The seafood and meat section of the Chinese supermarket in Flushing always carried a slightly briny, damp smell.
Zack Vance pushed his shopping cart, carefully selecting tonight’s ingredients from the rows of shelves.
Since that short-tempered diva had explicitly issued a “Sichuan peppercorn ban” in her text message, he naturally wasn’t going to look for trouble.
In this peril-laden world, rubbing someone the right way was an art, but humoring them didn’t mean groveling like a slave.
He picked out a few plump, juicy tomatoes and had the butcher cut a large chunk of prime beef brisket.
A tomato beef brisket stew—rich, sweet, and savory—would satisfy Joanne’s craving for heavy carbs while perfectly avoiding any culinary landmines that might make her ‘mouth go numb.’
At 7:45 PM.
On the stove in the apartment kitchen, a large clay pot bubbled gently.
The rich, tangy aroma of tomatoes mingled with the fatty sweetness of the tender, slow-cooked beef, drifting out of the range hood vent to gradually fill the living room.
Zack stood at the counter, plating the washed lettuce.
The hands of the wall clock ticked slowly forward, the time gradually approaching eight o’clock.
Night had completely fallen outside the window.
The neon lights of New York City flickered in the distance, casting a reflection of Zack’s calm profile onto the glass pane.
As the second hand swept past the twelve, the air pressure on the balcony distorted violently without warning.
Zack turned his head, his gaze cutting through the half-open glass door.
Joanne was hovering in mid-air just outside the balcony, her boots floating about half a meter off the ground.
Her red, white, and blue star-spangled suit fluttered sharply in the night wind, her long blonde hair whipping wildly around her.
She stood with her arms crossed, looking down at Zack in the kitchen with a superior air.
Deep within her azure eyes, a visible crimson glow ignited.
The light didn’t erupt outward as it did when she lost control; instead, she kept it precisely contained within her eyes, radiating a suffocating, blistering heat.
The surrounding air warped and shimmered from the intense heat.
This was a blatant, raw display of force.
The blunt text messages from earlier today had clearly bruised the ego of this self-proclaimed god, who was used to being pampered by the entire world.
She needed to remind this audacious mortal exactly what kind of entity he was dealing with.
Zack’s heart pounded twice against his ribs.
Even though he had mentally prepared himself, watching two beams of high-energy heat vision—powerful enough to melt armored vehicles—simmering just a few meters away still made his palms sweat.
Forcing his racing pulse down, he glanced at the radar panel on the edge of his retina.
[Current Emotion: Proud / Anticipatory / Slightly bruised ego]
[Psychological Defense: Craving awe and validation]
Looking at the lines of green data, Zack’s tense back subtly relaxed.
This wasn’t murderous intent at all.
It was merely a spoiled, giant infant showing off a new toy, desperate to see a look of shock and adoration on an adult’s face.
Vought International had spent decades etching the concept that “superpowers equal absolute authority” deep into her bones.
In Joanne’s mind, the moment she displayed her divine might, mortals should fall to their knees in worship.
“Good evening,” Zack said, grabbing a dry towel to wipe his hands.
“If you plan on hovering out there acting as a human streetlamp all night, the beef brisket might end up overcooked.”
Hovering in mid-air, Joanne froze slightly.
The crimson glow in her eyes flickered, as if she were displeased by his calm reaction.
With a cold snort, her body glided effortlessly over the window frame and drifted into the living room.
Remaining suspended with her feet off the floor, she floated directly over the kitchen island.
To prove her divine power, Joanne locked her gaze onto a glass pitcher of tap water sitting on the counter.
The red light in her eyes suddenly focused.
Two thread-thin red beams packing terrifying heat struck the bottom of the glass pitcher with pinpoint accuracy.
A sharp, piercing hiss instantly rang out.
In less than two seconds, the full liter of cold water inside the pitcher boiled violently, sending up thick plumes of white steam.
Yet, despite being subjected to such extreme heat, the ordinary glass pitcher miraculously did not shatter—a testament to her horrifyingly precise microscopic control over her energy output.
Joanne cut off her heat vision and tilted her chin up slightly, her azure eyes locked onto Zack.
Her look seemed to say: *See that?
This is the power of a god.*
Zack watched this five-second superpower showcase in silence.
He could feel the blistering steam wafting from the pitcher, brushing against his face.
Stepping up to the counter, he reached out and lightly tapped the plastic handle of the glass pitcher.
The originally hard black plastic handle, having been too close to the source of extreme heat, had softened and deformed, even emitting a faint, acrid smell of burnt plastic.
Zack drew his hand back and looked up, meeting Joanne’s expectant gaze.
“Nice temperature control,” Zack’s voice echoed in the kitchen.
“But you melted my pitcher’s handle.
And…”
His gaze drifted downward, landing on Joanne’s red boots floating in mid-air.
The treads of her boots were caked with dark mud, likely tracked from some crime scene.
As she hovered, a few dried flakes of dirt succumbed to gravity, flaking off onto the clean hardwood floor.
“Your boots are dirty.
Since you have such fine control over your superpowers, you might want to channel that energy into something more constructive.”
Zack turned around and walked toward the bathroom.
A few seconds later, he emerged holding a blue sponge mop, thrusting it directly toward Joanne, who was still floating in mid-air.
Joanne’s gaze shifted from the melted handle to the cheap plastic mop.
Her azure pupils contracted sharply.
The red glow that had just faded from her eyes flared up again instantly, far more blindingly intense than before.
The color on the radar panel instantly flashed from green to red.
[Current Emotion: Shocked / Annoyed / Disbelieving]
“You’re telling me to…
mop the floor?”
Joanne’s voice carried a chilling, teeth-gritting edge.
The temperature of the surrounding air skyrocketed, her star-spangled cape billowing despite the lack of wind.
Zack’s hand on the mop handle was steady, without a single tremor.
He looked directly into the eyes that could unleash lethal lasers at any second.
“Sorry, I don’t do the superhero worship thing,” Zack said, his tone carrying an unquestionable calmness.
“In this apartment, there are only landlords and diners.
If you dirty the floor, you clean it up.
Those are the rules here.”
The air fell into a dead silence.
The tomato beef brisket in the clay pot bubbled softly, its rich, meaty aroma diffusing between them.
Joanne glared intensely at Zack.
Two voices battled furiously in her mind.
One voice screamed to burn the entire building to the ground, turning this arrogant mortal to ash.
The other voice, however, greedily inhaled the delicious scent of food, reluctant to lose this genuine, manipulation-free equality.
Seconds ticked away.
Finally, the red light in Joanne’s eyes flickered a few times and reluctantly dimmed.
Her hovering body slowly descended, her boots landing on the wooden floor with a dull thud.
She snatched the sponge mop from Zack’s hand, her movement rough and dripping with resentment.
“If I push too hard and punch through your floor, you’d better not complain to me,” she spat through gritted teeth, spinning around toward where the mud had fallen.
Zack let out a long, silent sigh of relief, his undershirt already soaked through with cold sweat.
He turned around, put on the oven mitts, and lifted the lid of the clay pot.
An even richer, sweet-and-sour aroma instantly billowed upward.
“Dinner will be ready in ten minutes,” Zack said with his back to Joanne, stirring the brisket with a ladle.
“While you’re at it, mop up the dust near the balcony too.
Eating in a clean environment helps with digestion.”
From behind him came the heavy thud of the mop striking the floor, accompanied by Joanne’s muffled, resentful grunt.
The most powerful female superhero in the world was currently clumsily handling a cheap plastic mop, sliding it back and forth across a living room of less than a thousand square feet.
Because of her excessive strength, the sponge squeaked sharply against the wood floor.
Her star-spangled suit, a symbol of absolute power, looked positively ridiculous as she bent over to mop.
Glimpsing this out of the corner of his eye, Zack couldn’t help but let his lips curl up.
[Current Emotion: Humiliated but compliant / Strange sense of security / Acceptance of boundaries]
[Psychological Defense: Has accepted the “roommate” persona]
The system’s glowing blue text immediately floated into the center of his vision.
[Condition met.
Extracting funds…]
[Obtained clean funds: $1,500,000]
One and a half million dollars.
Zack felt no thrill at the sight of the transaction.
Compared to the previous thirty million, this amount was merely a small bonus.
However, its significance went far beyond money.
It meant that Joanne had completely accepted the rules he had established in this space.
Ten minutes later, the square wooden dining table was set with two pairs of bowls and chopsticks.
A clay pot of vibrant, perfectly stewed tomato beef brisket sat right in the center, flanked by several small plates of refreshing side dishes.
Tossing the innocent mop by the bathroom door, Joanne strode over to the table and sat down.
Her entire face screamed “I am extremely displeased,” but her hands weren’t slow at all as she picked up her chopsticks.
She popped a piece of beef brisket, heavily coated in rich tomato sauce, into her mouth.
The tangy sweetness and the rich, savory beef instantly dissolved on her taste buds.
Joanne’s chewing paused for a fraction of a second, and the rigid tension in her shoulders faded.
She didn’t speak, silently quickening her pace.
Zack sat opposite her, unhurriedly eating his rice.
“There’s definitely a design flaw in that mop.”
Joanne swallowed her food, her eyes fixed on the beef in the pot as she spoke with a hint of stubborn pride, trying to save face.
“Its weight distribution is completely uneven, and the sponge’s water absorption rate doesn’t meet fluid dynamics standards at all.
The cleaning robots at Vought Tower are ten thousand times better.”
Zack picked up a piece of tomato with his chopsticks and put it in his mouth.
“Then tomorrow you can consider buying a cleaning robot out of your own pocket to put here.
Provided it doesn’t scratch my hardwood floors.”
Joanne looked up and glared at him.
“In your dreams.
Vought’s custom-built robots all have backdoor surveillance installed.
I don’t want Madelyn knowing I’m over here eating cheap stew.”
She placed heavy emphasis on the word “cheap,” but her chopsticks didn’t hesitate for a second as they reached into the clay pot.