Did He Also Successfully Join The Seven?

Bam!

Translucent threw a furious punch, his fist connecting—then his expression froze.

The skin was impossibly tough, and even with strength far beyond an ordinary man's, enough to bend steel plates, the blow to the person's head didn't budge it an inch.

No grunt of pain or collapse into unconsciousness as he'd expected. The guy's head didn't even tilt. His fist felt pathetically weak.

Ron glanced casually at the fist near his temple, then looked away.

"Less bite than a mosquito."

He swung a backhand, his upper body showing no sign of twisting or exerting force—just a lazy, casual punch.

Crack!

Like a hammer slamming down, a crisp bone-snap rang out. The diamond-hard skin shattered like thin glass.

Translucent was released, collapsing to his knees with a scream. Blood sprayed from the hand clutching his face. His nose bridge was crushed, flattened nearly flush with his face, tears streaming uncontrollably. He looked utterly pathetic.

"My nose... my nose!..."

The entire bridge was shattered, beyond repair unless he got cosmetic reconstruction.

"What's the fear? With your ability, having a nose or not doesn't change anything."

Looking down at Translucent kneeling before him, Ron smirked, turned, and walked away, tossing out a parting line.

"Now you should know who I am. Hope there's no next time."

"Bastard... I'll get back at you.

I'll find you, make you know who I am!"

Translucent stayed on his knees, watching Ron disappear around the corner at the end of the hall, trembling with pain, growling low with rage and hatred.

He was a member of The Seven, with a status in Vought International like no other. He wasn't some nobody that any small-time punk could push around.

Elsewhere, in the restroom.

"Who do you think you are, you jerk..."

Starlight leaned on the sink, sobbing, her carefully applied makeup for the press conference smeared by tears.

She wanted to say it was her first time too, that she'd never been in a relationship, but Ron hadn't listened to her explanation, walking off impatiently.

Her first intimate moment with a man, and this was the result.

"Wipe that off. Don't let anyone see you looking so pathetic."

Queen Maeve stepped out of one of the stalls, clad in her female battle armor, pretty and sharp-featured. She casually dried her hands and handed Starlight two tissues.

"That's how men are. Once the impulse fades, they toss you away like trash or dodge you like a problem."

She'd heard the whole exchange, her heart utterly unmoved. In fact, she almost wanted to laugh—at every woman who got hurt over a man.

"When I was six, my father abandoned my mother and me, choosing to leave with that heavily made-up bitch. I learned that lesson early."

Maeve sneered, casually dropping her childhood story.

Men couldn't be relied on. Romance between the sexes was just a base trick of hormones.

She turned to leave.

"Maeve—you're Queen Maeve. I'm your fan. When I was a kid, my room was..."

Starlight wiped her tears, steadied her voice, her eyes red-rimmed. She wanted to talk about how she'd idolized Queen Maeve as a child, how she'd used her as inspiration when fighting crime later on.

But Maeve had spoken to her just to mock, not to comfort.

"Stop. I don't want to hear that."

Facing her own superhero fan, Maeve didn't crack a smile. Instead, she cut her off coldly.

"I'm almost sick of hearing that stuff.

If you're still this naive, you won't last long in The Seven."

She knew Starlight was a new member—otherwise, she wouldn't have said things that could spark a massive PR storm if leaked.

But she didn't want to deal with Starlight. Seeing her reminded Maeve of her own foolish, ignorant younger self.

"What do you mean?"

Maeve didn't seem as warm as the TV promos made her out to be. Starlight's forced smile froze.

"Naive little girl."

Without explaining, the pretty woman in battle armor shook her head with a cold smirk and walked away.

"Found him. He showed up in my office, demanding to join The Seven..."

High up in the Vought tower, Vice President Madelyn nervously reported to the man behind the desk.

"Mr. Edgar, I'm worried Ron might be another Homelander."

"No need to worry."

Edgar, the elderly Black man in gold-rimmed glasses, sat in his executive chair, calmly spinning a pen as he looked at the data on his iPad.

It showed that at the place where Becca and her two children were imprisoned, the team disguised as neighbors monitoring the area had discovered that anesthetic spray and other items had gone missing from the backup warehouse for emergencies, with signs pointing to two or three years ago.

Two or three years ago, that kid was still just a few years old, though he's not much older now.

Realizing the truth about his surroundings early on and planning an escape?

Then awakening his powers, seeing a safer path, enduring and giving up, patiently waiting another two or three years?

"He's not like Homelander. He's smarter, calmer, and more rational."

Facing the tense Madelyn, a faint smile crossed his face, as if nothing could unsettle him, and he spoke meaningfully.

"And sometimes, two lions are easier to handle than one."

"This is a good thing."

The shrewd Edgar commented, setting down the iPad and murmuring softly.

"I just wonder what he wants by joining The Seven."

Starved for love and craving fame since childhood? Escaping the cage to indulge and enjoy himself? Proving his own strength? Or taking revenge on an unqualified father?

A dozen suspicions flashed through his mind in an instant. He calmly instructed Madelyn, swiveling his chair to face the window.

"Whatever else he asks for, as long as it doesn't shake the company's core interests, give it to him. I want to see what he's after."

Knowing what a person wants most and what they fear losing most is the only way to control them. He, who had kept the vast commercial empire of Vought and its army of superheroes in line, knew this well.

"Yes, Mr. Edgar."

The next day.

Starlight called her mother in the morning. She had imagined she'd be brimming with joy, sharing everything—the novel sights, the thrill of working with idols.

But all she could muster was a forced smile.

The Deep's behavior and Maeve's coldness—something seemed off about The Seven, this superhero team.

Maybe her mother was too tired or excited to catch the dejection in her voice.

Click. She stood before the door of The Seven's meeting room again. It swung open.

Starlight took a deep breath and stepped into the bright, spacious hall.

"Sorry, I'm late."

"I had a welcome speech ready, but Starlight, you're a bit late on your first day."

Standing behind the chair at the center of the V-shaped table, a blond man in a star-spangled suit slowly turned around, exuding a leader's aura, his smile as radiant as sunshine.

"Sorry, Captain."

"Have a seat. Just call me Homelander—I don't like the title 'Captain.' We're all equals here, one big family."

Homelander smiled with his hands behind his back, his words warm and inviting.

Walking stiffly toward the seat at the far end, Starlight suddenly spotted a familiar figure, her expression shifting to surprise.

"Did he really make it into The Seven too?"