Hi guys, I realized that I made the character's past life a little older than I intended, especially the part that "he's already been through a divorce." So I changed the first chapter.
And I thank those who pointed this out, the chapters are subject to correction, unfortunately I'm not perfect, but I hope you enjoy.
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[NEW YORK CITY – EMERGENCY HOSPITAL – TRAUMA INTENSIVE CARE UNIT]
The hospital lights were too bright. Almost aggressive. The air reeked of antiseptic and urgency. I stood beside the stretcher, watching the doctors gather around the villain I had saved. Or rather... what was left of him.
The monitor beeped at an irregular rhythm. Red lines danced on the screen. One doctor was sweating as she examined the collapsed lungs in the X-ray. Another applied morphine with steady hands but trembling eyes. No one asked questions. No one told me to leave.
I was the reason he was still breathing. But also... maybe the reason this happened at all.
My fists were clenched. Not out of anger. Out of helplessness.
'He didn't need to end up like this. I was handling it. I had control. Until he showed up.'
The image still burned in my mind: Homelander's fist intercepting the final blow. The smile. The voice. The superiority he radiated without needing to speak.
'He saw me. And decided to step in. Not to help. But to claim territory.'
One of the doctors looked at me. "He'll survive. But… with sequelae. Exposed fractures, internal bleeding, severe cranial trauma. It'll take months for him to recover. Maybe years."
I nodded. Whispered my thanks and left.
[ROOFTOP – A FEW BLOCKS AWAY – SUNSET]
The city had returned to its rhythm. Sirens here. Traffic lights there. People running. People hugging. But not me.
I watched everything from above, arms crossed and eyes fixed on the distant lights. New York looked small from up here. Like a lit-up model.
'Maybe that's how he feels. Always.'
I felt the presence before I heard it. The shift in the air. The subtle pressure. The muted hum.
Homelander landed a few meters away. Calm. Silent. Expressionless. His uniform impeccable.
"I was right," he said. "You're not like me."
I looked at him. Every part of me on alert.
"No one asked for your help."
He smirked. "Do you think heroes need permission ? That saving the world is about etiquette ?"
I was silent for a moment.
"Saved him ? That was saving ?"
I asked, standing up with restrained anger.
"He didn't die, did he ?" he approached. "Power is efficiency. Not empathy."
I took a deep breath. The cold air filled my warmed lungs.
"One thing you're right about, Homelander. I'm not — and don't want to be — like you."
He laughed. Low. As if I had told a tragic joke.
"You want to be human ? With that power ? That's pathetic. It's wasteful."
I stepped forward. My eyes locked with his.
"No. It's a choice. And choosing to be better than what they expect from me is what makes me... dangerous to you."
Silence.
His face hardened. "You'll regret defying me. The world doesn't love heroes. The world consumes them. And when you're no longer useful, they'll destroy you."
I stepped back. My eyes burned slightly, but I didn't release energy. Not yet.
"Maybe. But when that day comes... at least I'll know I was true to what I believe. And you ? Will you remember what you believe in... or what you pretend to be ?"
He stared at me for a long second. Then... turned.
Without another word, he flew off, cutting the sky with a sober roar.
I stayed there, alone. The city stretched below, alive and indifferent. But I knew. The silent war had begun.
[HIDDEN LABORATORY – SUBTERRANEAN REGION OF MUSUTAFU]
Crossing the globe had never been so silent. My body moved on instinct, but my mind was somewhere else entirely.
Homelander.
He shouldn't exist. Not in this universe. And yet, there he was. Real. Tangible. Lethal.
And what haunted me most was the origin. That power... that structure... it was too familiar.
'DNA. Part of me. Finally come back to haunt me.'
Dr. Meryl's hideout wasn't on any map. Protected by layers of geothermal insulation and bioluminescent signature dispersion. But I knew the way.
I landed softly on the darkened rock, where a nearly invisible crevice led to the earth's depths. I walked through the narrow corridor, lit only by faint blue streaks that reacted to my body heat.
The titanium door opened with a hiss, revealing the interior of the lab.
Meryl stood in front of a terminal, her eyes scanning data and holographic projections. She didn't flinch. Didn't even turn.
"You saw him."
I nodded, even though she wasn't looking at me yet.
"And you think he's…"
"He's part of me," I answered firmly. "But twisted. He's like a shadow."
She typed in a few sequences, and a 3D rotating image appeared: a DNA strand with corrupted segments, altered by external engineering.
She finally turned. "The fragment we lost in the incident... it was located by an organization we couldn't track. It disappeared before we could retrieve it. Now... I see the result."
I closed my eyes. Felt the weight of that confirmation lock around my thoughts like a hot shackle.
"They created him with that," I murmured. "With what was left of me."
Meryl nodded. For the first time, her eyes showed something close to fear.
"You're not facing a villain, Revan. You're facing a twisted idea. And ideas don't die easily."
"But one thing doesn't make sense…" she said, resting her hand on her chin in thought.
"What do you mean ?" I asked.
"Even with access to the DNA, it's only been a few months since the incident. It doesn't make sense for there to already be an young adult with your same powers," she said, turning back to the monitors.
I approached, standing beside her chair, watching the information stream rapidly across the screen.
"They may have altered someone else's DNA," I offered as a theory.
"No. Many scientists, myself included, have studied this. Quirk cells in a person follow a natural development process. Attempts at enhancement or modification cause the cells to destroy themselves — along with other cells in the body," she said.
"But... if someone modified a fetus still in the womb, the cells wouldn't have developed yet. They'd be blank slates, waiting to be written," she added, her face paling slightly at the realization.
I immediately understood what she meant.
"You're saying they used a fetus ?! Modified it ?!" I asked, rage bubbling inside me.
"I-it's a possibility. But it still doesn't explain Homelander's age. Even if that hypothesis is true, he should only be a few months old — at most," she said, trying to make sense of the possibilities.
"If they really managed to modify a baby in the womb and give him my powers... I guess accelerated aging doesn't sound so impossible anymore," I replied.
Meryl leaned forward, hands over her forehead. I could feel her tension — hear the blood rushing quickly through her veins.
I stayed silent, trying to understand all the potential scenarios, trying to make everything make sense in my mind. But it was hard.
My eyes swept over the many monitors. Most were news feeds — she was likely looking for something suspicious, some article, some report that might point us toward solving this puzzle.
But so far, it seemed all in vain.
Until one headline, in particular, caught my eye — making my heart pound in my chest.
[VIGILANTE SPOTTED, CRIMINALS BRANDED IN CHICAGO!]
The image showed a human trafficker handcuffed on the ground, soaked in sweat and blood, his face bruised and purple from punches. And on his shoulder — a mark. A bat-shaped silhouette, seared into the skin with iron.
Let me know if you'd like to continue from here in English, or want any edits to this translation.