Departure

He was finally leaving. Henry stood by the ferry's railing, watching the Bering Sea's headache-inducing waves slam against the vessel's considerable tonnage.

It wasn't as steady as solid ground, but the ship's rocking was far gentler than that toy-like crab boat. So Henry found himself reflecting on the past two months of life aboard it.

He'd thought about leaving Old John some money. But after testing the waters, he knew the old man wouldn't take it—instead, he'd chewed Henry out bloody.

So Henry decided to fix up that rundown bar instead.

Of course, he couldn't ask Old John what needed work.

In that old geezer's eyes, the bar was perfect—no changes needed, let alone repairs. Anyone who complained would get a slap upside the head.

Henry asked the regulars in town what they thought needed patching up.

Suggestions to tear it down and rebuild got a string of f-bombs and were ignored. That crappy idea wouldn't fly with Old John, and most townsfolk disagreed too.

So Henry bought the materials himself, did the work himself, and left his mark on the bar.

Whether he'd ever come back was hard to say. Because this place wasn't home after all...

No one saw him off when he left. Old John gave him a hug and then turned back to his own business—just like when he'd sent his two sons off to the Vietnam War.

The ferry's destination was Los Angeles, and the Cadillac he'd bought from Old Tom was parked on board. He hadn't booked a private cabin; if he wanted to rest, he'd either hole up in his car or squeeze into the public cabin with everyone else.

The scheduled trip was just over a day, less than two. Much slower than a plane, but not as slow as he'd imagined.

Still, getting on this ferry wasn't easy.

First, he had to drive to Juneau, Alaska's capital, to catch a large ferry heading to the mainland this season.

Driving in Alaska during a snowstorm, with no snowplows clearing the roads—the hardship made it almost not worth driving at all...

So that simple leg of the journey took several days just by car.

Don't expect any motels along the way. He brought his own food and water and roughing it in the car. Of course, he had to stock up on gas too.

Alaska in this season had wind, snow, and scenery—but no gas stations on every corner! Some stretches didn't even have paved roads.

Sometimes he'd see the road on the other side of a cliff or river, but getting there meant a huge detour to find a bridge or gentler terrain.

Faced with that, with no one around, Henry tried the Kryptonian flight ability for the first time, lifting the car along with him.

Surprisingly, flight wasn't as hard to master as he'd thought. After a few hops, he picked up this practical skill. As for strength, that was even less of an issue—controlling it was the real hassle.

He hadn't practiced this ability before because he'd been fooled by memories of that TV show Smallville from before his transmigration. Ten whole seasons, and Superman only learned to fly and donned the red-and-blue suit at the end.

So he'd subconsciously assumed this ability was hard to get and never tried.

But when he really needed it, he got the hang of it way faster than expected. It was the most surprising part of his transmigration so far.

Using this cheat-like method of cutting through obstacles and occasionally crossing snow-buried roads, Henry finally drove into Juneau.

Actually, the port where the crab boat set sail also had a ferry. After all, small planes and boats were Alaska's main transport—cars could only reach so far.

But the frozen sea meant no ferries were running this season.

And ferries that could carry vehicles were scarce. Some suggested shipping the car by cargo boat while he took a passenger ferry, then switching at a bigger port.

But no matter which method, he'd have to wait until next spring.

In short, Henry's chosen departure time was asking for trouble. No wonder when he mentioned it at the bar, a bunch of folks smirked like they were watching a show.

Given the real difficulty of driving and shipping the car to LA, Henry more than once thought about flying back to town and punching that self-righteous old white man Tom into pulp.

That guy's reasoning sounded solid on the surface, but behind it, he probably just wanted to trade in his car and find some sucker to take his old one off his hands for a profit.

If he hadn't been stuck with the car, he could've taken a small plane from a nearby airport, transferred to a passenger jet, and been in LA ages ago.

Anyway, he'd learned his lesson this time. Those sly old bastards—he thought they'd look out for him as a junior, but they'd still set a trap.

Even Old Tom, despite being introduced by George, wasn't worth trusting completely. That old white man had his own schemes.

So a friend of a friend isn't necessarily a trustworthy friend.

That lesson from before his transmigration, after more than twenty years, had driven home the harshness of human nature through firsthand experience.

It didn't seem like a life-or-death joke. But without his Kryptonian abilities, he'd either have died out there or had to turn back and face everyone's mockery.

Unbeknownst to Henry, the townsfolk had actually started a betting pool on how long until he turned back and waited for spring.

When over seven days passed with no sign of his return, most figured he'd died out there and couldn't come back.

Only Old John insisted Henry was still pushing toward his destination, which was why he hadn't returned.

Whether the kid was dead or had made it, the town's elders had no way to search far enough.

They'd looked nearby, asked around at the southern town where the crab boat launched, and then let it drop.

Their bodies couldn't handle searching in subzero snowstorms. Unless they wanted to add to the casualty count.

So all they could do was pray that the kid traveling far in Alaska's snowstorm had braved the odds and pressed on.

No one could imagine how shamelessly cheating it was to clear a path with heat vision while flying with the car.

Anyway, in sparsely populated Alaska with snow covering his tracks, Henry treated it as practice for his Kryptonian abilities in the wilderness. He'd never had a chance to train in town.

Cutting through obstacles, Henry reached his destination in the snowstorm.

When he drove into the port, the staff thought he was a local. No one guessed he came from a fishing town in central Alaska.

New book—request for follow-up reads, collections, recommendations. Thanks~~