He already saw it clear as day..
How fanatical the cheers would be when he stood in that exact spot Dean occupied right now.
Madelyn glanced down at Dean in the arena, radiating pure masculine confidence and charm, then looked at Homelander beside her acting like a giant baby.
The corner of her mouth twitched.
Same age, completely different levels of maturity.
Dean carried a mature charm that put most adults to shame.
Homelander had the intelligence of a giant baby that lagged years behind his actual age.
Madelyn let out a quiet sigh.
The way she looked at Dean on the field shifted.
Thoughts started turning in her head.
‘Maybe I don’t have to put all my eggs in one basket.
It’s time to build a new basket of my own…’ Fire lit in her eyes.
The way she stared at Dean now looked like she was eyeing a rare, priceless treasure.
The same Madelyn who had decided less than an hour ago to abandon Dean had now flipped completely and decided to double down on him instead.
They say a woman’s heart is like a needle at the bottom of the ocean—impossible to read.
This highly anticipated match was not only pulling in the live audience, Homelander, and Madelyn.
Plenty of other people were watching too, each with their own private thoughts.
…
In Osborn Manor, Norman and Emily sat in front of the television.
Pride shone plain and open in both their eyes.
Emily had never approved of Dean entering The Seven selection, so she refused to go to the stadium in person.
Norman naturally stayed home to keep her company.
But she was still a mother.
Even though her mouth said she disapproved, the moment the live broadcast started she turned the television on against her own better judgment.
Watching her son get adored by that many people on screen, Emily’s straight face finally cracked.
A proud smile broke through.
Norman was even more worked up.
His neck turned red as he clenched both fists.
“Beautiful!
That’s my son—crushing every competitor with overwhelming force!” Emily looked at her husband acting like he was the one down in the arena and shook her head helplessly.
How old is he and he’s still acting like a kid… …
In a seaside villa in Malibu.
Inside the messy underground laboratory, Tony Stark sat slumped against a metal bench, staring at the hanging live broadcast with complicated eyes.
“That guy Dean… two years ago he came in like thunder, pulled me out of that cave, helped me deal with the traitor Obadiah, and even became the major shareholder of my company.
Back then I asked him to be a superhero with me under Stark Industries and he refused.
Now he runs off to be a superhero for goddamn Vought…” Tony muttered to himself, not sure if he was remembering the day Dean saved him or just complaining that Dean picked Vought over him.
“But maybe your choice is right.
What’s the point of teaming up with a dying man like me?
Better to find a few teammates who actually have powers of their own…” He glanced down at his chest, covered in purple-black toxic veins, and let out a self-mocking laugh.
That’s right.
Tony Stark, the great genius of this century, was dying.
Palladium poisoning.
…
Washington, D.C., the Triskelion.
Headquarters of S.H.I.E.L.D.
In a high-rise office, a shiny black bald head stared at Dean on the television screen.
The single eye was full of cold calculation.
“Powerful, smart, confident, and most importantly he’s got a real heart of justice for being a superhero.
What a perfect seedling for the Avengers!” “It’s a complete waste letting a talent like that rot inside a hypocritical company like Vought.
We have to find a way to poach him.” “But who the hell do I send to recruit this powerful playboy…” The old man running those calculations was none other than S.H.I.E.L.D.
Director Nick Fury.
What Nick Fury did not know was that someone one floor above him was thinking almost the exact same thing.
…
First floor of the World Security Council.
The Secretary-General of the Security Council, Nick Fury’s direct superior, and one of the top leaders of HYDRA, Alexander Pierce, was also watching the Vought live broadcast.
He kept replaying the clip of Dean calling down nine bolts of purple lightning.
The more he stared at that purple lightning the more familiar it felt.
Finally Pierce dialed an encrypted line.
After a few rings the call connected.
An elegant female voice came through the receiver.
“Pierce?
Well, well, a rare visitor.
What business does HYDRA have looking for me?” Zizizi—!!!!
“Ahhhhhh—” “P=Please..
I beg you Arrrrggggg!!!” Hearing not only a woman’s voice but also the crackle of electricity and full-on screams, Pierce could not help frowning.
“Klara, what the hell are you doing?” That’s right.
The person on the other end was none other than the former ‘Liberty’, now Stormfront—Klara.
“Nothing much.
Just clearing out a few uncivilized black-skinned ape terrorists~” Stormfront answered casually.
[P.S.
She’s a Nazi and this is her canon personality; this has nothing to do with me.] Pierce ignored the casual racism and asked straight out: “So you didn’t watch Vought’s selection match today?” Stormfront’s voice dripped with pure disdain.
“What’s so interesting about that trash?
The only supe worth my attention is Homelander.
The rest are all inferior garbage, and I already got Homelander’s full file ages ago.” Pierce’s mouth curled into a small smile.
He suddenly asked: “Have you ever injected V1 or V5 into any of your sons, grandsons, or great-grandsons?” Stormfront went silent for a second on the other end, then snapped with clear impatience: “I don’t have a son at all.
Only a daughter, and that daughter is already dead.
I never injected V1 or V5 into any of my other descendants either.
Pierce, what the fuck are you trying to say?” “Is that so?” A thoughtful look settled in Pierce’s eyes.
“I’ll send you a video.
Watch it yourself.
I think you’ll find it interesting.” He did not wait for a reply.
He hung up and immediately sent Stormfront the clip of Dean one-shotting nine people with purple lightning.
Somewhere in South Africa, Stormfront stared at the phone that had just gone dead.
A flash of pure brutality crossed her eyes as she gritted her teeth.
“These fucking traitors left behind by Red Skull have gotten too big for their boots.
They care less and less about me, their former Master.
They actually dare hang up on my call!” After the little rant she swept her gaze across the onlookers nearby and casually tossed a few bolts of purple lightning at them, roasting several to medium-well.
The rest of the onlookers screamed and scattered in every direction.
Watching them run improved her mood a little.
She spoke with pure contempt.
“Monkeys are just monkeys.
Not only do they look disgusting, their IQ is in the dirt too!” Right then her phone dinged.
An encrypted file had arrived…