Chapter 2724 - Ch: 1-6

American Comic Book: My Yandere Girlfriend Homelander?!

Chapter 1: My Brother Is Superman?!

July 1999.

Kansas, Smallville, in front of the cornfield.

A blonde boy was photosynthesizing under the sun.

"Yale!"

The sound of cicadas suddenly erupted.

Yale reluctantly opened his half-closed eyes.

He saw a sturdy child standing in the shade nearby.

Clark Kent, eight years old.

The Kent Family's other adopted son, Yale's nominal older brother, an indefatigable calf under the sun.

"Yale! Let's go to Chloe's place together! Pete is there too!"

He smiled brightly, revealing a newly replaced tooth.

To anyone else, this was just an energetic ordinary farm boy.

But to Yale...

——This was Superman.

"Not going."

Yale closed his eyes, "Clark, the most important thing you should be doing right now is setting up a chair next to me and bathing in the sunlight together with me."

"Vitamin D promotes bone development and is good for physical and mental health. How many times have I told you?"

"But you've been lying here all morning!"

"If you keep sunbathing like this, you'll turn into the shriveledest corn cob on the farm, just like the salted fish at Old Zad's place next door."

"..."

Yale almost couldn't help laughing out loud.

When you go to outer space to block meteors, go to the bottom of the sea to rescue submarines, or even get into a brawl with some psycho wearing a bat suit in the future, you will only regret not sunbathing more this summer.

"Ignore elders' advice, and you'll suffer right before your eyes." He said with a straight face.

"We're only eight years old!"

"Age does not represent my super intelligence."

Clark glared at him.

"Tsk..."

"Go play in your mud, Clark."

"..."

Clark turned and ran away angrily, heading toward the two figures standing under the large oak tree not far away.

One tall, one short.

Pete Ross and Chloe Sullivan.

The three of them met in the distance, and their laughter drifted over on the wind.

Years of peace and quiet...

My ass!

It's just that someone else is carrying the heavy burden forward for you.

Watching the three figures disappear, Yale's heart was filled with exasperated heartache for the young Kryptonian cub.

"Kryptonian Template · Roleplay Progress: 12%"

"For truth, for freedom, and for a better tomorrow."

Raising his hand, the boy waved away the light screen.

"Sunbathing is, of course, also for a better tomorrow."

He proclaimed today's life manifesto with righteous confidence.

Farming, driving tractors, ensuring twelve hours of daily sunshine, grinding up the roleplay progress, and when the world falls into chaos, securely hugging Superman's big thigh.

Such is life.

To be able to live such a good life—if it were himself who started this lifetime as an orphan, he wouldn't even dare to make this up in his dreams.

After all, his mother died when he was an infant, and his alcoholic, abusive father even drank himself into the hospital when this body was four or five years old.

Causing the town residents to gather together in the church late at night to discuss how to deal with this unwanted burden...

Fortunately, Jonathan and Martha stepped forward. The simple-hearted farm couple didn't have much objection to raising one more child, so the moment Martha took his hand and walked into the Kent Farm to see Clark...

Memories of his past life, along with the truth of this world, rushed into his mind, making him realize in an instant what world he was standing in, and knowing that his adoptive parents were the famous parents of Superman.

Yale spent a happy time just like that. He integrated into this family, shared a bunk bed with Clark, and was fed Martha's apple pies every day.

Although the drunkard was discharged from the hospital later, it was a pity that he didn't make it to the farm, dying halfway of a myocardial infarction in the pouring rain and mud.

And then last week, Yale woke up to find an extra line of small text in his field of vision.

Roleplay System.

The name Yale gave it.

There was only one initial card slot. The way to gain power was to contact special ability holders, bind templates, and complete chunibyo-style small text conditions to push the progress bar to eighty percent to unlock the next slot.

If the progress bar dropped to zero, he would become an idiot.

It was that simple.

So he unhesitatingly placed his hand on Clark's shoulder.

Obviously.

In a place like Smallville where there was nothing but corn and cow dung, besides binding this future God on Earth, who else could he bind?

Yawning, Yale stretched.

"Click—!"

A roaring sound arose.

A dust-covered Ford stopped by the dirt road.

Yale raised an eyebrow.

The car door pushed open, and a tall man with a chin full of messy stubble and a hint of tobacco smell walked down.

"Hey, lucky lazy kid, do you know how to get to the Kent Family?" He seemed very irritated.

"..."

Among the Kent Family's many honest distant relatives, it was absolutely impossible to produce such a thug whose past deeds could be known at a glance...

With his voice raspy like this, he's probably been smoking weed for twenty years.

Stretching out his hand, Yale pointed toward the western highway completely opposite to the farm.

The man clicked his tongue, spat, pulled open the car door, and restarted the car.

Yale also calmly lay back down on the chair.

Until the sound of the beat-up Ford spewing puffs of black smoke and speeding away in roughly the wrong direction reached his ears...

The smile on his face faded bit by bit.

This guy has big issues. Could he really be a wanted criminal from Gotham?

Propping himself up on the armrests, Yale prepared to take a shortcut back to tell Jonathan to dig out the old hunting rifle and load the bullets.

But just as he turned halfway, the sunlight leaking through the cracks in the leaves overhead was suddenly completely blocked by a massive object.

Something clamped onto his hand.

The car had clearly already driven away, but the man was standing in the shade behind him before he knew it.

"Even though I've fucking slept for a long time, my sense of direction for home is still here, kid." The man barked in a low voice.

"Why did you lie to me?"

Muscles quietly tightening, Yale tried to yank his arm back with force.

Motionless.

This fucking isn't right. Even if he had only photosynthesized in this lousy yard for a week, relying on the roleplay progress, his current arm strength should be enough to throw a hundred-plus-pound haystack in the backyard over the top of the barn with one hand, but this rough man reeking of smoke didn't even seem to be using any strength.

Superhuman? Yale's brow twitched.

And what did he just say? What did his sense of direction for home mean?

"Are you a member of the Kent Family?" he asked.

Grinning, the man brushed back his hair, preparing to give this ignorant little brat a reminder of what the legend of the Smallville Wild Wolf King was all about.

"What are you doing to my brother!"

A gust of wind blew across the wheat waves.

Huh?

The man sneered, seeing yet another little brat rushing over aggressively.

A futile attempt.

Casually extending his left hand, he prepared to suppress this farm boy into the dirt and teach him the survival of the fittest in adult society. Being so impulsive at such a young age—when he grows up, the outside society won't pamper him. If he went to Gotham with this kind of personality...

"Kid, when you cry and run back to mommy's arms for milk later, remember to chant your uncle's name. I am..."

"Bang——!"

The air fell silent for a moment.

A fist smashed solidly into the man's side face.

The man who had fancied himself a beast the moment before flew backward hugging the ground the next instant. Accompanied by a cracking sound, he forcefully snapped an old oak tree in half and fell into the mud, losing all movement.

"..."

Leaves drifted in a spin and landed on the passed-out man's face.

Yale's eye twitched, thinking that he really hadn't doted on this good Superman brother in vain.

He raised his head to look at the yellow sun in the sky radiating endless light and heat, as well as Clark, who was standing in place maintaining his punching posture and panting heavily under the sun.

A punch that could make a young Superman pant under the sun—did this kid Clark secretly burst his potential just now to save him?

"Yale, are you alright?"

Clark withdrew his fist, his azure blue eyes full of concern.

"I'm fine." Yale rubbed his throbbing temples and pointed behind him at the middle-aged uncle whose life or death was unknown. "However, the question now is whether he is fine."

"This guy seems to be our relative."

"Huh?"

"Did you forget?"

"What?"

"What did Dad say at the table during dinner last night?"

Clark blinked blankly.

"Of course you forgot, because you were too busy wrestling with the corn wraps on your plate." Yale said expressionlessly, "Dad said we have a long-lost uncle. We contacted him a few days ago, and he's coming back these few days."

Clark's eyes widened as he looked at the unconscious man under the tree. "Could it be... he is the one?"

"Most likely." Yale walked over with a solemn expression.

Although he was sent flying by a punch and even snapped a tree, the man didn't even break a layer of skin, and his chest was still rising and falling steadily. Such a terrifying physique, such terrifying arm strength.

Clearly, their long-lost uncle...

Is a superhuman!

After all, being able to take a full-strength punch from the current Man of Steel head-on and merely pass out was definitely a monster-tier existence in a beginner village like Smallville.

Yale scratched his hair in annoyance.

"Clark, you're really fast."

"Because didn't you often tell me that at critical moments of crisis when family members might be harmed, don't hesitate, just use super strength directly?" Clark scratched his head with an innocent face.

"Actually, my original words were to use your intelligence to think first, and if all else fails, use strength."

"That's right." The boy blinked his harmless blue eyes. "So now my intelligence tells me that I had to use strength just now."

"..."

It made so much sense that it was simply irrefutable.

Yale took a deep breath and solemnly pressed both hands on Clark's shoulders.

"What is the first rule of the Kent Protocol?"

"Protect family." Clark answered reflexively.

"What about the second?"

"When in doubt, ask... ask Yale?"

Yale: "So did you skip the second rule just now?"

Clark looked innocent: "Because my intelligence tells me the first rule has a higher priority than the second."

"..."

"Fine, then starting today, the third rule of the Kent Protocol adds a prerequisite before your super intelligence lets you use super strength!" He lowered his voice. "Before knocking someone unconscious, figure out how to dispose of the body..."

"Ahem... aftermath. I mean the aftermath."

"Mm, Dad said people of the Kent Family must be upright." Clark nodded earnestly.

"That's right, uprightly dealing with the aftermath. You know me..."

Before his voice fell.

"What are you doing to my dad!"

A childish scream came over.

Yale whipped his head around.

He saw a golden figure fly directly out of the cornfield!

It was really flying!

The petite figure completely ignored gravity and slammed head-first into Clark's chest!

"Boom!"

This time, it was the Man of Steel's turn to fly away.

Clark didn't even have time to grunt as his whole body tumbled through the cornfield, flattening large swathes of cornstalks and plowing a dirt trench over a dozen meters long.

"...?"

Yale froze in place.

There's another expert?!

He looked at the trench, his brain crashing.

This was Clark Kent! Even if he was only eight years old, even if he hadn't learned to fly yet, his bone density was harder than an iron plate! What kind of person could send the Man of Steel flying head-first into the cornfield?!

The dust cleared.

The girl scrambled up from the ground.

Disregarding the dirt on her body, she simply opened her arms to block in front of the unconscious man.

She looked to be only about seven or eight years old, wearing an oversized T-shirt with blonde hair messy like weeds.

Staring right at Yale.

In her sky-blue eyes, there was bone-chilling murderous intent.

Even deep inside, something was heating up, and red light was flickering deep within her pupils.

Wanting to kill people at such a young age? What kind of environment did this guy grow up in...

No...

Blonde hair, super strength, shooting lasers from her eyes?

Could this be...

Kara? Supergirl Kara Zor-El?

Yale's brain spun at high speed.

This was nothing, it made complete sense. The Jonathanfamily got an uncle, and the uncle picked up Supergirl Kara who also fell down in a spaceship outside and brought her back to the farm. Although the plot of this parallel universe was a bit heavily modified, it still made sense.

But right as he was comforting himself, a golden flash crossed his eyes, and in an instant, a hand caught him by the neck.

"Crack—!"

Yale rolled his eyes, his cervical vertebrae making cracking sounds.

He almost couldn't catch his breath.

Even...

An incredible thing happened!

"Ding——! Ding——! Ding——!"

"Detected the presence of a special template ability holder."

"Target determination: Perfect V-series Superhuman —— Homelander."

"Template entry successful —— Homelander"

"Roleplay conditions: Getsugatensho! Do whatever you want!"

"Binding... Binding failed"

"Second slot (pending activation), Homelander template (pending activation)"

"Please continue to improve the Kryptonian template roleplay progress to activate the second slot."

"Please have an in-depth communication with the template holder to activate the Homelander template."

"Hidden hint: Similar templates can undergo deep fusion with the current first slot to generate an advanced template ——"

"Hyperion"

"..."

The wind stopped.

The heat brought by the sunlight lingered persistently, and the summer heat hovered between the two of them. Yale Kent's belated summer seemed to have finally arrived.

Being choked by the neck, his eyes crossed the girl's delicate small face, staring blankly at the sky.

No...

What the fuck kind of a fucking parallel universe is this?!

Chapter 2 My cousin is Homelander?!

Clark crawled out of the mud.

He clutched his dull, aching chest, his eyes filled with bewilderment.

This was the first time in his eight years of life that he experienced a loss of balance.

But this bewilderment didn't last long before he saw a blonde girl in the distance grabbing his brother by the neck.

"Yale——!"

The soil on the ground exploded into a circular crater.

With a thunderous leap, the eight-year-old boy slammed fiercely into the girl.

"Bang——!"

Two small bodies collided.

The dull, booming sound shook the leaves down in a rustle, and the girl was forced to let go by this brute force.

Clark landed in front of Yale.

He panted heavily, just about to turn his head to show off an older brother's reliability, "Yale, you didn't…"

"Get lost!"

A low shout rang out.

The golden storm returned just as quickly as it had left.

The girl sent Clark flying with another headbutt.

"Boom!"

Before Clark could even finish the second half of his sentence, he was dragged by the girl rolling deep into the cornfield.

Yale touched his reddened neck and coughed hard twice.

In the distance, patches of corn stalks fell over like waves.

Small tornadoes moved back and forth across the farmland.

Was this the first clash between Superman and... uh... Homelander girl?

Anyway, if there were a cameraman here right now, this scene would definitely go down in history at the 31st-century Superhero Museum, but unfortunately, Yalecurrently only saw two bratty kids in muddy pits grabbing each other's hair, tearing clothes, and swinging wild, clumsy punches.

After pondering for a moment, the Golden Lion of Smallville decided not to meddle for now in this Twilight of the Gods that looked like kids fighting over spicy strips at an elementary school gate.

He sized up the guy who was suspected to be his uncle under the shade of the tree.

"Wake up!"

Yale crouched down.

"Slap! Slap!" Swinging his arm in a full arc, he gave the man two solid, resounding slaps across the face.

"Wake up! Uncle!"

"Slap! Slap!"

Another pair of back-and-forth slaps, but the man didn't even twitch his eyelids.

Instead, Yale shook his aching palm and gasped in a breath of cold air.

Why was this guy's face skin so thick?

"Chug-chug-chug-chug!"

The tractor spewed black smoke as the old farmer hurried to the scene, his eyes widening as they landed on the storm in the cornfield.

"Yale! What happened?"

"Didn't we pay our taxes this year? Why did the IRS send armored vehicles over?!" Jonathan said angrily.

"See for yourself." Yale sighed.

Jonathan squinted and looked over.

An honest, simple face slowly displayed a kind of…

fatherly gratification.

"Good lord," Jonathan exclaimed, "there are actually kids who can play together with Clark? This is simply a miracle!"

Yale's eyelids twitched wildly.

"No! Dad, look closely!" He pointed at the cornfield impatiently, "How on earth does this look like playing?! Your eldest son is about to be swallowed alive!"

Jonathan was stunned for a moment before realizing something was wrong.

"Anyway, take a look at this guy first." Yale didn't give Jonathan a chance to break up the fight, pointing instead to the shade of the tree behind him.

"Clang!"

A wrench dropped to the ground.

"Is it him back?!"

"Could it be?" Yale cooperated by showing a shocked expression.

"I told you and the others last night, I have a younger brother," Jonathan sighed, "which means your uncle."

"But why is he passed out?" the old farmer asked with some confusion,

"It's a long story…" Yale patted Jonathan's hip like a little adult, "We need to wake him up quickly, otherwise our family's bumper crop of corn this year will only yield corn stalks."

Hearing this, Jonathan turned his head in even greater shock.

He looked at the storm in the distance, then back at his younger brother on the ground.

The old farmer's brain was obviously somewhat overloaded.

The children of the two Kent Family brothers…

Why were they all so much like bulldozers?

No, now wasn't the time to think about such things.

Jonathan shook his head, casting away the absurd thought. He rushed over to Benjamin's side and shook his shoulders hard.

"Ben! Wake up! Ben!"

Was it really Uncle Ben?

Yale sighed.

Could it be that he got the little spider script this time?

"Benjamin Kent! Open your eyes! I am Jonathan!"

There was no response.

In the distant cornfield, the sounds of fighting still continued to ring out.

Jonathan grew anxious.

Looking at this face that was as nonchalant as in his memory, a wave of anger that had built up for over a dozen years suddenly rushed to his head.

He raised his hand.

"Slap! Slap!"

Of course it was useless; instead, it made Jonathan's hand hurt.

But…

"Get up! You bastard!" Jonathan's voice cracked, veins bulging on his forehead, "Benjamin! Thirty years! When you encounter troubles, do you still only know how to lie on the ground and play dead like a weak coward?! You coward!"

"I'm not a fucking coward!"

With a low roar, Benjamin, who had been like a dead pig, suddenly shuddered, his eyes snapping open.

An angry old face hung above him.

"Dad?!" he cried out abruptly.

"...It's me." Jonathan rubbed his forehead.

What a chaotic mess.

Yale smacked his lips.

People always think it's hard to wake someone pretending to sleep or someone who's gone crazy…

Actually, that's not the case; you just need to poke at the word he's most insecure about deep in his heart, and he'll jump up like a wildcat with its butt burned…

Although Jonathan didn't understand psychology, he clearly knew how to strike a Kent.

"Jo... Jonathan?"

Benjamin frowned, subconsciously touching his butt, combined with the lingering numbness in his body at the moment…

The PTSD from his boot camp days surged up fiercely.

His pupils dilated abruptly, and he covered his butt with both hands, scooting backward in the mud.

"Damn it!!" the man let out an earth-shattering roar, "Jonathan?! Aren't you the biggest redneck in town?! Are you so old now that you have to rely on someone to help you up?!"

"…"

Yale stood beneath the tree, silently covering his face.

Whose Uncle Ben acts with such an outrageous attitude?!

Spider-Man would immediately mutate into a spider monster if he saw this!

In the distant cornfield.

Hearing their respective fathers' voices, the bratty kids stopped rolling around.

Jonathan froze in place.

"You bastard…" He pointed a shaking finger at Benjamin, unable to speak for a long time. The caring lines he had rehearsed repeatedly by the oil lamp late at night these past few days were now stuck in his throat, and he didn't want to say them to this guy at all.

The two nearly fifty-year-old men just stared at each other like that.

"Um…"

Until Yale pointed at the distant cornfield.

"Uncle Ben, no matter how affectionately you and my dad stare at each other, my dad won't give you his butt."

Uncle Ben glared fiercely.

"Kid! What the fuck did you say?!"

Yale nodded obediently, "Fine, Butt Uncle."

"Hey, you…"

"Alright!"

"We can talk about whatever when we go inside later; it won't be good if the neighbors hear the commotion." Jonathan glanced at the cornfield.

In Smallville, sounds could travel very far.

"So what if they hear? It's not like the old bastard next door is still alive, right?"

"Wait, he's actually not dead?"

Seeing Jonathan didn't speak, Benjamin amused himself.

Old Zad was really like the salted fish hanging in his yard, living such a foul and endless life.

"Just right, I'll go over and scare him to death now, so he doesn't use binoculars to peep at Martha from the second-floor barn every day."

"Enough! I said thirty years ago that certain things didn't exist!"

"God's toilet lid! Then I'll be blunt too, since when was there a robin in Smallville? Why don't you say the old salted fish was actually looking at your little bird?"

"Ben! You…"

"Jonathan, stop putting on that old fogey attitude of yours toward me…"

"Uncle! But Old Zad's binoculars have always been aimed only at the cornfield."

Interrupted mid-spell by Yale raising his hand, Uncle Ben's movements stiffened, but as Soldier Boy, he still muttered a vague curse, "F***k, he must have taken a fancy to you, a blonde pretty boy, tsk… looking like a girl, resembling one of those boy scouts priests would target."

"???"

A question mark popped up over Yale's head.

"Alright, stop arguing, both of you."

Having no heart to deal with this foolish younger brother, Jonathan looked at the storm still raging in the cornfield, gripped the wrench in his hand, and strode forward to rush into the muddy ground.

"I've got it."

A hand pressed heavily on his shoulder.

Benjamin spat a mouthful of saliva onto the ground, "With your old bones, don't fucking go meddling in this."

"If you fall apart, I don't have the money to pay your medical bills."

"But you…"

"Enough!"

"I said, with great power comes great responsibility." Uncle Ben interrupted him, revealing a resolute look, "Jonathan, are you deaf?"

"…"

He looked up and down at this younger brother he hadn't seen in years.

All sorts of past memories surfaced in his mind.

Jonathan's eyes turned red.

Fine, he took back his evaluation of this guy just now. Although Benjamin's mouth had somehow become so vicious, that cowardly loser from back then was truly much, much sturdier than in his memory; his muscles were able to bulge out his torn plaid shirt.

The old farmer didn't know what this guy had been through out there all these years, but one thing was very clear: the bastard who used to only shrink his head and run away when facing trouble now had power—the power to dare block others behind him, and most importantly, he had a daughter.

And talking about with great power comes great responsibility.

He had truly grown up.

"Leave it to you, Ben." Tugging the hair of his fine eldest son beside him, the old farmer said with gratification, "Don't make a fool of yourself in front of your nephews next."

"...Huh?"

Benjamin, who had been looking at Jonathan's subtle expression and feeling ten times better than getting high at that moment, had his legs freeze stiffly in mid-air upon hearing the word 'nephews'.

"Nephews?"

"Two." Jonathan added proudly.

Uncle Ben felt his brain suddenly itch a little.

Only then did he suddenly realize something…

He looked at the grinning blonde kid under the shade of the tree, then turned to look at the terrifying human toddler in the cornfield who had headbutted and knocked him—someone who hadn't closed his eyes for half a year and was still a top-tier superhuman—unconscious.

A sense of absurdity welled up spontaneously, giving Benjamin goosebumps. Could it be that compound v, which Vought and the military had spent decades and countless resources throwing away countless test subjects to create, was really a joke?

It wasn't some biochemical miracle at all?!

The reason this girl and he were so strong was simply because they had the blood of the Kent Family flowing in their veins?!

After all, Jonathan that old square just married Martha, and the brat they birthed could headbutt a tree in half!

Damn it, why on earth did he give up Martha to join the army back then?!

What a fucking world!

Doubtful of his life, Benjamin gritted his teeth and rushed toward the ruins.

"Bang!"

Military boots stepped into the muddy water, splashing mud everywhere.

He ran with great force, his back figure filled with the unyielding iron-bloodedness of a veteran.

It was stretched out very, very long like in a slow-motion movie scene.

Seeing this made Jonathan even more proud.

The only problem was that the cornfield was about five hundred meters away from the tree shade, but for just this little distance, Benjamin ran for a whole minute, leaving the father and son standing idly under the tree shade for a minute.

This made Jonathan, who was used to Superman's speed, couldn't help frowning.

"Why is your Uncle Ben… running so slowly?"

"That's a normal person's speed, Dad." Yale held back his smile, "My uncle is probably… warming up?"

"Bang——!"

Two short exclamations came from deep within the cornfield.

The raging storm finally subsided.

But after a long while, the corn stalks ahead were roughly pushed aside.

Benjamin clamped a mud-covered brat under each of his left and right arms.

Clark was on the left, flailing his short legs in bewilderment.

Seemingly unable to understand why someone could suppress him with a single hand.

The blonde girl was on the right.

She had originally been hissing wildly like a wildcat, but upon smelling the scent of tobacco on Benjamin, all her aggressiveness instantly extinguished. She clutched Benjamin's plaid shirt tightly, staying completely motionless like a hedgehog with its head buried in the sand.

Walking in front of the two, Benjamin loosened his hands.

"Plop."

The two little guys were casually dropped onto the muddy ground.

"Behold, lambs tearing at each other in the mire, and the old dog in sheep's clothing has finally returned to the sheepfold. Amen."

He offered a casual prayer.

Then…

"As a priest, I've now enlightened you both; none of you are to fucking fight anymore, do you understand?" Uncle Ben glared fiercely at the two kids.

Clark rubbed his butt aggrievedly, then climbed up like nothing had happened, patted the muddy handprints on his chest twice randomly, and sidled up to Yale to start whispering.

The girl silently shrunk back behind Benjamin's legs.

"Let go! Stop fucking pulling so tight, your old man's pants are about to fall off. Do you want the whole of Kansas to see your old man's underwear?" Benjamin shook his leg irritably.

However, the girl didn't care. Her little hand still pinched Benjamin's trouser leg, defensively staring at Clark and Yale opposite her, her gaze still fierce.

While making eye contact with the Homelander toddler, and listening to the murmurs of the Kryptonian toddler beside his ear, Yale couldn't help sighing inwardly, thinking that his future was truly pitch black.

As for Jonathan, he frowned slightly.

Why was Benjamin talking with such an attitude now?

He now had to temporarily retract his good review of this guy.

Mind you, even though this guy used to carouse and live a debauched life, he wouldn't have every other sentence out of his mouth be like this.

Ignoring the scumbag whom he had once again labeled as hopeless, Jonathan spoke gently to the girl.

"Are you hungry, child?"

Chapter 3 My Uncle Is Soldier Boy?!

A meteor shower streaked across the horizon.

In downtown Metropolis, the twin towers of the Luthor family gleamed brilliantly.

And right opposite them stood their rival on equal footing:

——Vought International.

Vought International.

In fact, before the end of the Cold War, it was Vought American.

It's just that capital's appetite is always expanding, and now it was preparing to set its sights globally.

On the sixty-eighth floor, the middle management office area.

High heels clicked against the floor.

The plump-breasted Ms. Madelyn walked leisurely, a flawless and calm smile hanging on her face as she calmly met the awe-filled gazes of the surrounding executives.

In this building, who didn't know that it was this woman who used iron-fisted methods to forcibly bring down former CEO Stan Edgar?

Walking up to a private cubicle, Madelyn pushed the door open and entered.

"Swoosh."

The blinds were swiftly pulled down.

Suppressed whispers immediately broke out in the cubicles outside.

"It's terrifying. Is President James of the Superhuman Affairs Department dead meat this time?"

"He definitely messed up handling his public image."

The elites trembled in fear.

After all, no one could have imagined that behind the soundproof glass...

"Mr. Stillwell." Madelyn lowered her head slightly, terrified, "We haven't found exact news about Soldier Boy yet. Our security department has expanded the carpet search range to Kansas..."

The young white man called Stillwell sat in a swivel chair, toying with a pen in his hand nonchalantly.

Yet Madelyn dared not even breathe heavily.

Those fools outside had no idea that the one who truly brought down the towering mountain of Stan Edgar was the monster before them, who united the military, political, and commercial forces behind the scenes. He simply felt that the CEO title was too eye-catching, so he pushed her to the forefront as a puppet.

"Madelyn? Do you know what that girl means to Vought?" Stillwell spoke.

"Our company, our products."

"Today's heroes, tomorrow's future."

Madelyn said cautiously.

"Then you should know. Vought's rise began precisely because of the Justice Society of America established by heroes during World War II."

Pulling a document from the drawer, Stillwell threw it on the desk.

"The U.S. government realized the strategic value of superpowered individuals and funded the establishment of Vought to serve as logistical support for the Justice Society of America and as their management agency."

"Yet the sun would eventually set; heroes became disillusioned with politics and retired one after another. The Justice Society of America existed in name only, and Vought faced the desperate plight of bankruptcy. Fortunately, this damned hero economy was still around, and the public's demand for saviors could never be filled, just like how they were fanatical back then in movie theaters over a spandex-clad boy holding a shield."

"That's why we made a great decision: wild heroes are uncontrollable, so we create our own heroes."

"The government was also smart; they simultaneously established A.R.G.U.S. to manage these extraordinary matters, and Project Cadmus was born precisely from this. They manufactured compound v, we recruited new superhumans, and then packaged them as new members of the Justice Society of America, pushing them to the public."

"In the seventies' Super Soldier Project, we spawned a series of super weapons such as Soldier Boy, Deathstroke, Payback, and so on," he said calmly, "but no matter what..."

"None of them compare to Homelander, launched in the early nineties."

Beads of sweat seeped from Madelyn's forehead.

"So do you understand? Madelyn... Now our most important asset, that perfect masterpiece, has been taken away."

"Ms. Amanda Waller of A.R.G.U.S., and Mr. John Lynch of Cadmus, they are very angry. They demand that we immediately bring back the lost state asset," Stillwell said indifferently.

"This... but the one who took her away is Soldier Boy..."

"He has always been an unruly bastard. Thirty years ago when he joined the army, Vought wasn't as huge as it is now. We don't have his detailed profile at all, even his DNA records are incomplete! I even suspect that the name he registered back then was just a pseudonym."

"Moreover, sir, we still have the twin brother and sister test subjects No. 2 and No. 3... The younger brother has recently shown a tendency toward Heat Vision, I think he—"

"Shut up."

"Force a pair of genetically stable twins by increasing the dosage? Do you think you're fattening up meat pigs on a farm?"

"That girl is one of a kind."

"Do you think we are powerful?"

Stillwell stood up and walked over to Madelyn.

"Northrop has the B-2 stealth bomber, General Dynamics has Tomahawk missiles and M1 Abrams main battle tanks."

"Even that madman Lionel Luthor is ready to annex most of America at any time," he whispered.

"If we lose her, what else will we have left?"

"Yes!"

"I will lead a team to investigate personally!"

"According to the data leaked when the former Soviet Union dissolved, Soldier Boy has a massive amount of radiation energy on him! We just need to track the trail all the way!"

"Don't be nervous. I'm just reminding you not to keep Ms. Amanda waiting too long. After all, the people behind her can squash us to death as effortlessly as they did Edgar."

"Yes."

The woman practically fled.

The room returned to silence.

All was dead silent.

Stillwell turned his chair, quietly examining the meteor shower outside the floor-to-ceiling windows that was hyped up by the astronomical community.

Yet such a magnificent view, in this man's owl-like eyes, was completely devoid of life.

He only saw a rainstorm composed of howling winds and glass shards; he only saw a figure stepping on the ruins of the Luthor building, seeing the Stars and Stripes representing America behind them dancing wildly in the wind like a throne curtain soaked in blood.

Homelander.

Stillwell's mouth unexpectedly curved upward for a split second.

A.R.G.U.S.? Amanda Waller?

He took out his phone and dialed Gotham.

"Please connect me to Madame White Owl."

...

Ever since Martha led him through this door, Yale had frequently heard his adoptive father Jonathan's sighs.

In his words, his younger brother was a loser.

Cowardly, a hikikomori, and the only Kent loser who wouldn't even touch the farm tractor.

Paralyzed in bed like mud every day, daydreaming toward the ceiling and the old television set.

Until one day he had a huge argument with Jonathan and their father, ran away from home, and there was no news of him for thirty years.

Until today, that loser had returned.

Yale glanced at Benjamin sitting opposite him, chewing a whole piece of rib meat and gristle with a loud crunch. Beneath his torn plaid shirt, his muscles bulged high against the fabric.

Yale withdrew his gaze and looked at the sunshine boy Clark beside him, who was holding a large bowl of burritos and eating with crumbs all over his face.

"What do you mean my Uncle Ben is Soldier Boy?! What do you mean my cousin is Homelander?! Do these two art styles match at all when put together?!"

When did this crossover happen? Even if it happened after his past life died, what on earth did it have to do with someone who died and transmigrated before the crossover!

Comics aren't drawn this way at all! Under normal circumstances, a transmigrator like himself coming from the Prime Universe shouldn't he beat the old Superman to death with three punches under a red sun, embodying the ultimate chuunibyou who smashes the reality wall with a single punch...

Yale's thoughts paused for a moment.

Whatever...

Some lunatic seemed even more Homelander than Homelander...

It's better to just be an ordinary person.

He guiltily shifted his gaze to the corner of the table.

The blonde girl sat quietly in the high-backed chair.

She didn't move her fork, nor did she look at the food on her plate, just staring at the tabletop with ice-cold blue eyes.

Homelander is my cousin.

Homelander is my cousin.

Yale repeated it twice in his mind...

Ten thousand alpacas galloped wildly across his mind.

Seeming to sense the gaze, the girl arched her back slightly, letting out a faint breathing sound from her throat.

Look at that, she was hissing again.

Straightening his posture, Yale flashed an awkward yet polite smile.

"Bang!"

Benjamin slammed his water glass onto the table.

"Why the fuck aren't you eating again?" He pointed at the full plate in front of the girl, "Do you want to starve to death? Sit down! Eat!"

The girl's body stiffened for a moment, still unable to speak.

Martha quietly kicked Jonathan under the table and gave him a look.

The old farmer cleared his throat, trying to regain his dignity as an older brother.

"Ben." Jonathan frowned, "You shouldn't treat a child like this. The words you use are too vulgar, and this is the dinner table."

"Vulgar?" He leaned back in his chair nonchalantly, "Didn't you and the old man treat me the exact same way back then? Ben! You useless piece of trash, finish your meal and get your ass out of bed to work!"

Jonathan's breath hitched.

Benjamin curled the corners of his mouth, seemingly satisfied with hitting a sore spot, and was ready to press his advantage by venting all the pent-up malice he had held in for thirty years in one go.

"Ben."

Martha spoke, "Eat."

"..."

The menacing aura on the man's face faded away.

"Tch."

He actually obediently picked up his fork, shut his mouth, and began tackling the mashed potatoes on his plate.

Yale narrowed his eyes, sizing up this hot-headed uncle with suspicion. This guy who could tear tanks apart with his bare hands actually had absolute obedience toward Mama Martha's words.

Could his grandma also be named Martha?

Ignoring Yale's little schemes in his heart.

Martha stood up, cut a small piece of blueberry pie, and held it to the girl's mouth. Joanna instinctively shrank back, wanting to hiss again.

But before she could make a sound, she met Benjamin's eerie gaze.

"If you dare cause trouble, I'll throw you out."

"..."

Quietly opening her mouth, the girl swallowed the blueberry pie.

One bite, two bites...

She suddenly reached out, hugged the white porcelain plate into her arms, buried her whole face into the plate, and began to gobble it down ravenously.

Dad said that losing a little face for a bite of food isn't disgraceful.

That was probably what she was telling herself in her heart.

Martha felt a pang of heartache.

"Good grief." She turned her head and glared at Benjamin, "How long did you starve this child?"

"I starved right along with her," Benjamin replied casually.

Yale: ...

He turned his head, wanting to whisper something to Clark, but before he could open his mouth, he saw his Superman brother hugging a huge basin of burritos, eating with his cheeks bulging.

Sensing Yale's gaze, Clark even flashed a shy, sunny smile, then picked out a burrito stained with an unknown sauce from the basin and generously handed it over.

"..."

This silly kid really couldn't be kept anymore. Yaleexpressionlessly extended a single finger and pushed the burrito back.

"So..." Swallowing his mashed potatoes, Benjamin began, "Are both of them adopted by you?"

Jonathan nodded, "Is this child yours too?"

"This child?"

Benjamin picked his ear.

"Cloned by someone using my DNA, barely counts as my daughter. Based on a tip from some kind soul, I originally just wanted to take a look at the laboratory, but by a fluke, I ended up bringing her along."

"Clang."

The fork in Jonathan's hand dropped onto his plate.

The old farmer looked at his younger brother in disbelief.

The fact that Clark was an alien who fell down in a spaceship was something he hid deep in his heart, not even daring to sleep-talk about it in his dreams.

And this bastard just casually spilled the beans about cloning genes right in front of a few eight-year-old kids?!

Jonathan turned to look at the girl hugging her plate.

Yet Joanna didn't even raise her head, showing zero reaction to the word "cloning," as if it were just insignificant nonsense.

She was simply focused on licking clean the very last drop of gravy.

The honest man fell silent.

He found that he simply couldn't use common sense to understand this father-daughter duo's thought processes.

"Then what do you plan to do now?"

"Let this child stay with you guys for now. I have to keep running," Benjamin put his hands behind his head. "Don't worry, I spent over half a year shaking them off so thoroughly they can't even smell my car's exhaust. Besides, when I enlisted back then, I kept my guard up and didn't use my real name, registering under the fake name Ned. Once I go out, find a few old friends to clean up my mess, I'll come back and take her away. I guarantee it won't cost you guys a single penny."

"You bastard are still as self-absorbed as ever! What kind of friends could a ghost of a man like you have?!" Jonathanwas furious.

"I have plenty of friends," Benjamin sneered. "The Terminator, Balkan, Raptor, Twilight, Spears, Evan Dossetter, Deadshot, Hellblazer... They are the most fucking lethal assassins in the world. Jonathan, you're already out of touch with the times."

Jonathan laughed out of extreme anger, "What the hell are you muttering about? I've never even heard of these names!"

He was about to erupt and curse his train-wreck of a younger brother into oblivion when he met Martha's helpless gaze.

The old farmer forcibly swallowed his anger and rubbed the heads of Yale and Clark.

"Go to sleep first, you two."

Yale stood up.

He looked back longingly at Joanna sitting in the corner.

His golden finger.

His cheat code.

His ticket to the Grand Line.

Clark also stood up, looking back longingly at the dinner table.

His burritos, his carbs, his source of joy.

The two boys, each harboring their own hidden agendas, walked up the stairs one after the other.

...

Second floor, bedroom.

Yale lay on the bottom bunk, staring at the ceiling in the darkness.

The small text was still stubbornly flashing.

"Hidden Prompt: This template can be deeply integrated with the current first slot (Kryptonian) to generate an advanced template — [Hyperion]."

Hyperion.

Isn't this a character from next door!

And you have to know that in the multiverse next door, there are different Hyperions existing across various universes, and their origins vary as well. But Hyperion is undoubtedly the Hyperion among Hyperions, the strongest Hyperion who once killed Galactus.

Not only does he possess the Eternals physique, but he can also absorb any cosmic energy radiation, even converting cellular toxins into cellular energy. This is also what makes Hyperion different from other Hyperions; even if he loses sunlight exposure, his power will not wane.

Yale rolled over.

The moonlight outside the window splashed across the floor like cold water, and through the gaps in the wood, the commotion from the first floor faintly drifted over.

Suppressed sobbing.

It should be the sound made by Joanna; she didn't even dare to cry out loud.

This world is truly sick.

Yale pulled the blanket over his head.

He really just wanted to peacefully soak up the sun on this farm for the rest of his life and occasionally help Marthapick some tomatoes.

"Clark."

He spoke muffledly in the darkness.

"What's wrong, Yale?"

The sound of rustling and turning over came from the upper bunk.

"Do you know how to develop a deep relationship with a girl?"

The upper bunk went quiet for a moment.

"Our cousin isn't quite normal. I suspect she has severe autism, and as family, we have to help her," Yale said deadpan.

"...Really?" Clark expressed pure confusion.

"Really."

"Then you should just directly ask her out to hang out," Clark yawned. "I heard a star on TV say that if you like a girl, please ask her out directly. He uses this trick and it works every time."

"That's how I became friends with Chloe." His voice grew increasingly vague, already on the verge of being half-asleep. "You can do it too, Yale. As long as you're sincere..."

Snoring began to sound.

"..."

Yale felt that people really couldn't be generalized.

Superman could make friends through sincerity simply because he was Superman.

And if he relied on sincerity to ask out Homelander's cousin who could shoot lasers from her eyes...

There was a high probability he would turn into a pile of sincere ashes.

He sighed, threw off the blanket, and looked out the window.

Streaks of bright silver lines silently streaked across the night sky.

What is the advantage of living in Kansas?

You can make a wish on shooting stars every day.

"Shooting star."

Yale muttered silently in his heart, "Bless me to become the Eternals..."

Chapter 4: Lucid Dream.

Stars occasionally twinkled in the darkness.

Lucid dream?

"Huff..."

Air currents swept over from the depths of the darkness, and a silver-white lion paced out from the void, spots of light splashing beneath its paw pads, the mane around its neck shining with gilded gold.

Did he wander onto the set of The Chronicles of Narnia again?

Yale's eye just twitched, but the lion had already opened its bloody maw and roared toward him.

...

The moonlight was cold.

"Clark?"

Yale straightened up, drenched in sweat, and shouted abruptly.

"What... are you trying to steal my corn wrap? Yale..."

Gibberish sleep-talking.

"Stop sleeping, you idiot." Yale was furious. "Your corn cob was irradiated by cosmic rays and mutated into Red King, and Ultraman is fighting monsters at the Smallville Farm."

"Then remember to put... more cumin on the corn cob..."

"..."

"Gurgle—!"

His stomach let out an uncooperative growl.

Yale turned his head to look at the thick night outside the window.

Without the sun, there was no photosynthesis; without photosynthesis, naturally he couldn't fast.

So he decided to go downstairs to find the comfort of a midnight snack.

It was merely a nightmare. Even if a talking lion really jumped out of the wardrobe later to make him save the world, even if Darkseid was going to descend upon Earth in three hours, it would have to wait until he went downstairs first to find some blueberry pie in the fridge to fill his stomach.

...

In the night of Smallville, the wind blew across wheat waves and the fragrance of rice blossoms.

The small village was quiet and peaceful, and the only danger was the occasional rustling sound coming from the kitchen.

Did mice get into the farm?

Yale frowned and felt his way downstairs in the dark.

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Yet he saw that in the shadow where moonlight and cold light intertwined in front of the refrigerator, a golden-haired ball was crouching. The girl was grabbing a blueberry pie with her hands and stuffing it randomly into her mouth. Purplish-red jam residue smeared all over her hands, coupled with the pale cold light, making the scene a bit eerie.

"Snap."

Yale accidentally bumped into the dining table.

Two dazzling sparks ignited in the girl's eyes.

Was the naturally evil Homelander going to kill him right now?!

Yale was greatly shocked in his heart and was about to shout out for Clark to save him, but seeing that the girl's left hand holding the blueberry pie still stuffed it into her mouth incessantly, he couldn't help closing his mouth.

Come to think of it...

At the evening dining table, this fellow had been eating blueberry pie all along, seeming to have an unusual obsession with sweets.

Yale couldn't help laughing out loud, and the tension in his heart dissipated a lot.

He tiptoed around the Heat Vision, opened the refrigerator door, took out a carton of milk, poured it into a cup, bent down, and pushed the milk in front of the girl's curled toes.

"The food is cold. Do you need me to heat it up for you, my dear cousin?" he spoke like a gentleman.

"..."

"Food is often cold."

This was the first sentence the girl said to Yale, yet it left Yale not knowing how to reply.

Staring at the milk for a moment—perhaps because the icy blueberry pie was really too dry—Joanna couldn't help extending her small hand stained with jam, tentatively picking up the glass, and bringing it to her mouth.

"Glug glug."

Her eyes lit up, as if she had confirmed that the milk posed no threat, so she continued to grab the remnants in the plate and started gnawing again.

Yale scratched his head, looking at the girl's slightly messy blond hair under the moonlight, with an internal conflict raging in his heart.

Go befriend a little monster? This didn't fit his survival philosophy of preserving his life in troubled times and becoming famous through Superman...

But thinking of Hyperion.

Eternals, absorbing cosmic radiation, with no Kryptonite weaknesses at all.

Yale hardened his heart.

"Joanna..." He tried his best to squeeze out a sunny and cheerful smile. "Can I be friends with you?"

The kitchen fell silent.

The blueberry pie was slowly put back into the plate. The girl, with jam still stained at the corners of her mouth, raised her head and stared blankly at Yale. She stared at him for a good long while before going barefoot with small, dust-covered feet, walking out of the kitchen silently like a ghost.

Leaving only Yale sitting alone on the floor.

There was still no system prompt sound by his ear.

It seemed he was disliked?

"..."

Rubbing his somewhat chilly arms, Yale resignedly picked up half a piece of blueberry pie stained with the girl's saliva and stuffed it into his mouth, conveniently downing the remaining half cup of milk in one gulp.

The craft of asking people out...

Indeed, not everyone could handle this job.

...

Early morning.

Martha wiped her hands dry on her apron.

Taking advantage of her free time, the housewife piously opened a booklet.

"The Lord will roar like a lion behind them; when he roars, the people of the west will come trembling... until the young lion and the calf and the fattened beast are together... led by a child."

"Amen."

"Uh... Mom?" Carrying a cup of milk as he passed by, sunlight fell on Clark's small black curls, exuding a brainless brightness. "What do these words mean? Why should a lion stay with a little child? Won't it eat people?"

"The lions in the Bible have many sides," Martha chuckled. "Sometimes it represents God's power and protection, sometimes it represents judgment, but look at the most beautiful part of this passage: one day, the lion's power will no longer be used to harm anyone, and children will be able to lead them away."

Clark nodded as if he understood.

At the other end of the long dining table, Yale was holding a cup and pouring milk into his mouth. As soon as he heard the word lion, his mind flashed back to the behemoth made of shadows and gold from last night's dream.

The roaring sound echoed in his ears.

"Pfft..."

Yale forcefully forced the milk back behind his teeth.

He raised his eyelids.

Opposite him across the long table, Joanna was sitting properly and uprightly.

The girl didn't eat anything; she just stared at him unblinkingly with her eyes.

Swallowing the milk back down, Yale held it in until the corners of his eyes welled up with tears.

You've got to be kidding.

If a mouthful of milk were sprayed onto this grandaunt's face, he wouldn't need to wait for the lion in his dream to judge him; the Heat Vision would definitely make his head bloom on the spot.

...

Kansas in the afternoon.

Corn leaves swayed in the wind. Uncle Ben left silently, just like when he got off the car last night.

Only a note was left on the table.

"Don't apply your damn rules to her, you damned redneck."

This successfully made Jonathan—a strapping man who could usually eat five eggs for breakfast—heavy-handedly put down his fork upon reaching the third one today.

One could imagine how much anger the old farmer was suppressing.

Even to avoid hurting the innocent, the old farmer restrainedly waved his hand, driving Clark and Yale—who were molding from idleness during summer vacation—all off to the cornfield to clean up the mess left by yesterday's battle.

"Yale... Clark!"

Martha walked over holding Joanna's hand.

Yale was dragging a fallen cornstalk, his peripheral vision catching sight of those two figures, one large and one small.

The girl was wearing a white cotton dress, which seemed to be just bought back from town by Martha this morning, with the hem just past her knees.

Heaven knows how Mama Martha actually tamed this little kitten.

...

"Take good care of your cousin."

"Don't bully her."

The farmer's wife's voice was gentle.

Yale sprawled in the shade of the tree, enjoying the sunlight filtering through the leaves, while Clark darted back and forth under the sun, throwing the hopeless dead corn into a wheelbarrow to feed the pigs, and then...

"Yale... I..."

Clark leaned closer.

"Get lost and pull weeds." Yale didn't even raise his eyelids.

"Oh."

Clark obediently went back and pulled a weed.

After a moment...

"Yale..."

"How is it?" Yale abruptly cut him off.

"What is how?"

"Huh?"

Clark was stunned for a moment, then his eyes lit up, and the corners of his mouth hooked into a cunning arc. "Of course the pumpkin is growing very well. Yesterday I went with Pete and Chloe and them to—"

"Woo-woo—!"

Yale suddenly straightened up and covered Clark's mouth with his hand.

"You big mouth, why did you randomly bring people to see it!" He warned through gritted teeth. "Make sure Dad never finds out."

Clark pressed his lips into a straight line and nodded solemnly.

Yale let go of his hand and let out a long breath.

This was a pumpkin related to the life and death of the Kent Family.

The Smallville Fall Harvest Festival Pumpkin Contest could be said to be the Olympics of these Kansas farmers.

Jonathan Kent had lost four years in a row in this event.

Every autumn, looking at the roster of past pumpkin kings on the stone tablet, the old man's sighs were more despairing than an oil-leaking tractor...

To save his adoptive father's shattered dignity, and also to let this family continue to survive steadily, Yale applied all kinds of agricultural videos and fertilizer formulas he had seen in his past life, plus the luck of a blind cat hitting a dead mouse, all onto the abandoned private plot at the edge of the farm...

Taking a full year until this summer, he and Clark finally coaxed out a green monster in the mud whose size defied biology, using it as the ultimate weapon for the Kent Family to regain glory.

"Since you have nothing better to do, go carry the pumpkin out right now to sun it."

"Yes! Officer Yale!"

Clark clicked his heels together and saluted mockingly.

Then he turned around, kicking up a trail of golden dust, and vanished in the blink of an eye.

Yale leaned back against the tree trunk, pulling his collar to fan himself.

Sending this ADHD child away, the world was finally quiet.

But come to think of it...

Actually, raising children was quite easy, as long as you knew how to redirect their misplaced...

A cold gaze fell on his side profile.

Yale's movements paused, and he turned his head mechanically.

At the boundary between the tree shade and the blazing sun.

The girl in the white dress was standing there, staring at him gloomily.

Looking like she was about to go snitch at any moment.

"Quack—!"

An oblivious cicada cried out.

...

A moment later.

Yale bent over alone, dragging out the fallen cornstalks one by one and stacking them by the edge of the field ridges.

Although his role-playing degree as a Kryptonian was only a tiny bit, as long as he was under the sunlight, as long as photons penetrated his skin, it would trigger fusion in every cell, preventing him from getting tired. As long as he was under the sun, even if he were asked to plow this plot of land all the way to the Earth's core, he wouldn't shed a single drop of sweat.

But this didn't prevent Yale from being extremely annoyed right now.

Uncle Ben, who hadn't been home for thirty years, came back and the first thing he did was dump a hot potato onto their peaceful family...

The key was that his adoptive parents were still good old folks, and they just calmly accepted the fact of having one more unstable bomb...

And the most crucial thing was that early this morning he went to the public library in town to look up information, searching for Vought using a dial-up computer.

The webpage refreshed very slowly, but the result that popped up...

Vought International.

This universe was not just a universe where the Justice Society of America had existed; in this universe, behind the heroes stood capital that served them. Vought used to be a company spearheaded by the government as logistics support for the Justice Society of America. And after the former first-generation superheroes retired, it transformed and became a pharmaceutical giant.

But Yale knew very well what this company was currently doing.

National defense, chemical industry, Compound V, artificially creating superhumans.

What the hell kind of crossover universe was this?

Earth-616?!

Was Uncle Ben, who spewed shit all day, reliable at all! He himself was an old product of Vought. Although he brought Joanna to hide here under the alias Nid, how long could that be kept secret?

If Vought tracked the scent and came over, in the lighter scenario, just like raising Homelander's son, they would find that binding a God Among Men with love and family was ten thousand times more useful than a titanium alloy cage. They would eagerly turn the Kent Farm into a warm home, turning all laughter and joy into nothingness.

In the heavier scenario...

"Snap."

The cornstalk snapped in Yale's palm, rubbed and crushed into powder, flowing down rustlingly from between his fingers...

It would be great if he grew up a little more, if his role-playing degree could be a bit higher. Once it reached the critical point, let alone Vought International, even this damn planet, those politicians, those capitalists—whoever the fuck he wanted to shut up would have to shut up...

Whatever he wanted to do, he would do...

"Boom—!"

Dull thunder exploded overhead, and war drums beat above the clouds.

Yale was startled; he raised his head.

Dark clouds were rolling and surging from the edge of the horizon.

Kansas weather was just like this...

Looking at the sky, Yale looked back at the full wheelbarrow behind him.

If these corns got rained on, Jonathan would definitely beat his ass into a blossom, right?

Although with his current body density, if they really fought, the old farmer would probably fracture his bones first.

He sighed, patted the powder off his hands, and walked towards Joanna sitting under the tree shade of the field ridge.

"Let's go, my lovely sister. It's raining now, we should go home." He reached out his hand toward her, trying to tone his voice like a normal eight-year-old brother.

Joanna didn't move.

She sat there motionlessly.

"Hey..."

Yale felt it strange, stepped forward, and pulled her arm.

An electric-shock-like reaction.

The girl raised her head abruptly, and two dark red sparks faintly lit up in her sky-blue eyes.

Yale was startled and instinctively took half a step back.

Is it really necessary?!

I just told you to go home, and you're going to cremate me right on the spot?!

"Are you waiting for Mom?" He carefully slowed down his tone, reaching out to press her shoulders. "Mom is in the house, we can see her when we go back..."

The voice stopped abruptly...

Only then did Yale realize the tactile feel in his hand was wrong.

The girl was trembling, shivering all over.

"Hey! Joanna! What's wrong with you?!"

Joanna turned a deaf ear, only staring unblinkingly into the depths of the cornfield, hugging her knees and curling her body into a ball.

The sparks deep within her pupils flickered on and off even more.

"Subject 001, today is combat data collection."

"Now testing your reaction speed."

"Good god! This guy is indeed a monster, she killed a lion!"

"L-Lion..." She spoke with trembling lips. "It's a lion..."

"A lion? What li—"

"Rustle... rustle..."

Yale's pupils constricted. He caught a hint of a discordant sound in his ears. Right there in the cornfield rustling in the gale, it seemed that something heavy was rolling over the person-high cornstalks.

It was a huge silver outline, silently treading its paw pads into reality.

The lion walked out from the shadows.

They were so similar.

Exactly the same as in the dream...

Muscles bulged beneath its silver-white fur, gold light flowed through its mane, and the rain hitting its body evaporated into wisps of white steam.

The lion raised its head.

"Roar—!!!"

"Rumble—!"

The firmament shattered.

The first roar of thunder in the storm rolled from east to west, overlapping with the lion's roar! The gale whipped up the muddy water on the ground, Yale only felt a blur before his eyes, and the world was left with only a vast expanse of whiteness.

Chapter 5: The Field After the Storm.

The sonic wave mixed with thunder snapped the cornstalks cleanly at the roots, and the jagged stumps spun as they shot into the muddy ground.

Yale fell silent.

"Joanna, run!" he heard himself say.

"Roar—!"

The lion let out a low roar.

Yale took a deep breath, raised his fist...

"Bang——!"

The muddy ground suddenly sank under the force of the paw pads, and the mud whipped up by the air wave smeared across Yale's face. Before he even had time to wipe his eyes, the silver-white giant shadow had already pounced in front of him, sending him flying with a crash. Without even waiting for him to crawl out of the mud pit, another gust of claw-wind swept past his ribs, tearing apart half of his T-shirt.

"Thud——!"

Seizing the momentum to grab the lion's front leg, Yaleexerted strength, trying to flip it over.

Yet the lion didn't budge an inch, lightly lifting its paw to slam against his chest instead, sending him flying backward.

The rain grew heavier and heavier.

Between heaven and earth, there remained only a silver behemoth walking through the curtain of water.

Yale propped himself up against the muddy ground, barely managing to stand.

Run? Or stall?

Clark was right there on the farm.

If that idiot heard the commotion and ran over...

He turned his head sideways to look at the girl huddled on the ridge of the field. Joanna was hugging her knees with both arms, her lips trembling as she repeated a silent word.

Lion, lion, lion.

She was so scared she couldn't even lift her legs.

"Roar——!"

The lion changed its target, accelerating as it charged toward the girl.

"Joanna! Run!"

Yale shouted loudly, throwing his body forward and sliding right past the lion's waist and abdomen!

He executed a sliding tackle!

With both hands, he grabbed the lion's thick, steel-cable-like tail, using the momentum to plow two deep grooves into the muddy ground.

"Bang——!"

The lion flicked its tail, and Yale was swung up, tracing a semicircle in the air as muddy water smeared all over his head and face.

"Boom——!"

The thunder drowned out everything; the sound of the storm was simply too loud.

The lion's attention was drawn back, its dual pupils flashing with terrifying light.

And Yale's foolish Superman brother was probably hugging his precious pumpkin and running toward the barn right now, his mind filled entirely with how to keep the pumpkin from getting wet in the rain...

As for him...

Would he die here? Dying to a lion that ran out of who knows which dimension, dying in the cornfields of Kansas, without even having time to finish grinding his damn template.

Amidst the smell of blood and mud, Yale laughed out of sheer anger.

"Roar——!"

People die when they are killed.

In a daze, the boy even felt that leaving like this didn't seem so bad?

What should be engraved on the tombstone?

"Yale Kent, whose greatest achievement in life was helping Superman fertilize a giant pumpkin."

"..."

"To hell with Death! Get away from me!"

"Hum——!"

Two blazing beams of light cut through the rain curtain, splitting the lion right down from its chest cavity while it was running!

The silver-white fur melted instantly. The front half continued charging forward with momentum, while the lower half collapsed in place, washed away by the rain.

Yale knelt in the muddy ground, his eyes burning with intense heat.

Did it work?

He looked at the twitching front half of the lion.

It really worked.

Heat Vision.

It was genuine Heat Vision.

Although the roleplay progress was only twelve percent, and there was only enough energy reserve for a single shot, he had truly awakened it at the critical moment...

The front half of the lion stopped twitching.

The silver remains, consisting only of the head and half of the chest, actually raised themselves up in the heavy rain. The molten-copper pupils were even brighter than before, and blinding golden light gushed between its teeth.

The Heat Vision still left his eyeballs throbbing with pain, and his field of vision was filled with white afterimages. Yale could no longer make out its outline; he only saw a blood-filled maw occupying his entire vision!

Could it be...

"Bang——!"

Another wave of wind pressure swept across his cheek. The bloody maw that was about to bite down on his skull was deflected, and along with the entire lion head and half of the torso, was smashed into the ground by a surge of force.

The blonde girl's right fist was buried deep within the lion's skull. Her white dress was soaked in mud, her canvas shoes had somehow been lost, and she was stepping barefoot on the shattered fur of the lion.

Joanna lowered her head, staring at the remains beneath her fist.

Yale wanted to shout something, but it was too late.

The lion's remains shattered beneath Joanna's fist. The silver-white fragments hung suspended in the air, transforming into golden light that shot straight toward the boy frozen in the mud.

The storm abruptly stopped.

"..."

Standing in the cornfield, Joanna looked down at the unconscious Yale.

Although this boy who said he wanted to be her friend was very weak, he still stood in front of her.

The girl bent down, lifted Yale out of the muddy ground, and hoisted him onto her shoulder.

Dawn broke, and a gentle breeze swept past.

The Sun in the puddle beneath their feet rippled softly.

Under the porch, Martha wore a worried expression.

"Yale is a smart kid; he probably found a place to hide from the rain," Jonathan said in a low voice.

"Dad... How about I go look for them?" Clark stood on the steps, his tone anxious. "Yale and the others..."

"..."

"I'll go instead, Clark."

"You stay home and protect your mother."

Interrupting Clark's words, Jonathan stepped down the stairs.

But before he could take a few more steps, at the edge of the cornfield, amidst the devastation just plowed through by the storm, a small figure appeared.

The girl was carrying someone on her shoulder; the boy, who was half a head taller than her, hung limply over her right shoulder, his head tilted to one side.

The fiery glow of the sunset fell upon them.

Martha covered her mouth in astonishment, her eye sockets suddenly turning red.

The lion's roar?

But why did it sound muffled?

"Yale, wake up quickly. I won't play around anymore from now on... I should have followed you..."

It was Clark's voice.

Clutching his head, Yale slowly opened his eyes.

Clark was squatting beside the sofa. The moment he saw Yale open his eyes, tears streamed down uncontrollably.

"You..."

"Stop crying," Yale said, feeling somewhat mentally exhausted. "For someone who will be able to push the Moon with bare hands in the future to cry like this, my psychological pressure is huge."

Although Clark didn't understand what pushing the Moon meant, it didn't stop him from wiping his face hard and bursting into a laugh.

Jonathan stood behind the sofa, his arms crossed over his chest.

"...What happened to me, Dad?"

"You passed out in the cornfield," Jonathan sighed. "The storm came fast and went fast. In the end, Joanna carried you back on her back."

"Where's the lion?!" Yale abruptly sat up straight.

The living room fell silent for a fraction of a second.

Jonathan and Martha exchanged glances.

"...What lion?" Handing a cup of warm water to the boy's side, Martha asked in confusion.

"It's just..."

"Yale. That was a thunderstorm," Jonathan said, helplessly rubbing the boy's head.

Whose thunderstorm turns into a lion and jumps out?

Yale felt somewhat helpless, instinctively lowering his head to look at his chest.

"...?"

The clothes torn by the lion on his chest were completely intact, and right in the center, something warm was pressing against it.

"You got caught in too much rain and have a bit of a fever," Martha sat down by the sofa, pressing her palm on his shoulder to make him lie back down. "When Joanna carried you back, she was covered in mud, and we were terrified too. Fortunately, it was just a false alarm."

Yale didn't argue any further.

He looked at Joanna, who was sitting in the rocking chair in the corner of the living room.

A bath towel wrapped around the upper half of the girl's body, her wet golden hair clinging to her cheeks and dripping with water. There was a small puddle of water on the floor beneath her feet, and her bare toes stepped on the edge of the puddle, occasionally twitching.

Though still expressionless, her eyes in Yale's eyes didn't seem quite so...

Cold?

After dinner.

At the end of the corridor.

Yale raised his hand and gently knocked twice on the door panel.

A crack of the door opened.

Half of the girl's face appeared in the crack of the door.

"...Thank you," Yale scratched his head, "for today."

Joanna remained expressionless.

"Thank you for carrying me back."

Silence stretched out.

The old wooden floor in the corridor creaked softly in the night wind, and the blue eyes in the crack of the door shifted slightly.

"You're heavy, Yale," she said in a low voice.

"...Well, thank you so much for carrying me back even so."

"Because we are... friends?"

"Of course we are friends," Yale couldn't help laughing out loud. "We're brother and sister, after all."

He waved his hand and turned to leave.

"Good night, my sister."

The door closed behind him.

Celestial sounds also rang in his ears.

"Homelander template——Activated"

"Hyperion——Unlocked"

To be honest, Yale didn't feel much of the excitement he had imagined in his heart.

She stood in front of him.

No...

The order was reversed.

He stood in front of her first, and then she stood in front of him. This wasn't something that could be exchanged for a cup of milk and half a plate of blueberry pie.

Reaching out to touch his own chest, Yale pulled a pendant out from his collar.

The pendant was entirely silver, with a dark red gemstone at the very bottom. This was something left behind by the lion, or rather, what the lion turned into after Death.

The boy turned his head to glance at that closed door.

A bit too much had happened today...

The lion, Heat Vision, template activation...

However...

That mud-covered blonde girl carrying him across the field after the storm...

This should be the thing he remembered most clearly in his daze.

Chapter 6 Hyperion.

A lion crouched in the abyss, its molten copper pupils gazing at him.

"Roar——!"

It roared aloud, awakening the young man from his slumber.

Touching the scorching pendant on his chest, Yale walked into the bathroom and looked at the mirror in front of him.

Standing in the mirror was a sixteen-year-old blonde young man, with a pair of amber eyes beneath high brow bones, and what seemed to be a silver-white lion within his pupils.

For eight years, this thing neither flared up nor subsided, clinging to his status bar like a debuff in a game, taking up inventory slots.

Sometimes Yale felt that he should perhaps go find a magician to take a look; Kryptonians were weak to magic, and what if this thing was some kind of spiritual parasite...

Wait a minute...

He wasn't a Kryptonian anymore, after all.

[First Slot —— Hyperion]

Roleplay Conditions:

—— You are the truth, and no one is allowed to compromise.

—— Your thoughts are not allowed to be wrong.

—— You will make the world a better place. Defeat the entire wrong world with the power of one person.

Roleplay Progress: 38%

Yale's mouth twitched twice.

This thirty-eight percent was still something he had grinded out under the sun, taking at least six hours of sunbathing every day just for the roleplay percentage to crawl from zero to thirty-eight.

And increasing the roleplay progress was obviously not as simple as just sunbathing; it required...

You to become that character.

But how on earth was he supposed to defeat the entire wrong world with the power of one person in a place like Smallville?

Would overthrowing the school cafeteria's must-eat corn chowder from Monday to Friday count? Or toppling the town's only slot machine with his bare hands?

With his current little physique, if he were to stroll around Gotham for a couple of circles, some Wrath of God could pop up on the roadside to judge him; right now, he was still a hundred thousand miles away from true invincibility.

Yale took a deep breath.

Endure.

Sunbathe until your cells completely undergo fusion, and you will be Hyperion!

Spitting out the cold water in his mouth, Yale pulled down the towel.

"?!"

His heart skipped a beat.

Someone had appeared silently at the bathroom doorway.

The girl was barefoot, leaning against the threshold with her blonde hair scattered down, her sky-blue eyes staring coldly at him.

Come to think of it, Joanna really had some strange habits; as long as it was a place on Kent Farm where she felt safe, no constraints would ever appear on her feet. It was like that at eight, and at sixteen it was still—

Well, in a sense, Joanna was exactly the same as she was eight years ago, except now it was an angel's face combined with a beast's gaze... A beast's gaze?

Was she looking down on him?

This thought made Yale somewhat helpless.

This was the exact expression Joanna had for things she found unpleasant; it was the same expression she gave to stray dogs on the side of the road, and the same expression she gave to him.

"...Morning." He smiled awkwardly, "How long have you been standing here?"

"Take it off," she said.

"...This isn't very appropriate, is it?" Yale subconsciously took a step back.

"Aunt asked me to come collect the dirty laundry," Joannafrowned.

"Oh."

Yale looked down at the shirt he had worn all night, and then looked back up at Joanna's expressionless face.

He took off the shirt.

Slightly turning to the side, he inadvertently let his muscle lines be revealed.

"How is it?" He flashed a grin at her.

Joanna: "..."

The girl's expression of disgust could not be concealed.

Yale fell silent.

"...Here you go." He regretfully handed the shirt over.

Joanna neatly took the clothes and left, carrying a faint scent of apples amidst her flying blonde hair.

"..."

Yale sighed.

When on earth did their relationship start becoming like this?

At the autumn harvest festival when they were eight, she took the initiative to help him push that giant pumpkin onto the display stand; at ten, she would sit on the grass beside him while he sunbathed; at twelve, she would stick close to him and continuously call him Yale...

And then?

Thirteen? After fourteen?

He couldn't remember the exact day, but Joanna's gaze toward him became colder and colder, growing more silent day by day, until it turned into how she looked today...

Forget it.

Yale shook his head, brushing the emotions aside.

Compared to the psychology of an adolescent girl, he had more important things to care about.

For a full eight years, the people from Vought Internationalhad never appeared.

A black SUV wouldn't suddenly stop at the farm's entrance, and suited agents certainly didn't come for a friendly visit; the matter of an escaped experimental subject in a corn farm in Smallville, Kansas seemed to have been forgotten by everyone.

Yale didn't know what Uncle Ben had actually done.

Perhaps he really had a top-tier assassin friend who permanently cleared the tracking files in some way...

But regardless...

These eight years of calm gave Yale one thing.

Time.

He stood in front of the window, the first ray of morning sunlight passing through the cracks of the blinds and falling onto his bare upper body.

Cellular fusion...

Golden light welled up in the young man's pupils.

His amber eyes flickered uncertainly.

If they didn't come, then forget it.

If they came...

The golden pupils dissipated.

Yale pulled a clean shirt out of the wardrobe and put it on, flicked his hair in front of the mirror, and confirmed that he had turned back into the unremarkable second child of the Kent Family.

Humming an out-of-tune country ballad, he pushed open the door and walked out.

Actually, he had no other extravagant demands; he only hoped to live on with a calm state of mind, living a life where he could have eight hours of baby-like sleep every day and even the doctor would say he was very healthy.

Victory and defeat were things he least liked to fuss over, because that would only bring trouble and enemies to himself and the farm. He was a content person, and this was also his outlook on life, but if he absolutely had to make a move...

Yale Kent would not lose to anyone.

For instance, regarding the most urgent priority right now, Yale felt he should first think about how to maintain a good relationship with his freezer-like younger sister; if this continued, Yale felt Clark's status might end up even higher than his own.

...

The laundry room was at the end of the first floor.

The washing machine was bought four years ago. That autumn, Clark won an athletic scholarship, Yale won an academic scholarship, and Joanna herself won an award for all-around excellence that she still didn't understand why they gave to her...

Gathering the three scholarships together, Yale generously bought this front-load washing machine.

Yale kept shouting about giving Martha a surprise.

Clark wanted to hold back the surprise but always laughed until he was doubled over.

The sunlight was very bright.

Everything was good.

Joanna squeezed Yale's clothes in her hands.

No.

She couldn't go on like this. She was Joanna Kent, Yale said she was a calm and restrained person, she couldn't...

The fabric was squeezed into a ball in her hands.

One last time.

She lifted the undershirt and buried her cold, aloof face into it.

The sun—his clothes always smelled like the sun.

Joanna's shoulders relaxed, her eyelashes drooping slightly, her brow unfurrowing. She took a deep breath, her sky-blue eyes covered with a layer of misty, dreamlike haze. At this moment, she finally looked like a sixteen-year-old girl.

"Yale..." she murmured out loud.

"Snap—!"

Her ears twitched slightly.

...

When Clark walked into the laundry room while yawning, what he saw was his younger sister standing expressionlessly beside the washing machine.

"Yo, Joanna."

Clark rubbed his eyes, threw a ball of wrinkled clothes onto the washing machine, and said, "Helping Yale wash clothes again today, huh."

Looking at the clothes that had landed on top of Yale's clothes, Joanna's lips pressed tightly together.

"How about you also help me..."

She turned and left.

Her golden hair flashed in the morning light, and she vanished around the corner.

Was she actually going to use super speed to get away from him?

Clark stood in the laundry room, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"..."

He was the older brother, right?

He was the oldest child in this family, right?

Why did Joanna never help him wash his clothes?! Why did his clothes always have to be thrown into the drum by himself, only for him to forget to press the start button until they molded three days later and Martha chased him around beating him?!

Clark angrily grabbed his own clothes, shoved them forcefully into the washing machine, and then paused for a moment, vengefully reaching out to rake Yale's clothes into the drum as well, mixing them together with his own.

Hehehehe!

If we're washing, we wash together! Yale!

Just become tainted with your big brother's scent like this!

Clark chuckled evilly.

"What are you doing...?"

A familiar, lingering voice rang out from behind him.

"Ya... Yale...?"

Clark was sweating profusely.