenge you!”