Early the next morning.
Machine Head Tower, sixtieth floor.
This was where Machine Head kept his panic room—glass reinforced, furniture custom-made, everything designed with one thing in mind: survival. Every inch of it was bulletproof.
Outside, ex-military guards stood watch twenty-four seven, armed to the teeth and ready to kill at a moment's notice.
For the king of New York's underworld, personal safety was non-negotiable. The man dropped hundreds of millions every year just to make sure no one got close.
In his words: "Inside my panic room, not even a fly's getting in."
And yet, today, someone had.
"Listen up, Isotope—scored another big deal last night."
Machine Head strutted toward his office, Isotope at his side. "Ripped a fat piece of meat off those old American families. Made a killing. As for the grunt work, let Titan handle it. Guy's all muscle, no brain."
He pushed through the door, laughing—then froze.
So did Isotope.
Because in Machine Head's chair sat a man in a black battlesuit.
The guy didn't even look at them. Just flipped casually through Machine Head's ledgers, the ones locked in a vault that was supposed to survive an RPG blast. The vault door now lay on the floor, twisted and silent.
"Son of a—" Machine Head's mechanical voice rasped. His gaze snapped between the stranger and the ruined safe.
"Hey, punk!" His tone cracked under pressure. "Whoever you are, put that down. Get out of my seat."
The man finally moved. Tossed the ledger onto the desk, lifted his head.
Machine Head blinked. He didn't recognize the face. But the chest emblem? That blood-red S?
Isotope's jaw dropped. "Holy shit—Superman?!"
He almost bailed on instinct, power flaring—until Machine Head grabbed his arm.
"Hold it. I've seen Superman. He doesn't look like this. This one's a fake."
He squared his shoulders, trying to sound braver than he felt. "Kid, you think cosplaying Superman's gonna scare us? We're the mob. We kill without blinking."
That's when everything stopped.
Literally.
The air froze, time itself halting like someone hit pause on a movie.
And in that silence, the man in black rose from the chair. Walked—slow, deliberate—until he stood right in front of them.
Then time snapped back.
Machine Head and Isotope stumbled, eyes wide.
"Shit. He's real."
From their view, he might as well have teleported. One second he was across the room, the next he was breathing down their necks.
Machine Head panicked, spinning toward Isotope. "What the hell are you waiting for?! Run!"
"Fwoop!"
They vanished in an instant.
Eden—because that's who Black Suit Super truly was—smirked. He'd let them run on purpose. Sometimes fear worked better than force.
Stretching his Super Senses to their limit, he tracked them easily, every blink of Isotope's teleport mapped in his mind.
Fifty kilometers away, at a highway rest stop, Machine Head staggered into his backup panic room.
"Goddammit. I don't even remember pissing Superman off!" His voice pitched higher, tinny with panic. "You know me, Isotope—I play careful. Stay in the gray. I'm not some psycho like Doctor Seismic."
Isotope stayed quiet. Staring straight ahead.
"Hey! Say something!" Machine Head shoved his shoulder. "What, Superman scare you speechless?"
Finally, Isotope muttered, voice tight. "Boss… I think we're screwed."
Machine Head barked a laugh. "What, you think he's still on us? No way. Not even Superman could—"
He stopped cold.
Because leaning against pump #88 at the gas station, sipping coffee like he had all the time in the world, was Black Suit Super.
"Relax," Eden said, tone flat. "If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't have made it out of the Tower." He tilted his head, eyes hard. "You wouldn't even have gotten the chance to run."
Machine Head and Isotope traded a helpless look.
"Fine." Machine Head raised his hands. "Talk, then. You go through all that trouble—new suit, new face, cat-and-mouse for ten minutes—what do you want?"
Minutes later, back inside Machine Head Tower—sixtieth floor again.
"Your tea, sir." Isotope set down two cups, then dismissed the guards outside. No one else would hear this meeting.
Machine Head's synthetic fingers twitched against the armrest. "Alright, out with it. Why are you here?"
Eden's eyes glinted. "You're in the Order, right?"
Machine Head nodded cautiously. "Yeah. Did someone in the Order screw with you? Name him, I'll make sure he doesn't see tomorrow."
Eden leaned back, calm as ever. "No. You don't get it. I'm not here for revenge." His voice dropped, steady, certain. "I'm here to consolidate."
He leaned forward, letting the words hang heavy.
"Machine Head, gather every leader in the Order. The underground needs new rules. And you? You need a new boss."
Machine Head froze. Circuits whirred in his skull. Even his computer-tier brain struggled to process what he'd just heard.
"Son of a bitch…" he whispered. "Superman doesn't wanna play hero anymore. He wants to be the goddamn mob boss?!"
...
"I can round up the Order's leaders for you. With Isotope's teleporting, they'll all be here by this afternoon."
Machine Head's voice turned sharp. "But whether they'll actually accept you as our Boss? That's another story. And one thing—I've gotta warn you. The current top dog in the Order, Mister Liu… he's not someone you just walk over."
"You know he's been running the Order longer than America's even been a country. Nobody knows how long that bastard's been alive—except maybe The Immortal, and that idiot won't talk."
Machine Head's mechanical jaw clenched. "And one more thing—if you go toe-to-toe with Liu? Fine. I'll back you, no hesitation. But in return, I expect you to keep me alive. I don't want a dragon hanging over my damn head every day."
He was fried. On one side, Superman's kid. On the other, Mister Liu and his dragon. Two nightmares he wanted no part of.
"Fine."
Eden rose from his chair. "Five o'clock. I'll be back."
And then he was gone—just like that.
Machine Head blinked. "Invincible Superman… faster than teleportation."
He muttered under his breath, glancing at Isotope. From now on, if anyone asked which was quicker—teleporting or speed—both of them would have the same answer:
"Superman."
Five o'clock sharp.
Sixtieth floor of Machine Head Tower.
"Long time no see, my friends!"
Machine Head was all smiles, greeting the Order's bosses one after another as Isotope delivered them in from around the globe.
Killer Mantis was there, dressed like a knockoff Kamen Rider. Mister Liu showed up in his training robes, with his right-hand man, Great Wall, at his side. The rest were a motley crew—half-human freaks and straight-up monsters, each radiating menace.
"Machine Head," Liu's brows drew tight as his voice thundered across the hall. "You're sitting in the wrong chair."
"Sorry, Liu." Machine Head stood up smoothly. "I'm not the one who called this meeting."
A rush of air blasted through the room. In the blink of an eye, Eden appeared, taking the seat at the head of the table.
"Buzz."
And then Isotope blinked behind him, flanking him with Machine Head like a loyal soldier. Serving Superman's son? No shame in that.
"Who the hell is he?!"
"That suit—the 'S'—wait… it can't be…"
Murmurs rippled, panic sparking in the bosses' eyes.
Eden's gaze swept across the table. His voice was calm. Cold.
"I'm taking over. Who's in favor? Who's against?"
The room froze. Nobody spoke. Every pair of eyes slid toward Mister Liu.
"So that's why you were acting cocky, Machine Head," Liu sneered. "Found yourself a superhuman babysitter?"
"You idiot. Doesn't matter how strong your muscle is—it's still bound by physics. My power? My power broke this world's rules a long time ago."
He pressed his hands together, fingers weaving into a strange seal. His eyes rolled white. His body slackened backward—Eden almost thought the old bastard had just knocked himself out cold.
"ROAR!"
The sound tore through the chamber as Liu's forbidden technique released the dragon inside him.
But before the beast could fully emerge, Eden moved.
"BOOM!"
He was on it instantly—faster than anyone could follow—slamming a palm across its skull. The dragon's spirit reeled, and Eden shoved it back down, cramming the monster straight into Liu's body like slamming a door shut.
"Ugh—"
Liu gasped awake, trembling. He stared up at Eden with a fear he hadn't known in centuries.
"Anyone else got a problem?" Eden asked, voice razor-sharp.
"No! No, no, no!"
The bosses scrambled to shake their heads, plastering fake smiles on their faces. "No objections! None at all!"
"Good." Eden dropped Liu like dead weight. His eyes swept the room.
"From now on, the Order follows three rules."
"One: civilians are off-limits. I don't care what your beef is, or who screwed who over. If I see innocent people caught in the crossfire, I'll come for you. Personally. You screw up? I'll come for you. Your men screw up? Still coming for you. Don't think I won't remember your faces."
He let the words sink in, then continued.
"Two: territory. I'll assign your districts. You manage them. No wandering off without good reason. And if I hear something goes wrong in your turf? We're gonna have a talk."
"You'll file reports. Weekly schedules to Machine Head every Monday. Monthly summaries at the end of each month. If you don't like paperwork, too bad."
"Three: no one breathes my name outside this room. You can call me Black Suit Superman. That's all anyone needs to know."
Silence. Heavy, choking silence. They weren't used to rules. Not like this.
Machine Head broke it with a snarl. "You idiots get what the Boss just said?"
"Yes! Yes!" Heads bobbed. Nobody dared protest.
"Then clap, you morons! Show some damn respect!"
Thunderous applause filled the chamber.
Eden smiled faintly. "And make sure you remember—I'm not that other guy. Not the one with the underwear on the outside."
The mobsters glanced at each other, nodding seriously.
"Understood."
"Totally got it."
They thought for a moment, then one added solemnly, "We promise not to show up when you've got your underwear on the outside."
Eden blinked. "That… sounds wrong."
His brow furrowed as the bosses kept nodding, all of them completely misunderstanding.