Herman accepted his new identity.
He went back to his usual slacking in the office at Stellar Tower, though now and then he'd offer pointers to the New York Daily Bugle upstairs on how to grab readers' attention and get them into the habit of daily reading.
Aside from political scandals—where no one worried about retaliation—Herman enforced strict rules on headlines.
"Shocking! That Man Actually Did Such a Thing!"
"Obama's Six Most Shameful Secrets! The Last One Left Everyone Stunned!"
"The World's Most Valuable Soccer Player—You Won't Believe What His Wife Looked Like in Her Youth!"
...
In short, the headlines had to scream for attention.
That clickbait BuzzFeed headline vibe.
And the stories themselves had to cover every social stratum.
Herman's reforms left the Daily Bugle staff exhausted, but with performance climbing and bonuses getting fatter by the week, the employees were more motivated than ever. To them, the newspaper's future had never looked brighter.
"For the new Spider-Man piece, use: 'Spider-Man's Dark Past—The Photos He'd Die to Erase.'"
Once again, Herman guided the editors. The Daily Bugle's circulation was already entering the ranks of best-selling newspapers.
He was confident that before long, the Identity Exclusive Mission tied to his [Newspaper Boss] role would be completed without a hitch.
"I wonder... what exactly that secret will turn out to be?"
The curiosity tugged at him, though he knew the so-called secret likely wouldn't be anything earth-shattering—it was only a Bronze-tier identity reward, after all.
After finishing up some work and fending off yet another challenge from Fox, Herman still hadn't realized the world outside had begun to change.
...
Right after he drew his new identity, the skies over a farm in California, once bright and clear, suddenly turned dark.
Clouds gathered, thick and heavy.
Day dimmed to twilight as black storm banks rolled overhead, pressing down on the workers in the fields.
"What the hell? Is it gonna rain?" A mustached worker in denim raised his head, frowning at the sky. "This ain't good. I was planning to head into town for drinks tonight. Looks like that's not happening."
Next to him, a middle-aged worker squinted upward.
"I've lived nearly fifty years, and I've never seen weather flip this fast. Bet we'll be hit with a storm tonight."
No sooner had he spoken than—
"Rumble—"
Lightning split the clouds, streak after streak, until the entire sky was flashing like a strobe. The workers below muttered in awe, marveling at the sight.
None of them realized something was wrong.
Then, all at once, the lightning converged into a single sphere of light. The sight was so surreal that several workers pulled out their phones.
"Huh? Why does that lightning look like a ball?"
"Wait—it's cracking open?"
Before they could even hit record, the glowing sphere warped, flattening into something like a mirror.
"Whoosh—"
A streak of light, faster than the naked eye could follow, shot out from the rift, carving a blazing blue arc between the heavens and the earth.
"Holy shit! What was that?"
The workers recoiled, then saw a glowing mass plummet to the ground. For a moment, they thought they glimpsed a figure inside it. Dropping their tools, many hurried toward the spot where the arc had struck, faces alight with anticipation, as though they might find treasure.
"Could be a meteorite!"
"Yeah! Saw on the news, meteorites can fetch a fortune!"
Chattering excitedly, the workers crowded closer.
But instead of a valuable meteorite, they found a small crater, just over a meter wide. What lay inside was beyond anything they'd expected.
A humanoid figure, half-kneeling.
Its body gleamed silver and black, shining with a metallic sheen.
"What the hell is that?"
"An alien?"
"Looks more like armor to me... and damn, that design's slick. Could it be some new military prototype?"
"Or maybe it's Iron Man? Didn't that flying tin guy just pop up in New York?"
...
A group of workers crowded around the pit, voices buzzing with chatter.
The cowboy, bolder than the rest, jumped straight down and approached the humanoid figure that had fallen from the storm clouds and lightning.
"This feels like some kind of metal… must be worth a fortune!" He ran his hands over it, eyes glinting with greed.
"This belongs to all of us!"
"Yeah! Everyone gets a share!"
At his words, more workers hurriedly jumped into the pit.
They circled the humanoid figure, arguing over how to divide the mysterious thing from the sky. Some suggested reporting it to the authorities.
But the majority shot that idea down immediately. If they handed it over, they'd get nothing more than a medal at best.
"This dropped straight from the sky! All we need is a rich buyer—someone out there will pay a fortune for something this extraordinary!"
The suggestion to sell it quickly caught fire. Many agreed the humanoid figure could easily fetch hundreds of thousands of dollars.
"I say we each take a piece—like a joint or something. Then the rich will have to pay even more to put it back together. We'd all make more money that way!"
One man swung his pickaxe against the figure.
But no matter how hard he struck, it didn't leave so much as a scratch.
Instead, the pickaxe itself splintered, leaving several notches in the iron.
That only convinced the workers further that this thing from the sky was extraordinary.
"This must be some kind of top-secret military weapon!"
"No, I bet it's a Russian spy machine!"
"Doesn't matter what it is—it's worth a fortune! I've been saving up for a Harley. Any of you know a rich guy?"
"No way anyone's selling it behind my back! We're splitting it fair!"
The argument grew louder.
Then suddenly—
The humanoid figure they had surrounded twitched twice. The sudden movement made everyone jump.
"What the hell was that?"
The cowboy froze, staring in disbelief.
Then, streaks of blue light flared across the figure's surface, running like neon over its entire frame.
Crackle—
It shuddered again.
And under the horrified gazes of the workers, the humanoid rose to its feet.
It stood over two meters tall, a hulking monster of metal. Its face was twisted and grotesque, and its eyes glowed with a deep, oppressive blue.
"Shit—it's alive!"
"It moved!"
The dream of riches was forgotten. The workers bolted in terror, but the armored creature had no intention of letting them go.
"Celebrate my rebirth!"
It raised its hand, hurling dozens of bolts of lightning. In an instant, the fleeing workers were struck, bodies turning to charred husks.
Only the cowboy in denim survived, spared by sheer luck when he tripped over a rock.
"M-Monster!"
He collapsed on the ground, face pale as death, staring at the towering figure. His eyes were wide with terror, his voice shaking violently.
"Time… can no longer bind me!"
The armored creature let out a guttural roar, voice deep and rasping, layered with an eerie, synthesized distortion.
"Monster?"
It turned its glowing eyes toward the cowboy.
Blue-white lightning erupted from its body.
The cowboy blinked—and suddenly the monster was right in front of him.
"Please! Don't kill me! Spare me!"
He scrambled backward desperately, collapsing onto the dirt, begging frantically for his life.
But the creature's blue eyes only grew brighter. Without hesitation, it grabbed him by the chest.
"You dare call me a monster?"
Its hand trembled violently, vibrating like a high-speed chainsaw.
"No! Please!"
The cowboy's eyes filled with desperate pleading.
But it was useless.
In the next heartbeat, the creature's hand plunged straight into his chest.
"I'm no monster—my name is Savitar! I am... the God of Speed!"
As the armored figure withdrew his hand, the cowboy was already lifeless.
Savitar flung the body aside like trash. Lightning once again wrapped around him, and in the blink of an eye, he became a streak of light, vanishing from sight.
"I will make this world... once again bow to my rule!"
On the farm, the armored figure accelerated, running faster and faster, his body nothing but a blur of lightning.
This so-called god was the anomaly born from the Platinum-tier identity.
Had Herman been present, he would have instantly recognized the figure—a being who should never exist in the Marvel Universe.
Savitar.
The God of Speed—originally from another reality, the DC Universe. Somehow, he had been pulled into Marvel's world. A tragic figure, not truly a god ruling over laws, but merely a wielder of the Speed Force.
And not even a complete person. He was only a temporal remnant—a fragment of time created by the Flash of the DC Universe, one that failed to dissipate when it should have.
In a sense, he was a version of Barry Allen from a particular moment in time. The Speed Force was the power that let its users run at unimaginable speeds.
It could even break through time itself.
As everyone knew, the DC Universe had many who could wield the Speed Force.
But Barry Allen was always the most exceptional among them.
He was the very origin of the Speed Force, the fastest of all speedsters. That was why Barry's temporal remnant could become Savitar—this false god endlessly fleeing the pursuit of time.
Savitar wore advanced battle armor from DC's future timeline.
It amplified his control over the Speed Force.
With it, he truly reached the pinnacle of speed.
And now, as Savitar sprinted across the Marvel Universe, a power that had never existed here before was born—The Speed Force.
A force no less potent than any of the ancient cosmic powers. Since Savitar was, in essence, Barry Allen himself, he naturally possessed the ability to create it.
"Damn it! What's happening!?"
Savitar raced across the farm, but soon realized something was wrong—he couldn't break into the time stream.
His speed should have been more than enough.
"Someone's sealed time!"
"Damn it!"
He tried to force his way through, but an unseen power hurled him back.
Savitar tumbled violently across the ground. Having crossed countless timelines before, he immediately understood.
"This... isn't my original world!?"
He rolled to a stop in front of a television. The broadcast flickered on the screen, reflected in his glowing blue eyes.
"Hahahaha! A new world! No more running from time's pursuit! Here, I will become the one true God of Speed!"
Savitar's laughter rang wild and triumphant, filled with twisted joy.
In the next moment, he became lightning once more and vanished from the empty farm.
No one knew what schemes this corrupted remnant of Barry Allen was already plotting.
...
Right after Savitar left the farm...
Meanwhile, in China—
"Stinky tofu! Ten yuan a box!"
"Grilled lamb skewers! Authentic Xinjiang-style lamb skewers! If it's not delicious, you don't pay! Come try some, don't miss out!"
"Screen protectors! Phone screen protectors!"
On a bustling food street, crowds surged back and forth.
A handsome boy with silver-white hair and sunglasses resting on his forehead drew the eyes of many young girls.
"Is he a foreigner?"
"He looks so cool."
He seemed no older than his teens. But foreigners aged fast—give it a few years, and he'd probably turn into a greasy uncle.
...
There was no hostility or trouble—it was just that this small county, known for its street food, rarely saw foreigners, so the locals were naturally curious.
Not only young girls.
Even uncles and aunties kept sneaking glances.
"See that one? That's the type I fought back in Korea—took down eighty of them all by myself, and they couldn't even touch a hair on my head," an old man bragged loudly to his wife, without the slightest intention of lowering his voice.
Quicksilver understood every word. Because his boss was Chinese, he had deliberately learned the language—and mastered it in just a week.
As a speedster, he could stretch one minute into what felt like an hour. Naturally, his learning speed was terrifying.
Now fluent in Mandarin, Quicksilver had been entrusted by an elated Herman with an important task. He'd sprinted all the way to a seaside county in China to buy several of Herman's favorite delicacies. At this moment, he was preparing to return to New York.
Put simply—
Quicksilver Delivery: no matter what you ordered, it arrived fast.
Carrying several large bags of food, he reached a remote spot outside the county. Then, unleashing his astonishing speed, he set off for New York. Even with his pace, the trip required detours across land and sea, so the round trip would still take three to four hours.
"I should make it back in time for tonight's pageant."
He glanced at his watch and pushed himself into a full sprint. Only then did he notice something odd.
"Huh?"
For some reason, he was running faster than ever before—much faster.
But with his thoughts occupied by the bikini contest, Quicksilver barely gave it a second thought.
What he didn't notice was that silver-white arcs of electricity had begun to flicker and crawl across his body.