“Oh!
Hey, Hughie!”
Starlight greeted Hughie with deep embarrassment, feeling as if she had just been caught cheating in bed by her actual boyfriend.
It was all that animal The Deep’s fault.
What confused Starlight was that when Hughie greeted her, he seemed just as flustered and guilty, casting nervous glances behind her every few seconds.
The two weren’t a real couple, but Starlight had told Hughie how much she hated The Deep pursuing her.
Now, being so cozy with The Deep felt like slapping herself in the face.
She couldn’t fathom why Hughie was acting so sheepish.
Of all three people present, it was actually The Deep—the one who should have been the clueless fool getting duped—who understood the situation best.
It wasn’t until he saw Hughie that he recalled the plot.
In this race, all of The Boys were out in full force to track down Compound V.
If he remembered correctly, hanging upside down behind the dressing room door was Frenchie, and Hughie had stopped them purely so they wouldn’t walk in on him.
Sure enough, Hughie opened his mouth and invited Starlight out for a drink.
Given their apparent relationship, a boyfriend inviting his girlfriend for a drink was something Starlight would normally accept with a smile.
Only Starlight knew that Hughie was merely a shield she had pulled in; she had zero interest in pursuing anything serious with him.
Besides, the track race was about to start, and there wouldn’t be enough time.
She was about to politely decline.
Then Hughie pointed at The Deep.
“Deep, why don’t you join us?
Let’s all three get a drink together.”
*WTF?*
*Hughie, do you like watching me get intimate with The Deep that much?
Or do you get off on watching him make out with me right in front of your face?*
Of course Hughie didn’t like it.
He couldn’t figure it out either—last time, Starlight had looked at The Deep with complete disgust, so why were they whispering in each other’s ears today?
She had to be under coercion.
A poor, helpless young girl being bullied by power, forced to yield and endure daily humiliation.
Hughie had already spun a tragic, melodramatic script in his mind.
His hatred for The Deep burned hotter than ever, cementing his resolve to bring down Vought International and rescue Starlight from his clutches.
To Starlight’s surprise, The Deep readily agreed.
On the way to the bar, things were strange.
Hughie, the official boyfriend, walked off by himself in front, while Starlight, the girlfriend, stuck right beside The Deep.
Starlight nudged The Deep to lean down and whispered, “Deep, what the hell are you playing at?”
“Your boyfriend is pretty generous!
He offered to buy me a drink—how could I be rude enough to say no?”
*You’re a pervert.
You just want to bully me in front of someone’s boyfriend to satisfy your sickening, indescribable fetishes.*
Starlight rolled her eyes, knowing she was helpless against this beast.
She had to settle for second best.
“I have only one request.
Act civilized later.
At least…
at least don’t do it in front of him…”
“So you’re agreeing to my track race invitation?”
*What do you think, asshole?* Starlight gave him a vicious glare.
The three arrived at the bar.
Hughie ordered three cocktails.
They found a table and sat down.
His nominal girlfriend sat right next to The Deep, quietly sipping her cocktail through a straw as her expression gradually began to shift.
The Deep chatted with Hughie, but his left hand never once showed up above the tabletop.
Hughie realized what was happening under the table in an instant.
He wanted to shout and put a stop to it, but intimidated by The Deep’s overwhelming power, his cowardly nature kept him frozen in place.
Until Starlight’s blue eyes flickered and turned into a brilliant, glowing gold.
The breathtaking sight, shining like a vast expanse of starlight, left Hughie completely stunned.
“I’m going to the restroom,” The Deep said, standing up with polite composure before leaving his seat.
Seeing The Deep walk away, Hughie finally plucked up the courage to say to Starlight, “Starlight, can I…
can I ask for your contact info?”
Starlight’s eyes had been glued to The Deep the entire time; she hadn’t heard a single word Hughie said.
Just as The Deep was about to disappear around the corner, she couldn’t take it anymore.
She scrambled to her feet and blurted out to Hughie, “Sorry, I need to use the restroom too.”
With that, her legs slightly weak and staggering, she rushed after The Deep’s footsteps.
Hughie thought to himself: *Starlight must have been holding it in this whole time.
Goddamn Deep, putting her through so much stress that she didn’t even dare go to the bathroom in front of him.*
On the other side, Starlight stumbled into the restroom right behind The Deep and tackled him straight into a stall.
*Click.* The lock snapped shut.
Clinging to him, her pearl-white teeth bit hard into his neck.
She squatted down, rolling her eyes in frustration as she mumbled through a full mouth, “Deep, you are an absolute fucking animal.”
The Deep lightly tapped the girl’s soft cheek and chuckled.
“Don’t keep your boyfriend waiting too long.”
By the time the two came back out, Hughie was nowhere to be found.
The Deep guessed he had already been called away by Butcher.
It was just as he expected.
Hughie, Mother’s Milk, and Frenchie had gathered together, while their boss was currently sipping a Coke in the stands, locking eyes with Homelander.
Homelander thought this heavily bearded, built-like-a-bull guy who looked like a Russian just wanted an autograph.
*Come on!
You’re my family, don’t be shy.
If you love me, come over and shower me with your admiration.*
…
By the time The Deep and Starlight made it to Vought’s VIP spectator suite, almost everyone had arrived.
Queen Maeve, Black Noir, Madelyn, Ashley, and several other Vought executives were present.
Seeing the two walk in together, everyone merely glanced over before shifting their attention back to the track.
Seeing their unspoken understanding, Starlight wore a miserable expression.
*It’s not what you think, there’s really nothing between me and The Deep!*
*I have a boyfriend!
I was literally having drinks with my boyfriend just now!*
As for The Deep, it was just like he had told Maeve: as long as he lacked morals, morality couldn’t hijack him.
Compared to power that surpassed everything, affairs between men and women were ultimately far too insignificant.
The Deep casually peeled an orange and ate it, looking around with curiosity.
“Where’s Homelander?”
He asked while looking at Maeve.
Maeve turned her head away, crossing her arms, not bothered to indulge him.
It was Black Noir who showed true comradeship, pointing up toward the sky through the glass window.
Hovering high in the air above the stadium was a blue silhouette, his American flag cape fluttering in the wind.
*Damn it!
Look at this fucking American showoff, as if you’re the only one who can fly!*
It was a classic case of sour grapes for The Deep.
If he were Homelander, he’d fly even higher.
If the day ever came where he could beat Homelander, he’d ride on Homelander’s back while watching the race.
Stubborn as his mouth was, who in their right mind wouldn’t desperately want a Supe like Homelander as a personal mount?
He turned his gaze back to the track.
A-Train and Shockwave were ready.
Both crouched down, four fingers pressed to the dirt, feet planted against the starting blocks in a standard crouch-start stance.
The referee raised the starter pistol.
Standing before the glass window, The Deep let out a loud whistle and cheered, “A-Train!
Show that bastard what you’ve got!
Your genes were handpicked by the Age of Discovery!
American Black men are the strongest Black men on Earth!”
Madelyn threw Ashley a giant question mark.
*Does The Deep just spew whatever comes out of his mouth?*
Ashley thought: *No, he discriminates against everyone equally—except the ones he can’t beat.*
*BANG!*
A gunshot rang out.
The starting blocks were completely shattered beneath their feet.
There was no neck-and-neck struggle, no desperate battle of speed.
In the blink of an eye, A-Train was already pointing two fingers at the sky, dedicating his victory to his mom above.
“That’s it?” The Deep turned around, eyes wide in disbelief.
“It’s over just like that?”
Madelyn pressed her lips into a smile.
“What else were you expecting?”
The stadium’s jumbo screens were already playing the high-speed camera capture of A-Train crossing the finish line.
It played almost frame by frame, displaying the precise speeds of both runners.
A-Train: 371 m/s (≈ Mach 1.08) Shockwave: 342 m/s (≈ Mach 0.997)
A-Train took the win in this race by shattering the world record.
Reporters swarmed forward, shoving microphones toward the victor’s mouth.
Shockwave, his face full of unwillingness, stood completely deserted.
On the track, second place was just the biggest loser.
…
Apartment 302, 298 Marilyn Avenue.
Seeing A-Train win, Popclaw finally let go of the breath she had been holding.
She exhaled a long sigh, a few tears welling in the corners of her eyes.
Only she knew how hard A-Train had struggled for this.
He had taken the drug just to win this race.
Popclaw was genuinely happy for her boyfriend.
On her tablet screen, reporters surrounded A-Train so tightly not a drop of water could leak through.
A reporter congratulated A-Train first: “A-Train, congratulations on winning the race!
So, besides your mother, is there another woman behind the scenes quietly supporting you and giving you the spiritual strength to achieve this victory?”
Clearly, the reporter wanted to probe into whether A-Train was dating.
Gossipy romance news was what the audience loved most.
A-Train’s face beamed with the joy of victory.
He chuckled, “I know you want to ask if I have a girlfriend.
But unfortunately, I’m still single.
Because I’m too fast—nobody can catch my heart.”
A-Train struck a running pose, not forgetting to add, “Any lady out there has a chance to capture my heart.”
A-Train just wanted to crack a cocky joke to sound funny and charming.
To Popclaw’s ears, however, it cut deeper than a blade.
A sharp bone spur pierced straight through the tablet screen, puncturing the smiling face of the man on the display.
In a fit of frantic despair, Popclaw silently pulled out a blue vial of Compound V.
She needed an outlet.