The TV screen in the lounge was on.
Lucas leaned against the wall, legs crossed, his gaze lazily fixed on the oversized LCD TV hanging on the wall.
Kimiko crouched beside him, like a quiet feline, her eyes also fixed on the screen.
On screen, the giant stage in the center of Vought Stadium was slowly rising.
The Seven stood upon it.
The spotlights hit them, making them look like seven gods descended upon the human world.
Queen Maeve waved expressionlessly, her golden armor reflecting the cold light.
Black Noir stood silently at the edge, motionless, like an exquisite mannequin.
The Deep wore a standardized smile, but his eyes couldn’t help but drift toward the female fans in bikinis in the audience.
Starlight stood at the very end of the line, her smile still bearing the stiffness and effort typical of a newcomer.
And Homelander stood at the very center.
He smiled.
That smile was warm, kind, full of charisma, like the good neighbor of every ordinary American.
He waved at the camera, his azure eyes seemingly capable of piercing through the screen to see every cheering spectator.
Lucas looked at that face, his back unconsciously tensing up.
Even on screen, even separated by the protection of “Absolute Stealth”, that dangerous intuition was still frantically sounding alarm bells.
“What a lovely smile,” Lucas said in a low voice, his tone devoid of any praise, carrying only icy mockery, “Just like a real person.”
Kimiko looked at the screen, then at Lucas.
She didn’t understand what he was saying, but she could feel the profound wariness in his tone.
The greeting segment for The Seven was short.
Homelander said a few incendiary words— “Tonight, we will witness history.
The two fastest men in the world will measure the boundaries of glory with their footsteps.”
The cheers of tens of thousands of people almost threatened to lift the dome.
Then, The Seven exited the stage.
The camera cut to the starting line.
“Ladies and gentlemen—” the announcer’s voice was impassioned, “First, let us welcome—the challenger—Shockwave—!”
A faint wave of cheers came from outside the lounge door.
On the TV screen, Shockwave ran out from the athlete’s tunnel on the other side.
He was wearing a black and gold competition suit, with lightning patterns flowing under the lights.
He raised his arms high, waving at the stands, a flamboyant smile on his face.
His stride was light and elastic, as if challenging something.
“Shockwave!
Shockwave!
Shockwave!”
Someone in the audience started shouting his name.
Although the momentum was far inferior to A-Train’s supporters, it was enough face for a challenger.
Shockwave walked to the starting line and began stretching.
His movements were fluid and confident, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned.
Then, the announcer’s voice rose by an octave.
“Next—let us welcome—one of The Seven, the current ‘World’s Fastest Man’—A-Train—!”
The entire stadium exploded.
Red glow sticks, red cheering signs, and red smoke bombs dyed the east stand into a sea of fire.
A-Train rushed out from the main tunnel.
Not walking, but rushing.
He moved at a speed almost impossible for the naked eye to capture, carrying an afterimage, and instantly appeared at the starting line.
The audience’s screams reached their peak at this moment.
A-Train spread his arms, enjoying the tidal cheers.
His face wore the smile of a winner, his eyes sharp and flamboyant, completely devoid of the trembling, desperate, blue-liquid-injecting junkie look from the lounge.
“Now that is a Best Actor performance,” Lucas looked at the screen, a playful arc curling at the corner of his mouth, “The Oscars owe you a golden statue.”
The TV screen cut to a close-up of the two.
A-Train turned his face to look at Shockwave.
Shockwave also looked at him.
Their gazes met in the air, as if sparks were flying.
“It’s not too late to admit defeat now,” Shockwave said with a smile, his tone full of provocation, “I don’t want to make you too embarrassed in front of the entire American audience.”
A-Train’s smile didn’t change, but his eyes turned cold.
“Only kids talk big.
Men let their strength do the talking.”
The starter walked between the two.
“Ready.”
Both crouched down, hands resting on the starting line.
“Three.”
The audience fell silent.
“Two.”
Lucas unconsciously leaned his body slightly forward.
“One.”
“Bang!”
The starter pistol fired.
Two figures disappeared simultaneously.
Not “running fast,” but truly “disappearing.”
On the TV screen, only two blurred streaks of light could be seen moving rapidly on the track.
One blue, one gold, like two meteors intertwined.
“A-Train takes the lead at the start!”
The commentator’s voice exploded from the TV.
“But Shockwave is accelerating in the middle section!
My god, his speed—he’s catching up!
Neck and neck!”
The screen switched to the high-speed camera perspective at the finish line.
Slow-motion replay.
A-Train and Shockwave crossed the line almost simultaneously.
The gap was so small it was impossible for the naked eye to distinguish.
The whole stadium held its breath.
The giant screen above the finish line began to flicker.
“Race results—”
“High-speed camera analysis within ten meters in progress—”
A few seconds of silence, as long as a century.
Then, the result popped up on the screen.
“Winner: A-Train.”
“Gap: 0.003 seconds.”
The east stand erupted.
Red glow sticks surged into the sky like a volcanic eruption.
A-Train stood at the finish line, howling at the sky.
He pounded his chest with his fists and roared at the camera: “I said it!
I am the fastest!
Always will be!”
Shockwave stood a few steps behind him.
He was bent over, hands on his knees, panting heavily.
The slow-motion close-up pushed onto his face.
On that face, the flamboyance and confidence from before the race were gone.
0.003 seconds.
Just 0.003 seconds away.
He had almost touched the edge of victory, but fate had ruthlessly closed the door at the very last moment.
Shockwave straightened up, looking at A-Train, who was drowned in cheers, the corners of his mouth twitching.
He wanted to say something, but in the end, he said nothing.
He just turned around silently and walked toward the athlete’s tunnel.
His back looked as lonely as a bird with broken wings.
In the audience, people started booing him.
“Shockwave!
Go back!”
“Forever number two!”
An empty cola cup flew down from the stands, almost hitting his head.
Shockwave did not look back.
His footsteps paused for a moment, then he continued walking forward, disappearing into the dark tunnel.
The TV screen switched to commercials.
Lucas turned off the sound.
The lounge fell into silence.
That silence formed a sharp contrast with the deafening carnival inside the stadium.
“0.003 seconds,” Lucas said softly, “Sometimes, the world is just that messed up.
You give it your all, but the winner was already decided.”
Kimiko looked at him, no confusion in her eyes, only an almost instinctive empathy.
She understood that feeling too well.
Giving it your all, yet still being rubbed into the dirt by fate.
Lucas stood up and stretched his neck.
“Alright,” his voice returned to calm, carrying a trace of icy chill, “The show is over.
It’s time for us to go on stage.”
He glanced in the direction of the corridor.
Shockwave should be on his way back.
That loser by 0.003 seconds.
That eternal number two mocked by the whole world.
That bird with broken wings, alone, about to walk into the hunter’s trap.
Lucas crouched back into the corner, shrinking his body into the shadows between the storage box and the wall.
“Absolute Stealth” silently covered his entire body.
“Get ready.”
He said to Kimiko.
Kimiko nodded.
Her hand rested quietly at her waist.
There, she hid a boning knife she had swiped from the abandoned motel kitchen.
The blade was very thin.
Thin enough to easily slit a person’s throat.
Footsteps came from the corridor outside.
Heavy, weary, filled with anger and unwillingness.
Getting closer.
Getting closer.
The doorknob turned.
Lucas’s eyes narrowed.
“Welcome back, Shockwave.”
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!”