You're now the most famous person in the world

John covered the little girl's eyes with his other hand and sheltered her behind him.

"And you dirtied the rules, too."

John leaned close to the drug dealer's ear and spoke very softly.

Then the hand holding the grenade clenched sharply.

"Bang!"

The grenade, powerful enough to blow up a car, exploded inside John's indestructible palm with a dull, muffled thud, like a stifled fart inside a tin can.

Not even a spark escaped.

A desperate rattling came from the drug dealer's throat. Then his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed, dead, in agonizing pain and extreme terror.

Clearing out the entire factory took less than a minute.

Outside the cameras' view, the drug dealers who tried to resist or hurt the hostages experienced the most terrifying nightmare of their lives.

Some had their limbs crushed in an instant; others had their necks twisted and broken. They died horribly, yet not one of them screamed, because they never even had the chance.

One minute later.

When Sheriff Miller charged into the factory with the fully armed police officers, trembling with fear, they saw a scene worthy of a religious mural.

In the open space at the center of the factory, all the drug dealers lay "peacefully" on the ground, unable to resist.

And the little blond boy slowly emerged from the darkness, carrying the rescued little girl.

There was not a trace of blood on his dark blue suit, and his golden shoulder armor gleamed beneath the searchlights.

As he gently stroked the little girl's back, he gave the officers rushing inside that signature, flawless smile that made people feel safe.

"Officer, all the hostages are safe. All the bad guys have been subdued, too."

John's voice was gentle and clear. "Please don't be afraid. I'm Homelander."

The gun in Sheriff Miller's hand clattered to the ground.

Looking at the eight-year-old boy before him, who seemed like a god descended to earth, his legs went weak, and he actually felt an urge to kneel and worship him.

Inside the command helicopter overhead.

The head of public relations was so excited he nearly jumped up. "Perfect! This footage is a PR masterpiece sent by God himself! No excessive gore, just absolute power and tenderness toward civilians! Those old fossils at the Pentagon will be on their knees begging us to sign a contract after watching this!"

Lynn sat before the monitor, watching "Homelander" smile perfectly at the camera on the screen, but his fingers dug deep into the edge of the console.

Outsiders saw only the holy image of him walking out with the little girl in his arms.

But with his vision and perception enhanced by the Yasakani Blood Jade, Lynn clearly saw the drug dealers' corpses twisted like braids in the factory's shadows, as well as the blood mist hanging in the air, so thick it would not disperse.

John had displayed a horrifying degree of perfection in following the three rules: "don't kill in public," "protect civilians," and "keep smiling."

With extreme precision, he had compressed all the brutality, bloodshed, and coldness into that blind spot in the footage lasting less than a minute, as though sweeping all the garbage beneath a magnificent carpet.

He was no longer an overgrown infant who threw tantrums when he lost control.

He had become a monster versed in two sets of rules-in the sunlight, he was the whole world's savior;

in the shadows, he was an executioner who treated human lives as worthless.

And his sole motive for all of this was merely to secure Vought International's "protection" for Lynn.

"Lynn."

John's cheerful, well-behaved voice came through the earpiece.

"I just broke six people's necks in the corner, but I covered the hostage's eyes, and I didn't let the drone capture a single drop of blood. The big boss will be happy, right?"

Lynn looked at the brightly smiling angel on the screen and drew a deep breath of cold air, his voice low.

"...Yes, John. You did perfectly. Absolutely perfectly."

On the third day after the Texas hostage rescue, the entire United States, and even the entire Western world, descended into an unprecedented frenzy.

Time hastily replaced its planned cover with a high-definition photograph taken from high above:

Amid ruins and smoke, a blond boy in a dark blue Stars and Stripes suit hovered in midair, like a god descended to earth straight from a Bible illustration.

The cover's headline was a single word: "Salvation."

News channels on all the major television networks played the rescue footage, less than five minutes long, around the clock.

Commentators in their studios spoke with such excitement that spittle flew, raising the boy of just eight onto a divine pedestal.

"In this age filled with greed, crime, and indifference, we have finally seen pure light!"

A famous talk show host's eyes brimmed with tears on air. "He doesn't wear a mask, because justice has nothing to hide! He has not only power, but also such tenderness toward civilians! Vought International has given America a miracle!"

Amid this frenzied storm of public opinion, Vought International's stock triggered a circuit breaker within the first ten minutes of trading on NASDAQ, then continued soaring, setting a historic record on Wall Street.

The Pentagon's generals held a closed-door meeting overnight, and the deputy secretary of defense even called Stan Edgar personally, his tone stripped of its former arrogance.

One hundred floors above ground, in the president's office.

In a rare departure from his habit, Stan Edgar was not drinking coffee. Instead, he poured two glasses of top-quality champagne.

He handed one to Lynn, who sat across from him.

"Cheers, Director Lynn. To our god, and to a new era for Vought."

An undisguised smile rested on Edgar's lips-the smug satisfaction of capital seizing supreme power.

Lynn accepted the glass and took a token sip. The sweet liquid spread across his tongue, yet it left him with a somewhat unpleasant feeling.

"Mr. President, the public frenzy has exceeded our expectations."

Lynn set down his glass, his tone cautious. "But if we put an eight-year-old child on such a high pedestal, any future misstep will bring a devastating backlash."

"A misstep? As long as you don't die, he won't make any missteps."

Edgar settled back into his leather swivel chair, his hands folded in front of him. "Capitol Hill has agreed to open preliminary hearings on the 'Supe Integration into the National Security Act.' That is the value John brings. Lynn, you have proved your ability. Starting today, you will officially take over as director of the Hero Coordination and Public Image Department. Madelyn will assist you as your deputy."

Lynn was startled. Edgar was promoting him straight into Vought International's core decision-making ranks, even placing him above Madelyn, who had previously been his immediate superior.

"Furthermore, in recognition of your contribution, the company has purchased a premier estate for you on Long Island, with security on the same level as my official residence."

Edgar looked into Lynn's eyes as though trying to see through his soul. "John won't have to live in that dark basement anymore. He can move there with you. Let him bask in sunlight and camera flashes. That's where he belongs."

"I understand. Thank you for the company's support."

Lynn nodded and left the office with a calm expression.

The elevator descended all the way to the basement in Area B.

When Lynn pushed open the familiar alloy door, the television was showing news about "Homelander."

John, dressed in his loose loungewear, lay on his stomach on the carpet, brushing Buddy, the enormous golden retriever weighing over seventy jin.

Buddy grunted in contentment, his tail sweeping back and forth.

Hearing the door open, John looked up.

"Lynn! Did you watch TV? All those ordinary people out there are shouting my name."

A trace of curiosity flashed in John's blue eyes, but there was none of the ecstasy of being revered by the masses.

Lynn walked over to the sofa and sat down, rubbing his tired brow. "I saw. You're now the most famous person in the world. How does it feel?"

John paused with the brush in his hand and gave it some serious thought.

"It feels... really noisy."