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After hearing Henry's response, Katharine Hepburn sighed, "What a shame. When I was young, I loved acting so much that I let it blind me—I didn't see what kind of place Hollywood really was.

"By the time I finally saw clearly, I was already caught in the whirlpool, unable to escape. If I had the chance to do it all over again, maybe I would've stayed in that little theater instead."

Henry said regretfully, "Then the world would've been short one major star named Katharine Hepburn. I don't want to keep walking down the road of film because I just don't think I have the hope or the fit to become a real star."

"Oh? But you seem to perform quite well," Katharine replied, her eyes narrowing with a sly glint.

"Heh, so you noticed." Henry didn't deny it, but he didn't confirm it either.

"In that case…" Katharine sipped her wine, thought for a moment, and asked, "Can you drive?"

Henry nodded. "I can."

She turned toward Tony. "Tony, what did you think of Henry's performance?"

"What performance?" Tony blinked.

"His performance during the gunfight," Katharine clarified.

Tony scoffed, "He did okay. At least he didn't hold me back." Then he frowned. "Why are you asking this, Katharine?"

Katharine explained, "Well, you know I'm also friends with the other Miss Hepburn—" She made air quotes around the name as she said it. "Her driver recently retired.

"Ever since she became a UNICEF goodwill ambassador in 1988, she's been traveling the world. She's got another trip coming up to Somalia, and I heard things there are a bit unstable. So I thought… maybe I could find her a reliable driver, preferably someone who can also serve as a bodyguard on these trips."

Henry's eyes lit up like fireworks. He nodded vigorously, pointing to himself repeatedly—if he had a tail, it would've been wagging fast enough to lift him off the ground like a helicopter.

Katharine didn't seem annoyed by his self-recommendation, but she said, "I just want to know if you've got enough weight behind you—something that would make me confident enough to recommend you to Audrey as her new driver."

Henry understood her concern perfectly.

After all, this was his first meeting with Katharine. Recommending him to her close friend just because she had a good impression of him would be risky.

If anything were to go wrong, even if she wasn't held liable, the guilt might weigh on her for the rest of her life.

For people in their circles, hiring someone wasn't just a matter of sitting through an interview—they often ran background checks, reviewed three generations of family history, and tested loyalty before even considering someone.

If she only wanted a professional, she could easily hire a former soldier with a clean record.

So—did Henry have something of greater value that made him worth recommending?

As Katharine spoke, her eyes shifted to Tony Stark. She wanted to know if Tony's opinion of Henry was enough to give her confidence.

But Henry wasn't about to bet on Tony's goodwill—he knew very well that their bond wasn't that strong. If anything, he suspected Tony only invited him to this private dinner to see him squirm in front of Hepburn, using her as bait for some personal amusement.

Whether or not that had paid off, Henry didn't know. But he certainly wasn't going to rely on Tony's endorsement. He'd rather raise his own stakes.

Even if it meant exposing some of his secrets—a thing he usually avoided, for the sake of his peaceful Kryptonian slacker life—meeting Audrey Hepburn in person?

Yeah, for that, a little exposure might just be worth it.

He made his decision almost instantly. "Tony, my friend," Henry said, "Do you have a gun? A pistol is fine. Lend me one."

"What the hell?! What do you need a gun for?" Tony frowned. "You don't strike me as the type who believes in hell, but if you're thinking about going there, try a different method."

Tony jabbed back without missing a beat.

Henry turned away from him and looked to the financial mogul at the table. "Mr. Hart, I know this is a strange request, but I promise I don't intend to hurt anyone. I just want to prove a small point—one that's better shown than told. Do you happen to have a firearm?"

Alex Hart gave him a thoughtful look. "Maybe my driver has one. Want me to call him in?"

"I'd appreciate that."

Soon enough, a tall, broad-shouldered white man in a black suit arrived at the dining room, led by one of the villa's servants.

Henry looked him over and said, "Sir, are you carrying a firearm? If so, may I borrow it for a moment?"

The bodyguard immediately looked to his employer. No way was he handing over a weapon to a stranger—not while unarmed himself.

Even Alex Hart, who was admittedly curious about what Henry was planning, hesitated. Letting a stranger handle a weapon could be a very bad idea.

Seeing their reluctance, Henry amended, "Okay, new plan. You don't need to give me the gun—just shoot me in the hand."

"Excuse me?" The bodyguard blinked.

"Yes, just shoot me in the palm," Henry said calmly, stretching his right arm out to the side, away from his body. "You can stand a bit closer if you're worried about missing."

Now Hart nodded to his bodyguard, having made up his mind.

The man carefully drew a Beretta 92F from his shoulder holster, then leveled it at Henry's outstretched hand. He kept a safe distance, even while double- and triple-checking.

"Sir, are you absolutely sure you want me to shoot your hand?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Henry replied.

"You won't regret this later?"

"What's to regret? Just pull the trigger. And don't be a pussy—"

BANG!

The shot shocked everyone at the table.

But Henry's palm only dipped slightly under the impact—his hand recoiled a bit, but that was it. No blood. No bullet hole.

He calmly turned his hand to show everyone.

"See? I'm fine," Henry said with a smug grin.

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