A New Track

Received! Consuming 30,000 Special Popularity Points... Drawing from the "Superhero Blind Box"...

...Drawing...

Ding! Draw complete!

Congratulations, Host! You have obtained a rare item (consumable): a small bottle of Superman Serum (Red Sorghum Edition)!

Item Description: From a certain red orphan of Krypton. After drinking it, you will gain magical immunity for 30 minutes. Warning: spicy taste.

Wu Yanzu: "...Red Sorghum? Seriously?"

He felt like he had drawn a "joke" item.

"Magic immunity? It wasn't useless... Magic got pretty wild in this universe."

Boom—!!!

In Harlem, flames shot into the sky from the fifth floor of an old apartment building.

Amid the thick smoke, a mother clutched her child and cowered desperately against the window frame.

"Help! Somebody save us!!"

Just one second before she suffocated.

Whoosh—!

A blue afterimage smashed through the wall, ignoring the raging flames. Azu appeared before her like a god descending from the heavens.

"Don't be afraid." He flashed that signature smile capable of melting the entire United States. "I've got you."

With one in each arm, he carried the mother and child out of the inferno like a shooting star, slowly landing beside the police cars below.

"Oh, God! It's Homelander!"

"He saved them!"

"I love you!! Homelander!!"

Camera flashes, cheers, screams. Everything was as usual.

Azu elegantly handed the mother and child over to the medics, waved at the cameras, and struck his most iconic hands-on-hips pose, his Stars and Stripes cape fluttering behind him in the wind.

[Ding! Popularity Points gained +55!]

[Ding! Popularity Points gained +41!]

[Ding! Popularity Points gained +63!]

The smile on Azu's face did not change, but inwardly, he cursed.

"Fuck!"

His smile stiffened for 0.01 seconds.

"...63? Are you kidding me?" he sneered inwardly. "The last time I saved that damned cat in Queens, I got more popularity than this. These peasants..."

He realized there was a serious problem.

The dividends from the "everyday hero game" track were nearly drained dry.

New York City residents had gotten used to it.

They were used to Homelander showing up during fires, and they were used to Homelander showing up during bank robberies.

He had gone from being a "miracle" to a... high-end firefighter.

That would not do.

His popularity had reached a bottleneck. He needed to open up a new track!

Vought International headquarters.

This glass skyscraper in Midtown Manhattan had become a new New York landmark in just one month.

It was a wholly funded subsidiary of Starr Group, as well as Homelander's only official talent agency.

Top-floor conference room.

Azu wore his signature Stars and Stripes uniform, his legs crossed as he sat at the head of the table.

But that handsome face no longer carried the gentle warmth he showed the public. All it held now was the oppressive presence of someone in power.

"Data. I only look at data." He tapped his fingers against the table. "Over the past week, Homelander's global search index has fallen by five percent. Public engagement and social media discussion... have fallen by fourteen percent."

"Why? Tell me why! Look me in the eyes and tell me why the fuck!"

The roomful of PR elites and media executives fell completely silent.

"Mr. Starr..." The head of public relations, a sharp-looking blonde woman, spoke tremblingly. "This is normal. The hype from the Battle of New York was bound to fade. Our strategy is—"

"Your strategy is shit!"

Azu cut her off directly, his tone calm yet chilling.

"What you're doing is 'reporting.' You're telling people who I saved again today. Wrong!"

He rose to his feet and walked over to the enormous floor-to-ceiling window.

"Vought doesn't exist to report on heroes. It exists to define heroes!"

He turned around, his azure eyes sweeping over every person in the room.

"What I want isn't people's gratitude. What I want is for every fucking corner of their lives to be filled with me!"

The conference room fell deathly silent.

"A documentary?" a young executive asked tentatively.

"Fuck documentaries." Azu sneered. "Documentaries are for losers who can't control the narrative."

He raised one finger.

"What we're making is a myth."

"We're making a movie."

"A movie... about me!"

Hollywood, Beverly Hills.

One week later, inside a discreet private club.

—The ace screenwriter who had written Interstellar Expedition, which grossed three billion worldwide.

—The genius known for black comedy, who had won the Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay.

—And the writer who had worked on some superhero movie. The film had been terrible, but his dialogue was fucking pretentious in the best way.

There were also screenwriters who had worked on films listed among the highest-grossing movies worldwide.

Under the power of money, Hollywood's greatest minds had gathered here.

Wu Yanzu sat opposite them as producer, investor, and... the sole male lead.

"Gentlemen, ladies." Azu held a glass of bourbon. "You're good at writing blockbusters. And I am a blockbuster."

He took a sip, every inch the award-winning actor.

"I want my story. But bigger, sexier, more... United States."

"I don't want preaching. I want visual spectacle, hormones, and for every man leaving the theater to want to become me, and every woman to want to... you know."

The writers were excited. This was what they were fucking best at!

"Okay, Mr. Homelander... we have several brilliant concepts for your movie."

Screenwriter A began, "Concept One! A visitor from beyond the stars! You are the orphan of a dying planet, launched to Earth, where you land in a Kansas cornfield..."

Azu stared at him expressionlessly.

"...Uh..." Screenwriter A felt that chill. "All right, that... that's a little clichéd. Then Concept Two! Mythological Awakening!"

Screenwriter B immediately perked up. "Exactly! You are actually... Odin's illegitimate son! Thor's biological brother! Your divine powers only awakened during the Battle of New York..."

"Get out," Azu said concisely.

"..."

"I've got it! Anthony!" Ace screenwriter C slapped his thigh. "Opening scene! Hampton! Yacht! Bikinis! You, Anthony Starr, a billionaire playboy. You have everything, but you... are empty. You have a heart of gold!"

"Then, tragedy!" Genius screenwriter D took over. "A storm! Damn it, an unprecedented storm! You fall overboard!"

"You don't die!" Screenwriter A lowered his voice, his eyes burning with fervor. "A mysterious terrorist organization pulls you from the water... They... we'll call them... Chaos!"