Every spotlight in the theater snapped toward the stage entrance at once.
Standing there was a woman in white—wearing an expression that clearly said I want to murder everyone here.
Jessica Jones.
She was two seconds away from losing it.
"Fuck… fuck… fuck…"
She stood frozen under the lights, mentally cursing Antony's entire bloodline.
She was wearing the single dumbest outfit she had ever seen in her life.
The pearlescent white bodysuit clung to her like a second skin, tight enough to make breathing feel optional. That cursed memory-fiber fabric traced every curve of her body with merciless precision, leaving her feeling like she'd been stripped naked and shoved onto a stage.
"Fuck…"
She stared at the thousands of faces below the stage. Her legs threatened to give out.
Behind her, Ashley leaned in and whispered encouragement with the enthusiasm of a drill sergeant.
"Go on, Queen. Smile! Remember your training! Eight teeth!"
"Eat shit," Jessica muttered.
But she still walked forward.
The moment she stepped fully into the light—
The entire theater exploded.
What were they seeing?
A woman no one had ever seen before.
She was tall—at least 5'7"—and the white suit framed her like a sculpted war goddess straight out of ancient Greece. She wasn't delicate like a red-carpet actress. She looked powerful.
And then there was her face.
Pale. Sharp. Beautiful in a way that felt distant and dangerous.
That cold, broken expression—paired with a suit that screamed divinity—created a lethal contrast.
"Wow…"
A top Hollywood director whispered to himself. "That face… that presence…"
Click.
One reporter finally snapped out of it and hit the shutter.
Then hell broke loose.
Flashbulbs detonated like artillery.
"Who is she?!"
"Queen Jones? That name is insane—in a good way!"
"Oh my God… she's hot."
Jessica Jones had never been looked at like this in her life.
Growing up, people stared at her with fear. With disgust. Like she was a freak.
But now?
She heard cheering. Screaming. Admiration.
Her heart—long drowned in cheap whiskey—skipped.
…This feels…
She straightened her back without realizing it.
Holy shit. This actually feels… kinda good.
Antony stepped forward, smiling.
In full view of the world, he wrapped an arm around her waist.
Jessica went rigid.
"Let go of your—" she started to snap.
Antony leaned down and whispered so softly only she could hear it:
"Smile, sweetheart. You're the face of the Super Seven now. If you screw this up… I'll make you hand out flyers in Times Square wearing that suit."
"…You blond bastard."
She clenched her jaw—and forced a smile.
On camera?
That wasn't rage.
That was shy royalty.
The photo of Homelander holding a mysterious Queen went viral in under a second.
And inside Antony' mind—
DING!
Congratulations, Host! Popularity Group successfully formed: "The Super Seven" (Members: 2/7)!
New Feature Unlocked: Popularity Group Module
Module Description:
As team leader, your popularity is deeply linked with all group members.
Rules:
• Upward Sharing: 50% of positive popularity gained by members is converted directly to you.
• Shared Risk: 30% of negative popularity generated by members will be deducted from you.
Antony' breath hitched for half a second.
Profit outweighs risk. Advantage: me.
This meant he didn't need to do everything himself.
He just needed to create idols—and let them farm popularity for him.
Popularity Group Module activated… 50% conversion in progress…
Popularity +15,250 (Source: Queen Jones)
Popularity +17,501 (Source: Queen Jones)
"…Beautiful."
He tightened his arm around Jessica, smiling wider as the numbers climbed.
Ashley stepped forward at exactly the right moment.
"Alright! We know everyone has questions!" she announced. "Media Q&A—now!"
A reporter from E! News nearly tackled the mic stand.
"Oh my God! Homelander! Queen Jones! This is unbelievable!"
She took a breath and fired the nuclear question:
"Are you two—are you dating? Are you a super-powered couple?!"
PFFFT—
Tony Stark nearly spit champagne across the VIP section.
"What?!"
Jessica Jones—who could flip trucks bare-handed—turned bright red.
"I—I—we—"
"This—uh—"
She had never dated anyone in her life.
Her world consisted of whiskey, punching things, and mutual hatred of reality. Romance was more alien to her than Chitauri biology.
She panicked.
Cameras zoomed in on her face.
"Oh my God, she's blushing!"
"This is adorable!"
"The Queen is shy!"
Popularity +1,123 (Queen Jones)
Popularity +2,588 (Queen Jones)
Antony was internally screaming with joy.
Yes. Keep blushing. Don't stop.
Now it was his turn.
He turned toward her, eyes soft. Gentle. Protective.
He didn't answer the question.
Instead, he lifted a hand and gently brushed a loose curl back into place.
Then, smiling into the microphone, he said quietly to her:
"See? I told you."
"They all think we look good together."
CLICK.
The theater detonated.
Screams. Whistles. Absolute chaos.
This was better than a confession.
Ambiguity. Tension. Suggestion.
That was elite-level PR.
"I ship it!"
"This is canon now!"
"Is this a soft launch?!"
Jessica's brain completely shut down.
She felt his fingers graze her hair and her face burned hot enough to fry eggs.
"You… you…" she tried to curse him out—but it came out barely louder than a whisper.
And Antony smiled.
Because the cameras were still rolling.
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T/N:
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