Chapter 39: Homelander Sees the Trending Topic
Because what happens next will get more and more interesting.
When Ryan said this, Homelander was sitting on an expensive leather sofa in the private lounge on the 79th Floor of Vought Tower.
There was a hole in the wall opposite the sofa.
Fist-shaped.
Punched last night.
There was another one next to it.
Fresher, punched this morning.
The remains of two 85-inch OLED televisions were scattered on the carpet, their shattered screens covered in fine cracks spreading from the center outward.
The remote control had been crushed into a lump of waste where plastic and circuit boards were indistinguishable, and next to it, a laptop had its keyboard and screen bent at a ninety-degree angle.
Homelander was holding a mobile phone in his hand.
It wasn't his.
His phone had been crushed into a metal disc by his thumb and index finger last night.
This one was taken from a passing staff member.
The man hadn't even dared to look up; he handed it over with both hands and turned to run away.
On the screen was the Twitter trending list.
First: Preservation Walker burns down secret Vought factory.
Second: Iron pipe message, A-Zu this is just the beginning.
Third: Vought stock price plummets 12%.
Fourth: Preservation Walker breaks A-Train's legs.
Fifth: How many are left in The Seven who can fight?
Homelander's blue eyes stared at the screen, scrolling down one by one.
The corners of his mouth were turned up.
But his fingers were exerting force.
The metal frame of the phone bent and deformed bit by bit under his fingertips, emitting a faint metallic groan.
He clicked on the second item.
The news featured a high-definition photo of the concrete wall next to the gate of the New Jersey factory, where twisted iron pipes spelled out that line of text.
Below were the netizens' comments.
"A-Zu? Hahahaha, I bet Homelander's face is green right now."
"Is this some kind of pet name? Is Preservation Walker a little fanboy of Homelander?"
"Stop it, this is clearly a provocation! A naked provocation! Why hasn't Homelander come out to tear him to shreds?"
"Where did our god go? Still drinking milk?"
Homelander stared at that last comment for five seconds.
Then he laughed.
The sound was squeezed from the bottom of his throat, very light, with the air of savoring something.
"A-Zu." He chewed on those two words, "He called me A-Zu."
The door was knocked three times, very lightly, with hesitation.
"Come in."
Stillwell pushed the door open and walked in.
She looked worse than yesterday; her eye circles were bruised, and the lipstick at the corner of her mouth was uneven, bleeding out a little.
She was holding a stack of documents in her arms, her ten fingers gripping them so tightly her knuckles were rigid.
"Homelander, we need to talk."
"Talk about what?" Homelander didn't look up, his gaze still fixed on the phone screen, "Talk about that interesting little kid?"
"He is not a little kid." Stillwell's voice was a bit hoarse, "Last night, he burned down our largest Compound V production base in New Jersey. Six thousand bottles of finished product were all destroyed, and the production line is completely scrapped."
"Hmm."
"That wasn't just a production base; it was also our most important Compound V derivative laboratory. All the data, over a decade of research results, are all gone."
"Uh-huh."
"The market value of this batch of Compound V exceeds three billion dollars, and the losses to the laboratory are immeasurable."
"Hmm."
"Plus the stock price drop this week, Vought's total losses have already exceeded 120 billion."
"Mm-hmm."
Stillwell gritted her back teeth.
"Can you stop saying 'hmm'?"
"Then what do you want me to say?" Homelander finally threw the phone, which was already bent into an arc, onto the coffee table, leaned back against the sofa, and draped his arms across the armrests, "Say 'that's terrible, hurry and find a solution'?"
"I want you to take this matter seriously."
"I am very serious." Homelander's smile remained, "I have never been this serious before."
"Then what do you intend to do?"
"Find him."
"And then?"
"Have a chat with him."
Stillwell looked into his eyes.
Inside those eyes, which fans worldwide called sky blue, there was no anger, no anxiety, no negative emotions whatsoever.
Only interest.
An interest so intense it was about to spill over.
A person who had been locked in a glass house for too long had seen something new for the first time.
This was ten thousand times more terrifying than anger.
"You cannot go out to find him now." Stillwell forced herself to switch back to work mode, "Edgar's order is to continue observing."
"Edgar's order." Homelander repeated these words, the tone strange.
"Yes, he said..."
"I know what he said." Homelander stood up.
He was nearly a head taller than Stillwell, his red cape hanging from his shoulders, unfurling as he stood, the fabric brushing with a soft sound.
"He said to continue observing, to find his purpose."
"He said a person with rhythm and purpose is easier to deal with than someone reckless."
Homelander walked toward Stillwell step by step.
His leather boots made no sound on the carpet.
"He said not to let Homelander get involved, lest the situation become uncontrollable."
With every step he took, Stillwell retreated one step.
Her back pressed against the wall; she couldn't retreat anymore.
Homelander stopped.
Less than thirty centimeters away.
The scent of his cologne mixed with some indescribable smell wrapped around her completely.
"Madelyn." His voice dropped very low, "What do you think I am?"
"You are..."
"I am Homelander."
"I know."
"The strongest person in this world."
He extended his right hand and tapped his index finger on the stack of documents in Stillwell's arms.
"These papers in your hand, these reports, they are written about how to control me, how to manage me, how to make me obedient."
"No."
"Don't lie." Homelander leaned in a little, the smile still on his face, "I can smell it. Every time you lie, your heartbeat speeds up, and the smell of your adrenaline changes; it turns scorched, bitter."
Stillwell's breathing skipped a beat.
"I have always been cooperating with you all." Homelanderwithdrew his hand and stepped back, "Because I thought it was quite good. You arrange events for me, shoot commercials, find fans, let me be a hero, and I am indeed a hero."
"But now."
He turned and walked to the window.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows on the 79th Floor, the New York skyline shimmered with a metallic color in the morning light.
"Now there is someone outside who burned our factory, crippled our teammate, and wrote my name on the wall."
"The whole world is watching."
"The whole world is asking the same question."
He turned his head to look at Stillwell.
Inside his blue eyes, two tiny red dots were dancing, lighting up once, then lighting up again.
The precursor to Heat Vision.
"Homelander, why don't you come out?"
Stillwell's back pressed against the wall, a drop of cold sweat sliding down from her temple, across her cheek, cold.
"How much longer do you think I can endure?"
"Homelander."
"Three days." He raised three fingers, "I give you three days."
"Within three days, you either find him, wash him clean, tie a bow, and bring him to me."
"Or."
He retracted two fingers.
Only one remained.
The index finger.
Pointing at the sky outside the window.
"I will go find him myself."
After saying this, he withdrew his hand and gently poked the bulletproof glass beside him with that index finger.
With a crisp cracking sound.
On the million-dollar special glass, with his fingertip as the center, a patch of fine cracks instantly exploded outward.
Chapter 40: Kings Do Not Meet, Declaring War Across the Air
"I will go find him myself."
Homelander's words had been swirling in Stillwell's mind all day.
Three days.
He had given a three-day deadline.
After three days, if Vought International had not delivered Preservation Walker to him—
He would take matters into his own hands.
And Stillwell knew better than anyone what it meant for Homelander to "take matters into his own hands."
It meant it was uncontrollable.
It meant half of New York could turn into a battlefield.
It meant Vought International's stock price could drop to zero!
But these were all Stillwell's problems.
Ryan didn't know any of this.
What he did know was—at 2:00 PM that afternoon, Homelander held a press conference.
Location: The press conference hall on the first floor of Vought Tower.
Ryan saw the live broadcast on the convenience store TV.
When he went to buy coffee, the store owner had turned the TV volume up to the max.
"Look, look! Homelander is holding a press conference!"
On the screen, the press conference hall in Vought Towerwas packed.
Reporters from dozens of media outlets crowded the front row, their cameras and lenses aimed at the podium on stage.
On the backdrop behind the podium were the Vought International logo and a group photo of The Seven—though the spots for Translucent and A-Train had been cropped out, leaving only five people.
Homelander walked out from the side door.
Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Red cape.
A brilliant smile.
Flashbulbs crackled incessantly.
He walked behind the podium, placed his hands on the surface, and scanned the press section.
"Hello, everyone." His voice carried through the microphone across the entire hall, "I am Homelander."
Applause broke out.
It wasn't very enthusiastic—because the reporters present knew that today's press conference wasn't for good news.
Homelander waited for the applause to die down before continuing.
"A lot has happened recently." His tone was steady, like he was chatting about daily life, "Two of our teammates have been injured. One of our facilities has been damaged. There is a lot of discussion on social media."
"I understand everyone's concerns."
"So I came to say a few words to everyone."
He paused.
The smile faded.
It turned into a very subtle expression—like a father patiently explaining a complicated matter.
"There is a person who calls himself 'Preservation Walker'."
"He injured my teammates. He burned down our facility. He wrote my name on the wall."
"Many people think he is a hero."
"I don't think so."
He looked directly into the camera.
"Heroes don't need to hide behind masks. Heroes don't need to commit arson in the middle of the night. Heroes don't need to use violence to prove themselves."
"I stand here, my face towards you, and you all know my name. I never hide."
"Because I am Homelander."
"I don't need to hide."
He emphasized the last word.
Then his expression changed.
The smile returned.
But this smile was different from before.
Before, it was a warm, kind, "your hero is here" kind of smile.
Now it was—
Cold.
"So I want to say something through this camera to that 'Preservation Walker'."
He said, slowly, word by word, to the camera.
"Anyone who challenges the authority of The Seven—"
"Will face my judgment."
"I will find you."
"No matter where you are."
"No matter how strong you are."
"I will find you."
The press hall was silent for three seconds.
Then the reporters started frantically raising their hands to ask questions.
"Homelander! How do you think Preservation Walker's strength compares to yours?"
"Homelander! When do you plan to take action?"
"Homelander! What do you think about Preservation Walker burning down the Vought factory?"
Homelander didn't answer any questions.
He smiled at the camera again, then turned and walked out of the press hall.
The red cape fluttered behind him.
In the convenience store, the owner stared, dumbfounded.
"Wow... is Homelander going to take action himself?"
"Preservation Walker is done for, right? Homelander is the strongest!"
"Not necessarily, Preservation Walker even blocked A-Train..."
Ryan stood at the counter with his coffee, having watched the entire press conference.
He put down his coffee cup.
Took out his phone.
Sent a message to Blackie.
"Start the stream."
"Huh? Now?"
"Now. Ten minutes, on the roof of the Empire State Building."
"The Empire State Building??? How do I get up there?"
"Wait downstairs, I'll take you up."
"Take me up? How?"
"Fly."
Blackie sent a terrified emoticon.
"Σ(°△°|||) Fly? Did you say fly?"
"Yes. Just hold on tight, don't let go."
"Big brother, I'm afraid of heights!!!"
"You have to go even if you're afraid of heights. Today's footage must be filmed from the highest place."
Blackie was silent for five seconds.
"Fine... I trust you."
Twenty minutes later.
The roof of the Empire State Building.
The observation deck was closed—Ryan had flown up from the outside directly with Blackie, bypassing all security and access controls.
Blackie's legs were weak, and he squatted inside the rooftop railing, holding his phone crookedly.
"Big brother... my legs are weak..."
"Stand up."
"I can't stand up..."
"Then film while squatting. Keep the camera steady."
Blackie took three deep breaths and held the phone steady.
The livestream started.
Fan notifications went out, and the number of online viewers surged past one million within thirty seconds.
One minute later, two million.
Two minutes later, five million.
Because everyone had just finished watching Homelander's press conference.
Everyone was waiting for Preservation Walker's response.
The chat flooded like a waterfall.
"It's here, it's here, it's here! Preservation Walker is going to respond!"
"Homelander just said he was going to find you, and you pop up?"
"The roof of the Empire State Building? Is this a remote confrontation?"
"Five million online! Still rising!"
Ryan stood on the edge of the Empire State Building's roof.
Three hundred and eighty meters of empty air beneath his feet.
The wind was strong, making his clothes snap loudly.
Behind him was the New York skyline. In the distance, the V logo of Vought Tower was dazzling in the sunlight.
He faced the camera.
No scarf, no sunglasses.
But his hat was pulled very low, revealing only the lower half of his face.
"Just watched Homelander's press conference." He spoke, his voice very flat.
"Well said."
"All that 'heroes don't need to hide behind masks,' all that 'I don't need to hide.'"
"Quite impressive."
He paused.
"But I have a question."
"Mr. Homelander—"
"You said you were going to find me and judge me."
"So who have you judged?"
"Translucent peeped into the women's locker room, did you judge him?"
"A-Train went on a drug-fueled rampage and almost killed a whole street of people, did you judge him?"
"Vought International sold Compound V to gangs and arms dealers, did you judge them?"
"You didn't judge anything."
"Because they are your teammates. They are Vought people."
"Your judgment only targets those who don't listen."
"Not those who do bad things."
The online viewer count jumped past ten million.
Ten million.
The chat was no longer a chat, but a solid block of white light, with no text visible.
Ryan curled the corners of his mouth toward the camera.
"So—"
"Judgment?"
"Are you worthy?"
He extended his right hand and raised his middle finger toward the direction of Vought Tower in the distance.
It was exactly the same gesture he made toward the Vought surveillance camera on the streets of Brooklyn.
Except this time—
It was on the roof of the Empire State Building.
It was in a live broadcast with ten million people.
It was to the whole world.
On Blackie's phone screen, the number of online viewers had jumped to an illegible level.
Chat, comments, retweets, trending topics—all the data exploded at the same time.
Ryan withdrew his middle finger and said the last sentence to the camera.
"Homelander."
"If you want to find me, come anytime."
"I'm right here."
"Not going anywhere."
He turned around, facing the direction of Vought Tower.
The wind blew his hat up, revealing half of his profile.
The sunlight hit his face.
Three hundred and eighty meters in the air, he stood on the edge of the Empire State Building, as if standing at the top of the world.
At the same time.
79th Floor of Vought Tower.
Homelander stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, holding a new "borrowed" phone.
On the screen was Blackie's livestream.
He saw that middle finger.
Heard that "Are you worthy?".
Saw that figure standing on the roof of the Empire State Building.
His lips were moving.
No sound.
But if anyone could read lips, they would see him repeating the same word.
Over and over again.
"Interesting."
"Interesting."
"Interesting."
Then the corners of his mouth split open.
He smiled.
A big smile.
The phone in his hand silently crumbled into powder under his fingertips.
Debris fell rustling from between his fingers, scattering into the folds of his red cape.
In his blue eyes, two red dots lit up.
Then went out.
Lit up.
Then went out.
Like two signal lights swaying in the wind.
"Three days." He said softly, "No need for three days."
He turned around and walked toward the door.
The cape flared up behind him.
In the hallway outside, Stillwell was walking toward this side, holding documents.
Seeing Homelander push the door open and come out, her footsteps faltered.
"Where are you going?"
Homelander didn't stop.
He walked past her, his red cape brushing against the edge of the documents in her hand.
After three steps, he stopped and looked back at her.
The smile was still on his face.
"To meet an interesting person."
Chapter 41: Words Burned into the Sky
"Go see someone interesting."
After Homelander finished this sentence, his red cape brushed past Stillwell's shoulder, stirring up a gust of wind.
Stillwell stood stunned in the corridor, her feet seemingly nailed to the floor.
By the time she came to her senses, Homelander had already reached the end of the hallway.
"Homelander!" She chased after him for two steps, her high heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. "Edgar's order is—"
"Edgar's order." Homelander stopped without turning back. "Madelyn, do you think I care?"
"You should care! Vought's stock price has already—"
"Stock price." Homelander turned around. The smile was still on his face, but the red dots in his blue eyes began to dance again. "You're talking to me about stock price?"
Stillwell's throat tightened.
"I am Homelander." He took a step back; his leather boots made no sound on the floor. "I am not your stock."
"I know, but—"
"You lock me in this building, tell me 'the timing isn't right,' tell me to 'wait a little longer,' and tell me to 'consider the big picture.'"
He took another step.
"Someone out there burned down my factory, crippled my teammate, and wrote my name on the wall."
Another step.
"The whole world is watching."
The final step.
He stood in front of Stillwell, less than half a meter away.
"The whole world is asking—where did Homelander go?"
Stillwell's back hit the wall.
"I gave a three-day deadline," Homelander's voice was very low, "but he just gave me the middle finger from the Empire State Building."
"Global live broadcast."
"Ten million people watching."
"He said I'm not qualified to judge him."
The corners of Homelander's mouth curled up, revealing his teeth.
"Madelyn, do you think I can still wait three days?"
Stillwell's lips moved, but she couldn't say anything.
Because she knew the answer.
She couldn't.
She couldn't wait even a second longer.
Homelander looked at her expression and nodded in satisfaction.
"Very good." He turned and walked toward the end of the corridor. "Go tell Edgar—just say that Homelander is going out for a walk."
"A walk? You call this a walk?"
Homelander didn't reply again.
He pushed open the security door at the end of the corridor. The wind from the stairwell rushed in, making his cape flap wildly.
Then he walked up.
One floor. Two floors. Three floors.
The roof of Vought Tower.
The night wind whistled at the height of the 79th floor, blowing his golden hair backward. The lights of New Yorkspread out beneath his feet, like a giant glowing circuit board.
Homelander stood at the edge of the roof, looking down at the city.
Then he took flight.
Launching out like a cannonball.
A Sonic Boom exploded over the roof of Vought Tower, the shockwave making the rooftop ventilation ducts hum.
Mach 3.
He shot into the night sky over Manhattan and stopped at an altitude of 3,000 meters.
The city became a map beneath his feet.
He hovered in mid-air, looking down and scanning the entirety of New York.
Then he looked up.
The red light in his eyes lit up.
Heat Vision shot out from his eyes.
Two red beams pierced the night sky, hot enough to melt steel. The ends of the beams made contact with water vapor and dust in the high altitude, instantly heating them into a plasma state and emitting a dazzling white light.
Homelander's head turned slowly.
He was writing.
Writing in the sky over New York with Heat Vision.
The first character, "Come".
The burning trajectory remained in the night sky, like a fire dragon wandering through the clouds. The ionized air molecules continued to glow under the high temperature and would not extinguish for a short time.
The second character, "Me".
On the ground, the first to see it were the tourists in Times Square.
Someone looked up and pointed at the sky, their mouth wide open.
"The sky... is the sky on fire?"
"It's not on fire! It's words! Someone is writing in the sky!"
Mobile phones were raised. One, ten, one hundred.
The third character, "Face".
The fourth character, "Before".
The fifth character, "Come".
Then a horizontal line.
Finally, a letter, "H".
Come to me—H.
"H" is the first letter of Homelander's English name, "Homelander."
The entire line of text spanned over half of the Manhattansky, each character over two hundred meters tall, the burning trajectory emitting a blinding orange-red light in the night.
From the ground, it looked like someone had used a giant fire pen to write a challenge in the sky.
All of New York could see it.
All ten million people in New York looked up at the same time.
Social media exploded within thirty seconds.
"Homelander is writing in the sky!!!"
"Come to me? Is he calling out to Preservation Walker?"
"Oh my god, is this a duel invitation?"
"Global live broadcast! Turn on the live stream!"
Brooklyn.
Ryan's rental apartment.
He was lying on the bed scrolling through his phone, the screen full of follow-up discussions about the Empire State Building live stream.
Outside the window, it suddenly lit up.
A light pouring down from the sky.
Ryan sat up from the bed and walked to the window.
He saw it.
That line of giant burning words in the sky.
"Come to me—H"
The orange-red light reflected on his face, dyeing the whole room in warm tones.
He stared at the line of words for three seconds.
His phone rang.
Blackie.
"Brother Walker!!! Did you see it!!! In the sky!!! Homelanderis writing in the sky!!!"
Ryan didn't reply to the message.
The phone rang again.
Hughie.
"Ryan, did you see the sky? Homelander... he's calling you."
Ryan still didn't reply.
The third message.
Ashley.
"He's out. I couldn't stop him. Stillwell couldn't stop him either. He's writing in the sky, all of New York has seen it."
"Don't go out now, whatever you do."
"I beg you."
"Don't go out."
Ryan looked at the four messages Ashley sent in a row, his thumb hovering over the screen for two seconds.
Then he replied with one.
"Might as well. (￣ω￣)"
Ashley immediately replied with a breakdown emoji.
Ryan put his phone in his pocket.
He stood in front of the window, looking up at the line of burning words in the sky that were slowly fading.
"Impatient?"
The corners of his mouth curved up.
"Then I'll indulge you."
He pushed open the window.
The night wind rushed in, carrying the unique mixed scent of Brooklyn.
He stepped one foot onto the windowsill.
The Bio-field activated on the surface of his entire body, the invisible protective shield wrapping him tightly from head to toe.
Five hundred tons of strength stood by in his muscle fibers.
Mach 8 speed built up in the field propulsion system.
Passive defense completely immune to Heat Visionoperated at the genetic level.
He took a deep breath.
Then he leaped out.
The moment his feet pushed off the windowsill, the wood of the window frame shattered under the aftermath of the five-hundred-ton force, the debris swept away by the airflow.
The Bio-field formed thrust under his feet.
His body shot into the night sky at a nearly vertical angle.
Mach 1.
Mach 2.
Mach 5.
Mach 8.
A Sonic Boom exploded over Brooklyn, the shockwave making the glass windows of all buildings within a two-hundred-meter radius buzz.
Ryan's body turned into a dark streamline, heading straight for the sky over Manhattan at a speed of 9,800 kilometers per hour.
From Brooklyn to Manhattan.
3.67 seconds.
On the ground, countless people looking up at the sky saw it.
A dark trail of light shot out from the direction of Brooklyn, streaking across the night sky at an incredible speed, flying toward the direction of those burning words.
"What is that?"
"It's him! It's Preservation Walker!"
"He went! He really went!"
In the sky, two trajectories were approaching.
One was the position where Homelander was hovering, his red cape billowing in the high-altitude airflow.
One was the trajectory of Ryan's flight, his dark figure tearing open a white Sonic Boom cone in the night.
Two meteors.
Moving toward each other.
About to collide.
Ryan decelerated at a distance of fifty meters from Homelander.
Mach 8 instantly dropped to zero.
The field absorbed all the deceleration overload.
He hovered in mid-air, facing Homelander fifty meters away.
The wind whistled between the two.
Three thousand meters high.
Beneath their feet were the lights of all of Manhattan.
Above their heads was that line of burning text that was slowly fading.
Homelander looked at him.
The red light in his blue eyes hadn't completely faded, like two signal lights swaying in the wind.
A smile hung on the corners of his mouth.
Ryan looked at him.
His hat had long been blown away by the Mach 8 airflow, his whole face exposed to the night wind.
He had no expression on his face.
Silence.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
The sound of the wind was the only sound.
Then Homelander spoke, his voice traveling across the distance of fifty meters, clearly reaching Ryan's ears.
"You came faster than I thought."
The corners of Ryan's mouth moved.
"You write slower than I thought."
Chapter 42: Meeting of Two Gods, Three Thousand Meters Above
"You write slower than I thought."
Homelander's smile stiffened for half a second.
Then he smiled even wider.
"You know, the last person who dared to talk to me like that—" He tilted his head, feigning a look of recollection, "Oh, there wasn't a last one. You're the first."
"An honor." Ryan's voice was somewhat scattered by the high-altitude wind, but every word was clear, "It's my first time being asked out via a love letter written in Heat Vision, and the experience isn't bad."
"A love letter?" Homelander's eyebrow arched.
"'Come to me.' If that's not a love letter, what is? A-Zu, if you like me, just say it directly. No need to be so subtle."
Fifty meters away, Homelander's smile finally changed a little.
"You're that lunatic who beat up my teammates and burned down my factory?"
"Your teammates?" Ryan chewed on those three words, "A voyeur and a drug addict?"
"A-Zu, The Seven is just a trash heap."
The wind curled between the two, blowing the hem of Ryan's hoodie up.
Homelander's smile was gone.
Truly gone.
As if someone had used an eraser to wipe the expression off his face, stroke by stroke.
"A trash heap." He repeated those four words, his voice flat and devoid of any inflection.
"You said The Seven is a trash heap."
"Was I wrong?" Ryan spread his hands in mid-air, "Translucent, peeping at people changing in the women's locker room while naked. A-Train, taking drugs until he lost control and ran someone over in the street. The Deep, sexually harassing his own teammates."
He counted them off, one finger at a time.
"If this isn't a trash heap, then what is? A scrap metal yard?"
The temperature three thousand meters up was around minus twenty degrees Celsius.
But the air temperature around Homelander was rising.
His eyes began to turn red.
A scarlet glow.
The precursor to Heat Vision.
Ryan saw it.
He didn't dodge.
Didn't retreat.
He didn't even adjust his posture.
He simply hovered in place, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, watching Homelander's eyes turn red, bit by bit.
"You're angry?" Ryan tilted his head, "That's enough to make you angry?"
"I haven't even gotten to the main point yet."
"What is the main point?" Homelander's voice squeezed out from the bottom of his throat, carrying the texture of metal grinding against metal.
"The main point is—" Ryan paused for a beat, "In The Seven, the biggest piece of trash is you yourself."
Homelander's lips pressed into a line.
The red light in his blue eyes had brightened to the limit.
Two beams of light were poised behind his pupils, heat radiating outward through his eyeballs; the air on both sides of his cheeks began to warp and distort.
"You—"
"I what?" Ryan interrupted him, "You want to say 'You don't know who I am'? Or do you want to say 'You don't know how strong I am'?"
"A-Zu, the whole world knows who you are."
"The whole world also knows how strong you are."
"But what the whole world doesn't know is—"
He pulled his right hand out of his pocket and pointed his index finger in Homelander's direction.
"How hollow you are."
This word was like a bullet.
It struck the thinnest layer of Homelander's skin.
Three thousand meters above.
Two people hovered in the night sky over Manhattan.
The city lights below were like a glowing ocean.
The burning text overhead had dimmed until only the last ember remained.
On the ground, countless eyes and countless mobile phone lenses were aimed at the sky.
Although the two people's expressions couldn't be seen clearly from the ground, everyone knew—something unprecedented was happening in the sky.
Someone was talking to Homelander face-to-face.
And, judging by the posture of the two floating figures—that person was not backing down.
Blackie's livestream had started thirty seconds ago.
He was squatting on the roof of a rental apartment in Brooklyn, pointing his phone lens at the sky.
Although it was too far away to capture clearly, the two floating points of light were clearly visible.
One red.
One dark.
Online viewers: eight million. And still rising.
The comments were completely unreadable.
"Are they talking?"
"Preservation Walker didn't retreat! He really didn't retreat!"
"What level of duel is this? Two people who can fly?"
"Homelander's eyes seem to be glowing..."
Three thousand meters above.
Homelander stared at Ryan for five seconds.
In those five seconds, the expression on his face changed three times.
The first second, blank.
The second second, the corner of his mouth twitched.
From the third to the fifth second, a smile crawled back onto his face.
But this smile was different from all the previous ones.
This was a smile that said, "Alright, you call me hollow, then I'll show you what'solid' is."
"Are you done?" Homelander's voice had returned to a steady tone.
"Just about."
"Then it's my turn."
In his blue eyes, the red light reached a critical point.
Two scarlet beams shot out from his pupils.
No warning.
No alert.
Aimed straight at Ryan's face.
On the ground, everyone saw it.
In the sky, that red point of light suddenly shot out two blinding red lines, like two burning spears, piercing through the night sky, stabbing straight toward the dark point of light.
Screams rose up from the ground.
"Heat Vision! Homelander used Heat Vision!"
"It's over! Preservation Walker is done for!"
"That thing can slice through an aircraft carrier!"
Ryan watched those two red beams of death flying toward him.
The speed was the speed of light.
Couldn't dodge.
And no need to dodge.
He stood in place.
Hands in his pockets.
He didn't even change his stance.
The Heat Vision arrived.
Contact.
Two high-energy beams, capable of melting aircraft frames and cutting through aircraft carrier decks, struck Ryan's chest.
The Bio-field reacted the moment of contact.
That invisible protective shield formed an energy vortex at the point of impact of the Heat Vision, and the energy of the beams was absorbed, dispersed, and dissipated by the vortex.
The red light spread out at the position of Ryan's chest, like a drop of red ink falling into a pool of clear water, being diluted, being swallowed.
No penetration.
No burns.
Not even the temperature rose.
The Heat Vision hitting Ryan was just like shining a flashlight on him.
Homelander's Heat Vision lasted for three seconds.
After three seconds, he stopped.
Because he saw something that made his whole body freeze.
Ryan looked down at his own chest.
The fabric of the hoodie was completely intact.
No scorching.
No discoloration.
Not even a loose thread was curled.
He raised his head and revealed a smile at Homelander.
"Brother, that thing of yours struggles even to burn my clothes."
"Next time, try using a lighter?"
Homelander's expression froze.
Like someone had pressed the pause button.
The corners of his mouth still maintained the previous arc, but the red light in his eyes had gone out.
Completely extinguished.
Replacing it was something Ryan had never seen on anyone's face before.
Confusion.
From the time Homelander was born until now, his Heat Vision had never failed.
Never.
Steel, concrete, titanium alloy, carbon fiber, bulletproof glass—there was no material in the world that could withstand his Heat Vision.
But the person in the hoodie before him had withstood it.
Even his clothes weren't burned.
"No..." Homelander's lips moved, his voice very soft, "Impossible."
"What's impossible?" Ryan pulled his hand out of his pocket and patted his chest, "Those two red beams of yours hitting me is about the same as being tickled."
"To be honest, it's not even as comfortable as being tickled."
Homelander's Adam's apple bobbed.
His hands were trembling.
His body was telling his brain one thing—your strongest weapon is useless.
"A-Zu." Ryan's voice traveled across the fifty-meter distance and was clearly delivered to his ears.
"Do you have any other tricks?"
Chapter 43: That thing of yours is like a laser pointer
"Do you have any other moves?"
Homelander stared at Ryan for two seconds.
Then he smiled again.
This smile was different from all the previous ones. The previous ones were performances, disguises, the standard professional smile of "I am your hero".
This time, the smile was squeezed out from between his teeth.
"Other moves?"
His voice was very low.
"Do you think I only have Heat Vision?"
As soon as the words left his mouth, he moved.
There was no wind-up.
He accelerated directly from a hovering state.
Mach 5.
A human missile in a blue combat suit and red cape, moving at 6,000 kilometers per hour, slammed toward Ryan, who was fifty meters away.
Fifty meters of distance, Mach 5 speed.
0.03 seconds.
But Ryan had Mach 8.
The moment Homelander started, Ryan's body had already shifted to the right.
Sidestep.
Like a dodging footwork in martial arts, except the speed of this dodge was 9,800 kilometers per hour.
Homelander's fist grazed past Ryan's left ear, the force of the punch exploding into a ring of white shockwave beside his face.
The moment they brushed past each other, Ryan pulled his right hand out of his pocket.
Five hundred tons.
All poured into his right fist.
He smashed a punch into Homelander's chin.
The moment of contact, the sound disappeared.
Just like when A-Train collided, the speed of kinetic energy transfer exceeded the speed of sound.
The shockwave spread outward from the fist, exploding into a cloud of white mist at an altitude of 3,000 meters.
Homelander's head snapped back under the force of 500 tons, his entire flight trajectory interrupted by the punch, his body spiraling out of control backward.
One hundred meters.
Two hundred meters.
Three hundred meters.
He flipped seven or eight times in the air before stabilizing his body.
His red cape wrapped around his neck during the tumble; he reached up to pull it away, the expression on his face—
Ryan saw it very clearly.
The sensory reaction speed corresponding to Mach 8 allowed him to capture every detail in an extremely short time.
There was a red mark on Homelander's chin.
A fist-shaped red indentation.
Then, from the edge of the indentation, a trace of red liquid seeped out.
Blood.
Homelander raised his right hand and wiped his chin with the back of his hand.
He looked down at the smear of red on the back of his hand.
He was completely stunned.
Three seconds.
Five seconds.
"This is..." His voice squeezed out from his throat, like a rusted hinge being forced, "Blood?"
"My blood?"
He held his hand up to his eyes, staring at the smear of red on the back of his hand for a long time.
Like someone who had never seen his own blood.
In fact, he really never had.
Homelander had been active for over twenty years and had never bled.
The shockwave of a nuclear test site hit him, and not a single hair fell out.
The military's highest-level armor-piercing rounds shot at his chest, and the warheads turned into iron discs.
He was the hardest existence on Earth.
No one could hurt him.
Never.
Until today.
Until that punch just now.
"You..." Homelander raised his head and looked at Ryan, who was hovering 300 meters away, "You hurt me?"
Ryan flexed the fingers of his right hand in place.
The force of 500 tons hitting Homelander's chin, the recoil made his knuckles a bit numb.
"Yeah," he nodded, "I hurt you."
"What, does it hurt?"
Homelander didn't answer.
His blue eyes stared fixedly at Ryan, his pupils shrinking into two pinprick-sized dots.
The smear of blood on the back of his hand slowly dried in the night wind.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then he put his hand down.
The expression on his face changed.
From confusion to something else.
Ryan recognized that expression.
He had seen it in the original work.
That was the expression Homelander would only show when he discovered someone might threaten his position.
A combat instinct from deep within his genes.
"Interesting," Homelander's mouth curled up, "Really interesting."
He readjusted his posture in the air, clenched his fists, and his cape unfurled behind him.
"Come again."
He rushed over again.
Mach 5.
Full speed.
This time it wasn't a straight-line sprint. During the sprint, he made a change in direction, circling around from Ryan's right side, his right fist sweeping over with 1,200 tons of force.
Ryan's body leaned backward.
The Mach 8 reaction speed allowed him to see every knuckle's texture on Homelander's fist clearly.
The fist grazed past a position three centimeters above his nose tip.
The force of the punch exploded on his face, blowing his hair backward.
Ryan raised his right leg while leaning backward.
Five hundred tons of force poured into his toe.
He kicked Homelander in the ribs.
Bang!
A muffled sound exploded in the high altitude.
Homelander's body was kicked flying sideways, tracing an arc in the air.
But he recovered faster than before.
He stabilized his body before flying even a hundred meters, made a sharp turn, and rushed back again.
This time it was double fists.
Left fist feint, right fist direct strike.
Ryan's body shifted sideways at Mach 8, dodging the right fist, but the left fist suddenly changed tactics—the feint turned into a real strike, 1,200 tons of force slamming into Ryan's left shoulder.
Boom!
Ryan's body was knocked fifty meters downward by this punch.
The power gap was fully embodied in this punch.
500 tons versus 1,200 tons.
More than double the difference.
The feeling of this punch hitting his shoulder—pain.
Really painful.
The Bio-field absorbed most of the impact, but a small portion of the force still penetrated the field and conducted to his bones.
Ryan stabilized his body while falling, rubbing his hit shoulder with his left hand.
"Not bad, A-Zu," he looked up at Homelander above, "That punch had some substance."
"How many bowls of rice did you eat for lunch?"
Homelander didn't reply.
He dove down from above, speed pulled to the limit.
Mach 5.
Double fists attacking alternately.
One punch.
Two punches.
Three punches.
Every punch carried 1,200 tons of force, every punch aimed at Ryan's vitals.
Ryan weaved through Homelander's rain of punches.
Mach 8 speed allowed him to dodge most attacks, but Homelander's combat experience was far richer than his—combining feints and real strikes, tricky angles, precise timing of punches.
Out of ten punches, there were always two or three that could land.
Every punch that landed caused Ryan's body to be knocked backward.
But—
Couldn't break through.
1,200 tons of force hitting the Bio-field, the field absorbed over 80% of the impact.
The damage conducted to his body was less than 200 tons.
For a body with a base strength of 500 tons and bone density reconstructed through two DNA purifications, a 200-ton impact—
Painful, but couldn't cause fundamental damage.
Ryan calculated in his mind while taking the beating.
He hits me ten times, I take three, each actual damage is less than 200 tons.
I hit him ten times, he takes seven, each 500 tons.
His defense is higher than mine, 500 tons hitting him might only be equivalent to an ordinary person being pushed.
But pushing ten thousand times, one would also get tired.
And—
He is slower than me.
He can't catch me.
I can hit him, he finds it hard to hit me.
Time is on my side.
Thinking of this, the corner of Ryan's mouth tilted.
He didn't dodge when Homelander's next heavy punch came.
He took it head-on.
The 1,200-ton fist smashed into his chest, the Bio-fieldformed an energy vortex at the point of contact, absorbing most of the impact.
Ryan's body was knocked backward twenty meters.
But he stabilized his body while flying out, wiping the non-existent dust from the corner of his mouth.
"A-Zu."
Homelander hovered twenty meters away, his chest heaving slightly, his breathing heavier than before.
"Is that it?"
Homelander's face twitched.
"Just this much strength?" Ryan's voice traveled across the twenty-meter distance, every word crystal clear.
"Didn't you have compound v for lunch, you skinny dog?"
Chapter 44: The First Time A-Zu Has Bled Since His Debut
"Didn't you take your compound v at noon, you skinny dog?"
This sentence exploded at an altitude of three thousand meters.
Homelander's face twitched from left to right.
His lips were trembling.
From anger.
He hadn't heard the term "skinny dog" before, but the context told him it wasn't a compliment.
"What did you call me?"
"Skinny dog." Ryan repeated, even thoughtfully explaining, "It means a dog that is thin and has no strength."
"Although you don't look thin, you really don't have any strength when we fight."
Red light began to glow in Homelander's blue eyes again.
"I don't have strength?"
"You just took a punch from me and flew twenty meters away."
"Only twenty meters," Ryan spread his hands, "When A-Train hit me, he flew twenty-three meters himself. Your punch isn't even as good as A-Train's collision."
"A-Zu, you aren't even as good as A-Train, are you?"
Homelander's Heat Vision fired again.
This time, it was aimed at the face.
Two crimson beams struck straight at Ryan's eyes.
Ryan didn't even blink.
The Heat Vision hit his face and was perfectly absorbed by his Bio-field.
He even deliberately leaned his face closer, letting the Heat Vision be deflected by the force field at a distance of less than ten centimeters from his face.
The red light twisted, diffused, and dissipated in front of his face, like water splashed onto oilcloth.
"A-Zu, shouldn't you get your eyes checked?" Ryan spoke while under the bombardment of the Heat Vision, his voice steady, not sounding like someone being bombarded by the strongest attack on Earth.
"I suspect you have astigmatism."
Homelander stopped the Heat Vision.
His chest was heaving violently.
Heat Vision was as natural as breathing to him, costing no effort at all.
He was panting because his brain was frantically processing information it had never handled before—
My strongest attack method is completely ineffective against this person.
Completely ineffective.
It couldn't even burn his clothes.
"Impossible." Homelander's mouth moved, his voice almost swallowed by the wind, "This is impossible."
"What's impossible?" Ryan heard it. His Super Hearingwas still effective at high altitude.
"Your Heat Vision can't penetrate my force field, what's impossible about that?"
"The temperature of your Heat Vision is about ten thousand degrees, capable of melting most metals."
"But my Bio-field is not metal. It is a passive defense at the genetic level. Your heat cannot conduct through it."
"For example—you take a candle to burn a wall. The candle is very hot, but the wall is not afraid of heat."
"You are that candle."
"I am that wall."
Homelander's fists clenched.
His knuckles cracked.
"Enough." His voice suddenly dropped, sinking to a frequency Ryan had never heard before.
"Don't think you've won just because you blocked my Heat Vision."
"Heat Vision is just an appetizer."
His body sank slightly in the air, his center of gravity lowered, and his feet parted, like a fighter adjusting his stance.
"My fists are the main course."
Then he disappeared.
Accelerating to a level that even Ryan's Super Hearingcouldn't fully track.
A full-speed dash at Mach 5, striking from twenty meters away.
0.01 seconds.
Ryan's body instinctively triggered an eight-Mach reaction.
But Homelander wasn't sprinting in a straight line this time.
He made a sudden stop in the last meter of the sprint.
A sudden stop.
The speed of Mach 5 dropped to zero within a distance of one meter.
The overload generated by this deceleration was enough to crush a normal person's bones into powder, but Homelander's body held up.
After the sudden stop, his right fist struck from an extremely tricky angle—from bottom to top—thrusting upwards.
An uppercut.
Twelve hundred tons.
Ryan's body was in the middle of a side-shifting movement, and his center of gravity was already off.
This punch hit exactly in the opposite direction of his shifted center of gravity.
Bang!
The fist smashed into Ryan's chin.
The Bio-field absorbed most of the impact, but the remaining force still sent Ryan's body flying in an inverted arc.
He did three somersaults in the air and flew up more than a hundred meters before stabilizing.
A dull pain came from his chin.
Not serious.
But it definitely hurt.
"Yo." After Ryan stabilized his figure, he worked his jaw, "That was a good punch."
Homelander didn't give him time to catch his breath.
The second punch followed immediately.
This time it was a straight punch to the front.
Twelve hundred tons.
Ryan's body shifted to the right at Mach 8, and the fist grazed past his left ear.
The third punch.
A left hook.
Ryan dodged by leaning back.
The fourth punch.
A right straight punch.
Ryan dodged sideways and took the opportunity to smash an elbow onto Homelander's back.
Five hundred tons.
Homelander's body pitched forward, but he immediately steadied himself and turned for a roundhouse kick.
Ryan blocked with his forearm.
The force of twelve hundred tons was transmitted to his forearm through the instep of the foot; the Bio-fieldabsorbed most of it, but his body was still kicked sideways for more than ten meters.
The two people fought into a ball at an altitude of three thousand meters.
Fist to flesh.
Each contact exploded a cluster of white shockwaves in the air.
The Sonic Boom sounds connected together, like thunder in the sky.
People on the ground saw it.
In the sky, two points of light were frantically moving, colliding, separating, and colliding again.
Each collision would burst a ring of white light.
Sounds like rumbling thunder rolled down from the sky, one after another.
"They're fighting!"
"My God, they are actually fighting!"
"Preservation Walker is fighting Homelander!"
Phone screens lit up one after another.
Everyone in Manhattan was looking up at the sky.
The number of viewers in Blackie's live stream had exceeded thirty million.
The bullet comments were completely paralyzed; the server couldn't handle this magnitude of concurrency.
Three thousand meters altitude.
The battle lasted for thirty seconds.
In thirty seconds, Homelander threw forty-seven punches.
Fourteen landed.
Ryan threw thirty-two punches.
Twenty-three landed.
The difference in hit rate is the difference in speed.
Mach 8 versus Mach 5.
Ryan could dodge 70% of Homelander's attacks.
Homelander could only dodge 28% of Ryan's attacks.
But—
The difference in single-hit damage is also the difference in strength.
Twelve hundred tons versus five hundred tons.
Every time Homelander hit Ryan, Ryan's body would be knocked back.
Every time Ryan hit Homelander, Homelander would only sway slightly.
After thirty seconds, the two stopped at the same time and pulled away.
Fifty meters apart.
Homelander's breathing became heavy.
He discovered a fact that made his whole body feel cold.
He had hit Ryan fourteen times.
Ryan was completely fine.
There wasn't even an extra wrinkle on his hoodie.
And himself—
There was an extra streak of blood at the corner of his mouth.
The area of his ribs felt vaguely sore.
The spot on his back where he was hit by that elbow had a dull, aching sensation.
He, Homelander, in his twenty-plus years since debuting—
Felt pain in a fight for the first time.
Bled for the first time.
Discovered for the first time that he couldn't kill an opponent.
"A-Zu." Ryan's voice came from the opposite side.
Homelander raised his head.
Ryan was hovering fifty meters away, his hands back in his pockets, his posture exactly the same as before the fight started.
"You have blood on your chin."
Homelander wiped it with the back of his hand.
Red.
It was indeed blood.
"Do you want me to help you call a Vought team doctor up here?" Ryan tilted his head, "The altitude of three thousand meters might be a bit hard to get up to, but you can fly down to find him."
"By the way, let him check your heart."
"Panting like this after fighting for thirty seconds, I'm afraid you have a problem with your cardiopulmonary function."
Homelander's teeth clenched together.
His back molars ground out a sound.
"You actually... hurt me?"
"Yeah." Ryan nodded, "Hurt you. But don't take it too much to heart, the injury isn't serious, it'll be fine in two days."
"I suggest you use an ice pack on your chin after you go back, the swelling will go down faster."
Homelander's blue eyes stared fixedly at him.
The red light in his pupils began to glow again.
Then extinguished.
Glowed.
Extinguished.
Like a lamp swaying in the wind.
"What exactly are you?"
"A Janitor." Ryan's answer blurted out, "A former Janitor of Vought Tower."
"You should have seen my work badge when you fired me."
Chapter 45: He Is Faster Than Me, That Is Impossible
"You should have seen my employee badge when you fired me."
Homelander did not respond to that.
He hovered fifty meters away, his blue eyes fixed on Ryan, pupils contracting and dilating, contracting and dilating in the night wind.
His mind was spinning.
Spinning like crazy.
Since he was born, his world had been built on a simple logic—I am the strongest.
This logic supported everything.
Vought International needed him because he was the strongest.
The whole world worshipped him because he was the strongest.
Stillwell listened to him because he was the strongest.
The Seven obeyed him because he was the strongest.
He could do anything because no one could stop him.
Because he was the strongest.
But now.
The person in the hoodie before his eyes had caught his Heat Vision, withstood his punches, bruised his jaw, and was, goddammit, faster than him.
Faster than him.
These three words exploded in Homelander's mind.
Speed.
He had always thought he was the fastest. With a flight speed of Mach three to five, no Superhuman on Earth could catch him.
But in the fight just now, he had felt it clearly—the other person's movement speed far exceeded his own.
When he threw a punch, the other person had already dodged.
When he gave chase, the other person had already circled behind him.
When he changed direction, the other person was already waiting at his destination.
Every time they clashed, he was a beat too slow.
A pure speed gap.
"Impossible." Homelander's mouth moved, his voice mostly shredded by the wind. "He cannot be faster than me."
But the facts were right in front of him.
Forty-seven punches, only fourteen landed.
A hit rate of less than thirty percent.
While the other person had landed twenty-three out of thirty-two punches.
A hit rate of over seventy percent.
This wasn't luck.
This was a crushing defeat.
A crushing speed advantage.
"What are you thinking about?" Ryan's voice came from across the way.
Homelander lifted his head.
"Wondering why you're faster than me?" Ryan said it for him. "Or wondering why you can't kill me?"
"Shut up."
"Which one makes you feel worse?"
"I said shut up!"
Homelander's eyes shot out Heat Vision again.
This time, not aimed at Ryan.
It was aimed at the sky.
Two scarlet beams pierced the night sky, burning two bright holes in the clouds.
Venting.
Pure venting.
The Heat Vision lasted for five seconds before stopping.
Homelander's chest was heaving violently, the red light in his blue eyes still flickering like two light bulbs about to overload.
"What the hell are you?" His voice deepened, carrying a texture Ryan had never heard before—a low growl that only an animal backed into a corner would make.
"I told you already." Ryan's tone was as flat as if he were chatting about the weather. "I am a former Janitor of Vought Tower. Employee number 4732. Responsible for the corridors and restrooms from the third to the fifth floor."
"Every day when you took the elevator down from the 79th Floor and passed the third floor, I was mopping the floor."
"You would walk over the floor I had just mopped clean, leaving a trail of mud prints from your leather boots."
"I had to mop it all over again."
Homelander's mouth twitched.
"So you hate me? Because I dirtied your floor?"
"Not hate." Ryan shook his head. "It's that I feel you owe me an apology."
"An apology?"
"Yes. You dirtied my floor, you should have said'sorry'."
"But you didn't."
"Because in your eyes, a Janitor is not a person."
"Just like in A-Train's eyes, pedestrians on the road are not people."
"Just like in Translucent's eyes, women in the locker room are not people."
"Just like in Vought International's eyes, the common people of the world are not people."
Ryan's voice carried far in the high-altitude wind.
"You are Superhumans. You are heroes. You stand on the clouds looking down, thinking the ants below are not the same species as you."
"But A-Zu—"
He pulled his right hand out of his pocket and pointed at himself.
"This ant is standing in front of you today."
"Your Heat Vision can't burn me."
"Your fists can't break through me."
"You can't catch me."
"You can't even beat me."
Homelander's body was shaking.
Because his body was fighting with his brain.
His body said: Fight. Keep fighting. Fight with all your might. Tear this person into pieces.
His brain said: You can't win. He is faster than you. His defense is on the same level as yours. Although his attacks are weak, you can't withstand infinite accumulation.
If you keep fighting, you won't win.
But you won't lose either. You will fight in the sky until dawn, until you are exhausted, until both of you can't move.
And then what?
Then the whole world will know—Homelander can't beat a guy in a hoodie.
"No..." Homelander's lips moved, his voice audible only to himself. "Impossible... He cannot be stronger than me..."
"I am Homelander."
"I am the strongest."
"I have always been the strongest."
"No one is stronger than me."
"No one."
His hands were clenching into fists.
Loosening.
Clenching.
Loosening.
His fingernails dug into the flesh of his palms, leaving four crescent-shaped white marks.
"A-Zu."
Ryan's voice came over again.
Homelander looked up.
Ryan was hovering fifty meters away, the expression on his face—not mockery. Not triumph. It was a very calm expression.
"Do you know why you can't beat me?"
Homelander didn't answer.
"Because you grew up in a laboratory."
Homelander's pupils contracted.
"You have been the strongest since the day you were born. No one has ever hit you. No one has ever hurt you. You don't even know what it feels like to 'take a hit'."
"You don't know how to defend, because you never needed to defend."
"You don't know how to find opportunities in a disadvantageous position, because you have never been in a disadvantageous position."
"You only know how to use brute force to crush."
"When you encounter something you can't crush—you don't know what to do."
Homelander's teeth ground together with a creaking sound.
"Your Heat Vision that you are so proud of?" Ryan's mouth curled up. "In front of me, it's just a laser pointer."
"The Seven?" He curled it again. "Might as well call them The Seven Dwarfs."
"And you are the shortest one among them."
In Homelander's blue eyes, the red light shone completely.
Not flickering. It was a continuous, steady light.
His whole body began to radiate heat.
The air at three thousand meters high twisted and deformed around him, water vapor instantly evaporated, forming a transparent sphere with him at the center.
He was going to use his full power.
Ryan felt it.
The Bio-field tightened around the surface of his entire body, and the density automatically increased to the highest level.
"Come on." Ryan pulled both hands out of his pockets and clenched them into fists.
"Let me see—how strong Homelander is at full power."
Homelander didn't speak.
He charged over.
This time, the speed—exceeded Mach five.
Ryan's Super Hearing captured the sound of the air being torn apart, the frequency higher than any previous charge.
Mach five point five.
Maybe faster.
Homelander was pushing his limit.
One thousand five hundred tons of force were poured into his right fist.
This punch was the heaviest punch he had thrown in the twenty-plus years since his debut.
Ryan didn't dodge.
He chose to take it head-on.
Because he needed to know one thing—where exactly was Homelander's limit.
Five hundred tons of force were poured into his arms, crossed in a block.
The Bio-field formed a thick energy shield on the surface of his forearms.
Contact.
Boom!!!
This sound was not a dull thud. It was an explosion.
The shockwave spread outward from the point of contact, exploding into a white sphere with a diameter of over one hundred meters at three thousand meters in the air.
At the edge of the sphere, water vapor instantly condensed into ice crystals, shimmering under the moonlight.
Ryan's body was knocked flying three hundred meters backward by this punch.
His arms were numb.
His bones were screaming.
The Bio-field was compressed to the limit at the moment of contact, then rebounded, pushing the remaining shockwave away in all directions.
He stabilized himself in the air and looked down at his forearms.
The sleeves of his hoodie were finally torn.
Two rips, torn from the wrist all the way to the elbow.
But the skin was intact.
"One thousand five hundred tons." Ryan calculated silently in his heart. "His limit is probably around one thousand five hundred tons."
"The Bio-field held."
"Bones are fine."
"Just a bit sore in the arms."
He looked up, looking at Homelander three hundred meters away.
Homelander was hovering in place, his right fist still maintaining the punching posture.
His face—there was no expression at all.
Blank.
Like a piece of white paper that had been wiped clean.
Because he had used all his strength.
And the other person was still standing.
"A-Zu." Ryan's voice came from three hundred meters away. "Is that all your full power is?"