But he had no complaints about it.
After all, in his opinion, Loren was just a child—and as an adult, there was no need to compare himself to a child.
The reason Loren received such special treatment was simply because he was the young master of the Morgan family.
"It's a good rebirth—not that it's anything extraordinary," he mused.
After all, he had been reborn into a rather privileged family.
Still, the attention he received now was largely due to his sharp mind and his own abilities.
There was a clear difference between the two: the former relied on his father's influence, while the latter stood on his own merits. The gap was obvious.
Of course, Loren had no idea what Tony Stark was thinking at that moment.
If he had known, he probably would have laughed out loud.
Strength?
Was that the same "strength" that nearly got him killed when he fell?
If so, then yes—he really couldn't compare.
After posing a few times and enduring a barrage of photos from reporters, Loren grew annoyed.
He called it quits and walked into the banquet hall with Gwen and the others.
By now, quite a few guests had already gathered inside.
Those invited by Tony Stark were, naturally, no ordinary people.
Some were business tycoons, others held significant political power, and at the very least, they were A-list celebrities.
Ordinary folks simply didn't get invited to events of this caliber.
Because everyone present was an elite, the banquet hall—though crowded—remained surprisingly quiet.
Guests clustered in small groups of three or five, speaking in hushed tones, careful not to draw unwanted attention. Each group stayed within its own social circle, avoiding casual conversation with strangers.
After all, with so many influential figures in one room, no one wanted to risk offending someone with a careless word or gesture.
Loren, however, was clearly the exception.
In terms of status and influence, none of the other guests could hold a candle to him—they were all just spoiled playboys.
And to be clear, he wasn't singling out any one person. He meant all of them: every last one was a dilettante.
Yet, oddly enough, he didn't go out of his way to talk to anyone.
On the contrary, whenever others spotted him, they froze like mice seeing a cat—suddenly alert, almost nervous.
Then, with forced smiles and polite nods, they'd greet him warmly:
"Good evening, Master Loren!"
Over the past few months, he'd grown accustomed to such scenes—and he rather enjoyed them.
"Well, everything's fine! Treat this place like your own home—no need to stand on ceremony with me!"
Loren joked as he led Gwen and the others to a quiet corner to sit down.
While Loren was used to the attention, Gwen and her friends were utterly stunned—so much so they couldn't even speak.
They'd long known he was the eldest son of the Morgan family and had assumed his life was comfortable, even luxurious.
But assumptions were one thing; witnessing it firsthand was another.
The scene before them defied imagination.
After all, how could someone with a "poor person's worldview" possibly grasp the splendor of the ultra-wealthy?
To put it bluntly: poverty had limited their imagination.
"Loren," Gwen whispered, "wasn't that Air Force lieutenant general the one who just nodded at you?"
"Which one?" Loren shrugged. "So many people greeted me—I can't be bothered to remember them all."
Harry chuckled. "Fair enough.
You're the young master of the Morgan family. You don't need to remember what they look like—they just need to remember yours."
He clicked his tongue, shaking his head in awe. "Tsk, tsk… your status really is something else!"
Harry had always thought his own background was impressive.
After all, his father was chairman of the Osborne Group—he was, by all accounts, a bona fide "rich second generation," with assets in the billions.
But standing next to Loren? He was nothing.
He'd just walked in with Loren moments ago, and barely anyone had recognized him, let alone greeted him.
The difference was staggering—no exaggeration, it was like comparing heaven and earth.
"We're classmates," Loren said with a smile, "so stop teasing me. Besides, your family background isn't bad at all. You're the Osborne Group's golden heir, after all!"
Loren casually took a glass of red wine from a waiter's tray, swirled it slowly, and downed it in one gulp.
Because his body had been enhanced by the perfected version of the Super-Soldier Serum, it was nearly immune to all poisons—and alcohol affected him even less. To him, drinking wine was like drinking sweet soda: harmless and vaguely pleasant, though too much would just leave him feeling bloated.
"Let's not talk about me being a second-generation rich kid," Harry said, raising his own glass of red wine, his expression tinged with gloom. "When it comes to wealth, I can't even compare to a fraction of yours—let alone your status.
"Not only that, I'm constantly criticized. People say I'm just riding on my father's coattails, that I'm a spendthrift…
Living in my father's shadow all the time—it's unbearable."
Hearing this, Loren shrugged indifferently.
"Rich second-gens getting mocked for relying on their dads? That's practically standard procedure. Just ignore them—they're jealous.
"And as for calling you a loser… did you secretly invest and lose money?"
"Uh… did you plant a bug in my house?" Harry stammered, stunned and embarrassed.
"Exactly," Loren said. "So you deserve to be scolded. Not investing, not running a business, not proving yourself—that's the bare minimum for a qualified rich second-generation heir. And you don't even meet those basic standards. Who else should I scold?"
"..." Harry fell silent.
"But wait—I heard you recently acquired several military factories! Aren't you investing too?"
"Can you even compare yourself to me?" Loren arched an eyebrow. "You're a rich second-gen. I'm a prince."
"...."
"That's right!" Harry's eyes lit up with sudden clarity. "Our Osborne Group is, at best, just a business conglomerate. It doesn't hold a candle to the Morgan family.
They practically steer the entire country! Back in the old days, they'd be feudal lords—if not outright royalty!"
"I say," Gwen interjected from the side with a wry smile, "you two 'princes' of industry—can you please talk about something down-to-earth? Otherwise, Peter and I won't be able to join your conversation at all."
Loren and Harry exchanged glances, then smiled and nodded in silent agreement.
"You're absolutely right, Gwen," Loren said. "It's a rare chance for us all to get together. Let's drop these boring topics. How have things been with you lately?
"Didn't you and Peter both join the Osborne Group as trainees? How's it going? Everything alright?"
"Oh, it's going great—really smooth!" Gwen brightened. "I'm just a receptionist, mostly greeting visitors. The work's easy, no stress at all.
"But Peter? He's amazing! Not long after he started, Professor Connors noticed him. Now Peter's his personal assistant!" She launched into an enthusiastic recount of the fun things happening at the office.
Loren, however, barely registered her anecdotes. His attention had snagged on the name she'd just mentioned.
"Professor Connors? Who's that?"
"Why, the great master of biogenetic science himself—Professor Kurt Connors!"
"!!!!"