Black Robe: Superman Bloodline from the Start, Tate Superman?
Chapter 1: Just Transmigrated and I Have to Clean Up After a Super?
"What are you spacing out for! Hurry up and clean that red and white mess on the floor! Translucent is about to walk the red carpet, and if his new leather shoes get even a speck of some passerby's brains on them, I'm docking three months of your pay!"
On the plaza outside the lobby of Vought Tower, the pot-bellied Cleaning Supervisor was spitting saliva, roaring wildly at the back of Ryan's head.
Ryan gripped a mop stained with an unidentified red liquid, his entire body frozen in place as if someone had hit the pause button.
He looked down at his feet.
A few minutes ago, this might have been some unlucky salaryman carrying a briefcase, rushing to work. But now, because a second-rate Superhuman rushing to a party took a shortcut, descending from the sky at high speed and taking off violently, this poor soul had been crushed by the airflow and impact force into an even spread of "ketchup and tofu pudding" on the ground.
The air was filled with a pungent, metallic smell.
Less than ten meters outside the police cordon, hundreds of fanatical fans were holding up posters of Translucentand Starlight, screaming wildly, completely ignoring the gruesome scene on the ground.
"Damn it... what kind of hellish start is this?"
Ryan's Adam's apple bobbed as he forcibly swallowed the acid rising in his stomach.
Three minutes ago, he had been sitting comfortably in his ten-square-meter rented room, on the toilet, scrolling through the parody section of Bilibili. The video content at the time was the villainous man-baby "Tighten" from "Megamind" crossing over to beat up Homelander from "The Boys." The catchy BGM and the image of Homelandergetting beaten until snot was streaming down his face made Ryan laugh so hard he choked.
As luck would have it, he laughed too wildly, his thigh cramped, and he slid right off the toilet, his head hitting the edge of the bathtub with pinpoint accuracy.
A fine young man of the twenty-first century, just like that, died a pathetic death by drowning in the foot-washing water he hadn't dumped out last night.
When he opened his eyes again, he found himself wearing a cheap, blue Vought International janitorial uniform, holding a shedding mop, with the Cleaning Supervisor's duck-like urging ringing in his ears.
As a massive and chaotic flood of memories was forced into his mind, Ryan's heart turned completely cold.
Vought International? The Seven? Homelander? Superhuman?
Damn it, he had actually transmigrated into the world of "The Boys"!
Anyone who has watched the show knows that the "Superhuman" here are all genetically mutated freaks artificially created by Vought International using a drug called "compound v"!
In the spotlight, they are smiling idols who save the world; but behind the cameras, they are a group of perverted man-babies with severe psychological defects, who kill without blinking and have incredibly depraved private lives!
Here, ordinary people are like ants on the ground. You might be hit by the supersonic A-Train and turned into a bloody mist while walking on the road, accidentally cut in half by Homelander's Heat Vision while watching a movie, or even have a shrunken Ant-Man crawl into your body and explode you from the inside while visiting a nightclub.
And his current identity was actually the lowest-level Janitor in Vought Tower! His daily job was cleaning up after these psychopaths, scrubbing toilets, and cleaning up the passersby they accidentally killed!
"Isn't this just forcing me to die?!" Ryan roared wildly in his heart, his persecution mania instantly reaching its peak.
He knew the nature of these Superhuman all too well. If Homelander was in a bad mood one day and happened to glare while passing by the Cleaning Department, he would turn into ash; if that fish-man Deep went crazy in the hallway one day, he could suffocate him just by throwing an octopus at him.
It's not safe! It's too unsafe! This world is full of treacherous people and walking nuclear bombs that could go off at any moment; he had to find a way to kill them to prevent future trouble!
"Are you treating my words as wind?!"
Seeing that Ryan hadn't moved for a long time, the Cleaning Supervisor walked over in a rage and slapped Ryan on the shoulder: "You've lost your perfect attendance bonus for this month! If you delay Translucent's entrance, I'll shove you straight into the sewer..."
"Try touching me again?"
Ryan spun his head around, his bloodshot eyes staring fixedly at the supervisor. The resentment and the newly awakened persecution mania in his gaze scared the supervisor so much that he swallowed the second half of his sentence and instinctively took half a step back.
The supervisor stammered, putting on a brave face as he scolded: "You... you dare talk back? You're fired!"
Just as the supervisor was about to call security, a crisp, mechanical electronic sound suddenly echoed from deep within Ryan's mind.
[Ding! Detected that the host is facing an extremely dangerous world environment, resentment value reached, "Supreme Bloodline Evolution System" has been successfully bound!]
[This system is dedicated to helping the host rely on bloodline to suppress all the flashy mutated trash in this perilous world, achieving true dimensional reduction strikes!]
[Ding! Detected that the host is penniless and has negative combat power, novice survival gift pack has been automatically distributed, do you want to draw the bloodline panel immediately?]
Holy crap? A system?!
Ryan's eyes instantly lit up like two light bulbs, and his heart began to beat wildly.
Web novels never lie to me! As the standard equipment for a transmigrator, the golden finger might be late, but it always arrives!
"I knew it, this shitty world wouldn't really make me rely on a mop to fight my way through Vought Tower!" Ryan rejoiced inwardly.
Supreme Bloodline Evolution System? This name sounds high-end, atmospheric, and classy just by hearing it!
If he guessed correctly, it should at least give him a Kryptonian bloodline from the DC universe, right? Even if it's not Silver Age Superman, giving him the Man of Steel, Clark, would be fine. Taking a step back, surely it would have a god-level bloodline like Manhattan, who can reconstruct atoms with a thought?
As long as he got these invincible panels, whatever bullshit Homelander, whatever compound v, would all be trash!
"Draw! Draw it for me right now! May the Jade Emperor, Buddha, and Guanyin Bodhisattva bless me with a one-shot hit!" Ryan roared desperately in his heart.
[Ding! Novice gift pack drawing...]
A Translucent golden wheel that only he could see suddenly popped up on Ryan's retina. The wheel flashed with various mouth-watering bloodline names: [God of Destruction Beerus], [Base Superman], [Silver Superman], [Saiyan Bloodline]...
The pointer spun wildly on the wheel, the flashing golden light illuminating Ryan's soul filled with anticipation.
"Superman! Superman! Superman!" Ryan prayed wildly in his heart.
Finally, the pointer slowly stopped on a tiny grid emitting a dim bronze light.
[Ding! Congratulations to the host! Successfully drew and obtained the special bloodline panel: Tighten Panel!]
Hearing the words "special bloodline panel," Ryan hadn't even had time to grin and laugh before he saw the following words, and he was struck by lightning, the expression on his face instantly freezing.
"Wait... Tate... Tighten?!"
Ryan gasped, the corners of his mouth twitching wildly.
What the hell is Tighten! Isn't that the freckled, fat-eared, incompetent, raging man-baby villain from that cartoon "Megamind" he was watching on the toilet before he transmigrated?!
This is called a supreme bloodline?! System, do you have some kind of misunderstanding about me?!
However, the system's next prompt almost made Ryan spray a mouthful of old blood onto the Cleaning Supervisor's greasy face.
[Note: The Tighten panel bloodline drawn this time has extremely low purity; the DNA carrier source is — "Tighten's dandruff (aged for three days)".]
"Dan... druff?!"
Ryan's hand gripping the mop trembled violently. (╯°Д°)╯︵┻━┻!
Chapter 2: Dandruff Superman Is Still a Superman!
At this moment, Ryan felt like ten thousand alpacas were stampeding through his mind.
Getting a villainous man-child's panel was one thing, but the damn DNA source was actually a piece of dandruff?! And it had been sitting there for three days?!
In this world of The Boys, where Laser Eyes can wipe out entire areas and people with carbon-fiber bulletproof skin walk the streets, you give me a piece of dandruff as an amulet? You're just trying to make my death more creative, aren't you!
Ryan cursed inwardly: "System, screw you! This is fraud! I want a refund! I don't want dandruff, I want the genuine Superman!"
The system's cold, mechanical voice, tinged with a hint of cheekiness, rang out unhurriedly:
[Host, please calm down and don't judge a book by its cover. Although the DNA extracted by this system comes from dandruff, 'Tighten' is a genuine, high-dimensional cosmic super-model combat force. Even if it's just a 'Tighten' panel converted from a piece of dandruff by the system, in this low-power American comic world, it's enough for you to do whatever you want. If you don't believe me, look at the panel attributes yourself.]
As the system's voice faded, the translucent screen in front of Ryan shifted, popping up his current detailed data:
[Host: Ryan]
[Current Loaded Panel: Tighten (Dandruff Slightly Flawed Edition)]
[Base Strength: 80 tons (Normal one-handed lifting capacity, can easily play with a truck like a yo-yo)]
[Defense Capability: Passive Max-Level Bio-field (The field covers the whole body and close-fitting clothing, immune to conventional thermal weapons, explosives, and large-caliber armor-piercing rounds. Note: Even if you stand there and let Homelander roast you with Laser Eyesfor a day, you won't lose a single hair)]
[Survival Capability: Survive in outer space anaerobic environment for 30 minutes]
[Speed Limit: Mach 2 (Slightly flawed, a bit slower than Homelander's max of 3-5 Mach, but ramming hundreds of ordinary people to death is like child's play)]
[Special Skills: Laser Eyes (Locked), Freeze Breath (Locked)]
Ryan looked at the long, terrifying string of data on the panel, his eyes widening bit by bit. The angry expression he had just a moment ago instantly did a 180-degree turn, and his mouth stretched from ear to ear.
"Holy crap... this is awesome!"
80 tons of base strength in a normal state! A max-level, invincible passive Bio-field!
Ryan quickly pulled up the data on Homelander in his mind. That man-child A-Zu, whom Vought Internationalhyped to the skies and claimed to be the strongest on the surface, only had a normal lifting capacity of a few dozen tons at most.
And what A-Zu was most proud of was just his rapid speed and his Heat Vision that could cut through anything. But now, the system clearly stated that his own Bio-fieldwas completely immune to attacks of that level!
"A-Zu, huh? So what if you're faster than me?" Ryan sneered, his eyes gradually becoming arrogant. "I'll stand there and let you shoot, and you won't even be able to shoot through my Janitor uniform! Once you're tired of shooting, I'll backhand you and slap your skull into your stomach!"
The system added another line at this moment:
[Friendly reminder: This is just the most basic dandruff panel. The host can continuously purify the DNA in the system store by harvesting 'Emotion Points'. As long as you have enough points, you can fully evolve from a 'dandruff man-child' to a 100% pure 'Tighten', and even break through the limits of cosmic dimensions.]
[Ways to obtain Emotion Points: Make surrounding living beings generate intense positive worship or negative fear; change the fate trajectory of key plot characters in this world.]
"In other words, as long as I go crazy causing trouble, piss off those Superhumans, or save those unlucky supporting characters, I can become infinitely stronger?"
Ryan rubbed his hands together, his persecution complex and violent tendencies perfectly merging at this moment.
He raised his head and looked eerily at the Cleaning Supervisor, who was still muttering curses in front of him.
"You low-class person, what are you still giggling about? Didn't you hear that you're fired? Get to the finance office immediately to settle your accounts... uh?"
Before the supervisor could finish his sentence, he saw Ryan reach out his right hand and casually grab the solid stainless steel handle of the heavy metal cleaning cart next to him.
Only a "creak" sound of teeth-aching metal twisting was heard.
Ryan didn't even frown. The stainless steel pipe, as thick as a thumb, was easily squeezed into a twist of dough by him, as if it were made of low-quality playdough!
And the most outrageous part was that because he didn't control his terrifying 80-ton strength well, the expensive marble floor tiles under his feet instantly cracked, with spiderweb-like fissures spreading outward from him as the center.
"Gulp."
The supervisor looked down at the stainless steel twist, then at the shattered floor tiles. Cold sweat poured down his forehead instantly, and his legs trembled wildly like he was playing the piano.
Although he was an ordinary person, he knew that anyone who could squeeze a solid steel pipe into such a state with one hand was definitely not some bottom-level Janitor; this was a disguised Superhuman!
"You... you just said you wanted to deduct my full attendance bonus and stuff me into the sewer?" Ryan looked at him with a half-smile, tossing the lump of iron in his hand like a baseball.
"No! That never happened! Lord Ryan! You misheard! What I just said was giving you a raise! Applying for a high-level special subsidy!" The supervisor was so scared he sat on the ground, his voice trembling like a quail in the cold wind.
"That's more like it. You can clean up this mess yourself. I'm off the clock."
Ryan casually tossed the lump of iron into the trash can, clapped his hands, and swaggered out of the plaza. With this kind of strength, who would still clean for Vought International? He had to hurry and find those "plot ATMs" to farm Emotion Points.
After leaving the vicinity of Vought Tower, Ryan stopped by a convenience store, intending to buy an ice-cold cola to calm his nerves.
It was already evening, and the dim streetlights had lit up at the corner outside the convenience store.
Ryan had just finished paying and took a sip after unscrewing the cola cap when his peripheral vision, through the glass window, inadvertently caught a young couple on the curb across the street.
The boy looked a bit thin and timid, wearing a tacky plaid shirt; the girl had long brown hair and a bright, flower-like smile. The two were holding a cup of milk tea, feeding each other, exuding the sour stench of love.
Ryan had only glanced at them casually, but when he saw the boy's face clearly, his gaze instantly hardened.
"Wait... isn't that Hughie Campbell?"
The plot of the first episode of The Boys original work instantly flashed through Ryan's mind.
Hughie Campbell, one of the future protagonists of The Boys world. And the girl smiling so sweetly beside him was his first love, Robin.
If Ryan remembered correctly, it was today, right at this street corner. While the two were on a sweet date, "A-Train" from The Seven, who had taken compound v and was in a state of extreme excitement and madness, would sprint past at supersonic speed, directly smashing Robininto a bursting mist of blood.
Hughie would even be left holding Robin's two severed hands!
This was the beginning of the entire plot! And it was also the fuse for Hughie's dark turn to join "The Boys".
[Ding! Key plot characters 'Hughie Campbell' and 'Robin' detected.]
[Limited-time mission triggered: Change Robin's fate of death! Completing the mission will grant a massive amount of Emotion Points and one primary DNA purification opportunity!]
The system's prompt rang out at the right time, directly confirming Ryan's guess.
"So it really is today."
Ryan narrowed his eyes and put down the cola bottle in his hand.
At this moment, a strange, eerie roaring sound suddenly came from the distance. The sound was like a fighter jet flying close to the ground, approaching. Accompanied by a slight tremor of the ground, the traffic lights and trash cans in the distance even began to shake due to the intense airflow.
That was the commotion caused by A-Train tearing through the air while running at supersonic speed!
Hughie and Robin had no idea that death had arrived; Robin even took a step forward, half her foot stepping onto the edge of the road, preparing to give Hughie a hug.
Ryan's pupils instantly contracted.
In his line of sight, a blue afterimage appeared at the distant street corner. That afterimage, carrying violent kinetic energy and unstoppable momentum, was charging straight toward the location where Robin was standing!
"This damn drug-addled trash, his path will not only smash Robin to pieces, but the splashing blood will definitely dirty my newly changed Janitor uniform!"
Ryan's persecution complex went online right on cue.
He absolutely could not allow any filth to splash onto him! Not to mention that there were massive amounts of Emotion Points beckoning.
"Let's just use you, this supersonic weakling, to test my invincible Bio-field!"
Ryan sneered and exerted force with his thighs.
"Boom!"
The concrete ground at the entrance of the convenience store was instantly stomped into a huge deep pit by him. His body, like a cannonball leaving the chamber, blocked in front of Robin in the 0.1 seconds before she was about to be hit!
Chapter 3: The Supersonic A-Train Crashes Into Him
"Boom!"
The concrete ground at the entrance of the convenience store was stomped into a basin-sized crater, with gravel splattered everywhere.
Ryan surged forward, his speed outrageously fast, but his brain was even faster than his body.
In the fraction of a second his body was airborne, a thought flashed through his mind: "If I can't stop this, then this face of mine was for nothing."
Immediately after, a violent kinetic force slammed into him head-on.
A-Train.
The drug-addicted piece of trash who was the fastest runner in The Seven.
His speed had already broken the sound barrier, dragging a visible blue shockwave behind him, and the friction from his feet tore two pitch-black scorch marks into the asphalt.
Ryan's muscles locked up in that instant.
Then.
"Bang!!"
The two collided head-on.
The impact was on the level of a small missile detonating on an iron plate, shattering every glass window within a twenty-meter radius.
The convenience store's signage tubes were shattered, the street lamp pole bent at a forty-five-degree angle, and spiderweb-like cracks radiated outward from the point of impact.
Robin screamed, pushed backward by the shockwave, stumbling several steps before sitting down hard on the ground.
Hughie lunged to protect her, throwing his entire body over her, not daring to even lift his head.
The dust and smoke swirled for several seconds before clearing.
When the two trembling figures lifted their heads to see the scene in front of them, Hughie's mouth dropped open into an "O" shape.
Ryan stood in his original spot, unmoving.
One foot was planted on the shattered road surface, both hands were shoved into the pockets of his Janitor uniform, and his center of gravity hadn't even wavered.
He looked down at his chest.
There wasn't even an extra wrinkle on his Janitor uniform.
"Tsk." Ryan brushed the dust off his sleeves and frowned. "This dust is more annoying than bullets."
Three meters away, A-Train was sprawled on the ground, his limbs splayed out in four directions, unable to move while pressed against the asphalt.
His nose was crooked, blood flowed from the corner of his mouth, and there was a large tear in the chest area of his blue skin-tight suit.
The worst part was his right shoulder, which was twisted backward at a completely unnatural angle—it was clearly dislocated.
A-Train let out a painful groan, his bloodshot eyes widening as he stared at Ryan.
"Who, who the hell are you?" His voice hissed as he spoke, his teeth filled with blood.
Ryan sauntered over to him, squatted down, and tilted his head to look at him.
"Me? You guess."
"Stop the bullshit! Which group are you from? West Coast? One of Pesenjer's people?" A-Train tried to push himself up with his good arm, but a sharp pain in his hip caused him to collapse back down.
"Yo, you're pretty good at guessing." Ryan gave a thumbs up. "But you guessed wrong on all of them."
"I'm just a guy who mops floors."
A-Train's expression twisted.
He didn't believe it.
The speed he was running at just now was at least Mach 2.5, enough speed to smash an armored money truck into scrap metal.
Yet, colliding with this guy in a Janitor uniform, he had been sent flying, while the other person stood there without even blinking.
This wasn't scientific.
Even if Homelander were standing there taking that hit, he would have had to take a few steps back, right?
"You, you're not a normal person." A-Train's voice was trembling.
"No shit." Ryan patted his numb knees and stood up. "If a normal person had blocked that hit, they would be that red and white paste on the ground by now."
As he spoke, he gestured with his chin toward the patch of blood in the distance that he had been cleaning up just a moment ago.
A-Train's pupils constricted, and his body involuntarily scooted backward.
He was much more sober now.
He had taken three full vials of enhanced compound vearlier, his brain was so fried he couldn't think straight, and he had no idea he had almost killed a passerby just now.
No, to be precise, he had almost killed a passerby's girlfriend, and then been stopped by a Janitor.
If Vought International found out he had caused another public casualty incident after taking drugs.
"Listen to me." A-Train's tone shifted, and he squeezed out an ugly smile. "Buddy, we can negotiate this. You name your price."
"Name a price?" Ryan looked down at him and bared his teeth in a grin.
A-Train felt a chill run down his spine when he saw that expression.
"I don't want money," Ryan said.
"Then what do you want?"
Ryan squatted down, leaned close to A-Train's ear, and said something in a volume only the two of them could hear.
"I just want to know one thing."
"Is your jaw sturdy?"
A-Train: "?"
Before he could react to what that meant, he saw Ryan stand up and slowly raise his right hand.
The palm was open, the five fingers slightly curled, forming the oldest and most insulting gesture in human social interaction.
A slap.
A-Train's eyes widened to their limit.
"Wait wait wait wait!" He scrambled backward desperately, his good hand clawing frantically at the ground. "You can't hit me! I'm in The Seven! If you hit me, Vought Internationalwill..."
"Will what?"
Ryan's hand stopped in mid-air, and he tilted his head.
A-Train swallowed hard: "They, they will come after you."
"They haven't come after me yet, but I'm coming after you first."
Ryan smiled.
It was a boisterous smile, showing a full set of white teeth, yet his eyes were perfectly still, staring at the person like he was looking at a piece of raw meat on a cutting board.
The moment A-Train saw that face, his survival instincts triggered every alarm in his brain.
Run.
Must run.
Run now.
Gritting his teeth and fighting through the severe pain from his dislocated shoulder, he pushed off with both legs, his body exploding a shockwave in place, starting at supersonic speed.
In a few hundredths of a second, he accelerated to beyond the speed of sound, leaving two large craters in the ground where he pushed off.
He ran.
In the opposite direction.
Running for his life.
Ryan stood in his place, watching A-Train's afterimage disappear at the end of the street, then slowly lowered his raised right hand.
"He runs pretty fast." He rubbed his chin, feeling a bit regretful. "Fine, I'll put that slap on your tab for now. We'll settle it with interest next time we meet."
[Ding! Detected extreme fear from The Seven member A-Train toward the host! Negative emotion harvested +200!]
The system's notification sound rang in his mind, and Ryan raised an eyebrow.
Not bad, just scaring him once yielded two hundred points; this A-Train is quite valuable.
He turned around and looked behind him.
Robin was still sitting on the ground, shaking like a leaf.
Hughie was half-squatting, protecting her, his arms spread out between Robin and Ryan, his face deathly pale, but his teeth clenched tight.
The kid was terrified, but he was still shielding his girlfriend.
Ryan glanced at him, a bit surprised.
"Who are you?" Hughie's voice was trembling, but he didn't back down.
"Why are you asking? I just saved your lives, why ask so much?" Ryan rolled his eyes.
"Was that, was that A-Train? A-Train from The Seven?" Robin's voice came from behind Hughie, so quiet it was almost inaudible.
"Yeah, that's that scrawny dog." Ryan walked over and stopped two steps away from them. "But he ran off, so you're safe for now."
"You two should stay out less at night from now on."
After saying this, he paused, then added: "Especially this street."
Hughie looked up at him, opening his mouth, a pile of questions stuck in his throat, but he couldn't ask a single one.
Ryan didn't intend to stay long and turned to leave.
"Wait!"
Hughie took two steps after him, and Ryan stopped, not looking back.
"What's your name?" Hughie asked.
Ryan thought for a second.
"Names aren't important." He waved his hand without turning his head. "Just remember today. In the future, if you run into a Superhuman on the street, run as far as you can."
"In this world, not a single hero is clean."
Having said that, he strode into the night.
He wasn't in a rush to fly.
Because he realized he didn't really know how to control flight yet. That dash out of the convenience store earlier was purely an instinctive reaction from an adrenaline rush. If he really tried to take off, he'd likely fall flat on his face.
The system popped up a thoughtful hint at this moment.
[Helpful Tip: Host has loaded the panel for the first time; flight function still requires adaptation and practice. It is recommended to find an empty place to fly a few laps first; don't perform free-fall on the street, it's a disgrace to the City Superman bloodline.]
"Shut up." Ryan cursed in his mind.
But he still obediently turned into an empty alley.
[Ding! Limited-time mission completion being evaluated...]
[Detected key plot character Robin has not died; fate line has changed!]
[Detected key plot character Hughie Campbell has not suffered major psychological trauma; fate line has changed!]
[Mission rewards being settled...]
"Here it comes!" Ryan rubbed his hands, his eyes fixed on the translucent panel in his mind.
"Settle it for me!"
[Robin survival line confirmed, emotion points +300!]
[Hughie Campbell fate changed, emotion points +500!]
"Eight hundred! Plus the two hundred from scaring A-Trainearlier, that's one thousand in total!"
Ryan almost jumped for joy in the alley.
The system immediately popped up another one.
[However.]
However?
The smile on his face hadn't even faded yet.
[Due to the host not actually defeating A-Train, but only causing an intimidation effect, the combat rating for this event is C-rank. If the host had physically sanctioned A-Train on the spot, an additional 500 emotion points and the First Kill of a Seven Member achievement reward could have been obtained.]
"You mean, I should have slapped him to death?" Ryan's mouth twitched.
[This system does not encourage killing, but it does encourage a big slap.]
"Why is this system more violent than me?"
Ryan leaned against the alley wall and took a breath of the cool night air.
One thousand emotion points in hand; nine thousand more to go until the first DNA purification at ten thousand.
Still a long way to go.
But at least, tonight proved one thing.
His Bio-field withstood A-Train's supersonic head-on collision, and he didn't feel a thing.
"Are the Superhumans in this world only at this level?" Ryan muttered to himself.
He pushed aside a trash can in the alley and stretched his neck.
In the distance, the city's neon lights painted the sky half-red and half-purple.
The seventy-plus-story glass-curtain Vought Towerskyscraper glittered in the night, the V logo on the roof shining blindingly bright.
Ryan stared at that logo for a few seconds.
"Alright, time to go back and sleep for today." He withdrew his gaze. "I still have to go to work and mop floors tomorrow; I can't let that fat Cleaning Supervisor actually fire me."
He paused.
"Wait, did that fat guy already fire me?"
He pouted, not entirely sure, but didn't take it too much to heart.
"Whatever, doesn't matter. Worst case, I'll just go scare him tomorrow and make him eat the termination notice."
Ryan pulled his hoodie over his head, shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked toward his rental apartment in the slums.
After a few steps, he stopped and looked back in the direction of the convenience store.
Hughie should have already left with Robin.
"That kid actually has guts." Ryan muttered. "Knowing I might be a dangerous person, he still dared to stand in front of his girlfriend. He's much better than those losers in spandex."
The system chimed in again at this moment.
[Detected host has a positive evaluation of Hughie Campbell; mark him as a potential ally?]
"Mark my ass, I'm a lone wolf right now, what do I need an ally for?"
[Then mark as a potential lackey?]
"Whatever you want."
Ryan quickened his pace and disappeared into the night of Brooklyn.
But what he didn't know was that right at the intersection where he had just clashed head-on with A-Train, there was a spherical surveillance camera on the roof of the convenience store.
That camera had faithfully recorded the entire process.
From the man in the Janitor uniform stomping the ground to pieces and surging forward, to A-Train hitting him at full speed and being sent flying, to the man brushing off dust without even frowning.
Every frame was captured clearly.
The convenience store owner was currently huddled behind the counter, holding his phone up with both hands, aiming it at the surveillance playback, his fingers trembling as he pressed upload.
Chapter 4: Evolution Plan in the Slums
Ryan lived at the end of the most remote alley in Brooklyn, on the second floor, in a rental room less than ten square meters.
The door lock was broken; he had to kick it to open it.
Most of the wall plaster had peeled off, and there was a yellow water stain in the corner of the ceiling.
The only valuable item was a 14-inch old-fashioned television, which the previous tenant hadn't bothered to take because it was too heavy.
Ryan kicked the door open, flopped onto the creaky spring bed, and stared at the ceiling for a while, dazed.
"Alright, let's take stock."
He closed his eyes and brought up the system interface in his mind.
[Host: Ryan]
[Current Interface: Tighten (Dandruff Minor Flaw Version)]
[DNA Purity: 0.3%]
[Emotion Points: 1000 / 10000]
[Required for First Purification: 10000 Points]
One thousand points.
It sounded like a lot, but he was still a full nine thousand short of the first DNA purification.
"System, what changes will there be after one purification?" Ryan asked.
[First purification will increase DNA purity from 0.3% to 5%, with estimated overall interface attribute growth of 20% to 30%. Base strength will exceed the 100-ton level, flight speed will increase to about Mach 2.5, and there is a probability of unlocking the Laser Eyes skill.]
"100 tons..." Ryan calculated in his mind, "Wouldn't that be more than enough to rub Homelander into the ground?"
[In terms of pure strength, yes. But Homelander's overall combat power is not limited to strength. His Heat Visiontemperature is extremely high; although it cannot penetrate the host's Bio-field, continuous irradiation may cause environmental damage. In addition, his flight speed is 3 to 5 Mach, and the host is currently at a disadvantage in speed.]
"So the key is still speed." Ryan frowned.
[Correct. The host's current strategy should be: avoid direct conflict with Homelander, prioritize accumulating Emotion Points, and continue to purify DNA. When the purity reaches over 30%, the speed gap will significantly narrow. When it reaches over 70%, the host will crush all Superhumans in this world in all dimensions.]
"70%... how many Emotion Points would that take?"
[According to the incremental formula calculation, it will take approximately 350,000 points in total.]
"350,000?!" Ryan almost bounced off the bed, "Are you kidding me?!"
[Rome wasn't built in a day, and the host cannot evolve from dandruff to a complete form in a day. It is recommended to make a long-term plan.]
"Why does this system talk just like my department manager from my previous life?" Ryan rolled his eyes.
But he also knew the system was right; he couldn't rush it.
He turned over, lay on the bed, and began to carefully analyze the rules for obtaining Emotion Points.
"Today I got a total of one thousand points. Breaking it down—saving Robin was three hundred, changing Hughie's fate was five hundred, and scaring A-Train was two hundred."
"Offline face-to-face contact has the highest yield, and changing the fate of key characters causes an immediate surge."
"But the problem is..."
Ryan clicked his tongue.
"There are only a few key characters. I can't just squat at Hughie's door every day waiting to save him, right? Plus, the major events in the original plot have timelines; I can't trigger them early."
He fished a pen and a crumpled notebook from under the bed and began to write and draw on it.
"Saving people offline has a high yield per instance, but the audience is too small. That scene at the convenience store today, at most, didn't have more than twenty people present."
"But what if we switch to online?"
He remembered a note on the system interface.
[Supplementary explanation on ways to obtain Emotion Points: If the host's actions are perceived by more humans through media/network channels, for every additional witness (including indirect witnesses), a small, decayed amount of Emotion Points can be obtained. The decay coefficient decreases with the propagation level, but the total amount is considerable.]
"In other words, if my deeds are filmed and uploaded to the internet, as long as someone watches the video and feels admiration or fear, even if each person only contributes a fraction of a point, as long as the view count is large enough..."
Ryan sat up straight, his eyes lighting up.
"A million views would be several hundred points, ten million views would be several thousand points!"
"Walking on two legs!" He drew two big circles on the notebook, "One leg: continue fighting criminals offline to accumulate street reputation; the other leg: find a way to get my deeds online, spread them crazily, and eat the traffic dividends!"
With his thinking opened up, the more Ryan thought, the more excited he got.
He jumped off the bed and paced back and forth in the tiny rental room.
"The largest network platforms in this world are VoughtPlus and YouTube, which are under Vought International, and public opinion is almost monopolized by Vought. But there are quite a few independent media outlets, especially with mobile live streaming becoming more and more popular in recent years..."
"I don't need Vought to promote me; I just need someone to take out their phone and film me!"
"Also, I have to pay attention to one thing."
Ryan stopped, his expression becoming a bit more serious.
"I can't be too high-profile."
"At least not now."
He knew the rules of this world too well.
In the world of The Boys, Vought International's core interest is monopolizing the Superhuman market. All superheroes must be signed under Vought, and unauthorized superpowered individuals will be seen as threats.
At best they'll be recruited; at worst, they'll be "dealt with."
And the man currently standing at the top of Vought's power—Homelander—is mentally extremely unstable.
His core demand is only one thing: he is the strongest.
Any existence that might threaten this realization will be seen as his mortal enemy.
"If I make a big splash now, Vought's intelligence department will be able to track me down in three days at most. Then Homelander will come to find trouble with me personally..."
Ryan thought about it.
"Actually, it's not that I can't beat him. His Laser Eyes can't hurt me, and his strength isn't as good as mine. But he flies faster than me; if he can't beat me and runs, I won't be able to catch up."
"And he's a lunatic. If he can't catch me, he'll take it out on the surrounding civilians."
"So, the strategy for the current stage is—"
Ryan wrote a few words heavily on the notebook.
"Make a fortune in silence."
"Only operate in the lower-class districts of Brooklyn, fight small-scale crimes and drug-addicted Superhuman trash, and accumulate Emotion Points. Wait until my strength improves to the point where I can crush Homelander head-on, then play with him."
He closed the notebook and stuffed it back under the bed.
Outside the window, the night sky of Brooklyn was reflected into a turbid orange-red by the neon lights in the distance.
Gunshots and a woman's scream came from downstairs, followed by the screeching of tires on the ground—probably drug dealers from some block having a shootout again.
Ryan walked to the window, lifted the tattered curtain, and took a look outside.
Two modified pickup trucks were confronting each other at the street corner, and someone stuck half their body out of the car window, holding a shiny, modified submachine gun.
"Tsk." Ryan clicked his tongue.
He turned around, fished out a black hoodie from the closet, put it on, and pulled the hood over his head to cover half his face.
Then he walked to the cracked full-length mirror and sized himself up.
The person in the mirror looked like an ordinary street thug, except for being a bit more muscular than the average person, with no Superhuman characteristics.
"Perfect." Ryan nodded with satisfaction.
"Tonight is the first day of the work week."
He pushed open the window and swung one leg onto the windowsill.
Cold wind poured in, flapping the hem of his hoodie.
"Criminals of Brooklyn."
He looked at the messy neighborhood downstairs, the corners of his mouth slowly curling up.
"Congratulations, you're in for a treat tonight."
( ≖ ᴗ ≖ ✿ )
The window slammed shut with a "bang" from the wind.
The rental room was empty.
The crumpled notebook at the head of the bed was flipped open by the wind, revealing the words Ryan had just written—
"Make a fortune in silence."
Next to it was a sketch of a slap.
Downstairs, the gunshots from the distant street corner continued.
But for some reason, the gunshots suddenly stopped.
Immediately following was a screeching sound of metal twisting and the hysterical screams of two men.
Then silence.
A long silence.
The old lady living next door was woken up, grumbling as she pushed open the window to look down, seeing two pickup trucks twisted into heaps of scrap metal piled on the side of the road, and four or five big men lying on the ground in disarray, all passed out.
A tall man in a black hoodie stood under a street lamp, bending down to snap a submachine gun in two and casually throwing it into a nearby trash can.
The old lady rubbed her eyes.
The man looked up and waved at her.
"Grandma, go to sleep. It's alright now."
The old lady froze for three seconds, then quickly closed the window and pulled the curtains.
Ryan shrugged and continued walking forward.
The first stop of the night, done.
He took out his phone to check the time.
11:03 PM.
"Results: Two pickup trucks totaled, five drug dealers totaled, zero bullets managed to hit me."
"As for Emotion Points..."
[Ding! Nearby residents' fear + positive emotions mixed harvest, + 35.]
"Thirty-five? That's it?" Ryan curled his lips, "It seems small skirmishes really don't earn much."
As he walked and calculated his next target, he turned a corner and suddenly heard crying from deep in the alley.
A woman's crying.
And a man's low, threatening voice.
"Hand over the stuff, or your little brat will disappear from kindergarten tomorrow."
Ryan stopped.
"Great, another job."
He pulled his hoodie hood down and strode into the alley.
Chapter 5: Hello, I Am Your Friendly Neighbor
The scene in the alley was simple. Three people.
A bald man in a leather jacket had cornered a young woman, clutching a switchblade in one hand and gripping the woman's throat with the other.
The woman clutched a brown paper envelope tightly, her knuckles turning white.
Standing nearby was a short, chubby man, his arms crossed over his chest, chewing gum with an indifferent expression.
Ryan's footsteps as he entered the alley were not quiet, but the bald man didn't pay any attention, not even bothering to turn his head.
"Get lost. This doesn't concern you."
"Never said it did." Ryan leaned against the wall at the alley entrance, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets. "But you're being too loud, and it's ruining my mood for a stroll."
The bald man finally turned his head, looking Ryan up and down.
"Where'd this greenhorn come from? Paul, get rid of him."
The short, chubby man spat out his gum and cracked his neck, making a popping sound.
He walked up to Ryan and suddenly extended his right hand—it swelled to twice its size under the moonlight, dark red veins surfacing on the skin, and the muscles bulging out in an exaggerated fashion.
A Superhuman. A low-level superpower spawned by low-quality compound v—muscle enhancement.
"Kid, I don't like repeating myself." The chubby man raised his enlarged fist. "Are you going to walk away on your own, or do you want me to help you?"
Ryan looked down at the fist, then back up at the chubby man's face.
"How much force does this punch of yours have?"
"Enough to drive your head into your chest cavity."
"Is that so?" Ryan nodded. "Then why don't you try hitting me?"
The chubby man was stunned by such suicidal arrogance.
He glanced at the bald leader, who waved his hand impatiently.
The chubby man shrugged and threw a punch.
The punch was fast and fierce, carrying the monstrous strength of his enhancement, enough to blast a hole through a brick wall.
"Bam!"
The fist slammed into Ryan's chest. And then—nothing happened.
Ryan stood his ground, not moving an inch; not even the fabric of his hoodie rippled.
The chubby man's fist was still pressed against his chest, maintaining the punching posture, his expression shifting from ferocious to bewildered, then from bewildered to terrified.
His hand was shaking. Not from fear, but because every bone in his fingers had shattered.
"Aaaaaah!!" The chubby man screamed as he pulled his hand back. His right hand returned to its normal size, his five fingers dangling at odd angles, and he rolled on the ground in agony.
The bald man's switchblade clattered to the ground with a "clack."
"You… you are…" He let go of the woman and took two steps back.
"I told you." Ryan walked over slowly and stepped on the switchblade on the ground. "You're ruining my mood for a stroll."
He bent down to pick up the switchblade and, using two fingers, snapped it as easily as a cracker, breaking the blade in two.
Seeing this, the bald man's legs went weak, and he turned to run.
Before he had run five steps, Ryan reached down, picked up a brick, and tossed it casually.
The brick traced an arc through the air, striking the back of the bald man's head with precision.
The bald man collapsed with a "thud," face-planting and sliding half a meter before coming to a stop, unconscious.
"Two down." Ryan clapped his hands.
The chubby man was still on the ground, cradling his hand and wailing. Ryan walked over and stepped on his back.
"Shut up. You're noisy."
The chubby man immediately fell silent, with only the chattering of his teeth audible.
Ryan turned around and looked at the young woman in the corner.
"It's over. Call the police."
The woman tremblingly took out her phone, dialling the number three times before getting it right.
Ryan didn't stay long and turned to walk out of the alley.
Just as he reached the alley entrance, his peripheral vision caught something.
Behind a trash can across the alley, half a head peeked out.
A thin, small Black boy, about fourteen or fifteen years old, with a mop of frizzy, curly hair, wearing a faded old T-shirt.
He was holding up a phone with a cracked screen in both hands.
On the phone screen, a streaming app was running, with the camera pointed at the alley entrance where Ryan was.
The top left corner displayed the number of online viewers—47.
"How long have you been filming?" Ryan asked.
The boy shrank back in fright, nearly dropping the phone.
"I… I'm not filming secretly! I'm live streaming!"
"Live streaming?" Ryan glanced at the cracked screen. "Your phone can still stream?"
"It can! Even though the quality is a bit blurry, it works!" The boy crawled out from behind the trash can, clutching the phone nervously. "I've been streaming what happens in Brooklyn at night, exposing all those criminal messes."
"Does anyone watch?"
"Yes! There are forty-seven people watching right now!" The boy puffed out his chest as he said this, looking proud.
Ryan: "…"
Forty-seven people, and he puffed out his chest. Well, dreams come in all sizes.
But Ryan quickly realized one thing. This kid might just be the "online dissemination" leg he needed.
"What's your name?" Ryan asked.
"My name is Adam." The boy hesitated, then added, "Everyone calls me Black Noir."
"Black Noir." Ryan repeated the name silently to himself.
He remembered this name. In the later stages of the original work, a grassroots self-media personality by that name had made an appearance. However, the Black Noir in the original work was an adult; he hadn't expected him to still be just a teenager.
"Blackie, does your stream have a replay feature?"
"Yes, it does."
"Is the recording clear?"
"Uh… it's okay, good enough to watch." Blackie scratched his head.
Ryan thought for a moment and made a decision. He walked up to Blackie, bent down, and looked into the camera.
The scrolling comments in the stream exploded instantly— "Holy shit, he's walking over!" "Who is this guy? Did he just cripple that big guy with one punch??" "You're awesome, bro!"
Ryan grinned at the camera. "Good evening, everyone."
"You can call me—Preservation Walker."
"Your friendly neighbor in Brooklyn."
Blackie's hand holding the phone was trembling slightly, but he tried his best to keep the image steady.
"Are… are you a Superhuman?" Blackie asked in a low voice.
"I'm a Janitor," Ryan said.
"A Janitor?"
"Yes, I mop floors by day and sweep up trash by night." Ryan pointed at the two people lying in the alley. "Trash like this."
Blackie was stunned for two seconds, then smiled. The smile carried that natural, childlike adoration for heroes.
"Preservation Walker… that name is so cool!"
"Of course it is." Ryan straightened up and patted Blackieon the shoulder. "In the future, if you hear any commotion in Brooklyn, just follow and film. But remember, keep your distance. Don't rush right up to the front, or I won't be responsible for wiping the brains off you if they splash."
"Okay! I'll remember!" Blackie nodded vigorously.
Ryan turned and walked toward the other end of the street. Behind him came the sound of Blackie excitedly commentating into his phone.
"Hey everyone! Did you see that! This guy calls himself 'Preservation Walker'! He just took down two criminals all by himself! I'll keep reporting on this! Follow me! Follow Black Noir!"
Ryan shook his head, the corners of his mouth curling up. Forty-seven people. Just forty-seven people. But that was fine. Every great fire starts with a single spark.
He quickened his pace and disappeared around the corner of the next intersection.
[Ding! Emotion Point calculation—this patrol offline harvest +85, live stream positive emotion harvest +12 (online viewers too low, severe attenuation).]
[Current total Emotion Points: 1097/10000.]
"Take it slow," Ryan muttered to himself. Another gunshot rang out in the distance. He pulled his hat down and walked toward the sound of the gunshot. Tonight was still long.