Chapter 36: THE RECLASSIFICATION
The leaked memo hit the conspiracy boards at 2 AM on Saturday morning.
"RE: Subject Vaughn, Harley — Classification Update
Following the incident at Bryant Park (see attached footage analysis), Subject Vaughn demonstrates enhanced durability and strength consistent with Compound V exposure. Physical performance metrics exceed baseline human parameters by 40-60% across measured categories.
RECOMMENDATION: Reclassify from civilian to active Supe-adjacent. Assign Seven liaison for assessment. Priority: IMMEDIATE."
I read it three times, sitting in my apartment with the glow of my laptop screen the only light.
"Supe-adjacent." The language was clinical, corporate, the kind of phrasing that reduced human beings to asset categories. But the meaning was clear: Vought no longer considered me a PR problem to be managed. They considered me a threat to be evaluated.
And the evaluation would come from The Seven.
Butcher's voice on the encrypted line was almost gleeful.
"Seven liaison for assessment? That's bloody brilliant, mate. You get face time with the enemy AND the biggest possible audience for your little belief trick. Can't buy that kind of exposure."
"Or they send someone who kills me before any cameras roll."
"Always a risk. But think about it—they're not sending Homelander. Even Vought isn't that stupid. They'll send someone presentable. Someone who can smile for the press while they figure out what you are. That means Starlight, maybe A-Train if he's cleaned up enough for public duty."
I knew what he was thinking. I knew it because I'd been thinking the same thing—and hating myself for it.
"Starlight would be an opportunity," I said carefully.
"Starlight would be a fucking goldmine. The public's sweetheart meets the people's champion? That footage writes itself. And if she's actually the naive idealist some people think she is, maybe you can flip her." A pause. "Or at least make her doubt enough to be useful later."
"And if it's not Starlight?"
"Then you improvise. You're good at that."
MM called an hour later, and his perspective was considerably less optimistic.
"This is a trap," he said flatly. "Vought doesn't do assessments. They do acquisitions or eliminations. If they can't buy you, they'll find a way to remove you—and sending a Seven member gives them cover for either option."
"I know."
"Then why are you smiling? I can hear you smiling."
I wasn't smiling. But I understood why he thought I might be.
"Because the trap only works if I play by their rules. The assessment has to happen in public—that's the whole point of a 'liaison,' it's a PR move as much as an intelligence-gathering operation. In public, with cameras, with witnesses, Performance Amplification protects me. A Seven member can't attack without consequences."
"Homelander can do whatever the hell he wants."
"Homelander isn't doing PR assessments. He's too valuable—and too volatile—for delicate work."
MM was quiet for a long moment.
"You're betting your life on Vought acting rationally."
"I'm betting my life on Vought acting in their corporate interests. There's a difference."
Hughie's analysis came through at noon—a detailed breakdown of the post-Groundhawk landscape that I read while eating a sandwich that tasted like cardboard.
The footage had exploded. Fifteen million views in forty-eight hours across all platforms. #MythmakerVsGroundhawk had trended globally. Nadia's article had been cited by every major outlet as the context for the confrontation. Groundhawk himself was in Vought custody, "on leave pending internal review," which was corporate code for "career over."
[POST-CONFRONTATION ANALYSIS]
[BP: 7,523 | LS: 821]
[BELIEF DISTRIBUTION: ADMIRATION 44% | CURIOSITY 31% | FEAR 12% | SKEPTICISM 8% | HATRED 5%]
The skepticism percentage had dropped again. Hard to doubt someone's abilities when there was footage of them taking a Supe punch and walking away. The fear percentage had risen—probably the Vought sympathizers realizing that the Mythmaker wasn't just a media phenomenon anymore.
But it was the system's other notification that caught my attention.
[PHASE 2 (FOUNDATION) REQUIREMENTS: LS 500+ (MET) | ONE STAT AT RANK 1 (PENDING)]
[FORTITUDE SUB-VALUE: 88 | RANK 1 THRESHOLD: 100]
[NOTE: BP CAN BE INVESTED TO ACCELERATE STAT GROWTH]
Phase 2. The next tier of the system's architecture. Pillar Levels up to 3, Tier 1 artifacts, expanded customization options. I'd been chasing crystallization for weeks, but this was different—this was systematic advancement, the kind of structured progression that turned temporary advantages into permanent capabilities.
I checked my BP. Over 7,400 after the Groundhawk surge.
"One hundred BP would push Fortitude to Rank 1," I calculated. "That's barely a dent in the total. And Phase 2 unlocks... everything."
I made the investment.
The sensation was different from crystallization.
Crystallization felt like gaining something external—a power being added, a capability being installed. This felt like optimization. Like every cell in my body was being calibrated to a higher standard, tuned for resilience in ways that went deeper than any single ability.
[BP INVESTED: 100]
[FORTITUDE SUB-VALUE: 88 → 100]
[FORTITUDE RANK: 0 → 1]
[PHASE 2 (FOUNDATION): UNLOCKED]
[NEW FEATURES: PILLAR LEVELS 1-3 | TIER 1 ARTIFACT CATALOG | EXPANDED STAT CUSTOMIZATION]
I felt the Rank 1 shift physically—a settling in my bones, a density that hadn't been there before. Not superhuman, but optimized human. Peak human durability as a baseline, with my Rank 0 crystallized power layered on top.
"I'm starting to become something," I thought. "Something that wasn't possible six weeks ago."
The artifact catalog opened at my mental request—a scrolling list of Tier 1 options that made my eyes widen despite everything.
REINFORCED GLOVES (TIER 1): Enhanced striking surface, impact distribution. Cost: 200 BP + 50 LS.
SENSOR MESH (TIER 1): Environmental awareness enhancement, threat detection. Cost: 250 BP + 75 LS.
SHIFTING JACKET (TIER 1): Appearance alteration, limited disguise capability. Cost: 300 BP + 100 LS.
RESONANCE ANCHOR (TIER 1): Stabilizes Narrative Field, reduces Belief Decay. Cost: 400 BP + 150 LS.
Each item was a tool. Each tool was a down payment on survival. For one giddy moment—just one—I felt like a kid in a toy store, scrolling through impossible objects with price tags measured in faith.
"Later," I told myself. "Deal with the assessment first. Then you can go shopping."
Ashley Barrett's text arrived at 4 PM.
Ashley Barrett: Starlight will be at your charity event on Saturday. Smile for the cameras.
I stared at the message. Charity event. The Washington Heights community had been planning something—Mr. Reyes had mentioned it during our last contact, a small gathering to celebrate "the neighborhood's hero." I'd agreed to attend because refusing would have been strange, would have damaged the grassroots narrative I'd built.
But that was before Vought decided to weaponize it.
I typed a reply.
@HarleyVaughn: I don't remember inviting Vought.
Her response came in thirty seconds.
Ashley Barrett: You didn't. But when The Seven wants to meet someone, arrangements get made. Be grateful it's Starlight. She's the nicest option.
"Nicest." I almost laughed. Ashley was warning me, in her own corporate way. Telling me that the alternative to Starlight was someone far less pleasant. Someone who wouldn't smile for cameras and shake hands—someone who would end me and call it a training accident.
I thought about what I knew of Starlight from the show. Annie January. The idealist who'd joined The Seven believing she could make a difference. The woman who'd been disillusioned by Vought's corruption but hadn't given up entirely. The closest thing to a genuine hero in that lineup of corporate mascots and secret monsters.
If anyone from The Seven might be persuaded—might be turned into something other than an enemy—it was her.
"Or," the cynical part of my brain added, "she's the perfect choice because she can destroy you while looking sympathetic. America's sweetheart breaking America's breakout hero would be the PR coup of the decade."
I didn't know which version was correct. But I knew one thing: the confrontation with Groundhawk had been a fight. The assessment with Starlight would be something more dangerous.
A conversation.
I spent the next two days preparing.
Frenchie provided intel on Starlight's known capabilities—flight, light projection, enhanced strength approximately Rank 3 equivalent. She was strong enough to punch through walls and fast enough to catch bullets. In a straight fight, she would annihilate me regardless of Performance Amplification or chemical suppressants.
But a straight fight wasn't the threat.
The threat was the assessment itself—the questions she'd ask, the observations she'd make, the report she'd file with Vought afterward. If she concluded I was a genuine Supe hiding my origins, Vought would double down on acquisition or elimination. If she concluded I was a fraud, they'd expose me and let public opinion do the damage.
The only safe outcome was uncertainty. Make her doubt. Make her wonder. Make her report that Harley Vaughn was something she couldn't quite categorize.
And maybe—just maybe—plant a seed of her own.
Saturday morning arrived with the kind of clear blue sky that felt like mockery.
I dressed in my signature jacket—freshly cleaned, no bloodstains this time—and took the subway to Washington Heights. The community event was scheduled for 11 AM. Starlight would arrive at noon. That gave me an hour to work the crowd, build Performance Amplification, and prepare for the most important conversation of my second life.
Mr. Reyes met me at the park entrance.
"Big crowd today," he said, smiling. "Bigger than expected. Someone called the news."
"I know who," I thought, but I just nodded.
"Thanks for organizing this."
"We didn't organize it for you." His smile softened. "We organized it for us. For the neighborhood that finally has something to celebrate." He clapped my shoulder—the same shoulder that had absorbed a rubber bullet three weeks ago—and led me into the gathering.
Three hundred people. Maybe more. Families with children, elderly couples in folding chairs, teenagers with homemade signs. The Mythmaker Tracker account had promoted the event, and fans had traveled from other boroughs to attend.
[PERFORMANCE CONDITIONS: PENDING]
[DIRECT WITNESSES: 312 | RECORDING DEVICES: 47]
The numbers climbed as I moved through the crowd—shaking hands, signing autographs, posing for photos with kids who looked at me like I was something miraculous. The BP counter ticked upward with every interaction. The Narrative Field thickened with every moment of sustained attention.
At 11:47 AM, the murmurs started.
At 11:52 AM, I saw her descending from the sky.
Starlight landed at the edge of the crowd with the practiced grace of someone who'd done a thousand public appearances. Her costume gleamed in the morning light—white and gold, the colors of Vought's flagship hero, the visual language of manufactured hope.
But her eyes, when they found mine across the crowd, held something that the costume couldn't contain.
Doubt. Curiosity. And underneath both, something that looked almost like recognition.
"She's not here to destroy me," I realized. "She's here to figure out what I am."
The question was whether I could do the same to her.
Get Early Access to New Chapters
Thank you for reading. For those who want to skip the wait, my Patreon is currently 21 chapters ahead of the public sites.
Schedule: 7 new chapters released every 10 days.
Benefit: Gain a significant lead of 7 to 21 chapters depending on your tier.
Support the project and start reading the next arc now: Patreon.com/IsekaiStories
more chapters + every language you asked about — it's all on unwrittenrealm.com
Arabic, Korean, Spanish, Hindi, Russian, and 9 more. completely free.