Croaker

Elsewhere, a Supe's way of catching fish was rather different.

The Deep could talk to Croaker. After coaxing and tricking one for quite a while, he finally caught it.

His body, soaked in the chilly seawater, gradually moved toward shore.

"I caught one."

He raised his prize like a child showing off: a plump Croaker.

Only to find that no one was waiting for him at the harbor anymore.

He had been too focused on fishing to notice. Only now did he realize that the pushy little brat had left at some point.

Resentment welled up inside The Deep. Clutching the Croaker, he returned to shore, salty seawater streaming down his skintight suit.

Drip, drip.

The sound of water hitting the ground was more than The Deep could bear. He slammed the fish down.

"Stinking brat. You'd better hope I never see you again."

Elsewhere, Ryan had no idea someone was still thinking about him.

He flew through a sea of clouds under the moonlight, heading home.

Though the temperature had dropped noticeably at night, his powerful body still felt no fear of the cold.

By now, even Ryan could feel himself growing less human by the day.

Humans bled. When they were cold, they wanted more clothes; when they were hungry, they wanted food.

But as Ryan considered himself, he realized that aside from the emotions that stirred for no apparent reason, many things no longer troubled him.

He flew over a winding road.

Under his far-reaching gaze, a small villa enclosed by walls came into view.

A woman sat outside the door, hugging her knees.

Who was sitting in the cold wind, gazing up at the sky? Becca.

Ryan knew that face well. She was this body's mother.

Back at his old home, Ryan slowly descended from the sky. Becca seemed lost in thought and did not notice him.

When no one was looking, all it took was breaking a couple of bottles.

Ryan did much the same.

Pretending he had not seen Becca, he went around her and knocked on the villa door.

Knock, knock, knock.

The sudden noise made Becca turn. When she saw who it was, she rubbed her eyes in delighted disbelief.

"Ryan, you're finally back."

"I never left."

"I suppose not. There's a wall at the edge of this Forest Sea. Where could you have gone?"

He wanted to tell her he had flown, but it was not yet time to reveal everything.

Ryan stood in the doorway.

"Let's go inside."

"I don't have my keys."

Becca shook her head, saying she had been locked out.

Her little problem was no problem for Ryan.

Ryan gripped the door firmly and began to pull. A cracking sound rang out.

"Becca, I'm the key."

With that, Ryan tore away the entire door, along with the surrounding wall, and set it to one side.

Now they could get in.

Ryan stepped inside without pause. Becca stared at the door in astonishment, then followed him.

"You really are that man's son."

"What man?"

Ryan knew perfectly well who she meant, but he could hardly tell her he knew about his blood tie to Homelander.

Becca's voice turned sorrowful.

"A man who failed as both a husband and a father."

Her expression was so grief-stricken it warned him not to ask again. Weary, she poured herself a glass of water.

Then she told him she had left some bread on the dining table. He could spread a little butter on it for dinner.

As for her, she was going to bed.

Silence settled over them. Becca did not ask where Ryan had gone, and Ryan did not press her for the man's name.

Back in her bedroom, Becca did not sleep. She sat beside the bed, remembering the past.

When they had first arrived,

Ryan had been a baby small enough to cradle in two hands. Now he had grown so big.

He had secrets of his own. He had been strong-willed since childhood, and questioning him would certainly end in an argument.

More importantly, she could not win an argument with him.

Sulking a little, Becca climbed into bed, hoping sleep would ease her resentment.

Ryan sat on the sofa and turned on the television.

The clock on the wall marked the passing time.

It was already late.

In the past, this was when he would think about work the next day and tell himself he needed sleep.

He would climb into bed and force his eyes shut.

Now, there was nothing like that.

The television flickered. There was plenty to watch.

At night, the lineup followed a familiar pattern.

Several channels aired adult programs that made the heart race.

Ryan watched with interest, treating it as an exercise in appreciation while he thought about himself.

As the days passed, this body's superpowers were slowly growing stronger, even without training.

But he was not strong enough yet.

On this trip, he had sensed Homelander from far away.

Homelander truly had the strength to deserve his place as Vought International's star and the leader of The Seven.

Ryan could foresee that the two of them would fight sooner or later.

Before then, he needed to grow stronger.

Ryan made up his mind to train even more rigorously from now on.

With superpowers, practice and technique could both make them more effective in a real fight.

Besides, Metahumans tended to overlook one thing.

They cared so much about their superpowers that some dismissed the fighting techniques of ordinary people.

Those techniques were the product of countless years of accumulated experience and the wisdom of countless people.

Ryan did not believe they were useless.

Ordinary people trained in combat had little they could do against Metahumans whose bodies even bullets could not penetrate.

But Ryan already possessed tremendous physical strength. He believed learning to fight would improve his combat ability, at least to some extent.

With a clear training plan in mind, Ryan watched television a little longer.

Then he turned it off and went to his room to sleep.

The night passed without incident.

The next morning, Becca got up and made breakfast as usual. To her delight,

life seemed to have returned to normal. Ryan was just as he had always been.

He left with his packed lunch in the morning and came home looking tired at dusk.

That was enough.

Becca often found herself watching Ryan. He was all she had, and if she could,

she hoped these days would go on forever.

A few more years passed in the blink of an eye.

The seasons came and went.

The small child he had once been was now a boy on the cusp of adulthood.

Becca looked at Ryan in his new clothes.

"When your old clothes get too small and you have to put on ones that fit, that's what growing up means. Mom's so moved. Boo-hoo."

"You still cry at the drop of a hat."

"Be a little nicer to your mother. Why are you still as cold to me as ever?"

"This is a normal mother-son relationship."

Becca gave him a doubtful look, as if to say, Is it? She sat at the dining table, enjoying lunch with her son.

The food on their plates was simple.

Fried eggs and spaghetti.

Becca poured tomato sauce over her spaghetti and picked up her fork.

"Really, Ryan, you like your mom and want to be spoiled by me. There's no need to be shy. Come on, tell me my cooking is the best."

"Have you lived alone without socializing for so long that you've developed dementia early?"

"Did you... did you have to put it so harshly? (ﾟOﾟ)"

Even Becca, who had lived with Ryan for years and thought she was used to his flat manner, was stung.

But Ryan just kept eating his spaghetti. She could not tell from his expression whether he liked it or not.

Annoyed, Becca started acting petulant again.

"Ryan, at least give me some kind of reaction."

If she had not been this body's mother, Ryan would long ago have taped the mouth of such a noisy woman shut.

He held his patience and was about to say something to Becca when his keen senses made him turn toward the door.

They had a visitor.

Outside the repaired front door came the roar of helicopter rotors.

Someone had gotten out of the helicopter.