"My God!?"
"What just happened?!"
"Jovian stopped Tom's punch with his middle finger?"
Everyone's eyes went wide. Nobody could believe what they were seeing.
"That's it?"
Jovian smiled slightly at Tom. He opened his palm, gently wrapped his hand around Tom's fist, and then applied a little pressure.
"Aaaah!!"
Tom screamed as the force crushed down on his hand. Sweat beaded across his forehead. The pressure on his fist felt like two hydraulic presses grinding from above and below at the same time—like his fingers were about to shatter.
Before Tom could even react, a big hand suddenly landed on his shoulder.
In an instant, Tom was forced down onto his knees, his face twisting in pain.
"Listen, Tom. I don't want to compete with you for some bullshit club tryout or contract!"
"If you want it, go get it yourself!"
"And also… clean up that pile of sand for me."
Jovian stared at him, deadly serious—his eyes cold and merciless.
"Now tell me. Do you understand?"
Jovian demanded an answer.
"Y-yeah!"
Tom nodded over and over, shrinking in on himself. He was terrified. He couldn't believe a human could have that kind of strength. Jovian looked like some kind of Superman.
"Good."
"Now I'm leaving."
Jovian smiled. He lightly patted Tom's cheek, straightened up, and looked over at the group of boxing hobbyists.
"Anything else you all need from me?"
He asked with a warm, winter-melting smile, like a soft spring breeze.
"N-no…"
"Nope!"
"Have a good night, sir…"
Feeling that smile, and each hiding their own motives, the people who'd been eyeing that club contract all took a half-step back.
"Heh."
Jovian ignored them. A bunch of guys already past their prime, still chasing a contract they couldn't earn. He changed in the locker room, put on his headphones, and walked out of the gym.
He didn't need friends there. He'd always trained alone.
Under dim streetlights, Jovian headed home.
When he reached the front door and saw the bright glow from inside, he took a deep breath. The next second, he strode forward and shoved the door open.
"Hey!"
"Mom, Dad!"
"Guess what—I finally got my powers!"
"I did it!"
Inside the house, his twin brother Mark—nearly a full head shorter than him—was practically bouncing as he bragged to their parents.
Ding-dong—
At the sound of the door chime, everyone turned.
"Mom. Dad. And Mark…"
Jovian smiled as he greeted them.
"Jovian!"
Mark's face lit up instantly. His eyes went wide—he couldn't wait to show off his powers to the brother who'd always been better than him at everything.
"Mark, did something fun happen today? You look way too excited."
Jovian gave him a helpless little smile. Honestly, he didn't even need to ask—he already knew why Mark was so hyped. Probably because earlier at work Mark had tossed a trash bag so high it nearly smacked into a plane coming in to land.
"Jovian, you know what? Today I—"
Mark started up immediately, thrilled.
"Mom, I'm hungry. What're we having?"
Before Mark could finish his bragging, Jovian turned his head first and asked their mother—a fit, high-powered career woman who still looked slim despite raising two kids.
"Tonight I made your favorite: homemade mac and cheese."
"You just got back from training—are you starving?"
Deborah "Debbie" Grayson smiled.
"Hey! Jovian, you're supposed to listen to me—" Mark's face darkened for a second when Jovian cut him off, but the moment he heard mac and cheese, he got excited again. "Yes! Mom, hurry up and serve it—I can't wait!"
"Yeah, I'm wiped. You know my training volume—it's basically pro level. But… I might not be going back to the boxing gym anymore."
Jovian sat down and spoke casually, like it was nothing.
"Why?"
"Were those guys messing with you again?!"
"I'll go have a talk with them!"
Nolan's expression changed immediately. He frowned, visibly irritated. He couldn't stand the idea of his child—someone with Viltrumite blood—getting pushed around by people on this backwater planet.
"Honey…"
Debbie shot Nolan a look. She knew her husband too well—his idea of "a talk" usually wasn't a talk at all. Lately, Nolan had been obsessed with a book called The Federalist (The Fist-alist) Papers. He'd started insisting the Founding Father behind it—Alexander Hamilton, always hustling up and down the states—might've been a Viltrumite predecessor, a natural-born powerhouse. Otherwise, how could anyone write something with that much depth?
"Okay, okay."
Nolan got the warning and immediately reined himself in.
"Jovian. Tell me what happened."
He asked seriously.
"What happened…"
Jovian chuckled. He deliberately played it up, then glanced at Mark, who'd gone quiet.
"Mark. Hit me."
Jovian crooked a finger at him.
"Man, you've gotta be crazy if you want me to hit you."
"You still don't get it—I'm not the old me anymore!"
"I just awakened my powers!"
"I'm the same as Dad now!"
Mark froze for a second, then shook his head hard.
Everything was different now.
He wasn't the old Mark.
He felt like a Saiyan from Dragon Ball—like he'd powered up and come back stronger than ever.
A hundred million power level strong.
He was a monster, okay?!
"It's fine. I know you got powers. Just swing—hit me as hard as you can."
Jovian kept his trademark do-gooder smile.
"Jovian… don't tell me…"
Mark blinked, and it clicked.
He wasn't stupid.
If Jovian already knew Mark had powers and still told him to punch, then there was only one explanation—
Jovian had awakened too.