Shane did not nod immediately, nor did he refuse on the spot; he merely rubbed the residual fish-scale slime on his palms with his fingertips unconsciously.
Any sudden proposal hides unknown considerations behind it, even if the person making it was Tom, who had been quite gentle with him over the past seven days.
"Why ask that so suddenly?"
Shane's voice was very calm, devoid of any emotional fluctuation.
"Superheroes... in my view, they're more like labels you Earthlings use to categorize 'special groups'."
Tom put down the fishing rod in his hand, turned around, and fished a clean rag out of the cabin, leisurely wiping the water stains off the boat's gunwale.
He was in no hurry to answer, not turning around to look at Shane again until he had wiped the gunwale clean.
"You want to live a long life on Earth, right?"
Tom's tone remained gentle, yet it carried an undeniable certainty.
Shane nodded slightly.
His original intention in fleeing Viltrum was to escape endless slaughter and find a place where he could survive stably.
Although the state of this Earth was unclear, it was ultimately his spiritual "home" and currently the optimal choice.
"If you want to live a long life, you need a legal identity."
Tom's voice deepened.
"Without an identity, you can't work, you can't travel normally—but even more troublesome than lacking an identity is your origin."
He paused, his gaze landing on the few faint scars on Shane's chest, and continued.
"Your civilization's philosophy is almost completely contradictory to Earth's values."
"Very few people know you exist right now, but once more people find out about your origin, how do you think Earthlings will view you?"
Shane's eyelids drooped slightly; of course he knew that if Viltrum's brutal reputation truly spread, Earthlings would likely find it hard to accept him.
"You can think about Superman."
Tom brought up the man who had saved him.
"You know it, he has never avoided this issue in any interviews; his hometown was destroyed long ago, and there isn't any threat left behind him."
"And he grew up on Earth, carrying goodwill toward humanity in his bones. But even so, how many people have truly accepted him?"
The red-and-blue Superman in the news always rushed to the front lines of rescuing citizens.
Yet the comment sections were filled with skeptical voices, some calling him an alien spy, some worrying that he might lose control one day and bring disaster to Earth, and others even calling on the government to monitor him.
Shane frowned. It wasn't that he couldn't understand; if he stood in the shoes of Earthlings who knew nothing of Superman's nature, he would worry too.
Right now, however, his own position would naturally be lumped by native Earth residents into an even worse category than Superman.
"He is powerful enough—powerful enough to easily override any laws and rules on Earth."
Tom's voice carried a hint of emotion.
"Just like when you caught fish in the sea earlier; regardless of whether your original intention was to catch a few fish for lunch or simply to experience the feeling of fishing, those fish would scatter in panic or even be inadvertently crushed by you just because of your approach."
"Your power and Superman's are just like that."
Tom pointed a finger toward the calm sea in the distance.
"Unless you never use your abilities for the rest of your life, perhaps working at sunrise and resting at sunset like me. But can you do that?"
Shane lowered his head to look at his clenched fists.
This power had been forged in the blood and fire of Viltrum; it was the foundation upon which he relied for survival.
For Shane at present, giving up this power was as difficult as giving up breathing.
What was more, if he encountered Viltrum's pursuers, having no power would mean leaving himself at the mercy of others.
"When you were flying high in the sky overlooking the sea just now, those fish didn't know what you were going to do next, but their fate had already fluctuated because of your presence."
"Using your superpower is equivalent to placing yourself at that high altitude. If you want ordinary people not to fear you or reject you, you must give them a reason to accept you."
"Superheroes are that reason."
Tom finally pointed out the core of the matter.
It was about using actions to tell ordinary people that this power was not a threat, but a guardianship.
"Of course, this path is very difficult to walk, and you might encounter countless doubts and attacks, but this is the most suitable path for you right now."
Shane stood on the fishing boat, gazing at the boundless ocean, and fell silent.
Tom made a lot of sense.
If he wanted to live a stable life on Earth, he had to cross those two chasms: "alien" and "Viltrumite."
Yet at the thought of acting like Superman on television, taking the guardianship of others as his constant duty, Shane felt a subconscious sense of repulsion.
Fleeing Viltrum was also meant to shake off a bound destiny, so that he would no longer have to slave away for anyone or anything.
The sea breeze blew for a long time, and Shane still didn't speak.
Tom didn't urge him either, simply picking up his fishing rod again and quietly fishing, as if his proposal just then had been nothing more than casual small talk.
Until the setting sun painted the sea surface a golden-red, Shane slowly spoke, his voice carrying a trace of uncertainty.
"I still need to think about it."
"No problem, you have plenty of time to consider."
Tom put down his fishing rod, a gentle smile appearing on his face, though it now held a touch of slyness.
"There's one thing I must make clear to you, though: I'm just a small-time fisherman, and I can't afford to support you for the rest of your life."
Shane was stunned, then immediately understood.
Tom was implicitly urging him to make a choice, also reminding him that he couldn't keep hiding in this safe harbor.
He nodded without refuting.
"I'll recommend someone to you; he might be able to help you temporarily solve your identity problem."
Tom put away his fishing gear and began tidying up the things on the boat.
Curiosity stirred in Shane's heart.
"Who?"
"You'll know when you get there."
Tom kept him in suspense, carrying the packed fishing gear into the cabin.
"Let's go, we'll go back and pack up, we're leaving tonight."
Back at the seaside cabin, Shane simply packed his things.
Actually, there wasn't much to pack—just the few changes of clothes Tom had bought him.
As for Tom, he rummaged through the utility room to find a rust-covered set of car keys, then grabbed a rag and wiped down a dilapidated-looking pickup truck parked outside.
The truck's body was covered in scratches, and its tires were somewhat deflated; it looked at least a decade or two old.
Tom inserted the key and twisted it hard a few times. The engine let out a series of stuttering roars before finally starting up, emitting a plume of black smoke from the exhaust.
"Don't look at it like it's a piece of junk; it runs very steadily."
Tom patted the steering wheel and said to Shane.
Shane sat in the passenger seat, and the moment he closed the door, he could feel a layer of dust accumulated on the seat.
He casually picked up the rag nearby to wipe it clean, then flipped open the navigation map placed in front of the passenger seat.
To be honest, this style of doing things was rather old-fashioned.
After searching with his gaze for a long time and asking a few questions, Shane finally learned that Tom's seaside cabin was actually located in the suburbs of Metropolis.
Metropolis was precisely the city where Superman operated.
A thought stirred in Shane, and he looked at Tom, who was backing the car out. "Are you taking me to seek refuge with Superman?"
Tom's backing motion paused for a moment, then he shook his head.
"No."
Once the pickup truck drove onto the highway, it headed in the direction of the urban area all the way.
When they reached a fork in the road, Tom didn't choose the road leading to downtown Metropolis, but instead turned onto another highway leading to Gotham.
"Gotham?"
Shane frowned.
Even without watching TV news, relying solely on the meager memories left from his past life, he knew what kind of damn place that was.
A city with an extremely high crime rate, shrouded in darkness year-round, forming a sharp contrast with sunny Metropolis.
Yet it also seemed to genuinely be a place particularly well-suited for accommodating all sorts of dregs and outcasts.
Driving through the night for nearly two hours, the pickup truck finally arrived in downtown Gotham.
The atmosphere here was completely different from Metropolis; even at night, an oppressive aura permeated the streets, the neon lights casting eerie reflections on the damp ground.
Tom drove the pickup truck and finally parked in front of a towering skyscraper.
[Wayne Enterprises]
Shane was stunned.
Tom brought him here?
"We've arrived."
Tom killed the engine and said to Shane.
"This is Wayne Enterprises. Is the person you recommended here?"
Shane asked doubtfully.
In fact, he almost knew the answer in his heart by now, but what on earth was Tom's background that he knew both Superman and Batman?
"I know Superman, and Superman knows Batman."
Tom said as he rolled down the car window.
"And very few people know that Bruce Wayne, the big boss of Wayne Enterprises, knows Batman in private—he can help you."
Shane maintained a poker face, but rolled his eyes inwardly.
Tom's statement was far too transparent to be convincing.
Before Shane could speak, Tom had already started shooing him out.
"Go on inside yourself, Bruce Wayne will be waiting for you inside. I have things to do, so I won't accompany you."
As Shane got out of the car, full of doubts, Tom waved his hand and drove the battered pickup truck away without looking back.
Watching the pickup's taillights vanish into the night, Shane let out a helpless sigh.
He looked back at the magnificent building before him, feeling somewhat at a loss for a moment.
Shane didn't really want to interact with that guy; in his memory, he was entirely a gloomy, humorless, and boring person.
Just as Shane was contemplating turning around and leaving directly, the revolving doors of the building suddenly opened.
A tall middle-aged man wearing a black suit walked out.
The man's hair was combed meticulously, and a gentle smile rested on his face.
His temperament was quite unique, possessing both the calm majesty of a capitalist and a trace of unnoticeable competence.
The man's gaze landed directly on Shane, and he quickly walked over, proactively extending a hand.
"Hello, I'm Bruce Wayne. I suppose the person who recommended you here should have already mentioned it."
Before you continue