In truth, the very first step every registered superhuman had to undergo was a comprehensive physical examination—including blood extraction.
These samples were not discarded.
They were refined by Sebastian into superpower seeds.
Many superhumans displayed abilities that seemed weak on the surface. Some could even be injured or killed by conventional firearms. But Sebastian had never underestimated them.
The weakness was not in the power itself—
but in the individual carrying it.
A single ability might be trivial.
But when properly combined, qualitative change followed instantly.
Take a simple example.
A superpower capable of producing a flame no stronger than a lighter.
Another that could amplify fire but not create it—like Lamplighter's ability.
Add a third that generated concussive force.
Fused together, the result was no longer "fire."
It became an explosive flame shockwave, comparable to a dragon's breath—
high-temperature plasma coupled with violent impact, capable of melting metal, forging steel, and annihilating everything nearby in an instant.
That was the terror of power fusion.
The world was full of such "weak" abilities.
Given the right combinations, they could leap from mediocrity to godhood.
Because of this, Sebastian was already planning a far more radical project:
A superhuman genetic pairing program.
By deliberately matching individuals with complementary abilities, their offspring could inherit fused potential.
Even if the child wasn't born a superhuman, a single injection of Compound V would almost certainly awaken abilities far superior to either parent.
Evolution through design.
Optimization through time.
Although the plan would take decades—ten, twenty years, or more—Sebastian didn't care.
He could afford to wait.
With the cyber-immortality system, the cyber dimension, and a dimensional world harvesting resources across multiple universes, the dimension farm had already expanded to nearly half the size of Europe.
And that wasn't even counting the cyber dimension itself.
Sebastian hadn't yet tested the true upper limits of his power.
More importantly—
He had Homelander.
Next time the arena opened, Homelander would stand firmly at his side.
Across worlds, Homelander's name already carried weight.
And this version of him—
trained personally by Sebastian, possessing perfect power control and awakened Conqueror's Haki—
was stronger than ever.
For now, Sebastian was content to trade time for strength.
At the very least, he was confident he could win three or four Da Luo–level confrontations without issue.
As the Superhero Council accelerated its expansion, its appeal grew terrifyingly strong.
Generous welfare.
Clear promotion paths.
Endless opportunities to earn money.
Superhumans registered in droves.
Income rose steadily.
A complete, self-sustaining virtuous cycle formed.
What shocked even the council members themselves was this:
In less than two years, all initial investments had been fully recovered.
The Superhero Council had officially entered pure profit.
At the same time, Hero Prison expanded at a staggering pace.
It became the largest, most secure prison complex in the United States—
holding nearly 70% of the nation's incarcerated criminals.
Not a single successful escape.
For criminals, however, Hero Prison became a nightmare beyond imagination.
Inside, there was no mercy.
They were treated like livestock.
Fed low-quality food.
Worked relentlessly.
Forced into labor for at least fourteen hours a day.
Work less than that, and your time balance dropped below survival levels.
Once time reached zero—
Death followed.
In Hero Prison, time was everything.
Every second mattered.
Every minute was priceless.
Prisoners raced against the countdown, squeezing every ounce of strength from their bodies just to earn a few extra hours.
Because every hour saved meant one hour closer to freedom.
Under the pressure of time running out, countless criminals cracked.
They confessed secrets.
Revealed hidden assets.
Handed over stolen fortunes.
Just to keep living.
Many former inmates developed severe psychological trauma. The mere sight of a clock could trigger uncontrollable panic.
From that moment on, none of them ever dared cross the red line of the law again.
When the first batch of prisoners was released, the truth of Hero Prison finally surfaced.
Interviewed by reporters, hardened criminals broke down in tears when recalling their experiences—
filled with regret, terror, and shame.
Almost overnight, waves of so-called "humanitarians" emerged.
They denounced Hero Prison as barbaric.
Branded it "Time Hell."
Under the banner of human rights, they screamed through the streets and media:
"Criminals are human beings too!"
"They are not slaves of the Superhero Council!"
"The Council has no right to deprive them of life!"
Their voices were loud.
Their accusations relentless.
But inside the Superhero Council, every member felt only irritation.
Because everyone knew the truth.
These cries weren't about morality.
They were about money.
Hero Prison supported an enormous ecosystem:
Heroes enforcing justiceWorkers handling logisticsFamilies living comfortably off stable income
If humanitarian ideals were suddenly imposed—
Who would compensate the losses?
Who would pay for the vanished profits?
In this world, compassion without cost was nothing more than noise.
And Time Hell, once born,
was never going to be dismantled.
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