Mind If I Buy You a Drink?

"...Kate," the little girl answered timidly.

"Kate..." Wu Yanzu repeated the name softly.

Then he reached out and gently... touched the doll in her hands.

"...You like this?"

"Yes. It was you... you saved me."

Wu Yanzu's expression froze for 0.1 seconds. Did that happen? It absolutely did!

"That day... the building collapsed, and my dad..." Kate's eyes reddened. "That alien monster was going to kill me... then... then you appeared."

She imitated the scene from back then. "You looked at it, and then—zzzt—the light from your eyes!"

"...I'm sorry."

Kate froze.

"I'm sorry, Kate." Wu Yanzu's voice turned hoarse. "That day... I should have been faster."

"If I had been faster... your dad... he would..."

He did not finish.

A hero's self-reproach was worth more than a thousand words.

"Waaah..." The accompanying reporter, a female intern, burst into tears on the spot.

The director covered her mouth as well, her eyes brimming red.

At last, a glimmer of light appeared in Kate's numb, empty eyes.

She looked at the godlike man before her, the hero who had saved her and was now apologizing to her.

"No... it's not your fault!" Kate suddenly shouted. She threw away the doll and lunged into Wu Yanzu's arms.

"It's not your fault! You're a hero! You saved me!! Waaah..."

The little girl's sobs echoed throughout the entire room.

Wu Yanzu—this Homelander—gently and awkwardly returned her embrace.

He raised his head and closed his eyes.

A single "hero's tear" slid down his handsome cheek at precisely the right moment.

Click—!!!!

The flashbulbs went wild.

"Ding! Popularity gained: +213!"

"Ding! Popularity gained: +480!"

"Ding! Popularity gained: +355!"

"..."

"Ding! Special popularity gained: +10000!"

Wu Yanzu laughed wildly in his heart.

Very good... the performance was perfect. Once Vought gets this rolling, my popularity will definitely skyrocket. Everyone will love me!!

Once the "show" was over, Wu Yanzu left the orphanage, thoroughly satisfied.

He did not head back immediately. Instead, he decided to fly a couple of laps above New York and enjoy some "after-dinner dessert"—the cheers of the public.

Just as he flew over the chaotic district of Hell's Kitchen—

His sharp "super hearing" caught something unusual.

"...No... please... let me go..." A woman's voice was filled with suppressed terror.

Hell's Kitchen.

The name of this hellhole suited it perfectly.

Even a month after the Battle of New York had "ended," the air here still smelled foul.

Jessica Jones tossed an empty bottle into the sink with a clatter.

In the mirror was a pale-faced woman with heavy dark circles under her eyes.

Her black hair was a mess like a bird's nest, and she wore her usual black leather jacket and ripped jeans.

"Fuck."

She muttered a curse and grabbed her keys.

Jessica had superpowers.

She did not even know where they had come from. That damned car accident had taken her family, yet given her this "gift"—superhuman strength, along with the ability to jump from more than ten stories up without breaking her legs.

But that gift meant jack shit to her.

It had brought her nothing but trouble, isolation, and the reputation of being a freak.

So she learned to hide.

She had changed jobs countless times—cashier, barmaid, even dressing up as a furry squirrel in Times Square to hand out flyers.

She had drifted through life like that until... the Battle of New York broke out.

That day, she saw the side of a building get smashed apart by a Leviathan beast.

She saw a blond, caped "Superman" carry a nuclear missile into the wormhole.

And right beneath her feet, a Chitauri soldier was about to impale a little girl hiding behind a taxi with an energy spear.

Jessica did not hesitate.

She rushed out, grabbed that alien bastard by the head, and used the brute strength she had hidden for ten years to slam it viciously into the asphalt.

She saved that girl.

From that day on, something she had thought was long dead came fucking back to life.

"Stop right there, bitch! Hand over the money!"

Hell's Kitchen, two in the morning.

Three junkies had cornered a nurse just getting off the night shift in an alley, and one of them even pulled out a switchblade.

"Please..."

"Please my ass!" The lead thug slapped the nurse across the face.

"Hey!"

A lazy but thoroughly impatient female voice came from the mouth of the alley.

"Can't you guys come up with something else? It's always bitch, hand over the money. No originality at all."

The three thugs turned around and saw Jessica Jones.

"It's you! That leather-jacket freak!" The leader had clearly heard of her. "Guys! She's alone! We—"

Bang!

Jessica could not be bothered to listen to his nonsense.

She picked up a trash can lid from the ground and flung it like a frisbee, striking the leader squarely in the face.

The bridge of his nose shattered on the spot. Mixed with teeth, he let out a howl and passed out.

"What?!" The other two were dumbfounded.

"Who's next?" Jessica cracked her knuckles.

"Fuck! Kill her!"

The one with the knife charged at her like a madman.

Jessica sidestepped, grabbed his wrist, and twisted it the other way.

Crack—!

"Aaaahhhhh—!!"

The little punk immediately collapsed to the ground, writhing in agony.

Seeing that, the third thug turned and ran.

Jessica took one stride forward, grabbed him by the back of the collar, and hurled him like a bowling ball into the brick wall at the end of the alley.

Boom—!

A small crater appeared in the brick wall, and the guy slid down like a pile of mush.

Jessica dusted off her hands, walked over to the terrified nurse, and pulled a crumpled twenty-dollar bill from one of the punks' pockets.

"Here. Take a cab home. Don't walk this street again."

"...Thank you... thank you! You... you're a hero!"

"I'm not a hero." Jessica waved awkwardly. "I'm just... Jessica Jones."

She turned and left, disappearing into the darkness.

In the shadows across the street, a man in a purple shirt and purple tie had witnessed everything.

The corners of his mouth curled into a sick smile.

"Oh... my God," he murmured. "How... primal. How... powerful. You... belong to me."

The next day, at the shabby bar Jessica frequented.

"A glass of the cheapest whiskey, Jack. On the rocks."

"Out playing vigilante again, Jones?" The bartender wiped a glass. "One of these days, you're going to get yourself into serious trouble."

"Shut up and give me my drink."

"Hey, mind if I buy you a drink?"

A gentle male voice spoke up.