Chapter 58: Weber
In the torrential rain, Weber walked across the deck of the Brooklyn Bridge.
He walked slowly, every step steady. The heavy rain pelted his white lab coat, leaving dark water stains on the fabric. His hair was gray and wet, plastered against his scalp. His eyes were sunken, like two black holes—but there was light in those black holes. That light was faint, like a lamp about to go out in a storm—but it was still burning.
He walked up to Chen Mo and stopped.
The two stared at each other in the pouring rain.
Chen Mo held Stormfront in his arms, rain beating against the fragments of his Battle Armor. His gaze fell on Weber's face—the man he had seen in the memory scanner, but who didn't look like a mad scientist at this moment. He looked like someone who had walked too far and was too tired to go any further.
"You know me," Chen Mo said.
"I've seen you," Weber's voice was hoarse. "When you were six."
Just six short words. Chen Mo's heartbeat sounded like a muffled thunderclap amidst the rain.
"You... you are—"
"I am the former chief researcher of the Red River Institute. Marcus Weber. You spent a year in my laboratory." His voice was calm, as if he were reciting a file. "You have memory loss. It's normal. After you injected Compound V, you developed an extremely rare rejection reaction—your body was frantically absorbing energy, and your brain locked away those memories to protect itself."
Chen Mo's breath hitched. "Then that system of mine—the one that gives me abilities every week—"
"That is not a system. It is your own ability." Weber looked at him, the rain on his lenses like tear stains.
"Your rejection reaction wasn't destructive—it was creative. Your brain was frantically decoding the energy structure within Compound V and then reassembling those structures into ability forms you could use. Those 'gachas'—they weren't given to you from the outside. You 'read' them yourself from Compound V. You read the structure of Spider-Man, and you gained Spider-Man's abilities. You read the blueprint for the arc reactor—but without materials, you couldn't build it."
Chen Mo stood where he was, rain beating against his broken Battle Armor. He looked down at the reactor on his chest—a faint blue light—that was something he had 'read' himself.
"I didn't shove that knowledge into your brain," Weber said. "You did it yourself—in the laboratory, trembling, while creating it."
He paused. "I have seen many children break down at Red River. But you—you are the only one who continued to create new things while breaking down."
Chen Mo clenched his fists. "Then why was I an intern at Vought?"
"Because you escaped," Weber's voice softened. "In 2018, Red River caught fire. Someone set it. You ran out during the chaos. Vought claimed all experimental subjects had been transferred—but you weren't. You disappeared. Your memories broke off on the way out."
He raised his hand and pointed at the reactor on Chen Mo's chest. "You becoming an intern at Vought was no coincidence. It was your ability leading the way—taking you to places where you could 'read' data. Vought's technology archives, the Hero Relationship Department, the underground laboratories—your ability has always wanted to bring the truth to you."
Chen Mo didn't speak for a long time.
"What about the other thirty-six?" he asked.
Weber was silent for a long time. Rain slid off his lenses. "They all died. Their rejection reactions were destructive. Only you—you are the only one who turned rejection into creation. It wasn't because of my experiments. It was because you—you survived."
Chen Mo looked at Weber. In the curtain of rain, the old man's face no longer held the mad gleam from the memory scanner—only exhaustion and guilt.
"You need to find Zero, and the others who escaped from Red River"—Weber's voice was very soft—"not to continue the experiments. It's because I owe them."
He looked at Chen Mo. "All these years, I have been looking for you all. Finding you one by one. Not to drag you back. But to... apologize."
Chen Mo didn't answer. Rain washed over his face.
Weber turned and walked toward the other end of the bridge.
"Where are you going?"
"I don't know. But your path—you must walk it yourself."
His figure gradually blurred in the torrential rain. Chen Mostood where he was, holding Stormfront, watching Weber disappear into the curtain of rain.
The heavy rain continued to fall.
He looked down at Stormfront in his arms—her breathing was faint, but still there. Her eyelashes were trembling slightly—like someone dreaming. He reached out and gently wiped the water droplets from her face.
He looked again at Homelander lying on the bridge deck—his eyes half-closed, as if looking at the sky. Raindrops fell into his eyes, but he didn't blink.
Chen Mo looked up at the sky.
The torrential rain poured down. The curtain of rain washed over his face, but he didn't look down. He looked at the sky—the dark, cloud-covered sky—like someone searching for answers.
He didn't know what would happen next.
But he knew—he was still alive. Stormfront was still alive. Zero was still alive.
That was enough.
Chapter 59: Aftermath
The storm stopped at three in the morning.
The sky over New York began to clear as the dark clouds dispersed, revealing the moon behind them. Moonlight shone on the wet streets, like shattered mirrors. The streets were filled with water, reflecting the light of the streetlamps like golden rivers. The air was filled with the fresh scent peculiar to the aftermath of rain—damp soil, washed leaves, and a faint hint of ozone.
The Brooklyn Bridge had been cordoned off. The FBI, NYPD, and Vought's crisis management team—everyone was there. Yellow police tape was strung across the bridge deck, and searchlights illuminated the entire surface until it was as bright as day. Helicopters circled overhead, the sound of their propellers echoing in the night sky. Reporters were blocked outside the cordon, their cameras aimed at the bridge deck—but they couldn't film anything. Vought's people had already cleaned up the scene.
Chen Mo was not there.
He was in Stormfront's Underground Room.
Stormfront lay on the bed, covered by a blanket. Her complexion was very pale, but her breathing had stabilized. The blanket rose and fell slightly with her breathing—rising and falling like a peaceful wave. Chen Mo sat by the bed, watching her. He had taken off his broken Battle Armor and was wearing only a black T-shirt. The arc reactor had been removed from the Battle Armor and placed on the table, emitting a faint blue light. The blue light pulsed in the dim Underground Room, like a living creature breathing.
He could hear Stormfront's breathing—very light, very even. He reached out and gently checked her forehead—it was a bit warm, but she didn't have a fever. He let out a sigh of relief. He leaned back against the chair and closed his eyes. Exhaustion surged up like a tide—the kind of exhaustion that seeped out from the marrow of his bones. But he didn't dare to sleep. He was afraid that if he fell asleep, he would wake up to find that all of this was just a dream.
The door opened.
Butcher walked in. He glanced at Stormfront lying on the bed, then at Chen Mo. He walked to the table, picked up the arc reactor, looked at it, and then put it down. His fingers lingered on the reactor for a second—he could feel that warmth, that pulsing.
"You fucking—" Butcher said. "You really did it."
Chen Mo did not respond. His eyes were fixed on Stormfront's face—her eyelashes were fluttering slightly, like someone dreaming.
"Homelander was taken away by Vought's people. They have him locked up in the Underground Room of Vought Tower. Twenty-four-hour surveillance." Butcher exhaled a puff of smoke. The smoke swirled under the dim light like a grey ghost. "The inhibitor is still effective. It will take him at least three days to recover his powers."
Chen Mo said: "What about after three days?"
Butcher looked at him, hesitating for a few seconds. He took a drag of his cigarette, and smoke puffed out from his nostrils. "After three days—he will come for you."
Chen Mo didn't say anything. He looked at Stormfront. Her breathing was steady, like someone in a deep sleep. He reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. Her hair was very soft, like silk.
"I don't know."
Butcher took a drag of his cigarette, then said: "I know someone. In Canada. There's a safe place. You can go there and hide for a while."
Chen Mo shook his head. "I can't leave."
"Why?"
"Because—" Chen Mo looked at Stormfront. "If I leave, Homelander will find her. Find Zero. Find Iron Fist. Find everyone who has helped me."
Butcher didn't reply. He smoked, the smoke swirling in the dim light. The smoke rose slowly in the air like a grey snake. He leaned against the wall, watching Chen Mo. There was something in his eyes—not sympathy, but understanding.
"Then what do you plan to do?"
Chen Mo stood up and walked to the window. Moonlight shone in through the window, casting a patch of silver light on the floor. He stood in the moonlight, looking at the nightscape outside the window. The street was quiet—only the sound of the occasional passing car. In the distance, Manhattan was brightly lit, like a city that never sleeps.
"I will stay. And face him."
Butcher looked at him, silent for a moment. Then he stood up and walked to Chen Mo's side. He stood next to Chen Mo, also looking at the nightscape outside the window. The moonlight shone on them, casting two long shadows on the ground.
"You're a fucking lunatic."
"I know."
Butcher patted his shoulder. His hand was heavy—like the hand of a veteran. "But lunatics—often manage to accomplish great things."
He turned around and walked toward the door. His boots thudded on the floor, making a dull sound.
"Butcher." Chen Mo called after him.
Butcher stopped and looked back at him. Moonlight shone on his face, his expression appearing somewhat blurred in the moonlight.
"Thank you."
Butcher smiled—not a mocking smile, but a sincere one. That smile seemed somewhat strange on his face—like a person who rarely smiles suddenly doing so. "Don't thank me. I'm just an old man who wants revenge."
He pushed the door open and walked out. The door closed behind him with a dull sound.
Chen Mo stood by the window, watching the nightscape outside. Moonlight shone on the wet streets, like a silver river. He stood there for a long time. Until the moonlight moved, sliding from the floor onto the wall.
— —
The next morning, Chen Mo went to the rental apartment in Brooklyn.
Park Soon-ja was in the kitchen making breakfast. Porridge was cooking in the pot, bubbling away. The air was filled with the aroma of rice porridge—that simple, comforting scent. Seeing Chen Mo come in, she put down the spatula, walked up to him, and looked him up and down. There was concern in her eyes—the kind of concern a mother has for her son.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
Park Soon-ja let out a sigh of relief. "That's good. Zero is in her room."
Chen Mo walked to the door of Zero's room and knocked.
"Come in."
He pushed the door open. Zero was sitting on the bed, holding that copy of Fundamentals of Quantum Mechanics. Seeing Chen Mo, she closed the book. The pages made a slight rustling sound. Her eyes were bright in the morning light—like two dewdrops glistening in the sun.
"I heard about what happened last night," Zero said.
Chen Mo sat down across from her. "Who told you?"
"Butcher."
Chen Mo paused. "Do you know that Dr. appeared?"
Zero's eyes changed slightly. "The Creator?"
"Yes."
Zero looked at him, waiting for him to continue. Her fingers gently rubbed the spine of the book—it was a habitual action of hers when she was nervous.
"He told me—he went to another World. He brought my knowledge back to this World. And then he created me."
Zero was silent. Her eyes twinkled in the morning light—like a star lost in thought.
"He also said—he created thirty-seven test subjects. Thirty-six failed. I was the only success."
Zero lowered her head, looking at the book in her hands. Her fingers gently rubbed the spine of the book. Morning light shone in through the window, casting a golden glow on her hair.
"Chen Mo," she said.
"Yeah."
"Do you think—we are human?"
Chen Mo looked at her, silent for a moment. Morning light flowed between them, like a quiet river. Then he said: "What do you think?"
Zero looked up at him. There was light in her eyes—not tears, but a kind of firm light. That light was very pure, like a diamond that had been polished for a long time.
"I think we are."
Chen Mo smiled. "That's enough."
Zero looked at him and smiled too. The smile was very light, very short—but very real. Like someone who has walked in the dark for a long time, finally seeing a lamp.
"Chen Mo."
"Yeah."
"No matter what happens—I will stand on your side."
Chen Mo looked at her and nodded. Morning light shone in through the window, casting a golden glow between them.
— —
Coming out of Zero's room, Chen Mo saw Park Soon-jastanding in the living room. She was holding a bowl of hot porridge in her hands, handing it to him. The bowl was very hot, and steam rose into the air.
"Eat something."
Chen Mo took the porridge and took a sip. The porridge was very hot, but very warm. The rice porridge slid down his throat and melted in his stomach, bringing a long-lost warmth. He hadn't eaten a proper meal in a long time.
"Auntie."
"Yes."
"If I have to leave for a while—can you take care of Zero?"
Park Soon-ja looked at him, not answering immediately. Her eyes twinkled in the morning light—like a mother in thought. Then she smiled—the smile was very warm, like a mother's smile.
"Of course. She is my daughter."
Chen Mo nodded.
He finished the porridge and put the bowl on the table. There were still a few grains of rice at the bottom of the bowl, shimmering white in the morning light. Then he stood up and walked to the door.
"Chen Mo," Park Soon-ja called after him.
He turned back to look at her.
Park Soon-ja's expression was very serious—not the kind of serious that meant "I'm joking," but the kind of serious that meant "I am serious." "No matter what you are going to do—come back alive."
Chen Mo looked at her and nodded.
He pushed the door open and walked into the morning sunlight. The sunlight shone on his face, feeling warm. He stood at the doorway and took a deep breath. The air was filled with the scent of soil, the smell of grass, and a faint hint of coffee. He looked up at the sky. The sky was very blue, as blue as a washed gemstone.
He took a step and walked into the new day.
Chapter 60: A New Beginning
(The main theme is listening to advice; after one hundred chapters, the system will upgrade, and the protagonist can choose to stack abilities.)
Three days later.
Stormfront woke up.
She opened her eyes and saw the grey ceiling of the Underground Room.
There were cracks on the ceiling—much like the cracks she had seen in many places.
She blinked, and her vision gradually cleared.
She sat up, and the blanket covering her slid off.
She looked down at herself—she was wearing a clean T-shirt, and her wounds had been bandaged.
The white gauze looked somewhat glaring in the dim light.
Chen Mo sat on the chair by the bed, watching her.
In his hand, he held the arc reactor—its blue light pulsing in the dim Underground Room.
There were faint shadows under his eyes—he likely hadn't slept much these past few days.
"You're awake."
Stormfront looked at him, remaining quiet for a moment.
Her voice was a bit hoarse—like someone who hadn't had water in a long time.
"Where is Homelander?"
"He's locked in the Underground Room of Vought Tower.
The inhibitor's effects will last for a few more hours."
Stormfront nodded.
She stood up, walked to the table, picked up a mirror, and looked at herself.
In the mirror, she looked pale, but there was a light in her eyes.
Her hair was a bit messy, but her gaze was firm.
She put down the mirror and turned to look at Chen Mo.
"What do you plan to do?" she asked.
Chen Mo stood up and walked over to her.
"Wait for him to come out."
Stormfront put down the mirror and looked at him.
"And then?"
Chen Mo paused.
Then he said: "Then—put an end to things with him."
Stormfront looked at him for a long time.
The Underground Room was very quiet, save for the humming of the arc reactor.
She reached out and took his hand.
Her hand was warm—warmer than he had imagined.
"I'll be with you."
Chen Mo looked at her and nodded.
—
At 3:00 PM, Chen Mo stood on the roof of Vought Tower.
He was wearing his repaired Battle Armor—Old Ma had spent three days fixing it.
The silver-grey titanium alloy shell gleamed with a cold light, and the arc reactor emitted a steady blue glow from his chest.
Every scratch on the Battle Armor had been polished away, and every dent had been repaired.
Old Ma's craftsmanship was excellent—the Battle Armorlooked brand new.
Stormfront stood beside him.
She was wearing her own uniform—not the one Vought had given her, but one she had designed herself.
A black bodysuit with silver lightning patterns extending from her shoulders to her wrists.
Her hair was tied into a ponytail, fluttering in the wind.
Her eyes were resolute—like someone who was ready.
Butcher stood behind them, a cigarette dangling from his mouth.
He wore a leather jacket with his hands in his pockets, looking like a bystander watching the spectacle.
But his hands were clenched into fists inside his pockets.
Zero stood next to Butcher.
She was wearing a black hoodie with the hood pulled low.
She was holding something in her hand—a blue, glowing object.
It was the spare arc reactor Chen Mo had given her.
The blue light shone through her fingers, like a beating heart.
Iron Fist and Echo had also come.
Iron Fist stood at the edge of the roof, arms crossed, looking at the distant skyline.
His muscles glistened in the sunlight like a silent statue.
Echo leaned against the rooftop water tower, holding a bottle of Water, looking very relaxed—but his eyes were constantly scanning the surroundings.
Everyone was there.
The rooftop door opened.
Homelander walked out.
He wore his white uniform—brand new, without a single wrinkle.
His blonde hair shone in the sunlight, and his blue eyes were bright.
He looked exactly the same as he had three days ago—like a perfect, invincible superhero.
But Chen Mo noticed—something was missing from his eyes.
That arrogant, condescending light had dimmed a little.
He walked to the center of the roof and stopped.
His gaze swept across everyone—Stormfront, Butcher, Zero, Iron Fist, Echo—and finally rested on Chen Mo.
The wind blew across the roof, ruffling Homelander's blonde hair.
"You brought an army." Homelander's voice was light, as if he were joking.
Chen Mo said: "I didn't come to fight."
"Oh? Then what did you come for?"
Chen Mo looked at him, silent for a moment.
Sunlight reflected on his face, his expression appearing very calm.
Then he said: "I came to negotiate terms with you."
Homelander raised an eyebrow. "Terms?"
"Yes." Chen Mo's voice was calm. "You let Stormfront go. Let Zero go. Let Iron Fist and Echo go. Let everyone who has helped me go."
"And then?"
"Then—I leave New York. I leave this country. I go find more Red River survivors. There are people on the list still waiting."
Homelander looked at him for a long time without speaking.
Sunlight shone on his face, his expression unchanging.
The wind blew across the roof, fluttering the hem of his uniform.
"Why should I agree to that?"
Chen Mo said: "Because—if you don't agree, I will fight you to the end."
Homelander laughed. "Do you think you can beat me?"
"No." Chen Mo's voice was calm. "But I will make you pay a price. A heavy enough price—that your enemies will find an opportunity."
Homelander's smile faded a little.
He looked at Stormfront—blue electric arcs danced in her hands, like snakes slithering between her fingertips.
He looked at Zero—she held a blue, glowing object in her hand, energy gathering like a star about to explode.
He looked at Iron Fist—his fists were clenched, muscles bulging, veins protruding beneath his skin.
He looked at Echo—his mouth was slightly open, sound waves brewing in his throat like a lion about to roar.
He looked at Chen Mo again.
Chen Mo stood in the sunlight, the arc reactor emitting a blue light from his chest.
His gaze was firm—not the kind of firmness that says "I'm not afraid to die," but the kind that says "I am ready."
That firmness was like a rock—no matter how great the storm, it could not be shaken.
Homelander was silent for a long time.
Sunlight spilled onto his face, his expression appearing somewhat blurred.
Then he said: "Fine."
Chen Mo looked at him, waiting for him to continue.
"I will let them go." Homelander's voice was very soft. "But you—must leave. Never come back."
Chen Mo said: "Fine."
He turned and walked toward the edge of the roof.
"Chen Mo." Stormfront called out to him from behind.
He stopped and looked back at her.
Stormfront walked up to him and looked at him.
Sunlight reflected on her face, and there was a light in her eyes—not the light of electric arcs, but tears.
That light shimmered in the sunlight, like a dewdrop about to fall.
"Will you come back?"
Chen Mo looked at her, silent for a moment.
Sunlight flowed between them like a golden river.
Then he said: "I will."
Stormfront smiled.
That smile looked beautiful in the sunlight—not the kind of smile taught by Vought PR, but her own smile.
A genuine, heartfelt smile, filled with tears.
"I'll be waiting for you."
Chen Mo nodded.
He turned and walked to the edge of the roof.
He looked down at the arc reactor on his chest—its blue light pulsing slightly in the sunlight.
He could feel the warmth of the reactor—warm, like a beating heart.
He activated the thrusters.
Blue flames erupted from his feet, and he slowly rose into the air.
He hovered in mid-air and looked back at the people on the roof—Stormfront, Zero, Butcher, Iron Fist, Echo.
Their figures looked small in the sunlight, but each one was so clear.
Then he turned and flew toward the sky.
He flew past the skyscrapers of Manhattan, past the neon lights of Times Square, and over the Brooklyn Bridge.
New York grew smaller and smaller beneath his feet, like a shrinking model.
The wind whistled in his ears, and the sunlight spilled out before him.
He flew above the clouds.
Sunlight cast a golden radiance across the sea of clouds.
He hovered in the air, looking at the sea of clouds beneath his feet.
The sea of clouds surged beneath him, like an endless white ocean.
Golden light spread across the sea of clouds, like a golden path.
He remembered what Zero said—"You were created."
He remembered what Dr. said—"You are the only successful one."
He remembered what Stormfront said—"I'll be waiting for you."
Chen Mo smiled.
He didn't know if he would come back.
But he knew—no matter where he went, this World would remember him.
Iron Man.
He activated the thrusters and flew into the distance.
The sea of clouds surged beneath his feet, like an endless white ocean.
Sunlight spilled out before him, like a golden path.
He flew toward that path.
Flying toward an unknown future.
Chapter 61: Doctor Strange's Abilities
"Fuck."
The feeling of Thor's power draining from his body was like having a layer of his shell forcefully ripped away. Chen Mostood by the apartment window, looking out at the New York nightscape, his fingers trembling slightly against the glass. Thor's strength was fading, and that sensation of lightning coursing through his entire body was turning into a memory.
11:59 PM. Sunday. Time for the Lucky Shake to refresh.
He looked down at his wrist—there was nothing there, but he knew it existed. That invisible system refreshed every Monday.
Three. Two. One.
His brain felt as if it had been split right down the middle.
It wasn't pain, nor was it dizziness—he was'seeing' too many things. Timelines unfurled before his eyes like a spiderweb. Looking to the left, he saw the Water he had poured in the kitchen three minutes ago; looking to the right, he saw the Sun rising from the east nine hours in the future. He could see space folding—his apartment was on the seventy-third floor, yet he could see the internal structure of the entire building, what was happening on every floor, and the location of every person. He could see parallel Universes.
It was Doctor Strange's ability.
Chen Mo leaned against the windowsill, his knees weak as he gasped for air. The sheer volume of information was too massive; a normal human brain simply couldn't withstand this density of perception. He could see countless timelines spreading out before him—good ones, bad ones, gray ones, and those he wished he didn't have to see. It was as if he were standing in an infinite library, where every book was a timeline and every page was a single moment.
Then, he saw an image.
Park Soon-ja was standing at the convenience store entrance, smiling and waving at him. The sunlight was beautiful, she was wearing her floral apron, and she was holding a plastic bag in her hand.
The next second, the image tore apart. It was as if someone had violently ripped a photograph; the edges of the image were jagged, and a crack spread from the top-left corner to the bottom-right. The fragments fell away, dropping into a black void.
"Fuck!"
He opened his eyes, drenched in cold sweat. His heart was beating so fast he could hear his blood roaring in his ears. What did that image mean? Was it the future? Or was the Time Stone warning him? He had no way of telling—because Doctor Strange's ability was unlike any of his previous powers. He wasn't 'manipulating' anything; he was 'perceiving' the superposition of the past, present, and future.
1:00 AM. He sat in ruins—yes, ruins. The first time he tried to open a Portal, a ring of golden sparks appeared in the center of his living room. He hadn't controlled the output well, and the edge of the spark ring acted like an invisible blade, expanding outward instantly. The fabric sofa split in half right down the middle, sending foam and fabric exploding everywhere. The television screen on the opposite wall shattered into static, with shards scattering three meters away. A crack on the wall extended from the floor to the ceiling, the entire wall looking as if it had been clawed by some giant beast.
Looking at his living room—a place he had lived in for half a year and decorated with quite some care—he stood amidst the pile of wreckage and muttered, 'Dammit.'
The second attempt was much better. He focused his mind, imagined a point, and drew a circle in the air with his hand. The ring of sparks stabilized, its diameter controlled at around one meter. He poked his head through to take a look; on the other side of the gateway was the street below his apartment building, completely deserted at 2:00 AM. He could feel those spatial coordinates. It wasn't something he 'memorized' with his brain, but rather something his body 'knew'—like muscle memory in yoga.
He closed the Portal.
The third time. The fourth time.
By 4:00 AM, he could precisely locate any coordinate in New York within ten seconds. He didn't rely on memory; he'saw' it directly—the superposition of each coordinate in space. The entire city was like a massive folding map in his mind; he didn't need to turn pages, as he could see all of them at once.
Then, he tried the Time Stone.
Not to travel through time—he didn't have the guts for that yet. He just wanted to rewind the surveillance footage outside the convenience store. He needed to confirm something.
The feeling of the ability was wonderful. He wasn't 'playing' a recording; he had truly 'returned' to that point in time, standing on the street from three days ago like a transparent ghost, watching everything unfold.
He saw Homelander.
8:23 PM. In New York's East Village, the streetlights had just turned on, and there were few pedestrians. Homelander, wearing his iconic blue-and-red uniform, floated outside the convenience store, about thirty centimeters off the ground. He didn't go inside; he just hovered in mid-air, looking through the glass door at the interior.
Park Soon-ja was organizing the shelves behind the checkout counter. She was completely oblivious. She didn't even look up—she was bent over, taking drinks out of a cardboard box. Her movements were slow and practiced, just like any middle-aged worker in a late-night convenience store, her face carrying the exhaustion of a full day's labor.
Homelander watched for about ten seconds.
And then, he smiled.
That smile—which Chen Mo could see crystal clear in the temporal playback—was not one of threat or malice. It was a smile that said, 'I know who you are, and I know what you care about.' It was like someone spotting something amusing, the corners of his mouth twitching upward slightly before pulling back, nodding in satisfaction.
Then Homelander flew away. He paused in mid-air for a second, glancing back in the direction of the apartment building—Chen Mo's direction—just a single glance.
In that single glance, Chen Mo saw himself.
He exited the temporal playback and stood in his apartment's living room. His back was drenched in cold sweat, and the air blowing from the air conditioner felt somewhat chilly. A half-filled glass of Water sat on the coffee table, poured three hours ago. Now, a thin layer of dust floated on its surface.
His blood ran cold. Not out of fear.
It was the kind of chill you get when you've been preparing in the shadows, carefully setting up your pieces, only to realize the other party has been standing behind you all along, having already seen all your cards. Homelanderhadn't touched Park Soon-ja. It wasn't because he was unaware of her relationship with Chen Mo. It was because he wanted Chen Mo to know: I know. And the reason I haven't acted is because I choose not to.
I can change my mind at any time.
Chen Mo picked up his phone and dialed Butcher's number.
It rang once. Twice.
"Who the fuck calls me in the middle of the night—"
"I need a safehouse. Move Park Soon-ja and Zero right now."
Silence fell on the other end of the line for two seconds. Chen Mo could hear Butcher swallowing something, likely drinking.
"Did you fucking stir up trouble again?"
"Homelander knows."
This time, the silence lasted even longer. About five seconds. Six seconds.
"...Fuck."
"I'll have them get ready. How soon can you get here?"
"Twenty minutes." Butcher's voice grew heavy, stripped of his previous irritability and replaced by the serious tone Chen Mo had heard a few times before. "Are you sure he knows?"
"I'm sure."
"How do you know?"
"I saw it with my own eyes. He stood outside her store, watched her for ten seconds, and then he smiled."
"Smiled? What the fuck does that mean?"
"It means he knows. And he was letting me know—that he knows."
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Are you fucking exposed too?"
Chen Mo didn't answer.
Because he didn't know. Homelander knew about his relationship with Park Soon-ja, but didn't necessarily know about his abilities. 'Not necessarily'—the phrase itself was the greatest uncertainty. He could use Doctor Strange's ability to see countless timelines in parallel Universes, but he couldn't see what was going through Homelander's head. Behind that strongest shield was a person he could never read.
"See you in twenty minutes."
He hung up the phone. Standing in the living room, he looked at the furniture destroyed by the Portal and took a deep breath. Then, he drew a circle. Golden sparks lit up the night, the ring of sparks expanding steadily with edges resembling molten gold.
He stepped through the gateway and stood outside the convenience store.
Park Soon-ja was pulling down the rolling shutter. Hearing the noise behind her, she turned around—and saw Chen Mo stepping out from a swirling ring of golden sparks.
The key in her hand paused. Only for a brief moment.
Then she slipped the key into her pocket and asked expressionlessly, "Did something happen?"
"Yeah."
"How bad is it?"
Chen Mo looked into her eyes and said, "The most powerful Superhuman knows that I know you."
Park Soon-ja didn't panic. She stood there, silent for a few seconds, as the wind ruffled a few strands of gray hair at her temples. Then she nodded and turned back into the store.
"Give me five minutes."
Chen Mo stood outside the convenience store. The early morning wind blew past, carrying the chill of early autumn. Across the street, a stray cat crouched next to a trash can, glanced at him, then lowered its head to continue licking its paws. The World was still the same World, and the city was still the same city, but he knew that starting tonight, everything was different.
That image surfaced in his mind once more. Park Soon-jastanding outside the convenience store, smiling and waving at him. The image tearing apart, its fragments falling into the void.
He didn't know if that was the future. What the Time Stone gave him wasn't necessarily a prophecy, but merely one of the possibilities. However, one possibility was certain—if he did nothing today, that image would become reality.
Park Soon-ja walked out, carrying a black duffel bag and an iron box. Chen Mo had seen that iron box before; she had kept it under her bed last week, and it likely contained the letters and photos left behind by Nighthawk.
She wore a very old canvas backpack with straps worn down to white.
"Let's go."
Chen Mo looked at her and said, "There's one more person coming with us."
Park Soon-ja didn't ask who. She simply stood there, clutching her duffel bag and iron box, like a mother prepared for any possibility.
"Let's go. Take me to see her."
Chapter 62: Transfer
Zero was already standing at the door.
When Chen Mo led Park Soon-ja into the alley behind the convenience store, Zero was leaning there. Her back was against the wall, hands stuffed in her hoodie pockets, and the brim of her hat pulled low. The early morning wind funneled into the alley, causing old newspapers on the ground to swirl up and settle back down. She looked like an ordinary teenager staying up late—but Chen Mo knew better.
She didn't ask where they were going. She glanced at Chen Mo and said, "He was here."
"Who?"
"That man. The strongest one."
Chen Mo's hand stiffened for a moment. He hadn't yet recovered from the recent Time Playback, and Zero's words felt like another stab to his heart.
"Three days ago."
"How do you know?"
"I can sense his presence," Zero's voice was flat, as if she were commenting on the weather. "Like ozone. Like the smell above high-voltage power lines. It's faint—but I learned to memorize various scents when I was at Red River. Every Superhuman has a different scent. His is the most special; the energy density is too great."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Zero raised her eyes to look at him. Those eyes were too quiet—so quiet they didn't seem like the eyes a sixteen-year-old girl should have. That quietness wasn't an act; it was naturally honed from having experienced too much.
"Because telling you wouldn't have helped."
Chen Mo clenched his fists.
"You can't beat him."
These words were like a knife, precisely stabbing the place Chen Mo least wanted to admit. He knew Zero was stating a fact—no one in the World could beat Homelander. But knowing a fact and hearing someone else say it were two different things. One is something you hide yourself; the other is something dug out of you alive. He gritted his teeth, nails digging into his palms, and took a sharp breath of the cold early morning air.
Park Soon-ja stood to the side, saying nothing. She simply shifted her duffel bag to her other hand and stood between Chen Mo and Zero like an unmoving partition. She didn't ask who Zero was, nor did she ask what "the strongest one" meant. Having lived for fifty years, she knew when to ask questions and when not to.
"You're right," Chen Mo loosened his fists and exhaled. "I can't beat him. But there will be a way. Let's go."
Butcher arrived in exactly ten minutes. Not a minute more, not a minute less.
A gray van slid silently into the alley entrance, its headlights flashing once before turning off. Butcherhopped down from the driver's seat, wearing that same dirty leather jacket, with dark circles hanging under his eyes. He glanced at Chen Mo, then scanned the two people beside him, one tall and one short.
"Just these two?" His voice was raspy.
"Just these two."
Butcher stared at Park Soon-ja for a few seconds. He was a good judge of character—as the Captain of The Boys, he had seen too many people who had been screwed over. But Park Soon-ja gave him a different feeling. The woman stood there, holding a duffel bag and a metal box, neither afraid nor nervous, as if she were waiting for a bus.
He glanced at Zero again. His gaze lingered on the young girl for a moment—he had seen many freaks, but Zero was different. Her hat brim was pulled low, making her look like a silent tree. She was looking at him, yet it didn't seem like she was looking at him.
"Get in."
"No need for a car," Chen Mo said.
He raised his hand and drew a circle in the air. Golden sparks burst from his fingertips like an invisible pen tracing a circle. The edge of the spark circle was a burning golden line, and the middle was empty—on the other side of the door was a completely different room. Beige walls, dark wood floors, and the faint light of 4:30 AM filtering through the window. The air smelled of an old house—wood, dust, and the stuffiness of long-term lack of ventilation.
Butcher cursed, "Fuck. When the hell did you learn this?"
"Today."
"Today?"
"Early this morning. I got it last night."
Butcher stared at him for three seconds and shook his head. He no longer wanted to ask why—or rather, he had accepted that everything happening with Chen Mo defied common sense. When you know someone who changes superpowers every week, you stop asking. You adapt.
Park Soon-ja looked at the golden Portal. Her expression shifted from her previous calmness to a complexity that Chen Mo couldn't decipher. It was as if she had seen something similar somewhere before—but looking closely, it wasn't quite the same. She didn't hesitate for long.
"Is it safe?" she asked.
"Safe."
Park Soon-ja took a deep breath. Picking up her duffel bag, tucking the metal box under her arm, and holding the pot of Golden Pothos in her other hand, she stepped into the Portal.
Her foot stepped onto the wooden floor on the other side, and the boards creaked. She stood in the center of the new home's living room and looked around—the living room wasn't large, about twenty square meters, with an old sofa that had several holes in the fabric, a TV stand with yellowing white paint, and nothing on the windowsill. The sunlight hadn't reached in yet, but it was clear the room hadn't been lived in for a long time. There was a thin layer of dust in the corners.
Zero followed behind. She paused as she crossed the Portal—standing at the edge, half in a New York alley and half in a New Jersey living room. She closed her eyes and sensed for a moment before stepping inside.
The Portal closed. Golden sparks dispersed into the air like fireworks.
Park Soon-ja stood in the living room. She didn't move, sit down, or put her things down. After standing for about ten seconds, she walked to the windowsill and placed the pot of Golden Pothos on it. She adjusted its position—first to the left, then to the middle, then slightly to the right. She used her finger to straighten a wilting leaf.
"It's nice," she said. Her voice was soft, as if she were talking to herself. "It's bigger than the old one."
Zero stood in the corner of the living room with her eyes closed. Her breathing was light, and her nostrils flared slightly—Chen Mo noticed her ears moving. Not literally moving, but the capillaries beneath the skin were expanding; her sensory abilities were at work. Like radar, she scanned the surrounding environment layer by layer.
After about two minutes, Zero opened her eyes.
"Safe. No Superhuman presence within a five-hundred-meter radius. No Test Subjects. No surveillance. No abnormal energy fluctuations."
Chen Mo leaned against the wall and let out a long breath. He had been holding this breath since early morning, from the moment he saw that surveillance footage. Now, he could finally relax a little.
Park Soon-ja walked over and took his hand. Her hands were rough—her knuckles were deformed from years of housework, and her skin had cracks from dish soap. But her grip was strong, and she held on tightly.
"You must be careful too."
"I will."
"That—" She paused, looking down at the back of her hand. "That very strong Superhuman, does he know where you live?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
Chen Mo didn't answer because he wasn't sure. Homelander knew the convenience store and Park Soon-ja. What would he investigate next? Investigate Chen Mo? His background? Where he came from?
Park Soon-ja didn't press further. She took a step back and let go of his hand.
"Go on. Don't worry about me. It's been ten years; I've managed on my own."
Chen Mo glanced at her, then at Zero. Zero was leaning against the wall, her hat brim still pulled low. She gave him a slight nod—meaning: I'll watch over things here, you can leave with peace of mind.
Chen Mo took another look at the pot of Golden Pothos on the windowsill. The leaves shimmered slightly in the morning light. Park Soon-ja had cared for it well; it had been ten years since she brought it from Korea, and it was still alive. He nodded and opened a Portal back to his apartment.
Golden sparks flashed in the living room, and he stepped onto the wooden floor of his apartment—no, he stepped onto the shattered TV screen. The living room was still a mess, the sofa split in two, and cracks on the wall like spiderwebs. The sky was beginning to brighten; looking out from the broken window, the eastern clouds were turning red.
His phone vibrated.
He picked it up—Starlight.
"Are you free tonight? I have something I want to tell you."
Chapter 63: Starlight's Heart
"Edgar talked to me today."
It was ten o'clock at night. Starlight was standing downstairs of the apartment building. She was wearing a gray hoodie with the hood down, her hair casually tied in a ponytail, without a trace of makeup on her face. She didn't look like a superhero; she looked like an office worker who had just finished a night shift and hadn't had time to change.
Chen Mo walked out of the building. The moment he saw her, he knew—she hadn't come just to ask him out for dinner. Her expression was off. That hesitant, probing look in her eyes seemed like she had rehearsed her lines in her head all day and had finally made up her mind to speak.
"What's wrong?"
"He called me into his office this afternoon. Closed the door. Just the two of us."
"What did he ask you?"
"He asked if you and I were getting close."
"What did you say?"
"I said we're just colleagues. The kind who just say hi when we run into each other in the building."
Chen Mo leaned against the wall downstairs and looked at her. The streetlights by the road cast a long shadow of her, overlapping with the shadows of the row of trash cans behind her.
"He didn't believe it."
Starlight's tone was very flat when she said this. But Chen Mo could tell—she was deliberately suppressing some kind of emotion as she retold it. It wasn't anger, but something hard to describe, like something was stuck in her throat.
"He said, 'Chen Mo is not a simple man. You'd better stay away from him.' He was even smiling when he said it. You know that kind of smile, right? The kind that says, 'I already know, I'm just letting you know that I know.'"
Chen Mo certainly knew that kind of smile. Edgar's smile was exactly like that—his mouth saying one thing, but his eyes saying another.
"So you think he knows?"
"I don't know how much he knows. But when he said that, I knew he wasn't just warning me."
"And then?"
"Then I left."
"Nothing else?"
"No. He just smiled like that and let me go. But when I walked out, his secretary glanced at me. It was the look you give to someone who has been 'marked'—you know that look, right?"
Chen Mo knew. At Vought, being called into Edgar's office for a private talk was a mark in itself. It wasn't about the content of the conversation, but the act itself. Everyone would gossip—"Edgar called her in."
Starlight pulled up her hoodie. The brim covered half of her face.
"I sat at my desk all afternoon. I didn't do anything. I just kept thinking—in my two years at Vought, no one has ever made Edgar go out of his way to warn me about anything. You're the first. You know how much weight that carries."
She took a step forward and stood in front of Chen Mo. She was half a head shorter than him, but standing in front of him, she didn't look up—she stared straight at his chest. The air went still for a few seconds. A car passed by across the street, its headlights sweeping over them before disappearing around the corner.
"What on earth are you doing?"
This question didn't come as a surprise. Chen Mo knew she would ask sooner or later. From the day they first officially met in the Vought building, he knew this question would come. He just hadn't expected her to ask so directly.
He fell silent for a few seconds. Not because he was thinking of how to answer, but because he was deciding whether to tell the truth.
He looked into her eyes. They were blue, but looked light gray under the streetlights. Her eyelids were slightly red, as if she had rubbed them.
"I'm investigating something."
"What is it?"
"About Nighthawk. The Nighthawk from The Boys."
Starlight's expression changed. Of course she knew who Nighthawk was. Vought's official story was that Nighthawk had met with a "workplace accident" during a mission and was missing. But no one believed that. Everyone in the company privately rumored that Nighthawk hadn't had an accident, but had been disposed of.
"What else?"
"And the truth about Vought."
"What truth?"
Chen Mo didn't answer directly. He put his hands in his pockets and looked down at the tips of his shoes. A withered leaf was stuck to his sole, stepped on in the early morning.
"You know how Vought creates Superhumans, right?"
"Compound V."
"Then do you know where Compound V comes from? Who invented it?"
Starlight opened her mouth, then closed it again. It wasn't that she didn't know—she had simply never thought about this question. At Vought, Compound V was like air; it was just there, used every single day, but no one ever asked where it came from. Just like no one asked which river tap water came from.
"No one has ever asked that question."
"Because those who did are all gone."
Starlight's fingers tightened slightly. A bulge formed in her hoodie pocket—she was clenching her fist inside.
"Is it dangerous?"
"Very dangerous."
She looked at Chen Mo. There was a silence of about five seconds.
This silence was different from before. The previous uncertainty was still there, but there was something more in it. Like someone standing on a high dive, making a final decision.
Then she reached out and took Chen Mo's hand.
Her fingers were cold, but her grip was tight.
"Then don't carry it all on your own."
Chen Mo looked at her.
"I can help you look after Park Soon-ja. I can help you keep an eye on Edgar."
"Do you know what helping me means?"
"I do."
"If Homelander finds out—"
"I said, I know."
Starlight held his hand, not letting go. Her fingers tightened for a moment, then relaxed.
"I thought about it all day today. Ever since I walked out of Edgar's office, I just sat in my seat and did nothing. I wondered who you really are, what you're doing, and if you're really worth me taking this risk. The more I thought, the more scared I got. But after the fear passed—"
She paused. Taking a deep breath.
"I realized I had no other choice."
"Why?"
"Because you're the first person who made me feel like... there's still hope for this World."
She spoke very softly. Her voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear. It was as if she had repeated this sentence to herself many times, and had finally found someone she could say it to.
"I've worked at Vought for two years. You know how deep the water is here. Every event, every interview, every crisis management is just covering up something else. I smile every day, saying 'Vought makes the World a better place' every day. After saying it, I go back to the dressing room, wanting to throw those words up from my stomach. But I can't. Because that's my job—to smile, to endorse, to say nice things, to make everyone feel like everything is wonderful."
Chen Mo didn't speak. He just listened.
"But you're different. You're the first one who—while everyone else treats this as a job—treats it as a mission. You're investigating. Digging. Not for fame, not to climb the ladder. But because you believe it's something that should be done, that someone needs to do."
She looked up. Her gaze met his directly.
"So I don't care. If Homelander finds out, then let him. If he comes after me because of this—"
"Stop," Chen Mo interrupted her, "don't say that."
He squeezed her hand—not just holding it, but squeezing it tightly, then letting go.
Then he pulled her into his arms.
Starlight was stunned for a moment. But only for a moment. Then she buried her face in his shoulder, saying nothing.
Chen Mo could feel her breathing. It was soft and steady. Her shoulders trembled slightly in his embrace, then stilled.
He looked down, resting his chin on her hair. The scent of shampoo. It wasn't an expensive brand, just the kind you could buy anywhere at a supermarket.
He said: "Do you know how I feel right now?"
"How?"
"Like that sentence you just said—I never expected anyone to say it to me. But I heard it."
Starlight chuckled against his shoulder. Not out loud—just her shoulders shaking, her breath turning warm against him.
"You know what?" Her voice was muffled against his shoulder, slightly slurred, "When I came here today, I kept thinking—what if you're lying to me? What if you're just using me?"
"And yet you still came?"
"Because even if you are using me—" She looked up at him. Her eyes were slightly red, but there were no tears. "Being used is still better than being treated like air."
Chen Mo looked at her. The words were quiet, but they carried immense weight.
"I'm not using you."
"I know."
"You know?"
"I don't. But I choose to believe you."
She finished speaking and took a step back from his embrace. The streetlight illuminated half of her face. She rubbed her nose.
"Alright. You should go up. I should head back too."
"How are you getting back?"
"I'll hail... a cab. I can't just fly away in front of you, that'd be too chuunibyou."
Chen Mo smiled.
Starlight turned and walked a few steps, then looked back: "Oh right. Are you free tomorrow night? I'm treating you to dinner. No refusing."
"What are we eating?"
"Whatever. Anything you want."
After saying that, she waved her hand, turned around, and walked into the night.
Chen Mo stood downstairs, watching her figure recede into the distance. The streetlights illuminated her section by section. The gray hoodie, the loose ponytail, walking fast, just like an ordinary girl rushing to catch the last bus home.
He looked down at his own hand.
Her warmth still lingered on it.
Chapter 64: Edgar's Probing
Wednesday morning. Chen Mo had just arrived at the sixty-eighth floor when he was stopped.
Edgar's secretary stood at the elevator entrance like a jackal waiting at the entrance of a hunting ground. Wearing a black suit with her hair meticulously pinned up, her expression hovered somewhere between professional politeness and delivering an announcement—she wasn't asking if he wanted to go, she was notifying him that he had to.
"Mr. Chen Mo. Mr. Edgar would like you to go to his office."
"Now?"
"Now."
Chen Mo set his coffee cup down on his desk, the bottom of the cup making a dull thud against the tabletop. He hadn't even had time to sit down.
As he walked down the hallway, he passed Starlight's desk. She was organizing some documents and looked up to see him—her eyes asked, "What's wrong?" and Chen Mo replied with a look of "It's nothing." But he wasn't even sure himself if it was truly nothing. Edgar never summoned people for no reason. Every time you were called into his office, it meant you had already stepped onto his chessboard.
Edgar's office was at the end of the hallway. It was the best spot on the sixty-eighth floor—with two floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the entire Manhattanskyline. Looking out from here, New York resembled a map spread out beneath one's feet, with all those skyscrapers reduced to tiny squares.
Chen Mo had been here three times. Every time he walked in, he felt as though he were entering a cage—not that he was being locked inside, but rather that he was stepping into the territory of a much larger predator. That atmosphere wasn't created by the furniture or the decor; it was created by the man himself.
The secretary knocked twice and pushed the door open.
"Chen Mo is here."
"Come in."
Edgar sat behind his desk. He wore a dark gray suit, his tie meticulously knotted, and his shirt collar was as stiff as cardboard. In front of him sat a cup of tea—green tea, with the tea leaves at the bottom not yet fully settled, two leaves slowly unfurling in the hot water.
He didn't look like a man at work. He looked like a man who had been waiting for a long time.
"Sit."
Chen Mo sat down across from him. The chair was high, placing his line of sight almost level with Edgar's once seated. Steam rose from the tea on the desk. The office was quiet, with the low-frequency hum of the air purifier being the only sound.
Edgar didn't speak right away. He picked up his teacup, took a sip, and placed it back on the desk. The bottom of the cup made a soft clack against the tabletop. But in the quiet office, that sound was exceptionally clear.
"In the early hours of this morning, Vought's security system recorded an anomalous spatial fluctuation."
His tone was very flat, as if he were remarking that the weather was nice today.
"Right near your apartment."
There was no expression on Chen Mo's face. He had known all along that Edgar would find out—Vought's surveillance system covered all of Midtown Manhattan, and his apartment happened to be right within that coverage area. When he used the Portal, he had already prepared himself to be discovered.
"It might have been an equipment malfunction."
Edgar smiled.
That smile was exactly as Chen Mo had imagined—not mocking, not angry. It was the smile of someone who had heard an answer to which he already knew the true answer, and found it amusing.
"An equipment malfunction? Do you know how much Vought's security system cost?"
"No."
"Three hundred million dollars. The team that designed it came from the cutting-edge technology department of the Pentagon. Those people were responsible for designing satellite surveillance systems during the Cold War."
"So?"
"So it doesn't malfunction."
Edgar pushed the teacup aside and folded his hands on the desk. His fingers were long and slender, his knuckles distinct, and his nails neatly trimmed. They looked like a pianist's hands.
"So you are the source of that spatial fluctuation."
It wasn't a question. It was a statement.
Chen Mo looked at him. He didn't speak, because at this moment, saying anything would be tantamount to an admission.
"Your silence is an admission."
Chen Mo still didn't speak. He was waiting for Edgar to show his cards.
Edgar leaned back in his chair and looked at Chen Mo. His expression changed. From his previous leisurely composure, it transformed into something sharper—like a man who had finally decided to flip over a card in his hand.
"Do you know what this means? You—a special assistant of Vought—possess spatial teleportation abilities. And from what I've observed, your ability only appeared recently. You didn't have it before."
"How do you know I didn't have it before?"
"Because if you always had this ability—" Edgar tilted his head slightly, "you would have used it long ago."
Chen Mo's heart skipped a beat. Edgar hadn't guessed. He had deduced it. There were absolutely no loopholes in this line of reasoning.
"So—you are more valuable than I imagined."
This sentence didn't sound like a compliment. It was like a knife—not slashed directly at him, but placed on the table for him to look at.
Edgar stood up. He walked to the window, his back to Chen Mo. Standing in front of the massive floor-to-ceiling window, his body formed a dark silhouette. The Manhattanskyline unfolded behind him like a scroll; those skyscrapers piled up beneath the autumn sky as sunlight filtered through the gaps in the clouds, casting a silver sheen across the river.
"I don't care where your ability came from."
He turned around.
"And I don't care what you are investigating."
His voice was very calm. That kind of calmness was more terrifying than anger. Anger, at least, was out of control—you had emotions, you had weaknesses. But calmness was absolute composure. For a person to remain calm while saying such things meant that before speaking, he had already considered every single possibility.
"But remember this. In this World, there are only two kinds of people—useful people, and dead people."
He paused, letting the weight of those words sink in.
"You are currently useful. Don't make me change my mind."
Chen Mo looked into Edgar's eyes. Those eyes were pitch black and bottomless, like two unlit wells. He could use Doctor Strange's abilities to see countless timelines, but he couldn't see through what Edgar was thinking.
"I won't disappoint you."
Edgar stared at him for a few seconds. Then, he smiled again. This smile was different—previously it was "I know the answer," but this time it was "I hear you, but I don't necessarily believe you."
"Alright, you may leave."
Chen Mo stood up. He felt his knees go slightly weak.
He turned and walked toward the door.
"Oh, by the way."
He stopped. His hand hovered just above the doorknob.
"Is Park Soon-ja comfortable where she's staying?"
At that moment.
His blood ran cold from the soles of his feet to the top of his head, as if a bucket of ice water had been poured down the back of his neck.
He stood at the door, his back to Edgar, his hand resting on the doorknob. He could feel his fingertips trembling slightly—not from fear, but from the physiological reaction of being completely seen through. Your brain tells you that you are safe, but your body knows you have already been exposed to the predator's gaze.
Edgar knew about Park Soon-ja. Edgar knew he had moved her. Edgar knew everything—yet he hadn't stopped it, hadn't acted. He just sat there, sipping his tea, casually throwing in that remark just as Chen Mo was about to leave.
"Silent? That's fine. You may go."
Chen Mo pushed the door open.
He walked out.
The second the door closed behind him, he leaned against the hallway wall. His back was drenched in cold sweat, his shirt clinging to his skin, freezing cold. Someone passed by in the hallway, glanced at him, and then looked away.
He stood there and took three deep breaths.
Edgar knew everything. He knew about the Portal, he knew about Park Soon-ja, and he knew about the relocation. But he hadn't acted. It wasn't because he lacked evidence, nor because he wasn't sure. It was because he was waiting—waiting for the moment Chen Mo became "useless."
Once that moment arrived, he would make his move.
Chen Mo raised his eyes and glanced toward the end of the hallway. Starlight was standing by her desk, watching him. Her eyes were filled with worry, and she mouthed the words: "Are you okay?"
Chen Mo nodded.
But in his heart, he said: Something is wrong. Very wrong.
Chapter 65: Twelve in the Mirror Dimension
It rained all night.
The windows of this safehouse in New Jersey rattled with the patter of rain, sounding like someone was constantly throwing sand against the glass. Hot steam from kimchi soup drifted out of the kitchen, thick with the scent of chili paste and minced garlic.
Zero sat on the living room sofa, staring motionlessly at a corner of the ceiling.
She had maintained this posture for four minutes.
"Twelve people."
Her voice wasn't loud, but it was clear enough. The sound of chopping in the kitchen paused for a brief moment, then resumed.
"Surrounded on three sides. Thermal imaging."
Zero's fingers tapped twice gently on her knee. Her psychic perception spread outward from the safehouse like an invisible spiderweb. In the curtain of rain, the twelve heat signatures were strategically distributed—five in the front, four on the left, and three on the right. A standard CQB encirclement formation. Everyone's heartbeat was steady, their breathing was even, and their body temperatures showed no abnormal fluctuations.
Professionals.
Not ordinary street thugs, nor Superhumans. They were a group of highly trained people who had seen blood. There were no radiation fluctuations of superpowers on them, but they were well-equipped. Zero could "see" the outlines of the weapons they carried—at least six assault rifles, four handguns, and two others with irregular equipment outlines, likely heavy firepower.
She looked toward the kitchen.
Park Soon-ja was standing in front of the cutting board, her knife falling stroke by stroke with the steady rhythm of a metronome. The kimchi jar was already open, bright red chili paste smeared across the emerald-green cabbage leaves. She had pickled it herself; just from the smell, one could tell it had fermented for at least six days, perfect for eating right now.
Park Soon-ja did not look back.
"How many?"
"Twelve."
"Oh."
Park Soon-ja continued chopping her kimchi. The tone in which she said "Oh" was as if Zero had just told her it was going to rain tomorrow.
Zero's gaze turned toward the stairs.
Chen Mo stood there. She didn't know when he had come down; he walked without a sound, breathed without a sound, and even his heartbeat was half as slow as a normal person's—not the slowness of fear, but something much deeper, as if his body was actively suppressing all unnecessary energy consumption.
He wore a dark gray T-shirt and was barefoot. His expression was very calm.
"I heard," he said.
The sound of the rain outside suddenly grew louder. It wasn't that the rain had actually intensified, but that Zero sensed the twelve people starting to move. They were shifting positions, changing from encirclement to contraction. Each position advanced by about twenty meters.
Within one hundred and fifty seconds, they would reach the outer wall of the safehouse.
"How do you plan to handle it?" Zero asked.
Chen Mo didn't answer the question. He turned his head to glance at the kitchen.
"How much longer for the kimchi?"
Park Soon-ja looked down at the cabbage on the cutting board. "Twenty minutes."
"That's enough."
Chen Mo raised his hand.
No incantations, no gestures, no light effects. He simply drew a line in the air. The line was very thin, thin as a strand of hair, but it left a mark in the air. The two sides of the line began to split apart, as if someone had cut a solid piece of glass in half and then—pushed one half open.
Zero felt a wave of dizziness.
She had seen many superpowers. Explosions, flight, laser eyes, telekinesis, mind-reading, teleportation. But this was different. This was a tearing of space, not a simple Portal, but a dimensional rift forced open. The edges of the rift were not glowing; they were dark, a darkness that wasn't an absence of light, but rather light choosing to bypass it.
Chen Mo took a step and walked right in.
The rift closed behind him, as fast as the blink of an eye. The safehouse returned to normal; the sound of the rain was still there, the smell of kimchi was still there, but Zero's heart skipped a few beats.
At this moment, she suddenly remembered what Edgarhad said.
She hadn't understood the meaning of those words back then. Now, she seemed to understand a little.
---
Outside the safehouse, the rain fell like a heavy curtain.
The assassination Captain made a hand gesture. Left wing advance, right wing flank, main assault team prepare to breach. The twelve of them coordinated tacitly, their movements clean and swift. Rainwater slid down their tactical helmets, and their night-vision goggles cast the outline of the safehouse in a blurry green glow.
The Captain was about to press his earpiece to say "In position," when he suddenly felt something was off.
The ground had changed.
The dirt beneath his feet had turned into a smooth surface of alternating black and white, like a chessboard grid. It wasn't tiles laid over it; the ground itself had become a chessboard grid. He looked down; the grid stretched to the horizon, with no end in sight.
Then he looked at the sky—or rather, where the sky should have been.
There was nothing there. No rain, no clouds, no moon. Only a void.
"Dammit—"
He snapped his head up to look for his team members. They were all there. Six of them were on the chessboard, their postures as stiff as his, weapons pointing at the air. He turned to look at the left wing—the other four were on the chessboard grid, also looking around. Turning again, the two from the right wing were there as well.
Twelve people, all of them were inside.
"Number Three, you shoot that old la—"
The Captain's words were cut short.
Not interrupted by anyone, but interrupted by the World. The word 'lady' got stuck in his throat because he saw the ceiling. Beneath his feet was a chessboard grid, and above his head was also a chessboard grid. It wasn't a ceiling—it was the ground, an upside-down ground. Ground with a chessboard grid, with space extending outward, everything was above his head, like an inverted city.
Someone was standing up there.
A man in a dark gray T-shirt, barefoot, standing on the inverted ground. Rain fell upward from beneath his feet—not drifting, but falling, plunging from the ground into the depths of the void. His hair was completely still, because in this space, there was absolutely no sensation of wind flowing.
Chen Mo looked down at them.
From the perspective of the twelve people, he was looking down. He was above, they were below. But strictly speaking, he was the one who was right-side up, and they were the ones who were upside-down—the definition of up and down in this space had been completely shattered.
"Fuck—"
Someone fired a shot.
The bullet traced a straight trajectory, rushing toward Chen Mo. Then it curved in mid-air. It wasn't blocked; space itself had warped, pulling the bullet's path into an arc during flight, wrapping around Chen Mo before finally vanishing into the void.
Chen Mo didn't even raise his hand to block it. He didn't even look at the bullet. His gaze swept over the twelve people, as if counting heads.
Then he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled something out.
A walkie-talkie.
He pressed the talk button.
"Caught them."
His voice was very calm, as if reporting what was for dinner tonight.
"But I caught your corpses. Come collect them."
The other end of the walkie-talkie was silent for a few seconds.
Then Zero's voice came through: "Received."
Chen Mo stuffed the walkie-talkie back into his pocket and looked down at the twelve people on the chessboard grid. Two of them were still trying to re-aim, one was frantically pressing his earpiece trying to call for outside backup, and another—the Captain—was holding a grenade.
The Captain wanted to pull the pin.
But before his finger could touch the pin, he found himself in a different position.
It wasn't that he had moved. It was that the World had rearranged his position.
This was the craziest part of the Mirror Dimension. Chen Mo didn't need to lift a finger. He only needed to think. In this dimension, the laws of physics were entirely up to him. Gravity was merely a suggestion, not a law. Space was not continuous, but a sheet of paper you could fold at will. Time could run forward, backward, or simply not move at all.
The Captain's grenade slipped from his hand.
Then it appeared inside the Captain's own pocket.
And then, the Captain's pocket appeared on another person's back.
And then, those twelve people realized they weren't standing.
They were in a single line.
No, not a line. It was a pattern. A pattern as wild as a kaleidoscope—twelve people folded into the same plane, as if squeezed into a ball by an invisible hand, then flattened, rolled up, and unfolded again. Their bodies were distorted by space itself; although everyone was standing on the chessboard grid, some stood upright, some stood sideways, and some clung to the air at an impossible ninety-degree angle.
"Ah—"
Someone began to scream.
Not from pain, but from sheer terror. When you see your companion rotate a hundred and eighty degrees on a flat plane with his expression completely unchanged, something primal snaps.
Chen Mo walked down from the inverted ground.
The phrase wasn't quite right. "Walking down" made it too easy to imagine walking down stairs. He didn't walk down; he directly altered the spatial relationship, bringing himself a bit closer to those people. One step—with just a single step, he went from a downward angle to looking at them at eye level.
He stood in front of the twelve people.
Then he extended a single finger.
He folded the twelve people up.
Just like folding a quilt. One fold, two folds, three folds. With each fold, the bodies of the twelve people were pressed tighter by space—not crushed like by a hydraulic press, but as if space itself was shrinking, squeezing everyone into a smaller area. Their limbs were still moving, but they couldn't actually budge because space wouldn't allow it. Their mouths were still open, but no sound could escape because air in this dimension was not responsible for transmitting sound waves.
After Chen Mo finished folding them, he took a glance.
The twelve people were stacked neatly together, like merchandise arranged in a supermarket.
He didn't spare them another glance.
He reached out and sliced the air, and the rift reopened. He stepped out, and the rift closed.
The safehouse's living room appeared before him. Zero sat on the sofa, watching him. The sound of the rain outside continued as before.
Chen Mo looked down at his feet.
They were wet. The rain from the Mirror Dimension had fallen on the tops of his feet, bringing a bit of it out. He shook his feet and walked to the door.
The door was closed.
He heard footsteps in the kitchen.
Park Soon-ja walked over, her apron stained with chili paste. She reached out and pulled open the front door.
Rainwater poured in, bringing the scent of soil and green grass. Twelve men were stacked neatly on the doorstep steps, piled up like a pyramid. The man at the very top still wore a terrified expression, his mouth holding a safety pin that hadn't been pulled.
Park Soon-ja looked down at them.
She wiped her hands.
"The kimchi still needs twenty minutes. Can you wait?"
She said this toward the outside of the door, but everyone knew who she was asking. The sound of rain outside was the only response. The twelve people were piled on the steps, unable to move a single muscle. Their guns had been left by space in some unknown place, and now they had no equipment on them—like twelve fish washed ashore.
Park Soon-ja waited for three seconds.
"Looks like you'll have to wait even if you can't."
She closed the door and walked back to the kitchen.
Zero stood up from the sofa. She walked to the door and peered outside through the peephole. The twelve people were still piled there, in that impossible yet very real posture. Someone was crying.
Zero turned around.
She glanced at Chen Mo, who was pouring water.
"Before we left, Edgar asked me to pass a message to you."
Chen Mo held his water cup, not looking up.
"He said—" Zero paused for a moment, as if digesting the weight of those words, "'He is not a Superhuman. He is a monster in a Superhuman's skin.'"
Chen Mo took a sip of water.
When the cup was set down, it made a soft clink against the tabletop.
"Tell him—"
A bolt of lightning flashed outside the window, illuminating the entire living room in a ghostly white. In that instant, Zero saw Chen Mo's profile—calm, completely expressionless, a face as if discussing tonight's weather.
"He guessed right."
The sound of the rain suddenly grew very loud.
Park Soon-ja's voice drifted from the kitchen: "The kimchi is ready. Who's getting a plate?"