I Am the Sun

The moment those wealthy businessmen saw Homelander, they immediately changed their tune. "Oh! Of course! Of course, Mr. Starr, please!"

They wisely scattered.

Jessica let out a breath, her shoulders slumping. "Fuck... thanks."

"Don't thank me." Wu Yanzu spoke in a low voice, with a hint of warning in it. "Straighten your back, Queen. You're a member of The Seven, not some streetwalker waiting for business on the corner."

The small flicker of gratitude Jessica had just felt was instantly swept away by anger. "Can you say a single human thing?"

"I'm teaching you." Wu Yanzu held his wineglass as his gaze swept across the room. "Look at them, Jessica. They have money and power. But in front of me, they still have to bow their heads."

"Why?"

"Because I have power. And now, I've turned that power... into a product they desperately want."

Wu Yanzu pointed at Ashley, who was chatting happily with a military official not far away.

"See that? What we need to become isn't just heroes. We also need to become... power."

"I don't need any of that." Jessica said coldly. "I just want to..."

"What do you want? Go back to Hell's Kitchen and catch thieves?" Wu Yanzu sneered.

"But..."

"No buts." Wu Yanzu cut her off. "Oh, and starting tomorrow, your special training doubles."

"What?!"

"Your fighting skills are terrible." Wu Yanzu took a sip of wine. "You only know how to rely on brute force. If you run into a real opponent, like Hulk or Thor... you'll be beaten into mush."

"I'll teach you personally."

Jessica froze.

Personally?

She looked at Wu Yanzu's profile so close beside her. For some reason, she didn't feel much resistance in her heart. Instead... there was a faint, barely noticeable anticipation.

"...As long as you're not afraid I'll beat you until you cry." Jessica stubbornly retorted.

"Ha." Wu Yanzu laughed as though he had heard a joke.

Just then, a commotion rose from the entrance to the hall.

The crowd automatically parted.

A bald man in a black trench coat and an eyepatch strode inside.

Even at an event packed with celebrities and elites, the cold, lethal aura of an agent around him still seemed to drop the temperature by several degrees.

Nick Fury.

Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.

He had not come alone. Behind him followed "Hawkeye" Clint, and... "Black Widow" Natasha Romanoff, whose expression was far from pleasant.

Wu Yanzu narrowed his eyes.

"Oh? What a rare guest."

He set down his glass, adjusted his cuff, and took the initiative to greet them.

"Director Fury!" Wu Yanzu's booming voice drew the attention of the entire hall. "What wind brought you here? Did you come to celebrate my movie's box office success?"

Nick Fury stopped in front of Wu Yanzu, his single eye fixed firmly on him.

"The movie was good, Starr." Fury's voice was flat, revealing neither pleasure nor anger. "Especially the ending. Very... creative."

"Creativity comes from life, Director." Wu Yanzu smiled.

"We're not here to discuss movies." Fury went straight to the point. "We're here to talk about... your 'The Seven.'"

"Oh?" Wu Yanzu raised a brow. "That's a trade secret."

"This concerns national security." Fury said coldly. "You're assembling an unregulated superhuman armed force. The Security Council is... very concerned."

"Unregulated?"

Wu Yanzu laughed.

He turned and waved to President Matthew Ellis, who was chatting with several senators nearby.

"Mr. President! There seems to be a misunderstanding here. Perhaps you could help explain things to Director Fury?"

President Ellis walked over with a wineglass in hand. He looked radiant now; his poll numbers had climbed considerably thanks to Homelander's endorsement.

"Nick." The president looked at Fury, a trace of displeasure in his tone. "This is a private banquet. And Homelander's team has received direct authorization from the White House."

"Direct authorization?" Fury's expression changed. "Mr. President, this concerns national security..."

"Nick!" The president interrupted him. "I believe we need more options. S.H.I.E.L.D. has recently... seemed rather occupied with its own problems, hasn't it?"

That sentence struck directly at Fury's sore spot.

The revelations from Rising Tide had left S.H.I.E.L.D. overwhelmed, and the internal investigations had everyone on edge.

Fury gave the president a long look, then looked at Wu Yanzu standing beside him.

He understood.

The tide had turned.

At least politically, he could no longer touch Homelander.

"Very well." Fury nodded. "Since that is the president's decision."

He turned toward Wu Yanzu.

"But, Starr. I need to warn you."

Fury stepped closer and murmured in a voice only the two of them could hear:

"You manipulate public opinion, court politicians, and you even recruited that hacker girl."

"You think you control everything."

"But this world... is far more complicated than you think. Some things are hidden in the shadows... ancient, and dangerous."

Wu Yanzu looked into that single eye and merely smiled.

He leaned close to Fury's ear and quietly replied:

"Nick."

"Do you know why I'm not afraid of the shadows?"

"Because..."

A dangerous crimson light glimmered in Wu Yanzu's eyes.

"...I am the sun."

Fury's pupil suddenly contracted.

The two stared at each other for three seconds. The air seemed to freeze.

"We're leaving."

Fury flicked his sleeve and turned away.

Natasha glanced at Wu Yanzu, seeming as though she wanted to say something. In the end, she only sighed and followed Fury out.

Watching the S.H.I.E.L.D. group's dejected backs, the smile on Wu Yanzu's lips deepened.

Christmas had not yet arrived, and New York had not seen snow, but the city was boiling as if someone had tossed it into a massive microwave.

Not because of the holiday, but because of that damned reality show—Who Is the Next Superhero?.

Vought International's promotional machine was currently running at full power like a turbine stuffed with nuclear fuel.

From Sunset Boulevard in Los Angeles to Millennium Park in Chicago, from Miami's beaches to Seattle's rainy nights, there was no escaping it.

Even if you shoved your head into a toilet, as long as there was water inside, the reflection would probably show Homelander's dazzling face.

This was Vought International's "saturation bombardment."

Every screen, every bus panel, every subway seatback.

Red, white, and blue posters spread across the city—and the entire United States—like a virus.

At the center of the posters, Homelander extended one finger toward you, those azure eyes seeming capable of seeing through the humblest desires buried deep within your soul.

Below were lines of flaming text:

WHO IS THE NEXT?

"No matter who you are, no matter where you come from."

"As long as you have talent, Vought gives you wings."

On the giant screens, the promotional video played on a twenty-four-hour loop.

Homelander and Queen Jones stood at the forefront, with five vacant black silhouettes waiting behind them.

A deep male voice boomed from the screen. "This isn't just a show. It's a ticket to Mount Olympus. Ten million in prize money? That's only the starting price. Global endorsements? That's standard procedure. Most importantly... you'll fight side by side with Homelander."

"Registration dates: December 24, 2012, to January 1, 2013. Don't let your talent rot in the sewers."

Kansas, an unknown farm.

Old John spat out a mouthful of chewing tobacco and watched his youngest son, Billy, standing atop the barn.

"Watch closely, Dad!" Billy shouted.

He leaped down.

He did not break his legs.

Instead, three feet above the ground... he bounced back up. It was as if some invisible, powerful springs had been installed beneath his feet.

"I'm Elastic Boy!" Billy excitedly tumbled through the air like an out-of-control rubber ball. "I'm going to New York! I'm joining The Seven!"

Old John sighed and shouted, "Get down here, you idiot, and feed the pigs first."

But a hopeful glimmer flashed through his eyes. Maybe... the boy really could make it? That was tens of millions of dollars.

Ohio, a certain high school.

The nerd who was always shoved into lockers by the football captain was currently hiding in a bathroom stall.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Come out, four-eyes! I know you're in there!" The bully outside kicked the door.

The nerd adjusted his glasses and looked at himself in the mirror.

He took off his glasses, and his body began to turn transparent, vanishing into thin air.

It was just that every time he used his invisibility, he had no control over when he would become visible again.

And the duration grew longer every time.

He knew very well that one day, perhaps he would disappear from everyone's sight forever.

"You're finished." A whisper came from the air.

"Once I get to Vought... once I become part of The Seven... I'll hang every one of your underwear on the flagpole!"

Florida, Miami.

Backstage at a cheap nightclub.

"Hurry up! Crimson Lady is next! Don't keep the guests waiting!"

In the dressing room, Angela looked at herself in the mirror. She had dazzling red hair, but what was most special about her was that whenever her emotions ran high, light like liquid flames flowed from her fingertips.

"I'm leaving." Angela suddenly stood up and tossed the revealing dance outfit into the trash.

"What? Are you crazy? You still owe the boss money!" the manager screamed.

"Tell that dead fat bastard," Angela said, extending a hand. A blazing fireball formed in her palm and instantly burned a massive hole through the vanity mirror, "...I quit."

She looked at the firelight in the mirror, and her gaze sharpened.

"I'm going to New York. I'm going to... Vought."