"2bad"
When John reached the visitor appointment checkpoint outside Godolkin University's south gate, the hour hand on his watch had just ticked past two in the afternoon.
The sunlight was lovely, the lawn freshly trimmed, and the raw, green smell of grass left by the mower drifted through the air.
Several freshmen in tracksuits printed with "Sponsored by Vought" were gathered around a noticeboard.
One stood on tiptoe, pointing at a particular line, while the others burst into laughter.
It was Godolkin University's campus ranking.
Seeing it, John couldn't help thinking of the internal reserve and promotion system for The Seven in his previous life.
As the strongest supe, his history growing up needed no explanation. He hadn't attended some lousy university or entered any bullshit election.
The position of captain of The Seven was his to begin with.
That was beyond question.
But the other seats in The Seven were managed by Vought, and the petri dish where it cultivated and screened candidates was this so-called Godolkin University.
Incidentally, Godolkin was named after Dr. Thomas Godolkin, who had first created Compound V during World War II.
That was information the "fourth wall" had told John. The doctor had gloriously "sacrificed himself" during World War II, but only John knew that he had actually gone missing.
With his limited information, John didn't know what had happened to Dr. Godolkin afterward.
Back to the subject.
In the world of The Boys, what were the prerequisites for a supe to join The Seven?
First, fame.
Second, commercial gimmicks and publicity tactics.
Neither could be missing.
So Godolkin University was not only Vought's reserve training camp, but also a pool of potential backup cash cows.
Every semester, Vought picked a few top students from here based on the campus rankings to market and rake in money.
The rest either went to the crimefighting department as cannon fodder or were tossed into cold storage in R&D as spare parts.
What a wanton waste.
To John now, manpower was a potential resource. He was conceited and arrogant, yes, but that didn't mean he was a fucking idiot.
From the moment he met Lucifer, that Satan, John had understood one thing:
Until he reached the very top, individual martial strength was ultimately limited.
Manpower could create resources, and resources could feed back into him. Why not?
With that thought, he took the file sheet he had folded several times from his pocket and spread it open in his hands.
Cate Dunlap, nineteen, currently a freshman. Ability type: telepathy.
But this ability had an obvious limitation: physical contact with her hands was required to activate it.
For that reason, Vought's system had marked her as "potential under evaluation."
The notes read, "Continued observation recommended. No media exposure before sophomore year."
An attached page also contained a psychological assessment questionnaire she had filled out during her admissions interview. One field asked, "Who do you admire most?"
There were two names: Soldier Boy and Nation-Protecting Superman.
John smiled.
He folded the file and returned it to his pocket, adjusted the new mask on his face, then crossed the athletic field.
Godolkin's students were already used to seeing John in a mask. There were actually more supes here who wanted to hide their identities than those who didn't.
After all, some supes had rather unconventional abilities.
Had you ever seen someone crawl out of another person's asshole?
Had you ever seen someone use their balls as meteor hammers and pass their pubes off as Medusa?
They all had.
No, to be precise, they had only seen it on the first day of school.
Afterward, those people either hid themselves away or lived off campus long-term.
The counseling room was at the end of the third-floor corridor, which was very quiet.
Most students were in class. Only the faint whistles from the football practice field and the dull thuds of colliding protective gear drifted over from the distance.
Passing the corridor noticeboard, John glanced at the campus celebrity rankings posted there-
[Golden Boy] Luke Riordan was in first place, smiling brightly at the camera in his photograph.
Below the rankings were an activity poster for the Superpower Research Club and a publicity photo of The Deep standing with his hands on his hips, with a hot dog doodled beneath his uniform.
John held down the corners of his mouth.
When he pushed open the counseling room door, Cate was sitting on the windowsill.
Her back rested against the window, one leg bent with her foot on the edge of the sill, the other dangling in the air and swaying gently.
Her blond hair was tied in a loose ponytail, with a few stray strands falling beside her cheekbones.
She was curled up in the corner of the windowsill, a sketchbook open on her knees, her pencil swishing over the paper.
Creak-
She didn't look up, but her left hand resting on the sill suddenly stopped.
Then she moved her hand away from the pencil and picked up a pair of black gloves from the windowsill, her movements unhurried but practiced.
Left hand first, then right.
Only after putting on her gloves did she lift her head and appraise the person at the door with her very pale blue-gray eyes.
Her gaze traveled from head to toe, paused on the mask, then returned to the paper.
"The counseling room isn't open in the afternoon. There's a schedule posted on the door. You should've looked before coming in."
Her voice had a nonchalant lilt.
"Are you new? Godolkin doesn't allow outsiders to wander around campus unless you're a Vought scout.
"If you're a Vought scout, I suggest you go straight to the administration building instead of wasting your time here."
John leaned against the doorframe, both hands in the pockets of his old leather jacket, and waited for her to finish that stroke before speaking.
"I'm not with Vought. I'm here for you."
Cate's pencil stopped. She raised her head and tilted it as she looked at him.
"For me? You don't look like you're here to ask me out for coffee, or like a reporter covering campus life. So what are you here for?"
"Your file says your ability is touch-based control. Vought thinks your potential is limited and marked you 'unactivated.'
"But I know that besides psychic perception, your ability can also read and alter other people's memories."
John paused, took his hands out of his pockets, and interlaced his fingers over his knees, leaning forward slightly.
The corner of Cate's mouth twitched. Then she set down her pencil and slid off the windowsill.
She pushed her sweatshirt sleeves up a little, exposing her wrists, then walked over and sat opposite the sofa, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Are you a headhunter hired by Vought? No, a headhunter wouldn't wear a cheap convenience-store mask. Or are you a member of some anti-Vought organization...
"Aren't you afraid I'll expose you? All I have to do is shout, and everyone here will hear."
"Oh? Go right ahead and try."
John narrowed his eyes slightly and gave her a friendly smile.
But to Cate, he was either an utter idiot or had nothing to fear.
She didn't dare gamble.
"What else do you know, exactly? I'm not buying that a headhunter from an anti-Vought organization would focus on a freshman."
"Your current president here at Godolkin should be called Shetty, right?"
The instant that name left John's mouth, Cate's fingers abruptly tightened against her crossed arms.
It was a tiny reaction, but John noticed it.
She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward slightly, the wariness in her blue-gray eyes growing stronger.
"President Shetty? What about her?"
"Do I really have to spell it out?"
"In Godolkin University's basement, in a place called 'The Woods,' hundreds, even thousands, of supes are being held."
"President Shetty and you are both involved in the research project. Its purpose is to stabilize the Compound V in their bodies. Am I right?"
Cate's back pressed tightly against the windowsill, her legs unconsciously twisting together.
"Your file is marked 'unactivated' in Vought's official system.
"Shetty is the president. She knows the upper limits of your ability better than anyone, but she's never considered helping you remove that label.
"Because an 'unactivated' student is worth nothing in Vought's evaluation system.
"So no one will come to snatch you away, and no one will ask questions.
"The less attention you get, the more she can make you do."
John leaned against the doorframe.
"She told you those supes sent for 'treatment' needed your help, that you should use your touch-based control to stabilize the Compound V in their bodies.
"And you actually believed her?
"After leaving your hands, not one of those supes walked out of Shetty's lab in one piece.
"Their files were all marked 'transferred' or 'recovered and discharged.'
"In reality, they're all in sealed compartments on the third underground level, with intravenous lines sticking out of them. Their nervous systems have been ravaged repeatedly by your mind control. Some can't even keep breathing on their own."
At this point, John deliberately paused, his gaze piercing through the mask's eyeholes and pinning itself to Cate's face.
He seemed to have seen Cate in his previous life, on Godolkin University's athletic field, with supe corpses strewn everywhere.
Sam had been facing off against the black girl, Marie Moreau, and one of Cate's arms had clearly been blown off.
Then he had pinned the blame on Marie without hesitation.
(Still the American way of assigning blame.)
What kind of beast would attack their own kind?
So John hadn't hesitated at all and had gifted Marie a powerful blast of Heat Vision.
And now, that figure with the severed hand merged once more with the youthful, pretty face before him.
Honestly, John had no interest whatsoever in a village-tier black pearl like Marie Moreau.
A supe rated "Odyssey," yet her actual performance was worse than a female gorilla flinging shit at the zoo.
As his thoughts shifted, John appraised Cate again.
Meanwhile, Cate could feel those eyes sweep between her slightly trembling lips and tightly drawn knees, then settle deep in her pupils.
"Shetty is developing a virus that targets supes. Your mind control is her means of stabilizing the test subjects.
"When you touch them, you're helping her suppress the side effects of the virus taking hold, so she can keep using their bodies for tolerance testing.
"And you're the most crucial link in the entire experimental chain.
"Without you, those test subjects would lose control and die after the virus was injected. Vought Security Department would have discovered Shetty's entire project long ago."
At John's words, Cate's pencil instantly slipped between her fingers, rolling across the sketchbook and leaving a crooked ink mark.
Her lips moved without a sound. Then she rose from her seat and straightened.
"You're lying. What gives you the right? What evidence do you have? Do you know how many years President Shetty has been at this school?
"She's always been funding students Vought discarded. I've seen it myself. How dare you slander her?"
"I'm not here to debate you."
John's voice remained level.
"You only have two choices now.
"First, keep helping Shetty with mind control. Once you've accumulated enough supe deaths on your hands, she'll dispose of you as another unstable factor.
"Second, go to the lab tonight and see for yourself what condition those supes you've 'treated' are in now."
"I believe you'll find your own answer."
Cate stared at him, her chest heaving violently, her breathing rapid.
After a moment of silence, she gritted her teeth, forced all those fragmented doubts and fears down below her throat, then said in a low voice:
"If I find out you're lying, I'll make you regret it."
"You won't."
Seeing that he had driven the nail deep enough, John turned and headed toward the door.
Just then, Cate's voice caught up with him from behind.
"These things you're telling me, I don't know whether they're true.
"But you won't even dare take off your mask. It's hard for me to trust you."
"So either take off the mask, or I'll verify it myself-"
As the last few words fell, Cate's fingers had already touched the back of his neck.
At the very instant her fingertips touched his skin.
A handsome face appeared before her eyes.
Blond hair, blue eyes, a clean, sharp jawline.
Young, no older than twenty.
But this incredibly familiar face was one she had seen on television since childhood, pasted on her bedroom wall, printed on posters, standing in the very center of The Seven and smiling at the camera.
Was this... Homelander?
The next second, her consciousness was forcibly ejected.
Just as she tried to touch the deeper layers of his consciousness, she was forcibly thrown out, as though she had hit a wall cast from ice.
What was going on!
"Aah!"
The instant Cate opened her eyes, John was right in front of her, his mask already removed.
He simply stood there, looking down and staring at her with dark eyes.
"Trying to peek at my memories, little girl?"
"You should count yourself lucky. If I hadn't thrown you out in time, your mind would've collapsed the instant it touched my memories. Then you'd have been brain-dead, a vegetable."
Ever since seizing more than half the World Weight, John had not only gained a staggering amount of information, but also felt his mental power forcibly raised severalfold.
It was as though that vague, elusive sensation had been seized in a fist, then manipulated at will.
From then on, John could roughly sense his surroundings, living creatures, and people's emotions.
John also knew perfectly well just how vast the amount of information contained in his brain was.
Leaving aside the sheer volume of data, the "fourth wall's" bird's-eye views from different dimensions, spaces, and perspectives alone could wring other people's brains dry.
"Fuck, fuck... how is this possible? Homelander..."
Her fingers slipped from the back of his neck, and she staggered two steps backward, her knees trembling violently, the muscles of her inner thighs spasming uncontrollably.
The sudden surge of adrenaline squeezed her bladder tight, and an intense urge to urinate shot up from her lower abdomen.
She had to clamp her legs together hard, forcibly holding back that bursting dam.
Homelander... no, Homelander definitely wasn't that young. What the hell was going on?
Damn it, damn it...
"Y-you, who exactly are you?"
Cate's lips trembled, one hand pressed over her lower abdomen, her pretty face filled with terror.
"John. You don't need to worry about who I am. I'm tired of explaining. Here's my phone number."
"If you make up your mind, call me."
(A question for everyone: type 1 for a single female lead, 2 for a harem. How many chapters per world would be suitable without tiring your eyes out? Any recommendations for the next world?)