A few minutes later…
Stillwell walked into The Seven's conference room with a cleaning crew that clearly wasn't seeing anything new today.
"You killed her?!"
Stillwell stared, eyes wide, at Stormfront's body on the floor. The most important part of a human body was gone, leaving something straight out of the Headless Horseman… except the corpse didn't seem completely dead. It was still twitching faintly.
"Her cells are absurdly strong—packed with powerful healing, and her metabolism isn't like a normal person's. That's an extremely rare ability. I want the company to study it properly and, ideally, make medicine that actually helps the world," Jovian said calmly, hands behind his back, looking down at the headless "Horseman."
Right then, as Jovian looked at that Nazi bitch on the floor and shook his head, a stupid word popped into his mind—Aurora-sweetie.
For disgusting trash like this, nothing makes them sound more "cute" than slapping some cutesy nickname on them. A heartfelt salute to the internet's original cringe pioneers.
"Pull every file on her. Dig as deep as you can—deeper. Check every place she's ever stayed, one by one. She's nowhere near as 'simple' as she looks. Once we dig it all up, I'm sure Ms. Stormfront's past is going to give our plan a nice little surprise… maybe even a breakthrough."
After the little joke, Jovian's tone went cold as he addressed Stillwell.
"Sure. Of course," Stillwell answered immediately. "Mr. Edgar told me to support you completely."
Saying she had no resentment would be a lie. She'd practically given her whole life to the company—yet now she was being told to play assistant to a lunatic who hadn't even been here that long. And the worst part? This lunatic had the strongest power on Earth and killed without blinking.
God only knew how helpless, furious, and terrified she felt every time she had to stand in front of Jovian.
"Then what are you waiting for?" Jovian asked.
"Fine. I'll handle it right away…" Stillwell forced her anger down, even though his arrogant tone made her want to grind her teeth.
"Hm."
Jovian could feel her resistance, but he didn't care. Whether Stillwell liked him or hated him didn't matter—as long as she didn't slow down his plan.
Vought's efficiency really was impressive. After Jovian sent Stillwell to work, only a few hours passed before he got exactly what he wanted…
Compound V that adults could use.
"You were right," Stillwell said, holding the documents as she stood in front of him. Any trace of defiance was gone now.
Reality had proven Jovian correct. He was like a prophet—like he'd seen it all in advance.
For a moment, Stillwell genuinely wondered if Jovian had some kind of precognition. And if he did…
She swallowed every emotion and made a decision: from today on, she would work steadily and obediently for Jovian—until he became President.
"Good," Jovian said, smiling slightly as he looked at the blue vial in Stillwell's hand. "Then it's time to begin our great work."
That afternoon, Vought officially announced that Jovian—the Freeman—was running for President of the United States.
The moment the news hit, the entire country went insane.
Every politician watching the election closely turned pale as they saw the Freeman floating in the air, smiling for cameras. They all felt the same thing: danger. They knew the Freeman would be their biggest threat in the race.
"My friends—my fellow Americans. After thinking long and hard, I've decided I won't stay silent anymore. I'm stepping forward."
"This country needs someone to carry the banner. Someone to protect the people—wipe out robbery, shootings, every kind of crime, clean and simple. This country needs someone to stand up and become the people's guardian."
"And me? I can be that guardian."
"As long as I'm here, all evil will disappear. When you're threatened by darkness, look up at the sky—your President will protect you. Every last thing."
Jovian spoke passionately into the TV cameras, shaping himself into more than a man—into a symbol.
His approval rating skyrocketed. People shifted their votes to him in waves. Compared to politicians who talked endlessly and never delivered, they trusted someone who was a hero both on screen and in real life.
But even as Jovian seemed to gain everyone's support—and surged far ahead—his opponents didn't give up. They flooded the internet with rumors meant to poison public opinion.
The most damaging one was this:
What if Jovian was another Homelander—smiling on the outside, a monster underneath?
When Homelander snapped, the Freeman could oppose him. But if the Freeman ever snapped… what could oppose him?
The only thing that could stop the Freeman would be nuclear weapons. And if the Freeman held the nuclear trigger, then nothing on Earth could restrain him. So he must never be allowed to win. He can be a hero. He can be America's symbol. But he can't be America's President.
The article was short, sharp, and it detonated online. Countless people agreed: if the Freeman went insane, how would they fight back? With a gun? Don't be ridiculous—bullets probably couldn't even get through his eyelids.
For a while, Jovian's approval rating dropped fast. At the same time, his enemies seized the moment—giving speeches, pouring money into a dedicated anti-supe organization. Most of its members were people who'd been hurt by supes… and people who saw an opportunity. The group expanded rapidly.
Meanwhile, the candidates kept up a "positive" message in public. Their speeches were all basically the same: they supported the Freeman's actions and admired his "American" character—but insisted the highest office should be held by an ordinary person.
The speeches weren't impressive, but they worked. Their numbers climbed.
"Jovian, your approval rating is dropping like a rock," Ashley said, rubbing her forehead as she stared at her laptop. "Why did you tell me to write an article specifically targeting you?"
Yes—the article that was dragging his numbers down was written by Ashley, posted by Ashley, and orchestrated entirely by Jovian.
"Because even if we didn't do it, someone else would've eventually," Jovian said evenly, patting her shoulder. "A qualified person in power has to control everything—including their own weaknesses."
"You're part of my behind-the-scenes team. Your job is to find my weaknesses—and then, based on those weaknesses, figure out how to break them."
"So what do we do now?" Ashley blurted, panicked. "We're at the lowest point we've been at!"
She understood the logic. That didn't mean she had any clue how to recover.
"Prepare a press conference," Jovian said, unbothered. "If I told you to write that article, it means I already have an answer."
"Okay."
Ashley nodded quickly. As long as Jovian had a solution. She knew Mr. Edgar and Stillwell were backing him completely—which meant Vought and Jovian were on the same boat now. A massive gamble: win, and Vought controlled America. Lose, and Vought would be crippled for decades.
With Ashley organizing, it took only half an hour to gather the most famous reporters in the country.
"Mr. Freeman—what's your response to that article going viral online?" one reporter asked bluntly, going straight for the throat.
"I read it," Jovian said, smiling brightly. "It's genuinely well written. Good word choice, smooth language. The author's craft is solid. I'm impressed."
"Uh…"
"I mean—how do you view the impact it's having on your campaign?" the reporter tried again, sounding tired already.
"The impact on me?" Jovian repeated. "I don't think that article can affect me at all."
He answered with the same slippery calm.
The reporters exchanged looks. They reached the same conclusion at once: push harder, or they'd get nothing.
"Mr. Freeman," another reporter asked, voice trembling, "the article says that if one day you went insane like Homelander, we'd have no way to stop you except nuclear weapons. What do you think about that?"
"Fair point," Jovian said. "Want to test it?"
His eyes flared crimson.
A wave of chaos rippled through the crowd.
"Hahaha," Jovian laughed softly. "I'm kidding."
Then he sighed, shifting into a more somber tone.
"Yeah—no one can guarantee they'll never have a day where they snap."
"Before Homelander revealed his true face, we all thought he was a good man."
"But when he finally showed what he really was… a hundred good people died."
"I truly don't want to ever see a day like that again…"
He covered part of his face, performing grief.
"We know," someone in the press murmured, eyes dark with memory. "We don't want to see it either." He'd lost colleagues and friends in that nightmare.
"If something like that happens again," Jovian continued loudly, "I mean—if a supe goes insane again—what do we do?"
"They ignore bullets. They run faster than cars. Some of them even fly. Are we supposed to do nothing but kneel and pray?"
What he was saying now was word-for-word the same rhetoric the anti-supe movement had been using.
"Fuck! He stole my speech!" the leader of the anti-supe organization shouted at his TV, furious.
"No," Jovian said, cutting through. "We don't just kneel and pray. We can fight back—an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth!"
"After the Homelander incident, I partnered with my company—Vought. I wanted to develop a supe serum, something that could let every decent person become a supe. Maybe my obsession moved God… because after endless effort, we finally developed this serum using my own blood."
"Compound V."
"It can turn ordinary people into superpowered individuals."
As he spoke, he pulled out a vial of blue Compound V.
"What the fuck…"
The reporters stared, stunned. Their brains short-circuited. They'd imagined a hundred ways he might respond, but none of them included him holding up a literal "become a supe" injection and practically saying: Come on, baby—the next era belongs to supes.
"When I become President of the United States, I'll have Congress deliver a vial of Compound V to every household—every person."
"My friends, drop the guns. They can't protect you anymore."
"This is the age of supes. The age of the future. The age that belongs to you."
"So tell me—can the President of the future really still be an ordinary person?"
Jovian pointed straight at the camera—at everyone watching.
"What the fuck…"
"We can become supes?!"
"I could fly?!"
The anti-supe leader stared at the TV for five seconds, then announced his resignation. Just like that, the anti-supe organization dissolved on the spot.
At the exact same time, a pro-supe organization was formed.
Same people. Different banner.
"Anyway—"
Before the reporters could ask another question, Jovian shot upward, lifting off into the sky.
The reporters stood there with their mouths open, still trying to process what they'd just heard.
Everyone on Earth could become a fucking supe?
That was beyond explosive.
In an instant, Jovian's approval rating went nuclear.
People tried to block him. It didn't matter.
They didn't understand what it meant for an ordinary person to want power badly enough.
Some would rather die than stay ordinary.
They'd become supes… and then die.
The final outcome was already decided: Jovian won by an overwhelming landslide.
Still, sometimes you couldn't skip the tedious, pointless formalities—even if Jovian thought they were shit.
Several candidates and Jovian gathered in a room. Soon they were supposed to do a "final debate," a last round of speeches.
They knew it barely mattered now, but it was their last shot—so they clung to it.
"Alright," Jovian said, glancing at the time. "I'm in a hurry, so I'll keep this short."
"Go ahead," the candidates said through tight smiles.
"Cameraman."
Jovian gave a small nod and a look.
"Got it~"
The cameraman's eyes sparked with electricity. Instantly, every camera in the room began to hiss and glitch, the footage breaking into heavy mosaic blur.
"Hm?"
The candidates stared at the crackling equipment, brows tightening. A bad feeling rose in every gut.
"My dear candidates," Jovian said smoothly, "I suggest that when the show starts, you announce your withdrawal from this election."
"This term—and every term after it—will be mine."
"Now tell me…"
"Who agrees? Who disagrees?"
His eyes ignited again—crimson, scorching—paired with a vicious smile.
The candidates felt the temperature climbing. They looked into those burning red eyes and knew one thing with absolute certainty:
If they said no—even hesitated—they'd die in this room.
"I agree!" the first man said, a middle-aged candidate who didn't feel like dying today.
"I agree too!"
"Me as well!"
"Same…"
Once the first one caved, the others followed quickly, accepting Jovian's "suggestion" and choosing to drop out.
"Good."
Jovian looked over them, satisfied.
"Just now, you made the greatest—and smartest—decision of your lives."
"And for that, I'll provide each of you with one vial of the purest Compound V."
He snapped his fingers.
Staff members walked in carrying sleek cases. In front of everyone, they opened them and laid out the vials—blue gold—one set in front of each candidate.
Silence.
The candidates stared at the tempting bottles. Saying they weren't tempted would be a lie. One vial meant becoming a supe.
But if they accepted and injected it, they'd lose any chance of a comeback. No one would vote for hypocrites who'd just spent weeks saying supes were dangerous… only to become supes themselves the next second.
They understood it clearly:
Jovian was forcing them to choose.
"Thank you for the Freeman's generosity," the first candidate said, decisive. He picked up the vial and injected it into his arm.
"Ah…"
The others, still hesitating, quickly followed. One by one, they grabbed the vials and did the same.
"Well done," Jovian said with a small nod, hands behind his back.
Training a dog meant this: after the whip, give candy immediately.
Jovian's road ahead was stable now.
And the experiment had officially begun.