In the cafeteria, Wade had just finished lunch when his phone vibrated inside his backpack.
After clearing his tray, he walked to a relatively quiet corner, enveloped himself in an airflow barrier for soundproofing, and then put the phone to his ear.
"The first batch of goods has been fully inventoried. What's the next step?" Mena's voice came through, her tone carrying an irrepressible excitement.
Wade pondered for a moment before saying, "Hold steady for now. Do two things for me first, and keep them low-profile."
"First, find a way to collect small blood samples from the people at the institute, regardless of the type. Second, use all your channels to gather dirt on that company—the more, the better."
"Understood. My resignation letter and handover brief are already written and ready to submit at any time." Mena's tone shifted as she said gravely, "My end is clean; there are no 'loose ends' to deal with."
"As for those 'loving' strangers who raised you... will you handle them yourself, or...?"
Wade walked out of the cafeteria and looked at a distant Vought Corporation advertisement, where the portraits led by Homelander gleamed under the blazing sun.
Heartless parents who gave birth but didn't raise him, abandoning their child just because his ability was useless—keeping them around would only be trouble later.
After thinking for a moment, he said calmly, "Spend the money. Find some efficient professionals to send them... to heaven."
Silence hung on the other end for a few seconds before Mena's light chuckle came through: "Of course. I'll make sure you're satisfied."
Ending the call, Wade headed toward the dormitory, planning to wash away the sweat and fatigue.
"There's still Ms. Syra's 'Hero Image Branding' practical class this afternoon. Should I go?"
"Forget it. I'll just sign in and slip away like usual."
...3:00 PM, School of Performing Arts, dedicated multimedia classroom on the first floor.
Softboxes, cameras, and makeup vanities were all present, making it look like a television studio; the air was thick with the scent of hairspray and various perfumes.
Wade slipped in through the back door just in time, finding a seat in the farthest corner, intending to leave after the roll call as usual.
On the podium, Syra leaned her hands on the desk, scanning the room below.
Today, she wore a bright purple suit, her hair pinned up entirely with hair forks, looking like a venomous spider ready to strike.
Holding an infrared pointer, Syra pointed it out, her shrill voice echoing through the classroom: "Oh! Look who it is!"
"Our invincible 'Cyclone' has finally deigned to attend my class? Or have you finally realized that raw strength alone won't get you anywhere in this world?"
All eyes followed the infrared beam to focus on Wade.
Wade looked up and said nothing, merely watching her with a calm expression.
This seemed to provoke Syra.
Click-clack, click-clack—
She marched up the steps in her high heels, gesturing wildly as she spoke: "What do you think a superhero is? A common thug in a street brawl?"
"No, they are products! They are idols who need careful packaging, a likable persona, and fans who scream for you and open their wallets!"
"Look at the way you're dressed, and that 'Cyclone' image of yours—what value does it have other than making children cry?"
Wade remained silent, and this dismissive attitude only fueled Syra's rage.
She turned to face the entire class, smiling radiantly: "Perfect. Today, we'll conduct an in-class assessment: 'Crisis Public Relations and Image Rebranding'!"
"Let's invite Mr. Wade Thompson to simulate a small fan meet-and-greet... I and the rest of you will play his most 'enthusiastic' fans and the media. A good performance will earn you extra credit."
Before Wade could agree, a barrage of questions began.
"Mr. Cyclone, there are rumors that your abilities aren't innate but come from illegal experiments by a Vought competitor. Is that true?" a long-nosed boy immediately stood up and asked, making things up on the spot.
"You've been photographed multiple times being intimate with several female supes. Does this mean your private life is a mess, or perhaps you're even abusing drugs to maintain your powers?" another girl attacked next, her question aimed directly at the recently spread dirt.
Wade mechanically responded with platitudes like "no comment" and "pure rumors," even hoping these attacks would "blacken" his reputation faster.
A boy wearing glasses looked at a slip of paper in his hand and asked in a low voice, "Ac-according to investigations, you come from the Red River Institute. Everyone says it's a garbage dump for 'problematic supe children,' specifically producing defectives like you who are prone to losing control."
"May I ask, how do you view your origins? Do you also feel that you are a potential..."
"...social parasite?"
Hearing these words, scenes of the persecution he suffered in the institute, the lonely training, and finally dying of exhaustion flashed through Wade's mind, yet his heart remained unruffled.
"I'm not that little kid, Vidi."
He was only slightly moved by his own memories of when he first arrived—the discovery of being imprisoned, the longing for freedom, the desperate studying and development of his abilities, and everything he did to break free from that cage.
"Want to make a fool out of me? Then I'll play along for a bit." Wade suddenly slammed the table and stood up, his face hardening as he swept a cold gaze over everyone.
The classroom fell silent instantly. Everyone felt an invisible pressure radiating from Wade, and a suffocating silence spread.
Wade frowned as he looked at Syra.
"Ms. Syra. May I interpret the statements you've arranged for these people to make as... a public challenge to the legitimacy of the Red River Institute, a subsidiary of the Vought Corporation?"
"Are you negating the professional judgment and decisions of Dean Shetty, Professor Brink, and the Board of Directors in making an exception for my admission?"
The smugness vanished from Syra's face, and her color drained at a visible rate.
She only wanted to humiliate a disobedient student, but she hadn't expected him to fight back and escalate the issue to the level of questioning the company and school leadership: "What nonsense are you talking about? This is just a classroom simulation!"
Just then, Wade's gaze shifted to the stainless steel cup on the podium, and his index finger twitched slightly.
Bang, bang—creak!
Under the gaze of dozens of eyes, the cup seemed to be gripped by an invisible giant hand, collapsing inward. The tea inside froze instantly, and the whole thing was forcibly compressed into a fist-sized, wrinkled ball of ice-filled metal.
"Are... are you trying to attack a teacher?" Syra's eyes widened, her hands clutching her chest as she instinctively held her breath.
Having done this, Wade slowly stood up and pulled out over a dozen hundred-dollar bills from his wallet.
"Of course not. I simply felt that cup was unworthy of you and wanted to replace it."
"Furthermore, my 'performance' style truly fails to meet the... entertainment standards you expect, Ma'am. To avoid tainting your refined classroom, it's best if I take my leave."
He placed the cash on the podium, then picked up the metal ball and tossed it into the trash can by the door.
The heavy thud of metal hitting the bin echoed in the hearts of everyone in the classroom.
Under countless gazes filled with a mix of fear, awe, and curiosity, Wade slowly walked out of the classroom.
"Hah... hah..." Syra slumped into her chair, gasping for air, her eyes filled with the terror of a survivor.
In the hallway, Wade pulled out his phone to check the campus rankings and found he had dropped back to eleventh place. A slight smirk touched the corners of his mouth:
"I didn't attack a staff member. It's only natural to walk out in anger after being humiliated... Heh, once word of this gets out, I should drop at least another 5 to 10 spots."
"Since I have some free time, I'll go check if Number 1 is dead yet."
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