“Have my doctor stand by nearby.” Lu Cheng chewed on those words three times in his head, told Ashley on the other end of the line that he understood, and hung up.
Setting the press conference aside for the moment, just after eight o’clock the next morning, Madelyn’s secretary slid a new evaluation work order through the gap under his office door.
The name on the order was TD-003.
The Deep.
Lu Cheng flipped the order over.
Pasted to the back was a half-page internal memo.
Its phrasing was extremely restrained, but the critical information was impossible to hide: *Seven member The Deep is suspected of inappropriate physical contact with a female staff member.
The individual has signed an NDA, and PR is currently suppressing public sentiment.* At the bottom of the memo was a handwritten note in Madelyn’s handwriting: *Arrange a psychological evaluation.
Go through the motions, archive for reference.* Go through the motions.
Lu Cheng folded the memo in half and stuffed it into a folder.
At ten in the morning, in the S-Class Evaluation Room.
When the door was pushed open from the outside, it brought with it a choking, heavy stench of aftershave.
The Deep strolled in, his blue-green tight suit hugging a meticulously maintained physique.
The fish-scale emblem on his chest glinted with an oily sheen under the lights.
He scanned the room, his eyes lingering for half a second on the scorch mark on the tabletop, before flopping heavily into a chair, legs sprawled, arms draped over the backrest.
“So you’re the new guy.” Lu Cheng sat on the sofa, a blank evaluation form resting on his knees, a pen held casually between his index and middle fingers.
“Lu Cheng, Psychological Evaluation Department.” “I know who you are,” The Deep sneered, curling his lip.
“The whole building is saying Homelander found a new toy.” Lu Cheng didn’t take the bait.
He looked down and wrote a few words on the evaluation form.
“What are you writing?” “The date.” The Deep grunted, picked up the glass of water prepared on the table, swirled it around, and set it back down.
“Listen, Doc, I don’t know what Madelyn told you, but the whole thing was a misunderstanding.
That chick threw herself at me and then bit back.
I’ve seen your company’s routine plenty of times—let me sit here for twenty minutes, sign the paper, and then everybody gets back to business.” Lu Cheng raised his head to look at him.
“You think this is just going through the motions.” “Isn’t it?” “Then I’ll cooperate and help you get it over with quickly.” Lu Cheng uncapped his pen.
“I’ll ask a few questions, you answer them, and we can wrap this up in ten minutes.” The Deep’s shoulders relaxed an inch, the defensive air on his face turning into a dismissive smirk.
“That’s more like it.
Fire away.” “Where do you rank in The Seven?” The Deep’s smirk froze for a fraction of a second.
“What?” “Rankings.
Popularity, commercial value, appearance priority.
Where do you place yourself?” “What does that have to do with the evaluation?” “It has everything to do with it.” Lu Cheng hovered the tip of his pen over the paper, not writing a word.
“The reason for your session is inappropriate physical contact.
I need to understand the psychological context behind the behavior.
Rank anxiety is one of the most common stressors among the super-abled.” The Deep stared at him, his chest heaving at a faster rhythm.
“I’m a core member of The Seven.” “I didn’t ask for your title.” “I command the entire ocean.
Every fish, every whale in the seven seas listens to me.
Do you have any idea what that means?” Lu Cheng set the pen down.
“It means your ability covers seventy-one percent of the Earth’s surface.” The Deep raised his chin, waiting for the rest.
“But Vought’s business model is built around urban scenarios.” Lu Cheng’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion, like reading a financial report.
“Marine rescues have a media conversion rate less than a fifth of land-based disasters.
Your merchandise sales rank second to last in The Seven, barely ahead of Black Noir.
Your quarterly fan growth has been negative for three consecutive quarters.” The Deep’s hands tightened against the back of the chair.
“Where did you get those numbers?” “The Asset Management Handbook, public directory.
Any employee with B2 clearance can look them up.” “Those numbers don’t mean anything.” “Of course they don’t,” Lu Cheng agreed with a slight nod.
“The question is whether you believe that yourself.” Silence settled over the room for five seconds.
The air conditioner hummed continuously.
The expression on The Deep’s face went through a rapid series of iterations—from disdain to hesitation, and finally to a subtle, inexplicable tension.
“What the hell are you trying to say?” Lu Cheng picked up the evaluation form and flipped it over, blank side facing up.
“You don’t get validation in The Seven.
Homelander doesn’t take you seriously, Maeve can’t be bothered with you, and even Starlight, a complete rookie, gets more hype than you do.
You train harder, you never turn down missions, but your rank just won’t go up.” “Shut up.” “You don’t lack power.
You lack a sense of presence.” The Deep stood up abruptly, the chair legs scraping across the floor with a harsh, piercing screech.
“What the fuck does a desk jockey trash like you know?” “I know why you touched that woman.” The moment those words came out, The Deep’s movement locked up.
He stood there, fists clenched, chest heaving heavily.
Lu Cheng didn’t stand, nor did he pull back.
The pen in his fingers slowly twirled half a turn.
“In The Seven’s meeting room, how many times have your proposals been rejected?
In the PR announcements, where are you placed?
In group photos, how many people stand between you and the center spot?” The Deep’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down once.
“That has nothing to do with this.” “It has everything to do with it.” Lu Cheng’s voice maintained a surgical, steady composure.
“The sense of power you can’t get within the team—you tried to compensate for it in another setting.
You chose a subordinate staff member because only in that absolute disparity can you briefly feel like you matter.” The Deep’s lips trembled slightly.
“You’re talking bullshit.” “Do you even remember her name?” Silence.
“You don’t.” Lu Cheng placed the evaluation form back onto his knees.
“Because who she was didn’t matter.
Anyone standing in that position would have been chosen by you.
You didn’t need that person; you needed a scenario where you wouldn’t be rejected.” The Deep’s face turned from red to pale, faster than Lu Cheng had anticipated.
His mouth opened and closed, opened and closed again, dragging a few muffled syllables out of his throat before they finally coalesced into a single, complete sentence.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” With that, he turned, yanked the door open, and slammed it behind him.
The steel door struck the wall with a heavy thud.
Footsteps faded down the corridor, and the heavy stench of aftershave slowly dissipated.
Lu Cheng sat on the sofa, lowering his head to write the final line on the blank side of the evaluation form: *Core inferiority complex explicitly activated.
Subsequent behavior will lean toward two directions—self-destruction or seeking stronger external validation.
Both are manageable.* He gathered the form, took off his glasses, and wiped the lenses.
Three minutes.
It had taken three minutes to tear down a person’s psychological defenses.
This was a completely different strategy from the one used on Homelander.
Homelander was a nuclear bomb requiring a slow, precise defusing, every step measured to the millimeter.
The Deep, on the other hand, was a rusty blade—strike it hard at its most corroded spot, and the whole thing shattered into pieces.
His phone didn’t ring, but twenty minutes later, an internal email arrived.
Sender: Madelyn’s private account.
The body of the message contained only one line: *I pulled the footage and watched it.
For tomorrow’s press conference, your seat has been moved to the front row.* Lu Cheng closed the email and placed his phone face down on the sofa armrest.
The front row.
Madelyn wasn’t changing his seat out of trust; she had seen something in that recording.
Someone who could break a member of The Seven in three minutes was safer kept close by than hidden in a corner.
He stood up, turned off the evaluation room light, and walked out.
At the end of the corridor, the elevator doors opened.
Inside stood a staff member in a gray uniform, holding a stack of posters.
The top poster was a promotional photo of The Deep—a bright smile, a firm gaze, and a line of gold lettering printed below: *Protecting Every Ocean.* As the elevator doors closed, Lu Cheng caught one last glimpse of that smiling face.
He recalled the expression on The Deep’s face as he slammed the door and left.
There was far more than anger to be read in it, but the clearest layer was that of a man who realized he had been completely seen through—desperately trying to grab onto anything in those final seconds before falling, yet finding nothing to hold.
His phone vibrated again.
This time, it was Homelander’s number.
A text message with just a few words: *What time.* Lu Cheng replied: *Tomorrow at 3:00 p.m., usual place.* The instant he hit send, the elevator arrived.