Chapter 11 "my uncle captain america"
Eternals.
One of the most underrated races in the Marvel Universe.
They can absorb any form of radiation.
Solar radiation, gamma radiation, cosmic radiation...
All Eternals members spend a long time training themselves, learning how to harness cosmic energy...
Reinforcing the physical body, mental force fields, psychic energy...
And Hyperion is even more of an Eternals among the Eternals, a Hyperion among Hyperions.
Even fatigue toxins can be converted into fuel by him.
Every single debuff in his body will be recycled and utilized by him.
Therefore, Desiree's pheromones to today's Yale...
[Hyperion Roleplay Progress: 38.1% → 40%]
By the way, it made him jump nearly two percentage points.
Eight years...
In eight years, by sunbathing, absorbing Kryptonite, and occasionally getting drenched in lightning during storms, he ground the roleplay progress from 12% to 38%...
But those few short minutes on the rooftop just now...
Grabbing a woman by the neck, suspending her over an abyss, using Heat Vision to carve scorch marks into the concrete beside her ear, declaring with absolute violence...
Two percentage points in one breath.
Yale closed his eyes, the rain hitting his eyelids and sliding down the bridge of his nose.
Golden inscriptions emerged in his mind:
——You are the truth, allowing no compromise from anyone.
——Your thoughts allow no mistakes from anyone.
——You will make the world a better place. Defeat the entire wrong world with the power of one person.
What he did just now perfectly fit the first rule.
That kind of condescending tyrant who places his own will above others...
The roleplay condition determines that this is Hyperion.
Yale opened his eyes, the rain blurring his vision, but the corners of his mouth curled upward uncontrollably.
Rainwater dripped from the soles of his shoes.
He raised his head.
Dark clouds churned like waves, lightning slithered like dragons, the lights of Smallville lined up beneath his feet, and endless wheat fields stretched endlessly before his field of vision.
Yale took a deep breath and ecstatically spread his arms.
Roleplay Progress: 40%
He will be able to manipulate gravitons with his Bio-field; the equivalence relation between mass and gravity no longer applies to him, so...
The rain curtain split on both sides of his body! The airflow compressed along the edge of his Bio-field! The sound of the wind blew past sideways until it broke the sound barrier!
Speed continued to climb!
"Bang——!"
A sonic boom cloud exploded around his body, a golden shadow pierced through the cumulonimbus cloud layer, water droplets evaporated on the surface of the Bio-field, and the air grew thinner and colder until he rushed out of the cloud tops!
The world fell silent for a moment.
A bright yellow moon hung in the vault of heaven, a sea of clouds churned beneath his feet, and the sound of thunder was isolated beneath the dark clouds.
Yale raised his face, the golden light in his pupils fading under the moonlight.
"Ha..."
He exhaled a breath of stale air.
Whenever he wanted to fly in the past, he had to beg Joanna to let him ride her, endure her cold face and disgust the whole time, and even later Joanna wouldn't let him ride her anymore...
Uh...
Floating above the sea of clouds ten thousand meters high, the boy seemed to belatedly realize something.
"..."
Yale Kent felt that he was truly full of sins.
He actually shouted at Joanna's ear like an idiot for so many years asking to let me ride you...
No wonder people despise you now...
"Sorry..."
Saying an insincere apology in a low voice toward the sea of clouds, Yale grinned and dived headfirst into the clouds.
Which boy can refuse flying?
Imagine it: gravity loses its meaning on you, the upper limit of speed depends on how much heat you can withstand from air friction, the moisture of the clouds condenses into a thin layer of ice around you, and in the next instant is heated to evaporation, you just did a roll inside the cumulonimbus cloud, electric charges crackled at the edge of your Bio-field, and cloud clusters that had accumulated millions of volts were...
"Boom——!!!"
Your knee took a hit from a lightning arrow.
"..."
Grimacing, he got up from the mud pit.
Yale Kent felt that he really didn't check the almanac when he went out today.
...
"Captured it! Captured it!!"
Chloe almost jumped up from the backseat of Pete's second-hand Beetle.
"Sit down! You're going to bump right through my car roof!"
Pete gripped the steering wheel in panic.
"Look! Look at the lightning! I captured the lightning!"
Pete glanced at the screen out of the corner of his eye, then slammed on the brakes.
The Beetle skidded on the road and finally stopped crookedly on the shoulder.
He looked at the camera in astonishment.
"Chloe, take another look?!"
"What?"
Chloe pulled the camera back, only to see that right in the center of the lightning strike on the screen, there was faintly a... humanoid silhouette?
With slightly spread arms, closed legs, and head slightly tilted back, it looked like it was nailed to a lightning cross.
"This is..." Chloe was stunned.
"I told you!" Pete stammered excitedly, "This place called Smallville is just weird! All kinds of strange things happen! Remember last year when old Smith said he saw a pig whose eyes could shoot electricity, chickens that could fly into outer space, the football team captain who was actually a werewolf, and cornfields that randomly spawned aliens! And today, this must be an Eastern cultivator coming over to our place to undergo tribulation!"
...
Kent Farm.
Clark stared at the flickering flames in the fireplace, unable to suppress the corners of his mouth no matter what.
Jonathan looked at him with concern.
This child Clark had been grinning foolishly ever since he ran back home.
"Click——"
Joanna pushed the door open and walked in, holding a black umbrella in her right hand, a few strands of damp hair sticking to her cheeks.
She expressionlessly stood the umbrella on the rack by the door, swept her nearly transparent blue eyes around the living room, and slightly frowned.
Jonathan by the fireplace, Clark, Martha in the kitchen...
Only that guy was missing.
"Where is Yale?"
Jonathan put down the newspaper in his hand and glanced behind Joanna.
Outside the door, there was only the sound of rain and darkness.
"I don't know." Joanna shook her head.
Jonathan frowned and looked at the clock hanging on the wall.
The thunderstorm outside was getting heavier and heavier.
"He didn't leave with you?" Jonathan pressed.
"He's not mine." Joanna sat on the sofa, irritably pressing the remote control, "Why should he leave with me?"
Jonathan opened his mouth, but facing his niece's cold face, those words turned into a sigh.
Could it be that he was really despised by the children?
The old farmer pressed his chest.
So hurtful.
"Joanna..." Clark leaned over mysteriously, "I discovered something super amazing today—"
"Shut up."
Clark:...
Jonathan held back a laugh, suddenly feeling much better in his chest.
"Joanna..." Martha poked her head out of the kitchen, flour still on her apron, "Just back from Mona's place? Are you hungry? The apple pie just came out of the oven."
"...Yeah." Joanna nodded, "Thanks, Auntie."
Clark took a deep breath and silently withdrew his gaze.
He wanted to complain to someone about the unfairness of this differential treatment, but looking at Jonathan's expression of holding back a laugh, Clark chose to shut up.
Time passed minute by minute.
Clark's silly grin finally faded, replaced by glances toward the window from time to time.
"I'll go take a look." Jonathan stood up, put on his straw hat, and was about to reach for the flashlight.
"Click——"
The door handle turned.
A cold gust of wind blew into the living room.
The blonde boy stood under the porch, his sneakers caked with semi-dry mud, his T-shirt clinging to his torso outlining the contours of his muscles, but his expression...
Was an irrepressible smile.
"Yo, family members." Yale shook the water from his hair, raised his hand to greet everyone in the living room, "I'm back."
Clark stood up from the sofa, his blue eyes blinking in the light of the fireplace.
"Where did you go?" He looked up and down at his muddy younger brother, "Why are you smiling like that? Are you stupid?"
"..."
"The last person I want to hear that from is you." Yale was speechless, "Do you want to look at the silly grin on your own face?"
Clark's smile became even brighter.
"Yale! What is wrong with you!" Martha's hands rubbed and pinched his face, "Are you cold? Are you hurt anywhere? Why didn't you even bring an umbrella when you—"
AI Model: gemini-3.6-flash
"I forgot, I forgot!" Swung side to side as Martha rubbed him, Yale had no choice but to raise his hands in surrender. "Mom, stop rubbing, my face isn't dough... I just got soaked on my way back."
"So why did you come home so late?" Jonathan crossed his arms, looking stern.
"Ahem... I went to Pete's house to help him develop photos."
"Then why did Clark say you were at school?" Jonathanfrowned.
"..."
Yale's mouth twitched, and he cast his gaze towards the sheepishly grinning Clark.
Tattling?! What happened to the trustworthy Superman!
"Enough, now is not the time for this." Martha walked out holding a bath towel and a set of clean pajamas. "Take off those wet clothes first and go take a shower!"
Yale sighed and accepted his fate, grabbing the hem of his shirt and lifting it up.
Martha smiled gently, then looked at the girl standing up from the sofa preparing to head back to her room.
"Joanna, could you please take Yale's dirty clothes to the laundry room? I still have dishes to finish washing."
"...Why me?" Joanna frowned.
"Because it's on your way."
Joanna pinched the clothes Yale handed over.
"...What is this smell?" she asked.
Yale: "..."
"How about I do it myself?" Yale self-consciously touched the small golden curls hanging over his forehead. "You don't have to..."
"Shut up." Joanna turned to leave. "Aunt told me to do this."
"I mean... you look like you really don't want to touch it..."
Pausing her steps, the girl with blonde hair hanging by her ears turned around, her blue eyes finally meeting his head-on.
"Do you think I'm incapable of doing something like this?"
Translation: Are you questioning me?
Why couldn't she fix this habit of getting randomly prickly ever since she was little?
"No, no." Yale raised his hands helplessly. "Whatever makes you happy."
...
Laundry room.
After closing the door, Joanna swallowed softly.
The fabric was kneaded repeatedly in her palms. With every squeeze, more water seeped out, and at the same time, more scent was released from deep within the fibers, caught by her super senses.
Joanna closed her eyes...
This was the sun...
"Buzz—!"
Joanna snapped her eyes open as a faint scent of grapefruit drifted into her nostrils.
Who was it?
She pressed her nose against the clothes.
Who was it?
Which woman was it?! Whose scent was left on Yale's clothes? Who dirtied her sun?!
Crimson light spilled out from her pupils.
"Sizzle—!"
A flame leaped up on the fabric, licking the girl's fingers.
"Jo... Joanna?!"
Clark stood at the doorway, his eyes widening unconsciously.
A burning T-shirt.
And Joanna's crimson eyes.
He hastily rushed to the laundry sink, turned on the faucet, grabbed the burning garment from Joanna's hand, and shoved it under the running water.
"Whoosh—!"
The fire was extinguished.
"Phew..."
Clark exhaled, leaning his hands on the edge of the laundry sink.
He turned his head, wanting to ask what had happened.
But the girl was already gone.
"..."
Clark looked down at the dying T-shirt in the laundry sink; a palm-sized charred hole was burned into the collar.
Does she really hate Yale that much?
Clark truly couldn't figure it out.
He knew that in the eyes of outsiders, Joanna and Yale's relationship had always been antonyms, like ice and fire...
Yale was warm, Joanna was cold...
But no matter how cold she was, there was no need to burn his clothes, right?
He fished the clothes out of the water and unfolded them to inspect the extent of the damage.
Beyond saving.
Even if Martha came, she couldn't patch this hole, unless she planned to sew a sunflower over Yale's chest.
Clark sighed.
He wrung out the water from the shirt and held it up to see if any area had survived. After all, the farm hadn't had a good harvest recently, so sewing a sunflower on it for him, as the older brother, to wear wasn't impossible.
"Clark?!"
"...?!"
From behind.
Clark turned his head blankly.
Yale was standing at the laundry room doorway.
"You...?"
Yale looked at the T-shirt with a burned hole in Clark's hands.
"It wasn't me!" Clark's mouth twitched. "I was just checking..."
"..."
"Clark." Yale's expression was blank. "I finally know."
"Know what?"
"Why my clothes have always had a strange smell since last year." Yale was expressionless. "I thought my wardrobe got damp, but I turned it upside down and found nothing. I never expected..."
"It was you all along." Yale enunciated each word. "Clark Kent, you've been secretly wearing my clothes..."
"What on earth are you talking about? Joanna burned it!"
"Joanna burned my clothes?"
"...Yes."
"..."
"Really!"
Clark spoke emphatically, looking like he wanted to cry.
"Fine." Yale put his hands behind his back. "Then I choose to believe you."
Clark breathed a huge sigh of relief.
"But your allowance for next month is mine. That's for emotional damage."
"I told you it wasn't me!" Clark went crazy.
"Anyway, if I catch you doing it again," Yale snorted, "I'm going to donate all your plaid shirts to the Boy Scouts."
"Including that souvenir hidden under your bed that says'Scout First'."
"How do you know about that—!"
"Bang—!"
What answered him was the sound of a door slamming.
Clark's mouth twitched as he silently threw the cooled-down T-shirt into the trash bin.
Refusing to listen to elders leads to suffering right before your eyes.
If he had known earlier, he would have destroyed the evidence!
...
Today.
Smallville High School's biology lab finally welcomed a new teacher.
Except when Desiree Atkins walked onto the podium, the students were clearly very disappointed.
The rumor of the charming and hot biology teacher turned out to be wearing a turtleneck sweater today, tightly covering her cleavage.
She was even wearing a lab coat on the outside, and her hot pants had been replaced with a skirt below the knee.
Derek in the front row shrank his neck back, his shoulders slumping as he let out a suppressed sigh.
Today, it seemed the men of Smallville High School could complete their schoolwork using their upper body.
"Turn to page seventy-three of the textbook. Today we are talking about the regulatory role of pheromones in population behavior. You, Mr. Clark, what is the essential difference between pheromones and hormones?" Desireecasually called on him.
Clark froze.
"Yale..." he whispered softly.
But unfortunately, Yale didn't even raise his head, obsessively scribbling away on scratch paper.
"..."
"Mr. Clark, your grades need improvement."
Listening to the good-natured giggles around him, Clarksat down with a red face.
A moment later, a resentful glare from Clark quietly drifted from in front of Yale.
Still ignoring his stupid older brother, the boy just mouthed blankly.
If you keep doing this, I'm telling the teacher.
"...?"
Clark was stunned.
Before he could think it through, he saw Yale cast a glance toward the podium.
"Mr. Clark Kent," Desiree's tone was strictly businesslike.
"Please come to my office after class. We can talk about your less-than-ideal biology grades in the grade ranking, as well as your issue with being distracted during class."
"I..."
"Keep your mouth shut, Mr. Kent."
The surrounding classmates cast envious and jealous looks.
Poor Clark. After class, he'd definitely get tormented in Desiree's office, wouldn't he?
How miserable.
So miserable that Derek wished his own grades were a bit worse.
Holding back a laugh, Yale lowered his head again to focus back on the scratch paper in front of him. With a few casual strokes, a man wearing a star-spangled spandex suit sprang to life on the paper.
Hmm...
This was Yale Kent's commemorative comic creation in memory of his uncle Benjamin Kent. As for the title, it would be called...
—"my uncle captain america".
Chapter 12: I want you to assist me in my cultivation.
Benjamin.
An American GI who underwent Super Soldier Serum modification during World War II wakes up after being frozen for seventy years, discovering that the world has changed beyond recognition. Thus, he puts on a mask and picks up a shield, single-handedly fighting against the evil organization Seven Bulls hidden deep within government agencies.
Interspersed in between are heartwarming daily interactions with his nephew and niece, as well as a large number of blood-pumping superhero fight scenes.
What a great subject matter.
Passionate, righteous, family-friendly, politically correct, with a little gentle satire on the military-industrial complex.
Yale turned to a new page and began drawing the storyboard draft for the second chapter.
For a Super Brain + super speed, he was currently a walking comic book printer.
Of course, in a sense, it could also be considered a money-printing machine.
After all, this year all the farmers in Smallville were worried, and the Kent Family was no exception. Even though their family had three human harvesters, they still couldn't defeat natural disasters.
Although Jonathan didn't say it out loud, Yale could tell that the old farmer hasn't been in a very good mood lately, and the time he spent dazing under the porch after dinner was getting longer and longer, and his silence was lasting longer as well.
Yale of course had thought of other ways to make money.
For instance, using super speed to run to a Las Vegas casino and beat blackjack, using super vision to see through the scratch-off coating of lottery tickets, and using the Super Brain to do high-frequency quantitative trading in the stock market.
But all these plans were vetoed by him. To the simple farm couple, the stock market, lotteries, and casinos would make them even more uneasy than hearing that he went to rob a bank. Therefore, before his super flight ability could bring back a mountain of gold from outer space, Yale still chose to pick up his traditional craft.
Drawing comics was quite good; comic artists possessed a clean, legal, and traceable source of income.
In the future, it could even establish a good public image for the identity of Yale Kent, just like Clark would become a reporter for the Daily Planet in the future, using his pen and voice to protect everything he cherished.
Furthermore, serializing this comic might even help find Uncle Ben, who had attracted eight years of firepower for Joanna.
That's right, Yale had actually been brewing this plan for a long time, but just hadn't put it into action.
After all, this work looked like a love letter written to a certain man who had disappeared from this world for eight years. Vought International, with its sharp sense of smell, would definitely follow the vine to investigate his background upon seeing it.
But times were different now.
Role-playing degree: 40%.
He now possessed Heat Vision and flight abilities; even if the worst-case scenario happened, he had the ability to take his whole family away from Smallville.
In other words, he finally had the capital for trial and error.
"Ring-a-ling—!"
The class bell rang.
Yale tucked the draft paper into his textbook and stretched.
Meanwhile, Clark beside him packed his books with an expression as if facing death.
The big blue-eyed boy intentionally bumped into Yale with his hip as he passed by him.
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"You're done for, Yale Kent." Clark gritted his teeth, "Wait until I get back."
"Go ahead, Clark."
"Study biology well, you'll find it useful when looking for a girlfriend in the future." Yale waved at him, his tone as sincere as an affectionate father.
Clark ground his teeth, following Desiree's leaving figure out of the classroom and disappearing into the hallway.
Watching the two turn the corner of the hallway, Yaleleaned back into his chair and flipped out the draft paper to continue working, but just as he put down two strokes, a shadow fell on the edge of his desk.
"Yale."
The girl's voice carried a hint of hesitation.
Yale raised his eyes.
Lana Lang stood in front of him, her brownish-red long hair tied back with a hairband, wearing a light blue sweater paired with jeans. Her expansive chest was sealed away once again, which undoubtedly made Yale somewhat regretful.
"About last night..." the girl said cautiously, "I thought about it all night, and I think we should..."
However, before she finished speaking, Yale's ears moved first.
"Sorry, Captain." He stuffed the draft paper into the drawer, "Let's chat another day."
"Wait—"
Lana's outstretched hand grabbed nothing; the boy had already swept past her side with a gust of wind and disappeared at the classroom door.
The girl's hand hung in mid-air and slowly lowered.
She sighed, her eyes involuntarily falling toward Yale's desk.
"My uncle..."
Lana blinked, subconsciously reading out a corner of the draft paper that was exposed.
...
Biology Office.
Clark sat obediently.
Desiree sat opposite him.
"Your quiz last time was only a C-, Clark. The entire chapter on pheromones was wrong." She pushed the test paper to the center of the desk.
"Uh..."
Clark scratched the small curly hair on his head, feeling somewhat guilty, "Because that week I was helping my dad repair the barn roof, and didn't have time to read the textbook..."
Actually, it was a little competition between him and Yale.
The two of them had a competition on the premise of not using the Super Brain to cheat, relying purely on their own intelligence.
And so...
"I don't need to hear reasons. I just want to make sure you can keep up with the progress. The final exam accounts for forty percent of the total grade."
Desiree stood up, walked around the desk to Clark's side, and placed a printed review outline in front of him.
There was once again a faint, elusive sweetness in the air.
Clark's eye twitched, his temples began to throb faintly, and his eyes felt as uncomfortable as if they were on fire.
"Clark?" Desiree leaned down, one hand supporting herself on the desk, "Are you listening?"
"I... I'm listening."
Clark said in a daze.
"Actually, I want to ask you one more thing, about your younger brother." Desiree said in a low voice.
"..."
"Yale?"
"Mm, he seems very popular at school?"
"Yale is just that kind of person." Clark felt a wave of listlessness, the temperature in his eyes dropping, "He can chat a few words with anyone."
"Then does he have any... particularly close friends? Or rather, people he cares about relatively much?"
"Not quite sure, Teacher. If there's nothing else, I'd like to leave first. I promised a friend to help out after school." Clark stood up, folded the test paper and stuffed it into his pocket.
The corners of Desiree's mouth stiffened slightly.
According to her experience, any normal sixteen-year-old boy would never actively propose leaving after being alone with her...
But Clark Kent said he would leave and left just like that...
What was the trigger point?
Was it because she mentioned Yale Kent?!
"Wait, Clark, I..."
"Bang—!"
The door was pushed open from the outside.
"Teacher Desiree, I want to discuss something with you."
"Ya... Yale?"
Clark blinked, only to see Yale standing slouchily at the doorway, holding a can of orange juice bought from a vending machine.
"...Mr. Clark, then see you next time."
"Alright, Teacher."
Casting a look of "I'll treat you to dinner later" toward Yalewho had bailed him out, Clark waved his hand and disappeared at the doorway.
The door lock clicked shut.
"Mr. Kent came to find me for tutoring?" Desiree sat in the office chair and watched Yale walk in.
"Teacher Atkins is dressed very appropriately today." Yaleplaced the orange juice can on the desk.
"Did you specially come to praise me?"
"I just want to say, stay away from Clark."
"..."
"S-Sorry..." she muttered, "I just wanted to understand you too much."
What was this woman muttering about?
Yale raised an eyebrow and abruptly grabbed Desiree's wrist.
"How much pheromone can you secrete at one time now?"
"Probably... three to four times the normal state. Because you got too close, my body couldn't help but... passively secrete it..."
What does this have to do with me? Does this stuff of yours even distinguish between active and passive?
Yale was somewhat dazed, but still spoke solemnly.
"Teacher Desiree, I need you to help me do something."
"...W-What thing?"
"I want you to assist me in my cul— Ahem... give me tutoring."
...
Hallway corner.
Chloe Sullivan was thinking about how to move the bucket into the Torch office.
"Hey, Chloe."
"Yo, Yale."
"...?"
Why was Yale here?
Watching the beaming boy walking further and further away, Chloe was somewhat dazed.
What good thing did this guy encounter?
"Bang——!"
The door of the biology department office behind her suddenly opened.
But the way biology teacher Desiree Atkins walked out made Chloe instinctively reach for the camera in her pocket.
The female teacher carried an unnatural sense of disarray all over, her brown eyes shimmering with a thin layer of moisture.
Her legs even felt soft when she walked.
"Click."
Chloe stuffed the camera back into her pocket, feeling her brain overload for a moment.
Yale... and Teacher Desiree, the dream lover of all the boys in the school...
Chloe covered her mouth.
No, it can't be...
Does Joanna know about this?!
Chapter 13: Deathstroke.
Yale walked down the hallway with brisk steps.
Desiree's pheromones, enhanced by kryptonite, entered his body, making him a little excited and a little intoxicated at the moment.
[Hyperion Roleplay Progress: 40% → 40.08%]
That meant if Desiree kept up her passive secretion once a day, he would not even need to fish for kryptonite fragments.
After all, in three hundred and sixty-five days he could gain twenty-nine point two percentage points, plus the basic accumulation of daily solar radiation...
Theoretically speaking, in less than a year, he would be able to unlock the second template.
This was faster than all his progress from the past eight years combined.
Ms. Desiree Atkins, she was simply a mobile power bank sent by God.
And speaking of which, Yale felt he should also consider the second slot of the template system.
After all, there were a bit too many superpowered individuals in this world that could be bound...
Take Wonder Woman, for instance...
Demigod bloodline combined with Amazonian combat skills.
But the attitude toward males in Paradise Island might be even worse than Joanna's attitude toward strangers; he had to figure out how to get in.
Aquaman? Yale imagined the scene of himself standing on the coral throne of Atlantis, holding a morning meeting with a group of shrimp soldiers and crab generals...
Hmm... Never mind.
Martian Manhunter...
This one was interesting. Shapeshifting abilities combined with telepathy could be called omnipotent.
Cyborg would work too. Cybernetic prosthetics meant being able to converse with any electronic device, which in the information age was almost equivalent to omniscience and omnipotence, only he did not know where their family was making a fortune right now.
Wait, come to think of it...
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Would Doomsday work?
Yale fell into deep thought, imagining how to make friends with Doomsday while pushing open the classroom door.
Only one person was left in the empty classroom.
Lana Lang was sitting in his seat, her brownish-red long hair hanging down her shoulders, lowering her head to flip through something, so that she only snapped back to reality when Yale walked up close to her.
"Did no one tell you that going through other people's things is very impolite, Captain Lana? From last night until now, how many times is this that you have offended me?"
Lana's shoulders shrank slightly, a trace of guilt flashing in her aqua-blue eyes, but she quickly maintained her expression with the stubbornness characteristic of a small-town girl.
"I'm sorry, Yale. These drafts slipped out of your drawer. I wanted to help you tidy them up, but I accidentally got too engrossed in reading them. I like reading comics, so..."
This was a lie.
Her heartbeat accelerated.
But Yale didn't bother arguing with this bullied captain right now. He pulled the draft paper from Lana's hands, gathered the scattered pages, and stuffed them into his schoolbag.
But just as he was about to sling the schoolbag over his shoulder, Super Hearing caught something.
On the east side of the campus, in the direction of the old sports equipment hallway, a set of footsteps was moving in a flanking route.
The target was...
Joanna's heartbeat.
Yale abruptly shoved the schoolbag into Lana's arms.
"Help me take it home."
"Wh... What?" Lana froze in her seat.
"Don't you like reading comics? From now on, I'll let you be the first to see every chapter as payment for today's help." Yale had already walked to the door, "Captain Lana, don't ever let down my trust."
"..."
Lana lowered her head to look at the schoolbag in her arms.
Sending it back to the Kent Family meant she had to walk through the gate, step across the gravel path lined with sunflowers on both sides, knock on that yellow wooden door, and then...
Face the blonde-haired, blue-eyed Joanna.
Lana swallowed a mouthful of saliva.
"Don't lock yourself in the classroom, little girl."
The white-haired, one-eyed security guard at the end of the corridor was pushing a cleaning cart and passing by leisurely.
"I'm cutting the power later."
Lana hugged the schoolbag tightly and jogged out of the classroom.
She had to deliver the schoolbag to the Kent Family before Joanna got home.
...
The parking lot outside the school gate.
Whitney Fordman's expression was extremely ugly.
Standing beside him were three tennis team substitutes acting as his temporarily cobbled-together audience, but their eyes were obviously focused more on their phone screens than on the Lord Captain's grumbling.
"We've lost three matches recently." Whitney gritted his teeth, "The coach won't even look me straight in the eye now, as if I fucking never existed."
No one answered.
"And that Yale..."
Whitney's fists clenched tightly.
Yesterday's incident by the lake made him lose all face in front of the whole school. The bracelet he gave to Lanawas casually thrown into the lake by Yale, and when he tried to fight back, he was pinned to the ground by Clarklike a little chick being picked up.
Lana didn't even spare him another glance; her eyes followed a certain blonde boy the entire time.
"Captain."
A voice came from the side. Whitney turned his head and saw an unfamiliar boy standing next to him.
"Who are you?"
"Transfer student, just call me Matthew." The boy smiled gently, "I don't think you should keep enduring this."
"What the hell does it matter to you?" Whitney glared at him irritably.
"I just think... the people in the Kent Family are too arrogant." Matthew said with indignation, "Especially their younger sister, Joanna. You know what? She bumped into me in the hallway last week without even a word of apology. That look in her eyes... as if we were all bugs."
Whitney became even more furious.
"I just saw her go to the old equipment hallway to find someone this afternoon." Matthew lowered his voice, "There are no cameras there; it's the school's loading blind spot... If Senior wants to regain face, finding one person is much easier than finding three."
Whitney's eyes glazed over for a split second, then lit up abruptly.
Right, that poker-faced blonde woman—she was rumored to be very strong, but after all, she was just a girl...
A girl all alone, without her older brothers to protect her.
"Let's go."
Whitney waved at his two bewildered companions.
Standing in place and watching them leave, Matthew calmly straightened his collar.
"Attention, my ability is starting to take effect."
"Target is beginning to move."
...
The old sports equipment hallway was one of the forgotten corners of Smallville High School.
Joanna stood in the middle of the hallway.
Elaine's text message said to wait for her here, but she had been standing there for five minutes without even a shadow of a person.
Frowning, Joanna looked toward the entrance of the hallway.
"From the Kent Family?"
Three boys blocked the entrance of the hallway. Whitney stood at the very front, with the two substitutes hugging the walls on the left and right.
"Get lost," Joanna said coldly.
"Such a tone, truly worthy of the Kent Family." Whitney took a step forward, "Your brothers have made me very unhappy lately."
"What do you want to do?"
"There are no cameras in this place. What do you think I plan to do?"
Joanna looked at him, still expressionless.
"I suggest you fix your attitude." Whitney grew even angrier, "For example, apologize first, and then give your two..."
"If you still want to walk out of this hallway with intact limbs," Joanna said abruptly, "turn around now, it's still not too late."
"Who do you think you are?" Whitney froze for a second.
"She is my sister."
A voice came from behind Whitney.
The three of them turned their heads simultaneously.
Yet they saw Yale Kent leaning against the wall at the entrance of the hallway, his face buried in shadow so it was unclear.
"Ya—"
Before Whitney could finish his sentence, his feet left the ground.
He...
He had been thrown flying up?!
The two substitutes' reactions were obviously half a beat faster than their captain's, and they hurriedly turned around and ran.
But Yale had no intention of letting the two of them go. Reaching out, he grabbed both bodies and smashed them fiercely against each other in front of him.
The substitutes passed out.
As for the captain, he landed on the concrete floor, kicking up a high cloud of dust.
Whitney tried to prop himself up against the wall to stand, but before his knees could straighten, a hand pressed down on top of his head, pinching his skull.
Whitney was somewhat terrified.
Only at this moment did he snap out of his trance.
How... how did he dare to provoke the guy in front of him?!
"Whitney." Yale pressed his face into the crack of the wall, "If you ever dare to go near my family again in this lifetime, I think you'll be lying in a hospital bed at Kansas State Hospital for the rest of your life, drinking your protein powder through a metal tube."
Whitney wanted to say something, but his face was rubbing against the wall surface right then, so he could only emit a muffled whimper.
Yale snorted coldly, his hands exerting force abruptly.
"Bang——!"
Teeth shattered, Whitney's eyeballs rolled back as his consciousness faded, and he slid down the wall to sit on the ground.
Fifteen seconds ended.
Seeing Joanna return to her usual iciness, the red dots in her eyes had already dissipated.
Yale let out a breath of relief.
Good thing he arrived fast enough.
Any later, and these three pieces of trash would probably have been packed into three different plastic bags by himself in the form of fragments to clean up the aftermath.
Then Whitney Fordman's parents would need to assemble a lot of parts to give him a decent funeral.
"I'll get going first, Joanna."
Without explaining why he appeared here, Yale turned and left. He knew his younger sister had always disliked him tracking her.
"Oh, right."
However, the young man who walked to the mouth of the alley hesitated for a moment, yet couldn't help saying, "Remember to go home early tonight, don't stay out playing too late."
Joanna's brows knitted slightly.
She wanted to say something, but Yale had already quickened his pace.
"Joanna!"
Hurried footsteps came from the other side of the hallway. Elaine ran up to her, panting heavily.
"What's wrong? Why did you ask me to come here?" Elainebent over to catch her breath twice, then raised her head and looked around.
"..."
Three unconscious male bodies on the ground, along with scattered gravel and bloodstains all over the floor.
"...You brought me here to see your battle record?" Elaine's eyes lit up, seeming somewhat excited, "That's so cool, Joanna!"
"..."
"You didn't ask me to come?"
There was a hint of annoyance in Joanna's voice.
"Huh?" Elaine straightened up, looking blank, "Wasn't it you who sent me the message..."
"I didn't send any message."
The two girls looked at each other for a moment. Elaine's expression turned from confusion to seriousness.
"Someone used your number to send me a fake message, luring you to this place without surveillance?"
Joanna didn't answer this question that no longer needed answering. She withdrew her gaze from Whitney, who was piled on the ground.
"Elaine."
"Hmm?"
"Help me look up someone."
Elaine blinked.
"Look up who?"
"Yale."
Elaine's expression jumped from serious to completely dazed.
"...Huh?"
...
The rooftop.
Matthew knelt on one knee at the edge of the rooftop.
"The three decoys have failed, the target did not display extraordinary abilities... but..."
Before he could finish his words.
"Hum——!"
A flash of cold arc light swept past. Matthew didn't even have time to react before his right arm had already parted ways with him.
"You... you are—"
Matthew's pupils shrank, but accompanying it was...
A second arc of light.
A pillar of blood shot into the sky.
The headless body collapsed softly to the ground.
The orange-and-black figure sheathed his sword, his armor shimmering with golden light in the afterglow of the setting sun. Supporting the corpse on the ground with one hand, he was about to turn and walk toward the other side of the rooftop.
"Stop right there."
"...?"
The man turned around, but the figure he saw made him startle himself.
A pumpkin mask covered the newcomer's face, golden disheveled hair fluttering slightly at the edge of the mask. Two slender slits were opened at the eye positions, with crimson-gold light flowing out from within.
What an evil pumpkin head.
His single eye narrowed, and he was just about to open his mouth to warn.
But at the very next moment...
The words of the person in front of him made his heart skip a beat.
"Slade Wilson."
"Codename: Deathstroke."
Chapter 14: For Whom the Bell Tolls?
Slade Wilson.
Nicknamed Deathstroke.
The most lethal mercenary on the surface of the earth, a King of Killers who could complete six multidirectional slashes within 0.3 seconds even with only one eye, and wipe out the entire Teen Titans multiple times.
"You know me?"
Slade dragged a headless corpse and stood on the rooftop of Smallville High School, his orange and black alloy armor shimmering in the setting sun.
He looked at the body still spewing residual blood.
"These years... these people, did you kill them all?" Yalesuddenly asked.
Eight years.
Ever since Uncle Ben left the Kent Farm, bodies had been discovered across Kansas every once in a while.
The occasionally active serial killer could be said to have kept the residents of the entire state in a state of panic.
"Personal grudge, none of your business," Deathstroke said calmly.
"Personal grudge?"
Yale's mouth twitched. A world-class assassin roaming Kansas for eight years just to hunt down Vought's agents—what kind of grudge was this?!
"Enough."
Deathstroke obviously had no interest in having a deep conversation with Yale.
The veteran let out a cold snort, tapped his toes on the edge of the rooftop, and his figure flashed, silently landing on a nearby rooftop, followed by a second jump, then a third, disappearing beyond the horizon of Smallville within a few leaps.
To be honest, the physical functions bestowed upon Slade Wilson by brain domain development were an endless mountain even among superhumans.
It could even be said that for ninety-nine point nine-nine percent of the creatures on Earth, no one could track Deathstroke.
Unfortunately...
Yale's feet left the rooftop.
...
Rolling forward with momentum to dissipate the impact, Wilson took a glance back the moment he supported himself on one knee.
There was no one behind him.
Very good.
That smug brat wearing the pumpkin mask either lost the trail or had no intention of chasing him at all; either way meant...
"You can jump a bit faster."
The voice came from above.
Deathstroke abruptly raised his head.
But he saw a dark figure suspended in the sky, with his arms crossed over his chest.
He... he was flying?!
The corner of Slade Wilson's eye twitched.
This information was not in his intelligence reports.
In his cognition, Yale Kent had always been the most normal child in the Kent Family...
An ordinary boy who liked basking in the sun and reading comic books.
How could he...
Dammit... he knew it... where would there be any ordinary people in the Kent Family?!
Kicking apart the tin roof beneath his feet, Deathstroke began using the gaps and shadows between buildings to make irregular directional changes.
Yet he only turned his head sideways to glance at the sky.
Only to see Yale floating leisurely above him.
"What the fuck... so what if you can fly?!"
Deathstroke cursed inwardly and accelerated, rushing toward the woods outside the town.
Open areas were unfavorable to him, but the woods were different.
The woods were Slade Wilson's home turf; he had set up quite a few traps there just in case, serving as one of his backup plans buried in Smallville.
...
The fan spun on the ceiling.
The wooden board was pinned full of sticky notes, and a few red cotton threads were crookedly strung between the thumbtacks. At first glance, it looked like props for some cult ritual, and upon a second look...
Well, it still looked like cult props.
"Just put it right here, Clark," Chloe said without turning her head, pointing at the corner.
"Clang—"
The box hit the floor.
Clark clapped his hands, straightened his waist, and began to stretch his shoulders.
"What big news are you guys stirring up again?" He glanced at the newly added photos and cotton threads on the wooden board.
"Uh..."
Chloe turned around, looking a bit awkward.
"There's something... I don't know if I should say it."
"Go ahead and speak freely," Clark shrugged. "I don't have training today, you guys can talk about whatever you want."
Chloe and Pete exchanged a glance.
Pete scratched his head and handed two photos in front of Clark.
Yale's chin was slightly raised, walking with a spring in his step.
On the right side of the frame, a woman leaned against the corridor wall, her eyes somewhat dreamy.
"This is Ms. Desiree?" Clark asked in surprise.
"Yes."
"What does she have to do with Yale?"
"..."
Chloe was speechless.
Pete sighed, walked to Clark's side, and muttered in a volume only the two of them could hear for a while.
"How is that possible?!" Clark's pupils constricted. "Don't talk nonsense! This is slandering a Kent! Our family has been gentlemen for generations!"
"Aren't you farmers?" Chloe laughed out of exasperation.
"Our ancestors seemed to have been wealthy once," Clarkcleared his throat.
"Anyway... buddy..."
Pete spread his hands, "This is an objective analysis by us."
"Impossible!" Clark said decisively, "How old is Yale?! This is illegal!"
"How is this illegal?" Pete raised an eyebrow. "In my opinion, given Yale's conditions, starting to mess around with romantic relationships only now is actually a bit late. Look at those guys on the football team..."
"..."
Clark looked at Pete as if he were looking at a teddy dog that suddenly started speaking human language.
"... You'd better not let Yale hear these words." He pocketed the photos, stuffing them into his own clothes pocket.
"I'll take these photos to prevent you guys from publishing them everywhere."
"Tsk..."
Chloe curled her lips, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Then changing to another one should be fine, right?"
She turned and walked toward the corkboard, took down three photos from the top row, and lined them up on the workbench.
"Let you see our latest discovery."
Clark had been lacking interest initially, but to prevent these two guys from spreading gossip again, he had no choice but to walk over helplessly and scrutinize these guys' masterpieces.
"See it?"
"See what?"
Clark was a bit confused; aren't these just three ordinary, unremarkable candid photos?
"This person."
Chloe pointed at the white-haired figure in the background of the photos.
Clark blinked, suddenly reacting.
Three photos, three different times, three different locations.
It seemed...
The same person existed in them.
"This is... Mr. Wilson?"
There was an added layer of confusion in Clark's voice.
"Yes." Chloe pulled another stack of photos out of a kraft paper bag, spreading them out on the desktop like dealing playing cards, "Not just these three. Every single photo that you or Yale appeared in that Pete and I have taken since this year, we've gone through all of them."
She traced a circle over that patch of photos with her finger.
"Most of the backgrounds have him in them, Smith Wilson."
"Whether it's on the playground, the parking lot, the hallway, the cafeteria, or outside the library window, he always appears in some corner of the frame."
Clark froze.
"This..."
"He is monitoring you guys," Chloe rubbed her chin, "Or more accurately, he is tracking you. In a way that won't attract anyone's attention, and it has been going on for a long time."
"..."
"But why would he do this?" Clark couldn't understand.
"That's what I'm going to say next."
Chloe turned and walked toward the corkboard, which was densely marked with red dots and blue crosses.
"Pete, turn on the lights."
Chloe pulled a red marker out of her pocket.
"The Kansas serial murders."
"Starting eight years ago, up until last month, a total of nineteen anonymous corpses have been found within Kansas."
"According to public reports I could find and a few state police internal memos leaked onto forums..."
Chloe began using the red marker to draw lines between the red dots on the map, one, two, three...
The red lines began to constantly intersect on the map, and the center of the intersection was shockingly...
Smallville.
"The locations of these cases are distributed within a one-hundred-and-twenty-mile radius centered around Smallville."
"And then the timeline."
"The first case happened in September 1999."
"I went and checked the personnel files of Smallville High School," Chloe lowered her voice, as if walls had ears, "The school security guard Smith Wilson's employment date is August 1999."
"The gap is only one month."
"And..."
"I also checked Wilson's onboarding records. The address is fake, and that street doesn't even have that house number. The Social Security number also yields no work records prior to 1999, as if this person didn't exist at all before that year."
"Get my meaning, right? Clark."
"An one-eyed old man with a forged identity appeared at Smallville High School eight years ago, tracking every move of you and Yale ever since. Around the same time, serial murders began to occur in Kansas, and the geographical center of all the cases happened to be this high school."
She crossed her arms in front of her chest and slightly raised her chin.
"Could it be..." Clark's eyelid twitched.
"Yes." Chloe nodded solemnly, "The serial killer is right among us. He says good morning to you every morning and helps you lock the school gate every night."
"Smith Wilson."
"— Or rather, whatever his real name is."
Clark stood in front of the map, his blue eyes reflecting those crisscrossing red lines.
He remembered that when entering the school gate this morning, Mr. Wilson was sitting in the security room drinking coffee.
The one-eyed old man even raised his chin at him.
"Good morning, Mr. Clark."
"Good morning, Mr. Wilson."
"..."
"This is bad," Clark whispered, "Could it be today..."
"Something's going to happen to Yale?" Chloe gasped.
"No... I don't mean that... Chloe..."
"Don't scare me, Clark." Chloe breathed a sigh of relief.
"I mean..." Clark shook his head, a flash of worry crossing his face, "I'm afraid Mr. Wilson... he might be... by Yale..."
Chloe:...?
Yale landed in the forest clearing.
Super Hearing searched for Deathstroke's heartbeat, but the veteran had clearly undergone professional counter-reconnaissance training, keeping his heart rate suppressed below forty beats per minute, almost blending in with the animals and the environment.
Interesting.
"Soldier Boy doesn't seem to have taught you," Deathstroke's voice came from somewhere, "Do not pursue a cornered enemy."
"..."
Yale closed his eyes, still looking persistent in wanting to get the position through eavesdropping.
Gently drawing his long blade, Deathstroke prepared to detonate the trap network he had pre-embedded in the woods.
But in the next instant...
"Hum——!"
A crimson-gold beam of light swept across all directions, and the entire forest instantly melted and collapsed. Dust and wood chips formed a fog, and the carefully laid traps turned into ruins accordingly.
Gunpowder smoke rose.
Deathstroke flashed out from behind a trunk that had not yet completely fallen; his reaction speed was obviously still the peak of human peak.
Since the environmental advantage no longer existed, there was no need to waste time mourning. The long blade was unsheathed, and the cold light went straight for what was behind him.
This was Slade Wilson's signature backhand reverse slash, with an angle so tricky that even the future Batman would need to use a trade-damage method to block it!
"Clang——!"
The sound of metal clashing burst forth!
The blade actually snapped from the middle, spinning and flying to both sides.
"..."
What the hell is this, a human?!
This knife had been with him for twenty-three years, had cut down thousands of lives, never curled its edge, never damaged...
But now it fucking broke on a sixteen-year-old boy?!
Deathstroke hadn't even had time to react before his body stiffened. He was actually locked from behind by someone! A pair of arms wrapped around his armpits, ten fingers interlocked at the back of his neck! The fragile breastplate made continuous groans!
Slade somewhat missed his Prometheus metal suit.
Damn it, where on earth was that bastard Soldier Boy?!
"You are very fast, King of Killers, and your combat skills also belong to the world's top tier," Yale's voice came from his ear, "But now, I suppose none of these can be used anymore, right?"
"Hum——!"
The whistling wind followed closely, and Deathstroke could even see the lights of Smallville shrink into a blur of light spots in the blink of an eye.
"Am I right, Smith Wilson? My security guard uncle?"
His hands applied force once again!
A thousand meters high, with no point of leverage, no plane available for jumping, and no environmental elements to utilize!
Deathstroke, Slade Wilson...
Was simply meat on his chopping block.
"..."
"Enough, kid."
Restoring calm, without the voice changer processing, Wilson's voice sounded like a middle-aged man tortured by life for too long.
"Since you know it's me, why aren't you letting me down quickly."
"Until you tell me the reason you came here, I won't let you go." Yale said expressionlessly.
"Is it not clear yet?! Your uncle sent me to protect you guys!" Wilson laughed in exasperation.
"..."
The wind whistled around them.
Deduced logically, this answer had already been derived the moment Yale saw through Deathstroke's identity.
A world-top assassin working as a security guard in a small-town high school for eight years, with an activity range covering the daily lives of the three Kent Familychildren, while regularly eliminating certain agents approaching Smallville and wandering in Kansas...
Except for protection...
It was hard to find any other reasonable explanation.
But what truly threw Yale into contemplation was not the answer itself.
But an extended question.
What methods on earth did his Uncle Ben use to make Deathstroke willingly squat in the Smallville High Schoolsecurity room for a full eight years?
This was Slade Wilson, a man whose one-hour commission was enough to buy Smallville.
Just how rich was Uncle Ben?!
Or rather...
A scene flashed through Yale's mind that he was unwilling to face.
Uncle Ben, in a dim bar amidst swirling smoke, said a certain sentence to the one-eyed white-haired man.
"I love you, so please go and protect our children."
Yale shuddered.
Did he really use Soldier Boy's style?!
And he'd never heard of Deathstroke being gay.
But other than this point, Yale couldn't imagine any other possibility.
"..."
Carrying Deathstroke, Yale silently lowered his altitude.
By the highway outside the town, there was an abandoned artificial pond.
Yale landed by the pond and let go of his hands.
After stabilizing himself, the veteran moved his arms, which had been numbed by the choke, and then reluctantly took off his helmet.
Revealing the face Yale saw every morning when walking into the school gate.
Sparse white hair and a cloudy single eye.
School security guard, Smith Wilson.
Yale also took off his pumpkin mask.
The moon rose, illuminating him clearly.
One was the world's most dangerous mercenary, and the other was the world's best high school student at pretending to be ordinary.
Yale pondered for a moment.
"In other words," under the rotation of his Super Brain, he slowly spoke, "Those names Uncle Ben casually mentioned at the dinner table back then..."
"Terminator, Balkan, Birds of Prey, Twilight, Spears, Evan Darslator, Deadshot, Hellblazer..."
"That sentence he said, 'the most fucking lethal assassins in the world are protecting you guys'... is that true?"
"There isn't enough room for so many people to stand here," Deathstroke's voice came from across, "Except for Hellblazer, they are all me."
"..."
Hearing this, Yale couldn't help but look vigilantly to his left and right.
Slade frowned.
"What are you afraid of?"
"I'm afraid a Hellblazer will pop out from behind some tree later." Yale's tone was very serious.
"Hellblazer is not an assassin," Slade was speechless, "He's an alcoholic who happens to be able to commune with spirits."
"He hasn't been to my house, has he?"
"..."
"Once when he was passing through Kansas to Gotham, I asked him to take a look at whether your house had any lousy things like evil spirits possession."
"..."
"He really came?"
This Kent Farm felt like it couldn't be kept anymore.
"Rest assured, just once."
Slade expressionless, "Squatted in your family's cornfield, smoked a pack of cigarettes and left, saying this town is too disgusting, so disgusting that it disgusted him."
Chapter 15 Alpha
These eight years..."
Yale raised his head and looked at Wilson.
"Every time someone gets close to Small..."
"Kansas, kid. If they had discovered Smallville earlier, the whole of Smallville would have been razed to the ground long ago."
"..."
"How many people in total?"
Slade walked over to the pond, squatted down, and skillfully washed the blood off his gloves with water.
"Ninety-seven," he said.
In the reflection of the water surface, the veteran's single eye reflected the moonlight.
Spread out over eight years...
Faking deaths, swapping samples, creating false eyewitness accounts...
Some were scouts sent by Vought International, some were meteorite hunters attracted by Kryptonite radiation, some were spies from underground organizations who caught the scent of superpowers, and others...
Just happened to run into the King of Killers at the wrong time.
"The agreement between your uncle and me was only for nine years, protecting you until you come of age."
"Though I just found out today that you don't seem to need my protection." Slade stood up.
Yale didn't reply; his attention still lingered on Slade's words.
All these years he thought Smallville was safe because the town was unremarkable enough.
"What would they do to this town?" the young man's voice deepened.
"Don't worry, at least not now, kid. They search towns everywhere for blonde girls of the corresponding age for testing." Slade cracked his neck from side to side.
"I haven't just been acting as a gatekeeper in Smallville all these years. I go to places outside Smallville to hunt down agents reaching out from Vought. Sometimes it's Missouri, sometimes it's Oklahoma, occasionally as far as Virginia."
"Weren't you always working as a security guard at the school?" Yale asked in surprise.
"That's the downside of being a security guard," Sladesighed. "No pay during winter and summer breaks, so I can only take on some side gigs outside to supplement household expenses. You must never learn from your uncle and do this line of work in the future."
"..."
"Anyway, they won't come at us openly right now," Sladepulled the topic back on track. "There are two factions fighting openly and secretly within the Department of Defense, and Vought is at its wits' end right now."
"Two factions?"
Seeming to wait for Yale to ask this question, the corners of Slade's mouth split into a grin.
"You'll know later."
"..."
The corners of Yale's mouth twitched.
As expected, he still hated riddlers...
"What about Soldier Boy?" The young man asked the question he truly wanted to ask, "Where has he run off to all these years?"
"Maybe he's dead, maybe he's been refrozen, who knows." Slade shook his head.
"That doesn't sound like something you would say. You're the best tracker in the world—even you can't find him?"
"When certain people don't want to be found, you just can't find them." Slade looked toward the distant lights of Smallville. "Benjamin's talent in this area is much higher than you imagine."
Translated into human language: He is really good at running away.
"What on earth did he give you to make you guard here for a full eight years?" Yale was curious.
"You'll know that in the future too."
"Hum—!"
The sparks in the young man's pupils reflected the pond's surface into a crimson gold.
"I owe him a favor," Deathstroke said crossly. "He just happened to use... Fine, happy now?"
The golden light receded, and the pond rolled with curling white mist.
"You're not what I imagined, Mr. Deathstroke." Yale cracked a triumphant smile.
"..."
"Deathstroke is just a nickname. It has never been my essence; it's just my job, and I happen to love this job. From a certain perspective, I'm an absolute bad guy. A true villain. Even a psychopathic serial killer who slaughters the innocent." Slade shrugged and put his mask back on his head.
He raised the broken blade in his hand under the moonlight, scrutinizing his own reflection on the blade's surface.
"But that depends on who is describing me." The man tucked the broken blade into his waist, "Dead men don't talk. Of course they certainly won't gossip."
"In fact, I think I am a thoroughly good person. My name is Slade Wilson."
"Isn't it?"
The air was stifling.
"You clearly have a much clearer self-awareness than Batman." Yale laughed out loud.
"Who?"
"Nothing."
"Bizarre kid."
"Don't be late tomorrow morning; I won't open the door for you." Slade waved his hand without turning his head, "Right. If I were you, tonight when I got back I would flip through the history textbook."
"History book?" Yale was stunned.
The orange-and-black figure had already disappeared behind the shadows of the trees.
History book...
There isn't even a history test tomorrow?
Could this old man be telling him in some subtle way unique to middle-aged people that something big is going to happen tomorrow?
...
Metropolis.
Vought International.
Madelyn Stillwell's face had hardly changed compared to eight years ago.
Years seemed to show exceptional favor to this woman, adding to her without subtracting anything—like at her chest, where the fabric was enduring a much harsher test than eight years ago.
"We can't send people out anymore; this method is too cliché. Ever since Alpha's tracking operation was launched in September 1999, we've invested seven million dollars in budget, and what did we get in return?" a gray-haired man said in a low voice.
"But I need to remind everyone present, Alpha One is national property," another person said.
"Even if we find her, under the current political climate, how do you plan to take away a sixteen-year-old girl? Issue an arrest warrant? Or send an armed battalion to storm some farm?" The gray-haired man sneered.
"The new Secretary of Defense, Swanwick, has only been in office for three months."
"He has a mild attitude toward superhumans. He already made his stance clear at last week's cabinet meeting, opposing all judicial-bypass superhuman detention operations."
"So what? Swanwick's term is at most four years. When the next president comes to power..."
"Four years is enough to make Alpha completely disappear out of sight."
"Don't forget Sam Lane's Steel Soldier project. It is said that Lionel has made great progress on this project, and Homeloder, on the other hand, is the only card in Ms. Amanda's hand..."
The debate in the conference room started again. Obviously, it wasn't just the Department of Defense that had split into two factions.
"Gentlemen."
"Since we have differences regarding Alpha, why don't we listen to Ms. Madelyn's proposal first? She is the person in charge." Stillwell at the end of the long table let out a chuckle.
As the words fell, the screen behind Madelyn lit up.
A blonde young man draped in the Star-Spangled Banner rose into the air from the ground in the video, dived from high altitude, and finally braked to a hover.
"Sizz!"
Two pillars of fire burst from his eyes, and the metal melted and fell like a waterfall.
"Clang—!"
Immediately afterward, the sound of metal clashing rang out.
The screen switched to a black-armored figure unpretentiously tearing open a steel coil with bare hands.
Wait...
Tearing open what?! A steel coil?! This guy tore open a twenty-ton steel coil just like tearing open a roll of tin foil?!
"Flight ability, Heat Vision, super strength... Take a look, this is our achievement."
"We have already replicated some of the old heroes' abilities in this pair of test subjects."
"Oh, by the way, what everyone doesn't know is that Alpha One had the first-generation compound v injected into her body since she was a child. Starting from the embryonic stage, increasing dose by dose."
"How is that possible?! First-generation compound v can be injected from the embryonic stage?! That's V1! It has ten or even a hundred times the effect of current compound v! Even if she's Soldier Boy's genetic offspring, she shouldn't..."
"Wait, don't talk about that first." The gray-haired man interrupted the middle-aged man's questioning next to him, narrowing his eyes as he said, "The V1 serum is incomparably precious and incomparably dangerous. Even we cannot replicate it again. Who on earth authorized you to use V1 back then?!"
"First, it was specially approved by Ms. Amanda."
"Secondly, because the cell sample used when Alpha One was born was not only Soldier Boy's, but also 'her' cells."
"She...?"
Everyone paused.
A figure that only appeared in everyone's childhood storybooks flashed through their minds.
"You... you used her cells?!" someone exclaimed.
"This is blasphemy!" someone trembled, "It's too crazy... how dare you?!"
"All in all, Alpha One's potential upper limit is at least ten to a hundred times that of today's twin test subjects." Madelyn turned around to face everyone. "Understand? Ladies and gentlemen."
"If we deregister Alpha now."
"Then within eighteen months, the Lionel Group will become the Department of Defense's sole superhuman power supplier, and Vought International's half-century of accumulation in the superhuman field will turn into a pile of waste paper."
"..."
Everyone was silent.
If it really was mixed with 'her' cells, Alpha One's precious value indeed could not be spoken of in the same breath.
The conference room became completely quiet.
"Vote." Stillwell raised his hand first, "Those in favor of Ms. Madelyn's proposal..."
Moments later...
Passed unanimously, the meeting was adjourned.
Everyone left one after another harboring unease, leaving only two people behind.
"You've worked hard, Madelyn," Stillwell smiled and said.
"At your service." Madelyn breathed a sigh of relief, forcing a strained smile.
She had quietly rehearsed this exact scene in the conference room for days, and now it seemed Stillwell was very satisfied.
"I'll be leaving first. Good night, Mr. Stillwell."
The woman hurriedly left.
Leaving only Stillwell standing alone by the window, quietly overlooking the lights of Metropolis, his eyes flickering on and off like a night owl.