In New York, if you want to hail a cab, you basically have to flag one down on the street, and the fares are absurdly expensive.
Fortunately, Silvain was in the city center, so there were plenty of taxis. If he'd been in a more remote area, he might have waited half an hour without seeing a single one. That's one reason why most American families choose to own a car.
"A yellow-orange cab pulled up beside him.
"Take me to this address."
Silvain showed the driver the address on his phone.
"Got it, I'll get you there in half an hour." The driver clearly knew New York like the back of his hand.
Being chatty seemed to be a common trait among cab drivers, and this one was no exception.
The driver chatted away as he drove, which didn't bother Silvain.
"Wow, you work for Vought? My kid really loves Homelander. He's his idol. Hey, do you have Homelander's autograph? I can buy it for $200."
Silvain noticed superhero stickers all over the cab. He had to admit, Vought's marketing was incredibly strong. Across New York, superheroes were everywhere—on billboards, packaging, even beverages. They were truly omnipresent.
"I don't have Homelander's autograph, but I've got a ticket to one of his fan events."
It was an employee perk, usually given to relatives' kids. Since Silvain had no use for it, he handed the ticket to the driver. The man tried to pay, but Silvain declined.
He could get more of these every few days, especially ones for Homelander's events.
To be fair, Homelander treated his fans decently, assuming he was in a good mood. He seemed to genuinely enjoy the adoration.
"And you, my friend, you're the real hero," the driver said, mimicking Homelander's iconic line as he drove one-handed.
When Silvain got out, the driver didn't even ask for the fare. Instead, he gave Silvain his phone number and told him to call directly next time he needed a ride.
The swordsmanship master was an elderly man with a gray beard. His dojo was arranged much like a taekwondo gym, very clean and orderly.
After changing clothes, Silvain waited alongside a dozen other students for the arrival of swordsmanship master Johnson.
The next moment, surprised gasps came from the students around him.
"Queen Maeve!"
Many of them were die-hard fans. When they saw Queen Maeve walk into the dojo, several of them even screamed. Silvain, in contrast, remained calm.
Maeve, tall and poised, graciously took photos with the fans. She seemed completely at ease in this kind of small gathering.
"Master Johnson used to be my teacher. I came specifically to visit him," Maeve explained.
Behind her, camera shutters clicked nonstop. It was obvious this was a pre-planned promotional event. After all, Vought had significant investment in this dojo.
"Maeve, the noise of the world has dulled your desire to improve. I'm disappointed in you," Johnson said.
Though he was short, Johnson stood upright. Just his presence gave off a sense of intense pressure.
His blunt words made the smile on Maeve's face freeze. She awkwardly tucked back a strand of auburn hair.
Seeing this, her staff quickly guided people out of the dojo.
Silvain vaguely recalled that Maeve wasn't a bad person, but after spending so much time among superheroes, she had inevitably picked up some bad habits.
"Let me see how much of your swordsmanship you remember." Johnson tossed a wooden practice sword to Maeve.
Maeve caught it and thrust it toward a rubber training dummy.
The tough rubber mannequin was pierced instantly. The raw power of it made Silvain, who was watching from the side, genuinely envious.
"It's half an inch off from the heart. You only pierced it because of brute force. Your control is worse than a beginner who's trained for less than a month," Johnson said flatly.
"How is that possible?" Maeve frowned. She didn't believe that someone who'd only been training for a month could surpass her.
Crap.
As soon as Johnson finished speaking, Silvain, who had been trying to stay unnoticed, felt a sinking feeling.
Sure enough, Johnson's sharp gaze locked onto him.
"Silvain, come demonstrate your swordsmanship."
Compared to how he spoke to Maeve, Johnson's tone became noticeably kinder. His expression even softened.
With no way out, Silvain stepped forward reluctantly.
"Have I seen you somewhere before?" Maeve tilted her head slightly. She felt like the guy in front of her looked familiar.
"A month ago, during a short skit you filmed, I played one of the robbers."
"Oh, it was you." Still, even after Silvain explained, Maeve didn't really remember.
Seeing the confusion in her eyes, Silvain understood immediately, she had no clue who he was.
He picked up a wooden sword, stepped onto the soft training mat, and, after twirling the weapon casually, slashed and stabbed at the mannequin several times in quick succession. His movements were so fast that most students couldn't even follow them. All they saw were streaks of sword light cutting through the air.
Only Maeve, whose dynamic vision was exceptional, was able to clearly track Silvain's movements.
"Eyebrows, throat, heart. All vital targets. His control is perfect," she muttered under her breath, looking serious for the first time.
"Not bad. Your movements are quick and precise. The only thing you lack now is real combat experience," Johnson nodded in satisfaction. Honestly, Silvain reminded him of a younger Maeve. His talent in swordsmanship was on par with hers from years ago—perhaps even greater. Silvain's lethality was better suited for real combat.
"Your swordsmanship is excellent."
Maeve extended her hand toward him.
"Are you interested in entering the superhero selection competition?"
Silvain hadn't expected Maeve to offer him an invitation. His scalp tingled, and an intrusive image flashed through his mind, someone praising his fast sword in front of Homelander, only to be vaporized by a laser beam seconds later with the line, "Nothing is faster than a laser."
"No thanks. I'm not considering that for now," Silvain said quickly, turning her down.
(To be continued.)