A spear of light, trailing brilliance like a tail, cut across the sky.
On the ground, many people noticed.
"Look! A shooting star!"
In town, Jane Foster sat with her friend Darcy Lewis and their supervising professor, Dr. Erik Selvig. They'd been gathered around a campfire discussing Homelander when Jane happened to glance up, catching sight of Gungnir streaking through the heavens.
Her face lit up with delight. Closing her eyes, she immediately made a wish upon it. Jane was a romantic at heart—no surprise, then, that she and Thor had split in the original timeline. A man that dense could never grasp romance.
"Why does it look like there's someone following that star?" Erik hurried to the telescope, only to make out a blurred shape.
"Could it be Homelander?" Darcy blurted.
But she was clearly joking. Jumping up from the fire, Darcy—still shaking from excitement—ran to the telescope, eager to see the figure in the sky. She was too slow, though; by then, there was nothing left to see.
"What the hell! Nothing!"
Darcy pouted in disappointment.
Erik gave an awkward chuckle. "Maybe I was seeing things."
His voice carried doubt. Maybe the shadow was just dust on the lens? He pulled out a cloth and carefully wiped the glass.
"I'm sure the professor just mis-saw. Sure, Homelander can fly, but I doubt he'd be chasing shooting stars at night."
Jane laughed, her delicate blonde, blue-eyed features—the classic Western look—also carrying the kind of elegance Easterners found appealing.
"Who knows? Maybe he was just bored. He's the kind of man who'd jerk off at the moon, so chasing a meteor isn't out of the question."
Darcy spoke without a shred of shame.
Utterly filthy.
"He may be rotten to the core, but he's not bad-looking. I'd even pay to sleep with him."
"Mhm. With that kind of strength, the way he'd hold me—the impact would be huge." Darcy's crude words gave Jane a pounding headache.
She could only sigh at her shameless best friend and assistant.
"Bad boys are always the most attractive." Darcy's face was gorgeous, her figure just as eye-catching, and now she wore a lovestruck expression.
"You'd be smashed into paste..." Jane muttered back. She doubted Darcy could withstand that kind of force.
"You're right... Oh! No wonder he only 'aims at the moon'... maybe there really isn't a single woman on Earth who could take it?"
Darcy was a scientist, yes, but clearly had no intention of using her knowledge in any proper context.
"But thank god Homelander's a man. If he were a woman, now that'd be a disaster beyond words."
"You wouldn't even be able to comfort yourself."
She even sucked in a breath at the thought, as if the idea alone terrified her.
Jane had no idea how to respond. She'd known Darcy for years, but her friend's dirty imagination always found new ways to push past her limits.
She didn't want to entertain the subject. Jane was traditional—conservative even. With Erik sitting right there, and even when it was just the two of them, she never dared bring up anything more than veiled hints about relationships.
"What? You think I'm wrong?" Darcy pressed on, convinced she'd just come up with a brilliant take.
"Alright, can we please not talk about this? Can't we change the subject?" Jane gave her a helpless smile.
"Then how about we talk about ideal partners?" Erik, a man well into his sixties, looked even more embarrassed than Jane listening to Darcy's shamelessness.
"Easy. He's gotta be rich—filthy rich. And he has to be strong enough to pick me up and throw me around. See? That's why I keep saying Homelander's the perfect dream guy for every girl!" Darcy answered without missing a beat.
The fact that Herman was a billionaire was no secret.
"Can you stop being so shallow? Love can't be measured with money or lust. One day, you'll get played by some rich playboy and not even see it coming." Jane's disapproval was written all over her face.
"I'm not stupid. If he doesn't marry me, then no one touches me." Darcy stuck her tongue out, looking smug and mischievous.
"What about you? What about you?" she pressed eagerly. Jane usually avoided this topic altogether.
"I don't really have any requirements..."
Jane paused, falling into thought.
She figured—
On the other side, first of all, he has to have a great physique. Then he must be handsome and charismatic. Ideally, he should also have immense strength—not so he can pick her up, but because strength brings her a sense of security.
Because of her childhood experiences, Jane Foster has never felt secure. She hopes to find a partner who can protect her.
"Oh, and when he smiles, it should feel like a spring breeze." Jane Foster trailed off, realizing something wasn't right.
"Well! And you say you don't like the Homelander! That's exactly who you're describing!" Darcy looked like she'd just caught Jane Foster red-handed.
She made a big fuss, excited as if she'd stumbled onto some earth-shattering secret.
"No… you've got it wrong."
Jane Foster quickly denied it.
She didn't see herself ever liking some bad boy… Yeah, that's it. It's just that her partner criteria happened to overlap a little with the Homelander.
"I heard the Homelander has a whole harem in his film studio." Jane Foster spoke with conviction, repeating the gossip she'd read on a forum. For scientists, any newly emerged extraordinary being in the world was a point of fascination.
"I know, I know. People online have posted their photos—they're all stunning." Darcy clearly browsed those same forums.
"So there's no way I'd ever like the Homelander. Never. I want my partner to love me wholeheartedly too."
Jane Foster stressed this again, very seriously.
"Pfft~"
Darcy gave her a doubtful look. "Have you ever seen a rich guy without a bunch of mistresses? At least the Homelander doesn't sneak around. If he wanted, I'd even serve tea to the other girls."
Darcy's face lit up, dreamy and starry-eyed.
"Ahem, ahem. Weren't you two just saying the Homelander can't… you know… with Earth girls?" Dr. Erik Selvig coughed from the side.
He clearly couldn't join in on this kind of talk, but he still tried to say something to ease the awkwardness he felt standing there.
"Huh?"
Darcy suddenly didn't know how to respond.
The air grew quiet.
"Let's talk about the astronomical phenomenon we discovered this time."
Thankfully, Jane stepped in just in time, pulling the topic back to their research. The three of them once again focused on the purpose of their trip.
At the campsite, under the blazing bonfire.
The group of scientists finally started doing what scientists were supposed to do.
How to put it…
By the normal historical timeline, they should have already encountered Thor, the God of Thunder. But clearly, something had changed.
Jane and the others had missed their chance to witness the extraordinary world.
…
Herman soared across the sky, carried by Gungnir.
It was a sudden idea.
He had turned this weapon—which, once thrown, would never miss its target—into a tool for finding people. No matter the distance, it would always strike its mark. Wasn't that perfect for pinpointing someone's location?
Odin probably never imagined that after giving Gungnir to Herman, the first target it would seek out was his most beloved eldest son.
"...A nightclub?"
Herman hadn't expected Gungnir to guide him into the city, much less lock onto the biggest nightclub there.
"Never thought that I'd fall in love, love, love~" Even from high above, Herman could hear the pounding music from inside.
It was deafening.
Gungnir dropped from the sky, tearing straight through the reinforced concrete roof and plunging into the very heart of the dance floor.
"Handsome guy! Dance! Dance!"
"Hahaha! Look at those muscles!"
"I'll give you five bucks! Let me touch!"
...
Below the dance floor, crowds of men and women shouted wildly. Most were frenzied women, with the rest being men of… unusual tastes.
On the stage.
A group of male strippers moved to the blasting beat. Among them, the most muscular figure danced awkwardly, his movements stiff and clumsy.
Even his expression looked forced and uncomfortable. Yet, with his rugged looks and perfectly proportioned muscles, he was still the one the crowd cheered for the loudest.
"Boom!"
A heavy rumble came from above.
But with the music blaring, most people didn't notice. Only the rugged stripper seemed to sense something, frowning as he glanced upward.
"Keep dancing! I've got plenty of cash!"
A heavily made-up woman tossed a stack of one-dollar bills at his feet, snapping the rugged man's attention back.
"Yes, yes!"
He forced a smile and twisted his body again—at that moment, only the heavens knew how humiliated he truly felt.
'I, the Prince of Asgard! The future King! The God of Thunder, feared across the Nine Realms! And now I've fallen so low I have to entertain women?'
Yes.
This stripper was none other than Odin's son, the one whose name had been hailed across Asgard since birth.
The God of Thunder.
Thor.
'Still flat as ever! A woman with nothing to offer!' Thor raged inwardly, but to the women throwing money at him, he could only force another smile.
"Rumble—"
This time, Thor knew he hadn't misheard.
Something was happening above.
He looked up again... and almost at the same instant, the nightclub ceiling exploded in a thunderous blast.
Concrete shattered and rained down.
Debris smashed into both the strippers and the audience, sending the crowd into terrified screams. Thor on stage didn't even have time to react—his face was struck by falling rubble, his eyes still wide in shock.
"What did I just see!?"
Thor's mind screamed in horror.
Through the broken ceiling, a familiar white light streaked toward him.
Thor instantly recognized it as his father's weapon—Gungnir.
"Father's trying to kill me!?"
In that moment, terror twisted across his face. Before he could think further, Gungnir, radiating killing intent, was already upon him.
"No!"
Thor knew all too well the devastating power of Odin's spear.
Fear overwhelmed him.
But now, trapped in a mortal body, he couldn't move. He could only watch as Gungnir closed in, unstoppable.
As the spear neared his chest, Thor shut his eyes in despair. He couldn't believe his father would actually hurl it at him.
...
"Did I disappoint him too much?"
"Or did I bring shame upon Asgard by dancing in Midgard?"
"But… but even the God of Thunder needs to eat!"
A wave of sorrow swept over Thor. He recalled the days after his exile to Midgard, when he wandered the city streets, starving and freezing.
Stripped of his divine power, Thor was nothing more than a strong mortal.
He felt hunger.
He felt cold.
In this unfamiliar Midgard city, he found nothing to fill his stomach. Many times, Thor revealed his identity to food vendors.
"I am the Prince of Asgard, the God of Thunder. Give me just a little food, and when I return to Asgard, I will reward you with riches beyond measure."
Each time, Thor believed he spoke with sincerity. He was certain he would keep his promise, showering those who helped him with endless treasures once he returned to Asgard. But every time, he was driven away from the food shops.
With no other choice, Thor resorted to stealing... To this day, he regretted that reckless decision. Ignorant of Midgard's traps, he broke into a shop at night and triggered a piercing alarm.
He panicked.
Terrified, Thor grabbed food and fled, chased for more than ten kilometers by Midgard guards.
"Shoot him!"
"But he's white!"
...
Thor never understood why those guards ultimately let him go. All he knew was that even after devouring the food, his stomach still growled with hunger.
Steal again?
He couldn't run anymore... As Asgard's crown prince, Thor felt ashamed of his theft. Lost and uncertain, he encountered a man.
It was the owner of this banquet hall. The man instantly took a liking to his physique and promised Thor generous rewards.
When Thor heard he was expected to dance for others, he immediately refused with stern indignation—How could the Crown Prince of Asgard endure such humiliation?
"Perfect! That's exactly the vibe we need! Noble flair! The ladies will love it!" The man wasn't the least bit deterred.
Instead, he offered Thor even better terms. Forced by circumstance—and tempted by the promise of free beer—Thor gave in.
And so…
Thor became a stripper. Every moment weighed on him with shame, every moment felt like a degradation of his honor.
Yet, it was precisely this air of reluctant nobility that made him wildly popular in the club, earning him endless tips each night. Looking back on his fall from grace,
Thor began to understand why Gungnir had been sent toward him. The crown prince, sinking into depravity of his own accord—of course the All-Father would want to cleanse his house.
"I… I never wanted this!"
Thor let out a bitter sigh within.
Suddenly, he realized something was wrong. At Gungnir's speed, he should already have been pierced through and nailed to the wall.
"What's going on?"
Thor opened his eyes in shock and disbelief—only to see the tip of Gungnir stopped just inches from his eye.
A powerful hand.
It gripped the spear at its midpoint—someone had halted its inevitable strike at the very last moment!