Soldier Boy stared at the suit design as though he were looking at a flyer with shit printed on it.
He slowly raised his head. "What did you just say?"
Homelander had yet to notice anything wrong. Immersed in his own world, he even sounded a little proud:
"A father-and-son branding package, plus a little media exposure. The fans will absolutely love our duo, and then both our approval ratings will skyrocket. I've studied the trends..."
"You've studied jack shit," Soldier Boy cut him off. "I don't like it one bit."
Homelander froze, then frowned. "This suit is just like mine. You don't like it?"
"Suit?" Soldier Boy snatched the drawing and slapped it onto the table.
He pointed at the drawing. "You call this a suit? Wearing this thing, I wouldn't even have to lift a finger to deal with supervillains. They'd laugh themselves to death."
Homelander fell silent for two seconds. He wasn't angry; he seemed to be seriously considering something.
"I'm not wearing this. Not over my dead body," Soldier Boy said bluntly.
Homelander suddenly asked, "Is it the color scheme you don't like?"
Soldier Boy: "?"
"I can have the designer adjust it," Homelander added earnestly. "We could add some black, too. Make it look a little more dignified."
Soldier Boy finally lost his patience. "Fuck you, dumbass. Bring me something this ugly again, and I'll beat your ass."
Homelander was momentarily speechless, his pride dealt a devastating blow.
Why was something I put so much thought into being rejected like this?
I don't understand.
"Oh, Ben, it's just a suit." Beside them, Stormfront wiped the grease off her hands while chewing on a meat skewer. She picked up the design, intending to offer a few words of persuasion and make a good impression on Homelander.