Morning light in the fishing cabin always carried a salty, warm breeze. When the seventh ray of this light passed through the window lattice and landed on the edge of the bed, Shane was slowly stretching his body.
The bandages had long since been quietly removed by him, and the grim wounds that originally spanned his chest and abdomen now left only a few shallow, light pink traces.
The fractured ribs had already healed firmly, and even the previously sprained spine had completely recovered its vitality.
He clenched his fists, feeling the surging power within his body, and a flash of surprise crossed the depths of his eyes.
A Viltrumite's physique inherently possessed an extremely strong self-healing ability.
Yet the recovery after this unprecedented, heavy injury had actually allowed him to gain an unprecedented improvement.
His muscle lines had become more well-proportioned and solid, and his sense of power was a full two times more formidable than before he was injured.
His five senses had also become much sharper. The faint sounds of waves crashing against the reefs a hundred meters outside the window and the rustling sound of the sea breeze sweeping through the leaves were all clearly transmitted into his ears.
Pity that I didn't study the setting of the previous life's Invincible comics in much detail.
Shane thought in his heart, his fingertips brushing across the shallow scar on his chest.
He was not entirely clear why Viltrumites possessed such formidable physiques either. His combat class grades were good, and he had not sunk to the point of needing to study the science of Viltrum.
During these seven days, he had cooperated daily with Tom's care, feeling this body recover step by step from the brink of death.
And the return of his power along with its incredible enhancement also allowed Shane to feel every inch of change in his body carefully for the first time.
He had not had that kind of leisure time before; the end of a battle or special training would not give you much breathing time.
It was hard for you to know how much stronger you had become.
Until he was specially permitted to participate in the graduation coming-of-age ceremony early on, Shane's impression held only endless torture. The people around him were either eliminated or died, but everyone who could walk alongside him synchronously seemed to be about the same level of strong.
Although he had heard from some Instructors that Viltrumites could limitlessly gain stronger power from battles of a sufficient scale, Shane had never personally felt it so profoundly.
When going downstairs, Tom had already cooked breakfast, still a simple seafood thick soup paired with a crusty baked flatbread.
"How do you feel? Seeing that your complexion is a lot better."
Tom turned around, his face carrying its usual gentle smile. His blue overalls were still clean and tidy, only the salt stains on the cuffs seemed to have increased by quite a bit.
"Much better, thanks for your care."
Shane sat down, his gaze inadvertently sweeping over the old-fashioned television in the corner of the living room.
During these seven days, this television had become his main window for understanding this world.
Every morning after Tom went out to sea to catch fish, he would turn on the television, piecing together the contours of this world from the programs of various channels.
Initially, it was just fragmented information.
The "Metropolis Flying Hero" and "Gotham Night Vigilante" mentioned in city news.
The "Planet Media" logo that occasionally appeared in commercials.
There was also the "superhero" topic hotly discussed by citizens in street interviews.
As the information grew more and more, a clear understanding gradually formed in Shane's heart.
This place was, with high probability, a world related to DC comics.
The "Justice League" that frequently appeared on television was the best proof.
The evening news would regularly broadcast the League's public actions, stopping meteorite impacts, defusing city disasters, capturing high-tech criminals...
Yet what puzzled Shane was that the news mentioned the Justice League had been established for less than two years, and the members appearing in the footage all appeared overly young.
The Flash's suit still carried a brand-new luster, Green Lantern frequently went out on "cosmic business," and some Justice League heroes occasionally revealed "fatal" flaws during operations.
Pardon Shane for speaking bluntly, but under his current evaluation, he was confident he could kill more than half of the Justice League members without injury.
What concerned him even more was the information regarding Superman.
The Superman on television wore a classic red-and-blue color-matching combat suit, the S-symbol on his chest particularly striking in the sunlight. When flying, white airflow would churn up behind him, and he always wore a gentle smile when rescuing the public.
Shane had repeatedly compared the news footage, discovering that this Superman's eye color was identical to the black-suited Superman who had saved him in space that day—both being that kind of pure blue.
Yet the temperaments of the two were worlds apart.
The red-and-blue Superman on television was like a sunny, cheerful big boy, filled with trust and enthusiasm for humanity;
While the black-suited Superman who saved him possessed an aura that was far steadier and heavier, concealing a trace of imperceptible exhaustion and sharpness between his brows.
Even the warmth transmitted from his palm at that time carried a kind of gentleness after experiencing the vicissitudes of life.
Could there be two Supermen?
Shane picked up the soup bowl, concealing the doubt at the bottom of his eyes.
Aside from this, there were quite a few places in this world that contradicted the comic settings in his memory.
For instance, the Daily Planet from the comics had turned into "Planet Media" here, not only publishing newspapers but also operating multiple television channels and internet platforms.
As for Superman's girlfriend, Lois Lane, she was not merely a simple reporter, but also the anchor of Planet Media's evening prime-time news.
Every night at seven, she would appear on the screen punctually, reporting major domestic and foreign events in a capable tone, occasionally even hosting special interviews concerning superheroes.
Perhaps it's not a contradiction; is this more like a kind of keeping pace with the times?
Shane thought in his heart, then shook his head regarding his own ridiculous notion.
"Planning to go mend the fishing nets again today. The wind and waves have been big recently, so I need to get the fishing gear sorted out properly."
Tom's voice interrupted Shane's train of thought.
He put down his bowl and chopsticks, picked up the straw hat from the corner of the wall and clapped it onto his head, turning as if to head out the door.
Shane's gaze landed on Tom's hand picking up the straw hat.
During these seven days, he had never stopped observing Tom.
Tom's words and actions all exuded the traits of an authentic fisherman: going out to sea on schedule every day, mending fishing gear, sorting and organizing his catch upon return, and occasionally chatting idly about household matters with the next-door neighbor.
Yet Shane's intuition repeatedly reminded him that this man was definitely not simple.
There was once when Shane deliberately knocked over a teacup while Tom was mending fishing nets, and Tom's reaction was astonishingly fast, turning around and catching the cup without visual line of sight.
At that moment, Shane was almost certain that Tom was hiding something, but this kind of superficial probing never took effect again afterward.
Yet whenever Shane attempted to explore with language, Tom would immediately revert to the appearance of a gentle and honest fisherman.
He would patiently help Shane change his bandages. (Even though Shane's wounds had long since healed)
He would bring back some fresh seafood when returning from the sea, and would quietly sit to the side organizing fishing gear while Shane watched television, never proactively prying into excess information.
"I'll go with you."
Shane spoke up abruptly. He wanted to take the opportunity of going out to sea to further observe Tom, and perhaps find more clues about this world from the marine environment.
Tom was slightly stunned, then shook his head.
"No need. The winds are strong at sea, and your injuries haven't fully healed yet. Just stay in the room and rest properly."
"I'm already much better, and staying in the room all the time feels stuffy anyway."
Shane stood up, moved his arms about, and deliberately let Tom see his already flexible and unhindered movements.
"I can help you do odd jobs, hand you tools and things like that. I won't be a nuisance."
Tom stared at Shane for a few seconds, as if judging whether he was truly suited to go out to sea.
A moment later, he nodded.
"Alright then, but you can only stay on the boat and aren't allowed to run around. Hold tight to the gunwale when the wind and waves are big."
"Okay."
Shane agreed, then laughed heartily a couple of times.
"I can actually fly, you know."
Tom looked at him earnestly instead, and shook his head.
"Flying in the sky—what kind of fishing is that? Your position is too high, so you instead can't see the deepness of the ocean clearly."
Shane was slightly stunned, then watched Tom's retreating figure heading toward the door, a sharp glint flashing through his eyes.
He knew that his probing had finally made a trace of progress.
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