"You guessed right, you little brat!"
Scarlet beams burst from Xiao's eyes, lancing toward Homelander as he hovered high above.
But Xiao's laser was far too slow.
Homelander's greatest weapon wasn't his heat vision, nor the body that rivaled Soldier Boy's.
It was his speed—his sheer, terrifying mobility. He could fly, and by age seven he was already breaking the sound barrier. Laser beams were fast, yes, but not that fast—and at this distance, they didn't stand a chance of landing.
"You filthy thief! How dare you steal my powers!"
Seeing Xiao use his own superpower snapped the last thread of Homelander's sanity. It felt like Xiao was taking everything from him—piece by piece.
Xiao already had so much. Why steal the little he had left? Why even take this—his one, defining ability?
Jealousy and rage swallowed Homelander whole. With a wordless snarl, he dove from the sky, gravity helping him accelerate even faster. One hit from that speed could turn half a city block into dust.
Inside the Xiao family home, Edgar watched the clash with a face grown dark. He never imagined Xiao would be so overwhelmingly strong—stronger than a real Soldier Boy.
Nor had he expected Homelander to completely lose himself and unleash that level of force in the middle of a wealthy neighborhood.
But Edgar could only watch. He was just a normal human—utterly powerless to intervene.
"Oh? What's the rush?"
Xiao raised the shield in his hand, leapt into the air, and met Homelander head-on without the slightest hesitation.
CLANG—!
A clear metallic ring echoed in the sky, rippling outward like circles on water.
Homelander's catastrophic blow was completely absorbed by the shield in Xiao's hand.
Radiant energy flared across Xiao's body, blinding and unstable—like a nuclear reactor moments from meltdown.
The Dimensional Farm surged to maximum output, siphoning off a portion of the excess power. Even so, Xiao's radiance remained fierce. He knew exactly what that meant.
He was overloaded.
He needed to release the energy—fast. The remainder gathered, swirling into his fist.
With one smooth motion, he swept Homelander's arm aside, opening his guard. The instant Homelander's solar plexus was exposed, Xiao drove his empowered fist straight into Homelander's chin.
PENG!
A single muffled impact—and Homelander's fragile chin couldn't withstand the strike. His mind shut down instantly, and his body shot upward like a missile, vanishing into the night sky.
"…He flew that high?"
Xiao landed without even disturbing the ground, watching with a smug expression as Homelander continued to soar—still not beginning to fall.
Three years had passed since Xiao began cultivating his superpowers, and every year his growth had accelerated. After reaching Level Four, his energy absorption skyrocketed. Now, he possessed an ability on par with Black Emperor Xiao.
Clothes, shield—anything he touched became a conduit for absorbing energy.
Even the simple steel buckler in his hand now rivaled a vibranium shield.
Xiao clasped his hands behind his back, tilted his head skyward, and began to count:
"Ten… nine… eight… seven… six… five… four… three… two… one…"
Right on cue, he extended one arm and caught the unconscious Homelander out of the air with perfect precision.
"Okay! Let's wrap this up."
With casual ease, Xiao slung the limp Homelander over his shoulder and dropped him onto the couch beside Edgar.
Without hesitation, Xiao signed his family name on the 10% share-dividend contract.
Edgar sat stiffly the entire time, not daring to move or even breathe loudly. He ignored Xiao completely, offering not a single objection.
"Thank you for joining us," Edgar said finally, forcing a smile as he extended a hand.
"Of course. Looking forward to working together. By the way—want to stay for dinner, Edgar? Mom's cooking up a feast tonight."
Xiao winked.
"You… don't mind?"
Edgar's voice trembled. He couldn't help it. A Black man becoming CEO of Vought had taken talent, ruthlessness, and years of grinding effort. But throughout his career, he'd only ever commanded white subordinates through power and money. Not a single one would willingly share a dinner table with him.
Deep down, they despised him. His skin color was a wound they kept reopening. Even as Vought's CEO, he faced discrimination everywhere.
If he weren't representing the company, he might not even be allowed in a neighborhood like Lucerne—much less invited to dinner.
"Our family only hates bad people. Never skin color," Xiao said earnestly. "I know how it feels to be held back by my own people."
He patted Edgar's shoulder. "When you succeed, the ones who want you dead the most are often your own compatriots."
"…It would be my honor."
Xiao's words finally broke through Edgar's hesitation.
Theresa was an exceptional cook, armed with ancestral recipes. Xiao could cook too. With the two of them working together, a lavish spread quickly filled the table.
To keep Edgar from feeling out of place, Xiao chatted with him nonstop—about the Seven, marketing, fan management.
With Xiao's mastery of modern celebrity cultivation, the conversation became practically a dimensionality-reduction strike. Edgar was enthralled.
Night fell before they realized it. Dinner was ready—and as Xiao subtly nudged his energy, Homelander finally regained consciousness.
He blinked and found himself sitting at a dining table.
A table full of beautiful, unfamiliar dishes. Several warm faces—waiting, gentle, patient.
Like… a family waiting for him to wake up and eat.
"Hey, John, finally awake!"
"Our little John's up!"
"That punch wasn't even that strong. How'd you get knocked out?"
"Am… am I dreaming?"
Homelander's foggy mind trembled. Emotion welled up out of nowhere.
A warmth he had never known—home. It flooded into him, filling a void he didn't know existed.
"Little John, say your grace before eating," Theresa reminded him as she placed utensils—knife, fork, chopsticks—before him.
"Y-Yes… thank you, Mrs. Theresa…"
For a brief moment, another figure flickered in Homelander's mind—then faded, replaced by the woman before him.
He discreetly wiped his eyes, forced a smile, pressed his palms together, and closed his eyes to pray.
Across the table, Edgar stared at him—expression collapsing.
It was over.
He knew, with absolute certainty:
He had completely lost control of the situation.