Kimiko stood quietly behind him, her eyes focused like a feline predator studying its hunting grounds.
“The event schedule,” Lucas said.
“Fifteen minutes before the start, all members of The Seven will appear in the arena to greet the audience.
All the Supes will rise from the main stage to greet the media and fans.
After that, the competitors will enter separately.”
He looked up at the brightly lit stadium entrance in the distance.
“Our chance will come after the race.
Everyone’s attention will be on the winner.
At that time, Shockwave’s locker room will be very quiet.”
“Kill him?”
“Yes,” Lucas said, “but only if we aren’t exposed before the start.”
He reached out his hand.
“Hold onto me.
From now on, don’t speak, don’t let go of my hand, and don’t make a sound.”
Kimiko silently took his hand.
[Absolute Stealth (Enhanced)] activated.
The two of them vanished from the air instantly.
No heat radiation, no scent, no heartbeat—even the sound of their breathing was completely erased by the system.
Lucas pulled Kimiko along as they strode toward the main entrance of the stadium.
Two fully armed security guards stood on either side of the entrance, their gazes sweeping blankly over the empty air, completely unaware.
Lucas walked right between them, even catching the minty scent of the gum one of them was chewing.
Through the turnstiles.
Through the long hallways.
Past three Vought employees who were chatting.
Down the fire stairs.
The path was completely unobstructed.
B1 level, athlete locker area.
The hallway was covered in deep red carpet, and the walls were lined with giant posters of Vought Supes.
The air was thick with the scent of expensive air freshener, mixed with a faint smell of gasoline drifting from the parking garage below.
A golden nameplate was fixed to the door: “Shockwave – Private Locker Room.”
The room wasn’t large, about thirty square meters.
A row of hangers held Shockwave’s racing suit—black and gold with lightning patterns and the word “Shockwave” printed in large letters on the back.
The vanity was covered in hairspray, foundation, and men’s cologne.
In the corner was a refrigerator stocked with mineral water and protein drinks.
Lucas led Kimiko to the furthest corner.
There was a folding chair there, next to several storage bins.
The space between the bins and the wall formed a narrow triangular area just large enough to fit two people.
“Here,” Lucas whispered, signaling for Kimiko to crouch down.
The two of them huddled into the corner.
From the outside, it just looked like a pile of junk.
No one would notice that in the shadows of that junk, two pairs of hunter’s eyes were hidden.
Suddenly, there was a commotion in the hallway.
Footsteps.
Many of them.
“The Seven are here!” someone shouted.
Lucas’s body tensed instinctively.
He could feel an invisible pressure approaching.
Homelander.
He walked in the very center of the group.
Not because he needed protection, but because everyone naturally yielded that position to him.
He wore his iconic red and blue suit, his cape billowing behind him without any wind.
The moment Homelander walked past the door, Lucas’s heart tightened violently.
He subconsciously held his breath.
Even though the system had explicitly told him that Absolute Stealth could not be detected even by Homelander’s super hearing.
Homelander didn’t stop.
His gaze didn’t even shift a millimeter in their direction.
“Ladies and gentlemen—” His voice came from the end of the hallway, spreading to every corner through the stadium’s broadcast system, “Welcome to Vought Stadium!”
The cheers of tens of thousands of people swept in like a tsunami.
Lucas slowly let out a breath.
His back was already soaked with cold sweat.
Kimiko crouched quietly beside him, her eyes fixed on the door.
Her body was also trembling slightly—not out of fear, but because of some instinctive revulsion.
She was like a wild cat enveloped in the aura of a great beast, her fur standing on end.
“It’s okay,” Lucas said in a whisper.
“He didn’t notice us.”
Kimiko didn’t respond.
Her gaze became even more alert, but her breathing gradually steadied.
The hallway went quiet.
The Seven had already taken the main stage.
Through the walls, Lucas could hear the deafening waves of sound from inside the stadium.
Homelander was saying something provocative as an opening, and the audience was screaming like they’d gone mad.
Ten minutes later.
Footsteps rang out again.
This time they were closer and more hurried.
The locker room door was opened.
Shockwave walked in.
He was younger than Lucas had imagined, about twenty-five or twenty-six, his brown skin glowing with health under the lights.
He wore a tight training suit that showed off smooth and powerful muscle lines, like a cheetah ready to spring.
Behind him followed two assistants—one carrying a gym bag, the other holding a tablet and incessantly talking about “key points for the PR script.”
“Enough, enough,” Shockwave waved them off impatiently.
“Leave me alone for ten minutes.
I need to focus before the race.”
Maybe it’s not a big deal now… maybe it will be later.
“And If you’re enjoying it, drop a Power Stone for me!”