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After Henry and Gwen registered with the teachers at the entrance, they entered the prom together.
The scene was quite different from what the Kryptonian had imagined. Instead of merely having a dance floor, a DJ, and a buffet area, American high school proms offered such a dizzying variety of activities that it was almost overwhelming.
For example, photo booths had become extremely popular in recent years, and there were no fewer than five of them here. Long lines had formed in front of each booth, with students waiting to go inside with their dates.
There were also all kinds of bizarre props and decorative glasses that allowed people to get creative and take goofy photos. Of course, a few years later, those pictures would probably become embarrassing blackmail material, but right now, everyone was having a great time.
There were even street artists specially invited to draw quick portraits. Some worked in realistic styles, while others specialized in cartoons or humorous caricatures. Groups of friends could have themselves drawn together, or someone could commission a ridiculous sketch of themselves.
There were also arcade-style attractions such as basketball shooting machines, designed primarily for groups to have fun together.
In one corner of the prom was an especially distinctive area. It had been decorated in a fashionable and glamorous style, with professional photographers using SLR cameras to take beautiful salon portraits for the students.
And don't get the wrong idea—most of these services cost extra. They weren't free!
That said, since these services were being offered at a school event, there were probably subsidies or special discounts, so the prices were actually cheaper than those outside. It wasn't like certain tourist attractions or amusement parks, where a bottle of water that cost a few cents elsewhere suddenly cost several dollars inside.
The organizers of Standard High School's prom had also gone all out and invited a band to perform onstage. It probably wasn't time for their performance yet, because only the speakers and instruments could be seen, with a few people adjusting the equipment.
For Henry, who had seen Hollywood's extravagant parties, all this was naturally child's play compared with the extravagance of Los Angeles.
But every boy and girl here was brimming with youthful energy.
It was nothing like Hollywood parties, where white-haired old men frequently occupied the company of the youngest and most beautiful women, creating an incredibly incongruous sight. Every so often, someone would even lead another person upstairs or into some secluded corner to do things everyone knew perfectly well about.
Here, even when some students were a little more daring—kissing openly, for instance—they still couldn't hide their youthful awkwardness.
The seasoned LSPs of Hollywood, on the other hand, were masters at having their cake and eating it too. At certain particularly explicit parties, there was no need to say anything at all. A meaningful glance was enough for someone to drop to their knees and get to work.
A major reason Henry had left Los Angeles was that he felt staying in an environment where money and power were traded so openly would eventually corrupt his values. So he had simply chosen to get out of sight and out of mind.
Fortunately, American high school proms hadn't sunk to that level. This probably also had something to do with Standard High School's atmosphere. Along with Midtown High School, it was one of the two best high schools in New York City, with certain standards when it came to both academic performance and character.
If someone wanted an even better education, they could attend one of the more distant private boarding schools.
As for the worse schools, New York had plenty of those too—high schools where there were condom vending machines on campus, every class had several drug dealers, and school examinations were little more than a formality for students trying to get a diploma.
In any case, Standard High School's prom seemed considerably cleaner. There weren't even any brats sneaking off to smoke weed. If there had been, nobody would have escaped the Kryptonian's superhuman sense of smell.
Gwen pulled Henry over to the drinks area, intending to find something to quench their thirst first.
As soon as she approached, several classmates who knew her called out.
"Gwen, over here!"
A few mischievous-looking boys mysteriously stirred the drinks in front of them before holding them out.
"Try this. It's a special mix."
Henry slapped away the hand Gwen had reached out.
Gwen frowned in protest. "Henry!"
"Please spare me, Your Highness. I don't want you going home drunk and then having George hunt me down. I have absolutely no doubt that if I tried to hide from him, he'd issue a citywide manhunt for me. Be good. There's juice right next to you."
Henry also turned toward the boys, whose hands were still awkwardly suspended in midair.
"Special mix? You boys drink it yourselves. I'm here today as this little girl's guardian, and I'm sure you don't want to get on the wrong side of the head of the NYPD."
The two boys sheepishly withdrew their hands. Their eyes darted around as they defended themselves.
"Actually, there's no alcohol in it."
"I know. I'm not going to tell anyone. I'm just responsible for keeping an eye on—"
Henry pointed at the indignant Gwen and silently mouthed, Girl.
"Henry!"
The angry girl kicked him in the shin.
Naturally, it didn't hurt the Kryptonian in the slightest. Instead, Gwen ended up grimacing in pain herself. Fortunately, she hadn't kicked very hard, or it would have been difficult to say which one of them would have gone down.
Pretending nothing had happened, Henry put his hands on Gwen's shoulders and half-forcibly guided her toward the juice.
"Come on. Orange juice is good. Vitamin C. Keeps your skin healthy and youthful."
"Are you saying I look old?"
A deadly question from which there was no safe escape.
"No. I'm saying that if you start taking care of yourself while you're at your most beautiful, you can preserve that perfect appearance for longer. Remember, there are no ugly women, only lazy women.
"Whatever you want to accomplish, you should start doing it directly instead of waiting for some future date. It's just like studying. You don't wait until the exam to open the textbook and start memorizing. You understand that, right, Miss Top Student?"
As he spoke, Henry poured Gwen a glass of orange juice and handed it to her with both hands.
The murderous glare that had almost become tangible gradually faded as Gwen accepted the juice.
That meant he'd survived the crisis.
Henry silently breathed a sigh of relief.
What truly made the girl's expression change, however, was when her classmates came over to pat her on the back and say hello. The instant Gwen turned around, all her displeasure vanished without a trace. She immediately joined a group of girls in an animated conversation.
The girl's innate talent for changing expressions like a Sichuan opera performer left the Kryptonian nothing but admiration.
"Gwen, who's your date?"
"He's a friend of George's. A poor adult who has never experienced an American high school prom before, so I brought him here to broaden his horizons."
"Oh, really? He isn't some European aristocrat's son, is he?"
So now they were teasing the Kryptonian?
Fine. Henry would tell them the truth and scare them half to death.
Henry flashed a charming smile worthy of Tom Cruise.
"I grew up in Siberia. Hundreds of people served me from the time I was little. I never had to worry about food or clothing—"
Those people had been guards and researchers, not servants.
"—and no one ever had to worry about my studies—"
Because nobody taught him anything in the first place.
"—but unfortunately, the place was extremely remote, so I never got to experience what a ball was actually like."
He had experienced plenty of interrogations, though. Not going insane had been quite an accomplishment. Going insane without realizing it would have been an even greater one.
"Uh…"
The girls exchanged glances.
Their eyes seemed to ask the same question:
Are there aristocrats in Siberia?
Meanwhile, the Kryptonian smiled smugly.
If these girls could somehow piece together the truth from that, they wouldn't have Holmes possessing them—they'd have to be psychic mediums.
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