The person who drew this comic is a liar

"The main color is dark blue, representing the sky and vastness. No mask. His face is the best calling card."

"Add two golden eagle pauldrons to his shoulders. They represent absolute power and lofty majesty."

"Use dark red for the gloves and boots. Finally..."

Lynn drew a long cape behind the figure with firm strokes, extending all the way down to his calves.

"This cape must have the Stars and Stripes on it. But he isn't wearing the national flag on his body-he's draping it behind him! He carries the nation's expectations on his back, but he himself transcends the nation."

The pencil stopped.

Legend and Madelyn stared at the somewhat rough sketch, neither speaking for a long while.

A fervent light gradually flared in Legend's shrewd eyes.

As an old hand who had spent most of his life in the comics industry, he saw at a glance what made this design so formidable.

The classic combination of blue and red could evoke the public's trust in traditional heroes.

But the high golden eagle pauldrons and the Stars and Stripes cape subtly elevated his sense of status, making him look both approachable and inviolable.

"Genius... this design is absolute genius!"

Legend rubbed his hands excitedly. "Then what's his code name? If he isn't wearing a mask or hiding his identity, he'll need a name with some punch!"

"Homelander."

Lynn leaned back in his chair and slowly uttered the word. "He is the greatest power this land has ever produced. He is the rules themselves."

"Homelander... good name!" Madelyn nodded too. "The president will definitely like this concept. Lynn, you're a born PR master."

Throughout this, John had sat quietly beside them.

He watched the adults heatedly discuss what he should wear and what he should be called.

He really didn't care whether he was called American Eagle or Homelander, nor whether he wore blue or black.

He had simply picked up keenly on a few words Lynn had just said.

"Carries expectations," "the rules themselves."

John reached out and touched the sketch of the tall, imposing figure on the paper.

"Lynn, are these the clothes you designed for me?" John asked, looking up.

"Yes, John. This is your suit."

Lynn stroked his head. "When you grow up, you'll wear these clothes and show the whole world what a real hero is."

"If I wear these clothes and fight bad guys, will the big boss keep protecting you, like when he rewarded you with that stone?"

John's voice was so soft that only Lynn could hear him.

Lynn's heart skipped a beat.

He looked into John's seemingly innocent eyes, which already regarded the world as one enormous transaction, and for a moment, he didn't know how to answer.

"...Yes."

In the end, Lynn nodded, his voice a little dry. "As long as you wear it and do what you're supposed to do, I'll be absolutely safe."

At that answer, an extraordinarily brilliant smile immediately curved John's lips.

"Then I really like these clothes. From now on, I'm Homelander."

A week later.

Vought International's Garment Workshop worked overtime to finish the first "miniature" Homelander suit based on Lynn's design.

The moment John finished changing in the fitting room and pushed open the door, everyone in the lounge held their breath.

Dark blue, high-strength fibers hugged the boy's young but already well-defined body, and two small eagles made of solid gold gleamed on his shoulders beneath the lights.

The Stars and Stripes cape on his back fluttered slightly as he walked.

Combined with his brilliant blond hair and clear blue eyes, this boy of only six and a half miraculously radiated a holiness that made people want to bow down in worship.

Madelyn nodded repeatedly in satisfaction, while Legend frantically clicked away with his camera.

John ignored the flashes. He walked straight to a full-length mirror and quietly looked at himself.

He saw the golden eagles and the Stars and Stripes, but he wasn't thinking of the nation or protecting the weak.

All he had in mind were the rules Lynn had set, and the logic that following those rules could secure Lynn's safety in exchange.

"These clothes really look like rules," John murmured to the mirror.

He turned to Lynn, who stood nearby, and revealed the same perfect, icy "heroic smile" he had displayed during the combat test.

"Lynn, look. I've put on the rules."

Looking at the miniature Homelander standing beneath the spotlights and hearing the words coming out of his mouth, Lynn felt that the air blowing from the Basement's air conditioner seemed a little colder than usual.

Time flew, and two years quietly passed in this secret base buried deep underground.

The final stretch of the eighties was drawing to a close, and the world outside was welcoming the nineties, full of electronic synthesizers and neon colors.

For the two residents of the Underground Apartment in Area B, however, the greatest change time had brought was that the little golden retriever, once only Buddy's size, had now become a huge, fully grown dog weighing over thirty-five kilograms, who walked like a little bear.

"Buddy, you need to lose weight. You even got stuck in the gap in the sofa yesterday."

Eight-year-old John sat cross-legged on the carpet in a comfortable set of pure cotton loungewear.

He had grown considerably taller, his features had become even more finely sculpted and defined, and his blond hair shone smoothly beneath the bright lights.

At the moment, he was resting his head on Buddy's furry belly, leafing through a newly published comic book.

Its cover featured a superhero wearing a Stars and Stripes cape and towering golden eagle pauldrons, with the title "Homelander: Dawn of Justice" written in exaggerated red lettering.

"That isn't Buddy's fault. The premium dog food the Logistics Department sends over has too many calories."

In an open space nearby, Lynn finished his fiftieth proper push-up, caught his breath slightly, then stood and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a towel.

After the Yasakani Blood Jade merged into his chest, it hadn't turned him into a Captain America who could tear cars apart with his bare hands the way the Super-Soldier Serum could.

After all, it was only a support-type magical artifact.

But the changes it had brought Lynn were still very real.

Over the past two years, the cervical spine problems and stomach ailments he had developed from staying up late working overtime had all healed on their own. Even his nearsightedness had returned to normal vision.

His physical fitness and reaction speed had been gently raised to the level of a top athlete. He was full of energy every day and hadn't caught so much as a cold.

"Lynn, the person who drew this comic is a liar."

John raised the comic book and pointed to one of its pages, complaining, "He drew me spending three whole pages soothing a kitten stuck in a tree so I could rescue it. But in reality, if a cat really were stuck in a tree, the most efficient method would be to pull the tree straight out of the ground."

Lynn walked to the refrigerator, took out two bottles of ice water, and tossed one to John, explaining with a smile, "That isn't called lying. It's called artistic license. Ordinary people like seeing heroes show their patient, gentle side, because it makes them feel that if even a kitten can be treated gently, then if they ever find themselves in danger, the hero will patiently rescue them too."

John thoughtfully unscrewed the cap and took a sip of water. "So comics are meant to make ordinary people feel safe. When the big boss sees the comics selling well and thinks I'm safe too, he'll keep giving you good things and protecting you. That's the logic, right?"

"...That sounds a little too utilitarian, but that's essentially what it means."

Lynn sighed helplessly.