No one gets to speak that loudly in front of you

Lynn said nothing. He simply walked to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down, calmly looking at the egomaniac before him.

He opened the folder in his hand and pulled out a Disciplinary Decision.

"All commercial dividends for the next six months will be withheld. Your cameos in two independent films in the second half of the year are canceled. Report to the Security Department immediately for punishment. One month of confinement."

Lynn pushed the paper toward Silver Streak, his tone as bland as if he were reading a dinner menu.

"Are you insane?!"

Silver Streak slammed the table and shot to his feet, moving so fast he left an afterimage in the air.

He braced both hands on the table and loomed over Lynn, his eyes full of menace. "You're just an ordinary human, and you dare order me around? Do you believe I could snap your neck before you even blink?"

Faced with the threat, Lynn did not so much as blink an extra time.

He even had the leisure to brush nonexistent dust from his suit cuff.

"You can try." Lynn leaned back in his chair, his lips curving into a smile without a trace of warmth.

The instant his words fell, the Isolation Room's heavy metal door gave a teeth-grating crash.

Bang!

The special steel door, strong enough to withstand armor-piercing rounds, was ripped clean off from outside by an overwhelming, terrifying force and hurled into the corner like a piece of scrap metal.

A blond boy wearing a Stars and Stripes suit slowly lowered his right hand, which was still held in a pulling posture, and stepped into the Isolation Room.

There was not a trace of childish innocence in the boy's azure eyes, only the coldness of someone looking at a dead thing.

He did not even glance at the speedster hero, simply walking straight behind Lynn and standing still in silence.

The air seemed to freeze in that instant.

Silver Streak remained braced against the table, his whole body as motionless as if a paralysis spell had been cast on him. His face turned deathly pale.

Cold sweat slid from his forehead down his cheeks. He did not even dare breathe too hard.

As a Vought International insider, he knew all too well what the boy before him, known as "Homelander," represented.

He was the company's only S-Class test subject, an embodiment of absolute violence that no superhuman could even hope to look up to.

"Where was I?" Lynn tapped the tabletop lightly with his knuckles, calling Silver Streak's soul back.

"With... withholding dividends. One month of confinement..."

Silver Streak's legs gave way, and he collapsed back into his chair, his voice trembling like a fallen leaf drying in the wind.

"Good. It seems there's nothing wrong with your hearing." Lynn stood and straightened his tie. "Sign it, then get your ass to the Security Department."

Lynn turned and walked out, and John immediately followed like a loyal guard.

In the corridor, Lynn turned his head toward the boy beside him.

"Why did you come down here to join the commotion instead of watching cartoons in the lounge upstairs?"

There was a hint of reproach in Lynn's voice, but his gaze was gentle.

"That guy was talking too loudly. He was disturbing me."

John pursed his lips. "Besides, no one gets to speak that loudly in front of you, Lynn."

Lynn smiled helplessly.

He knew that from this day forward, every superhero throughout Vought International would understand one fact:

Offending the company's senior executives meant, at worst, being shelved;

but if they disrespected Lynn, that devil with an angel's face would twist their heads off without the slightest hesitation.

Half a month after taking over the Superheroes Management Department, the pace of Lynn's life had slowed completely, but it had also become more tedious.

Afternoon sunlight streamed through the bulletproof glass on the eighty-eighth floor of Vought Tower, casting bright patches of light on the carpet.

Behind a broad walnut wood desk, Lynn held a cup of freshly ground black coffee and looked expressionlessly at the man sitting across from him.

He was a middle-aged man with a mohawk, dressed in a dark red skintight combat suit.

A C-Class hero registered with Vought International: "Magma."

"Director Lynn, I'll say it again. I absolutely refuse to shoot an endorsement ad for that Frozen Pizza chain!"

Magma pressed both hands against the edge of the desk, somewhat agitated. Even the air around his hair rippled with distortion as his body temperature rose. "I'm a superhero who commands flames. Endorsing frozen food? That'll make me look like a clown in front of my fans!"

Lynn said nothing. He merely took an unhurried sip of coffee, then opened a drawer, took out a thick stack of bills, and pushed it toward Magma.

"Take a look at this," Lynn said evenly.

Magma frowned and opened the bills. His expression immediately shifted.

"Last Thursday, you apprehended two car thieves in the Bronx. To look cool, you unleashed a high-intensity burst of flames."

Lynn leaned back in his chair and folded his hands. "You caught the car thieves, but you also burned down a full half-block of municipal landscaping and three fire hydrants, and charred a school bus parked by the road into charcoal. Vought International paid the compensation bills from city hall and the school bus company on your behalf."

Sweat broke out on Magma's forehead, and the distorted air around him instantly cooled. "Director, that was just an accident..."

"In this office, there are no accidents. Only costs and returns."

Lynn cut him off, his gaze calm yet carrying unquestionable authority. "The fee for this Frozen Pizza commercial will just cover the financial hole you've dug. You can go to the studio and smile for the camera, or I can tell the Security Department to revoke your hero license right now and let you explain that fire to city hall's legal team yourself."

Lynn paused, tapping the desk lightly with his fingertips. "If you think the Security Department can't restrain you, I can also have John visit your apartment tonight for a chat and teach you how to control your body temperature. Which will it be?"

At the name "John," Magma shuddered uncontrollably.

The news that Silver Streak had nearly been scared to death by that blond boy in the Isolation Room that day had long since spread throughout the entire department.

Now everyone knew that Lynn held the leash of a monster no one could afford to provoke.

"I... I'll shoot the pizza commercial. I'll go to the audition this afternoon."

Magma swallowed, quickly picked up the contract on the desk and signed his name, then fled the office as though running for his life.

Looking at the mahogany doors as they closed again, Lynn shook his head helplessly.

He tossed the signed contract into the pending tray, then pulled out an encrypted financial statement buried at the very bottom.

This was what truly taxed his mind. It was an incomplete fund flow report he had intercepted deep within the company intranet using his senior director privileges.

The report showed that, aside from the routine expenses of packaging superheroes, Vought International secretly transferred a staggering sum of money every quarter into an offshore account on an unnamed island somewhere in the Pacific.

The project's code name had been obscured by black redaction blocks at the highest classification level, leaving only a blurry letter "P."

Lynn frowned slightly.

Knock, knock.

Someone knocked softly on the office door, and a female assistant from Public Relations poked her head in. "Director Lynn, the charity visit at the children's hospital has begun. The live feed is on your second screen."

"All right. Understood."

Lynn locked the encrypted statement in his private drawer, swiveled his chair, and looked at the small screen beside him.

On-screen, the lobby of Presbyterian Children's Hospital in Manhattan had been decorated with playful touches for children.

Media reporters had set up cameras with lenses of every size around the perimeter.

Eight-year-old John, dressed in a spotless Stars and Stripes suit, was crouching in front of a little boy with leukemia sitting in a wheelchair.