Vought Plaza was bustling with activity.
This was not just a press conference; it was a meticulously planned religious ceremony.
Several electronic screens continuously played the most classic war footage of Soldier Boy.
The huge poster next to him featured his face, radiating paternal warmth.
The background music is a symphony that has been tuned down.
Solemn and grand.
It makes you want to kneel down and call him "Dad."
News helicopters hovered overhead, while on the ground, media reporters from all over the world crowded for the best spots.
Long lenses and short lenses were aimed at the newly erected, futuristic-looking launch stage.
"That's quite a big deal! Vought went to such lengths for a newcomer!"
"That's what a veteran journalist remarked."
" Old Joe, you're so out of touch." The young intern next to him blushed. " The Soldier Boy's biological son! What does that mean? It's like God suddenly announcing that he has an illegitimate son Jesus II!"
"Hmph, just a gimmick."
Old Joe curled his lip in disdain and lit a cigarette.
" Vought is a master at packaging dog poop as chocolate; this family is probably some kind of freak."
Shh! Are you crazy?
The intern was so startled he almost dropped his camera.
"Look around you, those fans holding up light sticks could devour you alive!"
The area outside the square.
The crowd of fans was so large it was impossible to move.
Some people held up banners that read "Long live the Soldier Boy family," while others had their faces painted with Stars and Stripes.
Several die-hard fans even dressed up as nurses from World War II, staring at the big screen with dreamy eyes.
Backstage lounge.
In front of a full-length mirror.
Homelander is staring intently at himself in the mirror.
Her blonde hair was meticulously styled, with just the right amount of volume, making her look young and energetic.
Hannibal Lecter held a neatly folded silk handkerchief in his hand.
He stepped forward, gently took Homelander's hand, and carefully wiped away non-existent dust.
"Remember," Hannibal said, smiling as he stood behind him, "From this day forward, you are everyone's hope, you are the son of a hero."
"I am... the son of a hero."
The Homelander mechanically repeated the words, his voice hoarse.
"That's right, remember your script? Shy, yearning for approval, with an almost blind adoration for your father. You're not a god, you're just a child who's just come home."
He heard cheers outside.
The sound, like a tsunami, came through the thick walls, vibrating his eardrums.
Was that... for him?
Fear and desire, two extreme emotions, intertwined within him, ultimately converging into a new, morbid form of submission.
Directly in front of the stage.
The lights suddenly went out.
The entire venue went dark, and then a spotlight shone directly on the center of the stage.
Tifa Lockhart came out.
She wore a black business suit and walked with a steady gait.
She is Vought's housekeeper and the executor of Lynn's will.
"We have witnessed war, we have witnessed sacrifice. But today, Vought wants to tell everyone—heroes do not die, they are passed down."
"A lonely father has finally found the missing piece of his puzzle; his bloodline will return to glory today."
"Let us welcome—the son of Soldier Boy, the hope of Vought's future— Homelander!"
Music started playing, and dry ice gushed out.
Dry ice spray erupted from all around the stage, engulfing it in white smoke.
The stirring symphony soared into the sky.
A figure descended from the sky.
It wasn't a high-speed dive with a sonic boom, but a slow and graceful descent.
The Homelander landed in the center of the stage.
The world's cameras were focused on him.
He blinked, his blue pupils filled with nervousness and bewilderment.
He raised his hand as if to greet someone, but then awkwardly lowered it halfway up.
In the end, he could only scratch the back of his head shyly.
This is the "first love boy" meme that Hans Landa forced him to practice for three whole days.
But in the eyes of fans, this is the truth!
"Oh my god! He's so cute!"
" Homelander! Homelander! We love you!"
" Homelander! Look at your mother!"
"My God! Those blue eyes are so captivating!"
A tsunami of love surged forth, purer and more fervent than anything he had ever felt before.
He greedily inhaled the frenzied aroma in the air, a sensation a thousand times sweeter than hot milk!
He felt his empty soul being filled.
So this is the reward for being "obedient".
The feeling was so wonderful that he was willing to pay any price for it.
If there weren't so many people, he might have even given in to it.
Tifa handed him the microphone and asked softly, " Homelander, how does it feel to finally stand before everyone?"
"I... I am honored," Homelander began. "For years, I could only watch my father fight from the Shadow. He was my hero, and a hero to all of United States. Now... I can finally stand in the light, stand beside him."
"I'm not perfect yet, but I will try my best. I won't let him down, and I certainly won't let you down."
Thunderous applause erupted from the audience, and countless young girls were moved to tears.
The sound of camera shutters clicking filled the media area; they'd already come up with tomorrow's headline:
Like father, like son.
A New Hope for America
Amidst this fervor, a discordant voice rang out from a corner of the press box.
" Homelander! I am a special correspondent for the Daily Bugle!"
In a corner of the press box, a man wearing thick-rimmed glasses, whose face screamed "I'm going to make a big scoop," stood up.
He shouted:
"What are your thoughts on your father Soldier Boy, and the civilian Carnage he committed during the Nicaragua operation in the 1970s? Declassified documents show that he smashed the skulls of three innocent villagers with a shield! As his son, do you condone this violent gene?!"
This question shattered the otherwise harmonious atmosphere.
The entire room fell silent.
The smiles on the faces of the Homelander were almost impossible to keep up with.
That line wasn't in the script.
This solution wasn't in the 130-page Q&A manual Hans Landa gave him!
Did the father kill someone?
So what?
Those ants are blocking the way, just trample them to death, isn't that enough?
Why ask such a stupid question?
Why did you have to ruin my perfect debut?
His mind went blank, and his killing instinct began to surge.
He wanted to kill someone.
He wanted to cut off that four-eyed frog's head and stuff it into his ass!
A flash of red light appeared in his eyes.
Just before he was about to lose control, a warm, soft hand gently rested on his back.
It's Tifa.
The Homelander shuddered.
The image of Lynn's indifferent eyes and the Soldier Boy's gleaming military boot flashed through my mind.
"Gentlemen..."
The Homelander's voice trembled slightly as he looked at the reporter, his eyes filled with innocence.
"I don't understand what you're talking about. Nicaragua? I wasn't even born then."
He took a step forward, spreading his hands out like a child trying his best to uphold his father's dignity.
"In my heart, he was just a father who sacrificed his family and the time he spent raising his son to protect this country. He was covered in scars, and even his sleep was often disturbed by nightmares." "If this is what you call the violent gene..." Homelander gave a bitter laugh, a single tear glistening in the corner of his eye, "Then I'd rather inherit it, because that's the price of Guardian."
"Well said!"
"Stay away from that reporter! Don't ask such stupid questions!"
He's just a child! Don't you have any conscience?!
"Which newspaper is that reporter from? The Daily Bugle? Don't even think about selling another copy of their paper!"
There was absolutely no need for security guards to lift a finger.
Angry fans surrounded the unfortunate reporter, hurling countless water bottles, glow sticks, and even high heels at him.
The reporter scurried away, looking as pathetic as a rat crossing the street.
Tifa maintained a polite smile, but only Homelander standing beside her heard her whisper.
"Well done, good boy."
"Double the sugar in your milk tonight."