Seeing that Viktor remained tense, with eyes full of suspicion, the man's smile didn't fade. Instead, it softened with a more reassuring warmth.
He slowly lowered his hands, palms facing forward, clearly showing that he was not carrying any weapons, then turned and walked toward the kitchen.
His steps were steady but carried a slight, relaxed feel typical of fishermen.
The old wooden floor creaked with a faint creak.
"It seems Superman wasn't wrong, you're a very cautious kid."
The man said while tidying up a few scattered shells and a small cloth stained with sea mud beside the stove.
"My name is Tom, and I'm a friend of Superman."
Viktor's ears perked up, and his heart skipped a beat.
"When Superman found you in space, you were almost at your limit, with your life signs so weak they were almost impossible to detect. He specifically brought you here to recover—my place is by the sea, quiet, and ideal for healing."
Tom moved lightly, trying his best not to make any noise while cleaning up the clutter.
'Tom?'
Viktor silently repeated the name in his mind, his brow furrowing slightly. His gaze swept over Tom's entire body like a radar.
He was wearing a faded blue work uniform, with a few barely noticeable salt stains on the collar, and the cuffs were casually rolled up.
The exposed forearms were covered in numerous fine scars. At a glance, Tom certainly appeared to be a genuine fisherman who had grown up by the sea.
'Why?'
He couldn't recall whether Superman had any fisherman friends.
After all, with so many comics, TV shows, movies, and the concept of multiple universes, the jumbled mess of different worldviews from his past life made it difficult to sort out.
However, this place was a new reality for him.
Having experienced numerous near-death injuries over the past ten years, Viktor knew the extent of his injuries before he fell unconscious this time.
The tear across his chest and abdomen was so deep that the bone was visible, and the muscle tissue around the wound had already begun to show the bone. Two of his ribs had even punctured the pleura, and every breath he took caused excruciating pain that shot through his lungs.
Even though he possessed self-healing abilities far beyond Earthlings, it would have been impossible for him to walk for a few days without specialized medical equipment.
Not even ordinary bandages would have helped; even the most advanced medical resources on Earth in his past life would have struggled to save him at that time.
It must have been Superman who intervened.
The one who has the Fortress of Solitude in the Arctic, who has Kryptonian advanced technology, and who has the Justice League behind him.
Before losing consciousness, Viktor had thought he would end up in a place filled with cutting-edge technology.
Perhaps in the medical chamber of the Fortress of Solitude or the Watchtower. However, this place in front of him lacked even the most basic disinfectant or hemostatic medicine.
A lot of questions flow through his head. He almost blurted out to question the man, asking where Superman was and what his true intentions were in taking him in.
But just as the words were about to leave his mouth, he forcibly suppressed them. There was still the possibility that the Superman whose power was unfathomable stood behind him.
That was someone he definitely couldn't afford to provoke right now.
Tom walked over with a steaming bowl of soup. It had a faint seafood aroma, mixed with some familiar fresh fragrance.
"I made some seafood soup with fresh little shrimp and clams, not too many seasonings."
He gently placed the soup on the old wooden table in the living room and pushed it in front of him. Tom's hands were large, and there were traces of sea mud still embedded between his fingers.
Viktor's gaze fell on the bowl of soup. The milky broth was dotted with small red shrimp and white clam meat, looking very appetizing.
He then looked up at Tom.
Tom's eyes were open and honest, without a hint of evasion. The concern in his eyes didn't seem fake at all. It was as if he were truly just a kind-hearted fisherman, doing his best to take care of an injured stranger.
Viktor lowered his head in silence for a moment, then picked up the spoon placed beside the bowl. He took a small sip of the soup. The warm liquid slid down his throat, bringing a long-missed feeling of comfort and warmth.
"I'm Viktor, and thank you."
Viktor put the spoon down and coughed lightly twice, trying to make his voice sound clearer. He didn't mention any doubts about his injuries or Superman, simply offering his thanks.
Right now, he needed to observe. He needed to find his footing as quickly as possible in this unfamiliar environment.
It's better to pretend to be weak and be grateful as an "alien refugee" for now. This will buy enough time to understand this world and investigate whether there was any trace of Viltrumite in this universe.
If this place really was just a DC universe, then he could only say it was barely a "vacation spot," the kind that could turn upside down at any moment.
It didn't matter. By using this seemingly "weak and harmless" period, Viktor could come up with a plan to earn the trust of most of the powerful figure aroud here.
Tom smiled, and his smile was warm, like the sunlight by the sea.
He pulled the chair opposite Viktor and sat down. His gaze was gentle as he looked at him, with a hint of curiosity in his eyes, but not too direct, making it not uncomfortable.
"No need to thank me."
Tom's voice remained deep and hoarse, but it carried a sense of friendliness.
"When Superman brought you here, he briefly told me that you're from another planet, that you'd run into some trouble, and asked me to take good care of you. I see you're young, and you must have suffered quite a bit drifting alone in space—can you tell me about your story?"
Viktor's hand holding the spoon paused for a moment.
'Why would a fisherman care about such things?'
'Was it pure curiosity, or was he cooperating with someone to gather information about him?'
'Did he have to start acting on the first day after waking up?'
"My story?"
Viktor's gaze became a little distant, and he let himself slip into his memories at the right moment.
"Uh, for example, which planet are you from? Also, is there something bad happening on your planet?"
Tom's questions seemed casual, but each question carried an investigative tone, precisely probing at the critical points. He didn't ask in an interrogative tone but used a caring posture, making the questioning feel less abrupt.
After all, a sudden alien visitor popping up was a potential threat to any planet.
Viktor also needed to use Tom to convey some "useful" information to Superman and possibly the Justice League behind him in order to gain their trust.
By gaining their trust, Viktor would have the opportunity to access Superman's technology and figure out the things that concerned him the most.
He didn't answer immediately but slowly put down the spoon.
"I'm from Viltrum."
Viktor's voice carried a subtle trace of fatigue and hoarseness, and his expression was tinged with an indescribable disdain.
It was real disdain.
"It's a planet that... prides itself on battle and conquest."