Frenchie clenched his fists.
His skills weren't even worth a fart?
Heh.
Why not take a stroll through the black market and ask who ruled the underground arms trade?
He felt the cold wall against him. The cigar in his hand had burned down to the end, but he still hadn't thrown it away.
Homelander raised his eyebrows. "Oh, your heart's beating fast. Are you... angry?"
Frenchie met those blue eyes and felt an inexplicable pressure.
He realized that he couldn't even hide his emotions in front of this man. No matter what, having a superhuman who could casually destroy a city stand before him with ill intent was absolutely hair-raising.
"Sir, I'm just so excited to see you. I feel like I'm dreaming, having the world's greatest superhero talk to me." Frenchie hurried to ease the tension.
An ingratiating smile lingered on his face. In his anger, he chose to play it safe, though he kept grumbling inwardly.
Fuck. I'll put up with it.
If you weren't my boss, I'd fucking take you on!
Seeing Homelander's expression relax slightly, Frenchie continued, "Sir, I know there's a huge gap between ordinary people and superheroes, but I have my own abilities. Gathering black-market intelligence, for example, is second nature to me. Perhaps Mr. Soldier Boy wants to use that to help Vought fight crime."
Homelander kept watching Frenchie with interest, as though he had discovered another toy.
Through his super hearing, he could tell there was almost no fear in Frenchie's heartbeat, only the rhythm of a guilty conscience. In those few seconds just now, there had even been a trace of anger.
He found that Frenchie shared a few traits with Butcher.
Homelander shook his head. "You still don't understand what I'm saying. If I wanted to, I could make