Vought Tower, the eighty-second floor—the level reserved for the board of directors…
A man stood with his hands behind his back, facing the wall of glass, quietly looking down at the streets below. He savored the sensation of standing high above everyone else—of occupying the peak of power and watching the world crawl beneath him.
"Mr. Edgar…"
As the man enjoyed himself, an older woman—still tall and striking—pushed the door open and walked in.
"Stillwell."
"I need an explanation. That man—Jovian Grayson—isn't in our Compound V usage records."
"In other words, despite me repeatedly emphasizing secure storage, Compound V still leaked out of this company in large quantities."
The man didn't turn around. He kept his hands clasped behind his back as if the woman didn't exist. But his raspy voice dropped the temperature of the entire office by several degrees.
In his eyes, every single person with powers in this world was created with Compound V. If someone existed without a record, there were only two possibilities: they stole Compound V from Vought… or someone inside Vought was selling it under the table.
"Mr. Edgar, this is an accident. We've always maintained strict control over Compound V. People outside the approved channels shouldn't be able to access it at all."
"Which means Mr. Grayson is likely connected to one of our sanctioned test groups… or possibly he changed his name and our files weren't updated in time…"
Sweat poured down Stillwell's forehead as she scrambled for explanations. No matter what, she couldn't allow Edgar to feel disappointed in her—couldn't let him question her competence.
"None of that matters."
"I will not allow this situation to happen again."
Edgar rapped his knuckles against the desk beside him, each strike broadcasting his irritation.
"I understand. There won't be a next time."
Stillwell immediately nodded, swearing it wouldn't happen again.
"Good."
"Now tell me Jovian's commercial value."
"That bastard walked in and got one of my cash cows killed. If he can't generate profits worthy of his name, I won't let this go."
Edgar was furious. It was the first time he'd ever seen someone dare to kill in his building—especially someone who'd been one of his top earners. If he couldn't squeeze even more money out of Jovian than he'd lost, then this deal was a loss.
And Edgar didn't tolerate losses.
"He's perfect. Perfect across the board—looks, abilities, and the way he carries himself."
"And most importantly, he's marketable in a way we can scale."
"We can use him to make more money than ever."
"Our next movie won't just dominate the U.S. box office—it'll crush the global market too."
"That means I can bring in double."
"Let me repeat that: double."
Stillwell was practically vibrating with excitement as she stared at the numbers in her hands and spoke.
"Fuck. That's the best news I've heard in years."
"Clean up what's left of Translucent, then stage a retirement event. Make it pretty."
Once Edgar confirmed Jovian's value, his mood instantly lifted. As for the "cash cow" he'd just mentioned—Translucent—now reduced to mush?
A hero who couldn't make Vought money anymore could go straight into a drain.
"Understood, Mr. Edgar."
"Also… Mr. Edgar. There's a small issue with Mr. Grayson's identity."
Stillwell hesitated, as if she'd remembered something at the last second.
"You handle it. Make it disappear."
"Remember: what I want to see is a perfect Jovian."
Edgar didn't care what was "wrong" with Jovian's identity. He only cared whether it could be cleaned up. A product needed flawless packaging—no defects allowed.
"No problem. I'll deliver the most perfect Jovian possible."
"Then I won't disturb you any further, Mr. Edgar."
Stillwell smiled and backed out of the office.
"Hm."
After she left, Edgar hummed a little tune under his breath.
In his eyes, there was only dollars.
"Move faster!"
"Here—here too! Rinse it again!"
Inside The Seven's hall, cleaning crews worked quickly, scrubbing the bloodstained floor until it gleamed. Their eyes were dead, like machines built for Vought: Vought told them what to do, and they did it—no questions, no curiosity.
"Congratulations, Mr. Grayson. Starting today, you're officially a member of The Seven."
Ashley—finally recovered from witnessing Jovian's brutal solution to the Translucent problem—forced a smile as she spoke.
"Mm."
Jovian remained seated in Homelander's chair, as if he were thinking about something else entirely. When Ashley spoke, he merely nodded once, like acknowledging background noise.
"You don't seem happy?"
Ashley asked carefully, watching him like a person handling a live wire.
"This isn't something to be happy about."
"It's something that was always going to happen."
Jovian answered without hesitation.
"Uh…"
Ashley went quiet, unsure what to say.
"Well, Mr. Grayson… in a moment we'll have the other five members of The Seven come meet you."
"As for Starlight, she's still on her way. Tomorrow, after her public intro event, we'll arrange a proper meeting between the two of you."
Ashley smiled politely as she explained.
"Oh."
Jovian's reply stayed flat and indifferent.
"Then I'll head downstairs…"
Ashley felt irritation rising in her chest. She'd wanted to remind Jovian to get out of the chair—because it was Homelander's seat—but she couldn't be bothered anymore.
Maybe letting this arrogant, self-important bastard learn a painful lesson would be good for him.
"Superhero Idol Project…"
"Turning superheroes into flawless idols."
"A superhero idol running for President of the United States…"
"Isn't that the most 'freedom' thing imaginable?"
Jovian kept thinking, and the more he thought about it, the more this world started to feel like one giant experiment.
If his plan worked here, he could copy it all back into his home world.
"If everything goes smoothly… what would my approval rating look like if I ran for President of the United States?"
Jovian stood up, hands behind his back, watching the traffic crawl past the windows.
If this worked, he could replicate everything in his home world—build his dad, Nolan, into a perfect national heartthrob, manufacture overwhelming public support, and push him into the presidency.
Control Earth perfectly—without hurting Debbie.
Wouldn't that be the ideal outcome?
As for what would happen to this world if Jovian's sudden idea turned everything into chaos?
Fuck. Not his problem.
TN: As a thank you for this first week's Power Stones, I'll be uploading a bunch of chapters today. Thank you so much!