"Ryan, hurry up! It's time for class."
The morning sun bathed the world in gold. In front of a charming suburban house, the freshly mown lawn shimmered with dew as the rotating sprinklers cast a fine mist through the air.
It was a picture-perfect morning. Inside the villa, a woman's gentle voice called out twice, drifting through the open windows.
Beneath a large tree in the yard, a young boy with deep blue eyes sat on a swing, completely absorbed in pushing a toy car back and forth along the wooden seat. He was lost in his own world and didn't seem to hear her.
On the white-painted steps of the house's front balcony, a young man lounged in a wicker chair, one foot propped carelessly on the railing. He had a handsome face and sharp, thoughtful eyes, though there was a faint trace of disdain in his expression as he stared across the street.
He didn't react to the voice calling for his younger brother. It was as if he were merely a guest in the house, detached from the family.
"Ryan, did you hear me? Hurry up and get ready, or you'll be late!"
Still receiving no response, Becca stepped out onto the porch, half her body leaning through the open door.
In her thirties, she had a graceful, attractive face, dressed in slim-fitting pants and a crisp white blouse—stylish and efficient, like a career woman who knew how to run a home. She called out to the boy under the tree once more, her voice warm and patient.
"Coming, Mom!"
Ryan put down his toy car with a grin and ran toward the house, zipping past his older brother without a second glance.
"This time, don't forget to bring your pencil. You'll need it for art class."
Becca held the door open, watching her obedient son dash past her and up the stairs. A smile played on her lips, her eyes soft with maternal warmth.
That peaceful moment between mother and son was abruptly interrupted by a voice—smooth, magnetic, and tinged with sarcasm—coming from nearby.
"Why not just have the teacher come here? Isn't it exhausting to go out every day?"
The young man lounging in the wicker chair tilted his head slightly as he spoke, his gaze resting lazily on his mother.
"Ron, having the teacher come to the house costs more money," Becca replied, turning to face her eldest son.
Though he and Ryan had been born at the same time, Ron was different—both physically and mentally.
"Is that so?~"
Becca's smile faltered when she looked at him, no longer as natural as before. Beneath it was a trace of discomfort and unease.
"Still worried about money?" Ron said, his tone dismissive. "They'll do anything you ask, won't they? For free, right?"
He was long used to Becca's guarded demeanor.
Though he technically wasn't an orphan anymore—thanks to his 2nd transmigration—he may as well have been. The house had no father figure, and his mother looked at him like he was something unnatural.
A stranger. A mistake.
"This community we've lived in for eight years… wasn't it specially built for us? A seemingly beautiful cage."
Ron spread his hands, voice laced with icy mockery.
"Enough, Ron. I don't know what you're talking about—you're spouting nonsense again."
Becca's expression shifted. She tried to mask her unease with feigned irritation, her voice sharp as she scolded him.
"Ron, you are not to say things like that in front of your brother!"
A mother becomes strong when it comes to protecting her child. The moment Ryan was involved, her tone grew firm and resolute.
"Suit yourself."
Ron shrugged indifferently, offering no further reply.
Becca turned and walked back into the house, her steps slightly hurried, as if escaping something.
She had two sons. Her younger boy, Ryan, was sweet and lovable—everything a child should be. But her eldest... her eldest had always been different.
From the moment he was born, something about him wasn't normal.
His growth was unnaturally rapid—he had been as tall as she was at six, and now, at eight, he already stood a full head taller, his appearance no different from that of a grown young man.
He never cried. Never threw tantrums. He barely spoke. He didn't behave like a child at all.
He watched the world with eyes too calm, too cold, as if dissecting it from afar. And that calmness—it was unnerving.
Every time she looked at him, she couldn't help but think of the boys' father. The man hailed by the public as the world's greatest hero… but who, in truth, was a monster.
A demon in a cape.
SCREECH, SCREECH.
The black car pulled away from the house, tires humming softly over the pavement as Becca drove off to take her precious younger son to class.
"Sigh.. Becca," Ron muttered, still sprawled in the wicker chair, eyes half-lidded beneath the morning light. "If you truly love your son, you shouldn't raise him in a greenhouse. Not in a world this twisted and false."
He withdrew his gaze from the disappearing car, scoffing as his eyes drifted toward the horizon.
Beyond the pristine streets and perfectly trimmed lawns, he saw through the illusion of peace—through the illusion of this so-called "community." A cage in disguise.
He could feel them watching. Hidden eyes trained on him from the edges of the neighborhood. Beyond that, nearly a mile away, was the perimeter wall meant to keep things in—or out.
Ron had seen enough to know the truth.
From the excessive amount of superhero merchandise scattered everywhere—Homelander, A-Train, Queen Maeve, and more—it didn't take long for him to realize where he'd landed.
He had transmigrated into The Boys universe.
And it wasn't his first time transmigrating.
"Compared to the last world—chaotic, dangerous, riddled with catastrophic events—this one isn't much better," he muttered to himself.
In fact, in some ways, it was worse.
This world was grotesque beneath a mask of order. Hypocrisy ran deep in its foundations.
Compound V, the serum responsible for giving people powers, was being recklessly abused. Countless civilians had become unwitting test subjects, sacrificed without consent or knowledge.
Superheroes here weren't protectors—they were brands. Carefully crafted icons manufactured to rake in profits and admiration.
And every one of them, without exception, was rotten.
Sanctimonious. Corrupt. Hypocritical.
Their supposed heroism? Just a performance.
In this world, everything revolved around two things—money and fame.
The strongest superhero in the world—Homelander—possessed abilities strikingly similar to Superman from the DC comics. His power was overwhelming, enough to destroy the world if he ever truly wanted to.
But unlike Superman, Homelander was a psychologically unstable, dangerously unpredictable, and deeply narcissistic ticking time bomb.
"Then again," Ron murmured with a cold smirk, licking his dry lips, "acting recklessly is only natural when you wield that much power."
How many people with godlike abilities would choose to live like Clark Kent—blending into society, working as a humble reporter, stepping into the spotlight only when needed—rather than become like Homelander, standing atop the world with the thought: I can do whatever the fuck I want?
He rose slowly from the wicker chair, shut the door behind him, and headed upstairs to his room.
There, he drew the curtains closed and began packing.
Everything had been prepared in advance. Every item in its place.
He changed into more practical clothing—something suited for movement—and slung his backpack over his shoulder.
This world's peaceful surface was a lie. Beneath it festered danger and rot. Homelander alone was already a waking nightmare, a being capable of mass destruction with a flicker of emotion. Ron's existence—his origins—placed him squarely in the eye of the storm.
If he didn't seize power now, it would be too late later.
"I should get started... it's time to claim power."
He stood before the mirror, calmly buttoning his sleeves one by one. In his reflection, a flicker of excitement shimmered behind his otherwise cool eyes.
In the original story, Homelander and Becca had only one son—Ryan. But for some unknown reason, this version of reality was different.
Ron existed. A second child. A twin, technically.
But "twin" wasn't quite accurate.
Something had gone wrong in the genetic mix. Homelander's DNA had mutated in him.
"I didn't inherit Homelander's powers… but I got a different kind of surprise."
Ron summoned the familiar interface.
Ability Points: 21,000
Recorded Templates:Homelander Physique (Ryan's – Youth State) — Price: 300,000 Points
Worlds Searched:X-Men
The system had appeared a few days ago, activating after detecting that the host's physiological state had reached adulthood.
Through interfering with or influencing the fates of superheroes or supervillains, Ron could earn Ability Points—currency he could use to purchase power templates from other individuals and modify his own body.
Until then, Ron had always believed that the genetic mutation he carried was a failure. He hadn't inherited any of Homelander's abilities, and worse, his projected lifespan had been slashed by nearly two-thirds.
At eight years old, he already looked like a teenager—eighteen or nineteen, at least.
By that calculation, he'd be dead by twenty.
Others would be heading off to university by then. He'd be drawing a pension and rotting in a grave.
But now... now things were different.
The arrival of this system made him reconsider.
Maybe it hadn't been a failure after all.
Perhaps that shortened lifespan and baseline human body had been the cost of something far more valuable: limitless genetic and physical adaptability.
He could withstand any form of genetic editing. Any power infusion. Any template.
By lowering the starting point, he had unlocked a potential ceiling that was nearly infinite.
It was the perfect match for the template system.
Fifty Ability Points to travel to the X-Men World... is it worth it?
Yes.
Without hesitation, Ron gave the command, activating the system's interdimensional travel function.
He could still earn Ability Points by interfering with the destinies of individuals here in The Boys universe. After all, his very existence—his birth, his rapid growth—had already altered the paths of many. Over the past eight years, he had accumulated more than 20,000 points through direct and indirect disruptions.
But now, the problem was scale.
Moving freely, interacting with others, and actively manipulating events to farm Ability Points had become nearly impossible in this world.
He looked out the window.
His vision shifted, expanding—pulling upward, outward—until he saw the entire neighborhood from above.
What appeared to be a peaceful, suburban community was nothing more than a gilded cage. The perimeter was sealed by tall, gray walls topped with dense electric fencing. Beyond that stood squads of elite soldiers—fully armed, unmoving, alert. A cold, high-security prison in disguise.
This was Vought's doing.
The same Vought Corporation that had created Compound V, engineered generations of superheroes, and manipulated the world behind the scenes. They had sealed Becca, Ryan, and Ron inside this place.
To them, the three of them were a secret contingency plan—living insurance in case Homelander, the world's strongest hero, ever spiraled out of control.
Which meant none of them were allowed to leave.
Inside the community, surveillance was constant. Agents disguised as neighbors, mailmen, even gardeners—all of them worked for Vought, monitoring every movement.
With his current power level, Ron couldn't break free of this place.
Not yet.
But if he couldn't escape this cage from within…
"Then I'll go to other worlds," Ron muttered, eyes cold and resolute, "and gain the strength to tear this prison apart."