Rayleigh gave the blond man beside him a sideways look.
Does he have to be this cocky?
Curious, he let his Observation Haki unfurl to probe the newcomer's aura—
Rip—
A heartbeat later, Rayleigh's pupils contracted. His body moved on instinct, shifting into a guarded stance.
Terrifying.
Even in his prime, neither Whitebeard nor Garp felt this overwhelming. There wasn't a single opening anywhere on the man's body; every inch of him read like a weapon.
Ronn chuckled. "Relax. Our homelander here is very civil."
Homelander, to be precise.
The first "villain-trait" visitor from another world—
the cape-and-smile hero of The Boys, with a mind twisted like barbed wire.
Also: chronically starved of maternal affection. The bottle at his lips? Pure, fresh milk.
Tohru set a glass down in front of him. "Your drink. Please enjoy."
Homelander nodded, tipped back the bottle to drain the last white drop, then filled his glass. Different world or not, he knew he didn't have to mind the image here. If there were a dairy next door, he'd probably be in the barn right now.
"Try it," Ronn said. "Yanghe Daqu. If spirits were women, this would be the gentle, poised, full-bodied kind."
Homelander's eyes brightened. He raised the glass and took a sip.
Silky. Soft. Round.
Low proof, but not thin; balanced and satisfying—exactly as advertised.
"Good," he said flatly. "You can keep your life."
Everyone froze.
Tohru halted mid-wipe. Rem and Ram paused with a tray.
Lucoa's heterochromatic eyes slid open.
On the sill, Yoruichi arched her back and unsheathed a set of very sharp opinions.
The door chimed again.
Ding-a-ling…
The Holy Master and his son strode in, still bickering.
"Dear father, one of the… constructs in the warehouse was missing for an hour last night," the Demon Dragon drawled. "Any idea where it wandered off to?"
A "succubus body"—a sorcerer's idle-hands project. Lifelike, pliant, the kind of thing that should never be brought up in public if you value dignity.
The Holy Master went rigid. "I know nothing. Don't ask me!"
They took stools. Rayleigh frowned. "What's a 'succubus body'?"
The Demon Dragon inhaled, ready to detonate Dad's social life—
WHAM.
A massive claw swatted him across the room, the impact cracking the air with a sharp sonic boom. Twin beams lanced from the Holy Master's eyes and hammered his son mid-flight.
"Rebellious whelp. A beating builds character."
He dusted his hands, then nodded respectfully to Ronn. "Boss. The usual."
"Coming right up," Ronn said. "Lucoa will—"
"No need to trouble her. The whelp can carry it." The Holy Master flapped both hands. Lucoa unnerved him far more than any enemy ever had.
Homelander stared, baffled.
Those two monsters are that strong… and yet they're deferential to this bartender?
And that slap—on par with his own.
Also… why can that one shoot lasers too?
His body tensed before his mind caught up.
Muscles locked; blood ran cold.
Something in the air—no, someone—was staring at him.
He turned, stiff as a statue.
All four staff members were watching, eyes faintly red.
When his gaze met Lucoa's, the world dropped ten degrees. His vision tunneled; his limbs felt hollow. It was the kind of pressure that came from a higher rung of existence.
Lucoa's eyes softened to their usual squint. She glided over with several bottles and set them in front of the Holy Master. "Your drinks."
"Thank you," the Holy Master said quickly—voice like rolling thunder, posture like a schoolboy.
"I'm just staff," Lucoa waved it off. "If you bow like that, Ronn will scold me later."
Then she turned those lazy, lethal eyes on Homelander.
"I only recite the sutra once. Next time… I'll perform your last rites."
Homelander nodded dumbly.
He wanted to sneer, to flip a middle finger.
But fear got there first.
"…I apologize," he said, bowing his head. "For what I said. I was… in a bad mood today. Boss, please forgive me."
Lucoa nodded, satisfied, and drifted back to the sofa to resume her strategic slacking.
"It's fine," Ronn said, smiling. "No need to be nervous. Our guests and staff are… friendly."
After that, Rem, Ram, and Tohru returned to work.
Yoruichi curled up again.
Only then did Homelander's joints unclench. Sweat soaked his collar; cold beads slicked his brow. He gulped the liquor down in great mouthfuls, as if to drown the electric sting of humiliation.
"You said you were in a bad mood," Ronn asked gently. "Want to tell me why?"
Homelander's face shadowed over.
He raked both hands through his hair, voice rasping.
"It's my birthday. The people I love… keep leaving."
A ripple of silence passed through the room.
Maybe they shouldn't have scared him. Half-cripple him first, then let Ronn patch him up—that would've been kinder.
He looked like a stray dog in the rain.
Homelander swallowed.
"Earlier today I… did something monumentally stupid with what was left of Stormfront's right hand."
"Not long after, she… took her own life."
"Disfigurement. Paralysis. Maybe she couldn't bear it anymore."
Tohru, Lucoa, Rem, Ram: "...!!"
We should've just put him down on sight.
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