On the street, a car was tearing along at high speed!
Its owner had just pulled off a full-on smash-and-grab.
Off to the side, something even more absurd was unfolding.
Under the bright sun, bursts of gunfire—bang, bang!—kept cracking through the air.
A few men in black suits were sprinting through the street alongside a hulking brute covered in rock-like armor. They were being pinned down by heavy fire, forced to weave between cover.
"Damn it! You can't run with us!"
"Only if you stay behind do we have a chance to get away!"
A blond man in sunglasses shouted at the rock-armored brute.
"Idiots! My job is to protect you. If I stay behind, who's going to protect you then?"
The brute didn't just take the abuse. He frowned and glared at the little runts with pure contempt. If his mission wasn't to keep these scumbags alive, he would've turned them into paste already.
"Enough talking…"
"Get me over that fence. Now."
The suited man spun toward a dead end: a two-meter-tall iron fence blocking their path. He barked the order coldly.
"Don't need you to tell me."
The brute snorted, grabbed two of the suited men—one in each hand like they weighed nothing—then powered forward. With a single leap, he cleared the towering iron fence.
"Oh my God…"
Dangling in the brute's grip while soaring through the air felt more intense than any theme-park ride. Add the hail of bullets behind them, and it was basically extreme sports. Someone should've asked Red Bull if they wanted to sponsor it.
Just as the suited men and the brute thought they were safe, a boy came diving down from above.
He had on a red sweater, blue pants, and a yellow scarf wrapped over his face. The whole look screamed "try-hard," like a walking joke.
He dove straight at the rock-armored brute.
"Holy—"
The brute's eyes widened. He couldn't believe his luck. The second he got out, he ran into a superhero.
BOOM!
A thunderous impact—dust exploded upward, the air buckled, and the shockwave kicked grit into every corner.
The brute got smashed backward, slammed through a metal gate behind him, and went flying.
"Guh…"
He hit the ground, then sprang up fast. One look at the two suited men—now barely hanging on—told him everything.
This job was blown.
"I don't know who you are," the brute growled, charging the masked kid, "but you messed with the wrong people!"
"Pretty rough…"
Up in the sky, Jovian watched it all quietly.
He saw the masked kid get rocked by a brutal combo—his head snapping around, his body stumbling. That kid was Jovian's younger brother, Mark. Mark had just awakened his Viltrumite strength, but he had zero fighting skill—power with no technique. He didn't know how to counter, how to respond, how to control the exchange. He got battered badly.
In the end, Mark still won by brute force—using high-speed flight and raw impact to smash the brute away hard enough to end it.
"You're the one who messed with the wrong person!"
Mark, still masked, stared down at the guy he'd beaten. The rock armor had cracked apart, revealing the huge Black man underneath. Mark's anger had completely drained away, replaced by a swelling, glowing sense of achievement.
He wanted his dad and his brother to see this. He needed to tell them—he'd done it. He'd beaten someone dangerous. He was a superhero.
"Mark… are you cosplaying as a superhero?"
"You look ridiculous."
Jovian descended slowly, arms crossed, and smirked at him.
"Hey! Jovian, did you see that!? I just took down a super-criminal!"
"I'm a superhero!"
Mark lit up the moment he saw Jovian. He'd been disappointed no one was around to witness his big moment—Jovian showing up was perfect. He couldn't wait to show off and feed his ego.
"…."
Jovian glanced at the flipped car Mark had rammed, then at the half-wrecked street, and gave a slow nod.
"Nice work."
If Mark's goal was to destroy public property, then yeah—he'd done an incredible job. Mission accomplished.
"No superhero dresses like a circus clown."
"Come with me. You both need proper suits."
While the two brothers were talking, a man with two neat little mustaches—looking uncannily like the grumpy newspaper boss from Spider-Man—floated down from the sky.
It was Omni-Man, the most powerful man on this planet.
He looked at his two sons and spoke calmly.
"I've been waiting forever."
Jovian's eyes sharpened. He'd needed something tough enough for a long time.
"Suits…"
Mark was just as eager.
The three of them didn't waste another second. They shot into the sky together.
As for the wreckage below—someone else would clean it up.
In the suburbs…
Inside a tailor shop, an elderly man with graying hair was working on the latest superhero costumes.
BOOM!
He heard the sonic blast outside and finally set the fabric down.
"Long time no see, Art."
Omni-Man walked in and greeted the shop owner.
"It has been a long time."
The tailor smiled warmly.
"Hello."
Jovian followed behind Omni-Man with his hands behind his back, wearing an easy, friendly smile.
"Whoa—this is amazing…"
Compared to the composed Jovian, Mark was like a kid who'd stumbled into the greatest toy store on Earth. He zipped around the room, staring at the suits on display with wide-eyed awe.
"These are your kids?"
The tailor looked between Jovian and Mark, then turned to Omni-Man.
"Yes."
Nolan nodded, then pointed back at Jovian.
"My oldest—Jovian."
"And my youngest—Mark."
Then Nolan looked toward Mark, who was still sprinting around the shop.
"Nice to meet you both."
"My name is Art Rosenbaum—just call me Art."
"I've known your father for decades. I was his first friend on Earth. I used to hope I'd grow old side by side with Nolan…"
"But later I learned something."
"The great Omni-Man doesn't grow old."
Art introduced himself and explained his history with Nolan.
"We Viltrumites don't age for thousands of years—so we can keep fighting."
Nolan sounded a little smug. As a proud Viltrumite warrior, he could live for millennia without weakening, staying at peak combat condition the whole time.