At the last party, he had tasted the sweetness of success.
Over the past month, aside from attending classes, he had spent his days moving between various parties and clubs.
Relying on his generous spending and decent looks, he had triggered Duplication quite a few times.
The result was the LV3 Super Physique he now possessed.
This was the fusion of dozens of LV1 abilities and several LV2 ones.
Ian bent down and picked something up from the floor.
It was a Glock 19 he had bought from the black market.
Since he hadn’t yet reached the legal age for gun ownership in New York City, he had to pay a few hundred dollars extra to acquire it.
There was still one bullet left in the chamber.
He stared at the brass-colored bullet for two seconds, then pressed the muzzle against his left thigh.
He pulled the trigger.
Bang.
The gunshot echoed through the empty private shooting range.
The bullet embedded itself one centimeter into his thigh muscle before getting stuck.
Blood gushed out, flowing down his leg and pooling into a small puddle on the floor.
Ian gritted his teeth.
It felt like someone had stabbed him with a red-hot awl.
He bent down, pinched the base of the bullet with two fingers, and pulled it out.
As painful as it was, this was a necessary test.
He grabbed a towel, pressed it against the wound, and leaned against the wall, panting.
It seemed his LV3 Super Physique could withstand small-caliber pistol bullets.
Perhaps after fusing a few more LV2 physiques, he might barely become bulletproof, roughly on par with Deep.
But the higher the level of these superpowers, the greater the leap in strength.
He judged that Starlight and Neuman, who likely possessed LV4 Super Physique, could ignore pistol bullets entirely.
Even anti-material sniper rifles would only slow them down.
Ian tossed the blood-stained towel into the trash and pulled on his T-shirt.
He still needed to climb higher.
On Friday night, the lawn was ablaze again.
This time, someone had set fire to a scrapped Beetle.
Hundreds of people danced around it, like some kind of primitive tribal ritual.
Drake’s new song blared from the speakers.
Ian leaned against the makeshift bar, holding an unopened can of Budweiser.
He just held it, letting the coldness of the can seep through his palm to remind himself to stay alert.
“You look bored to death.”
A voice came from his right.
Blonde hair, sun-kissed skin, a skirt so short it was almost illegal.
Her name was Meghan, and Ian had met her at last week’s party.
She leaned in, her lips almost brushing his earlobe.
“My roommate isn’t home tonight,” she whispered, her breath carrying the mixed scent of tequila and mint gum.
“Building C, room 202.
If you want to come, no need to knock.”
Ian brushed her off casually.
His Super Senses LV1 had been Duplicated from a freshman.
Now, this layer of senses acted like an invisible net, peeling away all the information from Meghan’s body.
On the skin of her neck, three different scents lingered.
One was a woody sandalwood, another a cheap sea salt and citrus, and the last a sweet, cloying scent tinged with marijuana.
At the roots of her hair, the faint smell of someone else’s tobacco lingered.
Her pulse was racing—about 110 beats per minute—likely because she had just finished some intense activity and her metabolism hadn’t yet slowed down.
Ian tilted his head slightly, his gaze moving past Meghan’s shoulder to the other side of the lawn.
Three guys stood together drinking beer, one of them wearing the sea salt and citrus cologne, glancing over in their direction.
“Not tonight,” Ian said.
Megan’s fingers stiffened slightly.
“What?”
“I said, forget about tonight.” Ian removed her hand from his chest, held it in his palm, gave it a gentle squeeze, then let go.
“You carry three different stories within you.
I don’t want to be a fellow traveler with the people from those stories.”
Megan’s face paled.
She took a step back, her high heels sinking into the grass.
“Fuck!
Who do you think you are?”
“Someone with an early class tomorrow.” Ian placed the unopened beer on the bar counter and turned to leave.
He walked through the crowd, hearing Megan curse “Asian bastard” behind him.
This month, scenes like this had repeated six or seven times.
Godolkin’s parties were hunting grounds and also trap zones.
Some girls were genuinely interested in him, while others were just looking for a casual hookup.
Ian’s Super Senses acted as a filter, helping him weed out most of the trouble.
On Monday morning, Ian went to have breakfast with Jordan.
Parked at the entrance of the cafeteria was a matte black Lamborghini, its engine still running, exhaust pipes spewing hot air.
Two people stood beside the car.
One was Golden Boy.
Luke Riordan.
The school was grooming him as the next Homelander.
Ian estimated he was at least LV4 in physicality, coupled with flight and flames from some kind of thermonuclear ability.
It was said that when he was angry, the flames on his body could melt steel.
Standing next to him was a slightly shorter Black man, spinning a coin on his finger.
Magnetic Field Manipulation.
His ability was relatively rare, but a bit weak in actual combat—small range, poor precision.
It was more than enough to deal with ordinary people, but against anyone with slightly stronger physical abilities, he’d basically get crushed.
Overuse could also backfire on himself.
However, his father was a veteran superhero, Two-Man, so he was directly enrolled in the Crime-Fighting course and was inseparable from Golden Boy day in and day out.
From a plot perspective, it was reasonable to suspect this guy swung both ways.
Jordan nudged Ian with his elbow.
“Look, Godolkin’s top 1.”
Golden Boy looked up, his gaze sweeping over the crowd.
By default, everyone was just background scenery.
He said something to Andre, they both laughed, then got into the Lamborghini.
The engine roared as it drove toward the exclusive teaching building for the Crime-Fighting course.
He watched the direction where the Lamborghini disappeared.
Golden Boy’s flames and flight, Andre’s Magnetic Field Manipulation—both were good things.
But right now, he didn’t have much opportunity to get close to Golden Boy.
He wasn’t just a key focus for the school; his own abilities were incredibly powerful.
Forcing the issue probably wouldn’t work.
Back in his dorm room, Ian locked the door.
He stood before the bathroom mirror, carefully examining the gunshot wound on his thigh.
It had already scabbed over, the newly formed skin tinged pink, with a dull ache when pressed.
He opened his system panel, scanning each item:
[Shockwave LV2]
[Mind Control LV3]
[Super Physique LV3 (Fusion Enhanced)]
[Super Senses LV1]
For now, it was sufficient.
Enough for him to intervene in Translucent’s incident.
Translucent’s ability.
Carbon Skin.
Invisibility.
That skin was one of the most practical defenses in the world of The Boys.
If he could Duplicate it, his external defense in this world would be almost worry-free.
He was considering whether to directly intervene when Butcher kidnapped Translucent and was at a loss, or to passively wait for Butcher to come find him.
Butcher had been constantly searching for super…
Humans have been harmed, and those who can be exploited by him—Shockwave’s incident serves as an entry point.
However, considering Butcher’s hostility toward Supes, it would be better to intervene directly.
Using the memory-erasing ability should work, but after Duplicating the power,
Translucent must be left for them.
These individuals are too skilled at causing trouble; they must be released, then reaped slowly, one batch at a time.