...
Manhattan, New York, Vought International Tower.
Madelyn hurried into the office, pushing the door open, and tossed the documents in her hand onto the desk.
Her assistant followed behind and said, "Prince Nubia, Blue Hawk, Ice Princess, Termite, and several other superheroes have reflected to us that the recent workload is too intense. They believe that for overly dangerous missions, perhaps they could find body doubles to help, instead of having to do it themselves…"
"Tell them that these are extraordinary times; if they can't handle it, they can get the hell out of Vought International."
Madelyn interrupted calmly. She tried to alleviate her frustrated mood, but unfortunately, recent events had truly left her overwhelmed.
"Vought International's strategy will not change. We are also doing everything possible to improve the capabilities of our superheroes, such as assembling more professional training teams, purchasing more scientific training equipment, and even upgrading the life-saving gear for the superheroes, among other things."
"But the effort cannot be one-sided. The company can provide them with a platform to become big, but they must also hold themselves to strict standards, strive for improvement, and bring in results until they possess strength equal to their status. The old way of relying solely on marketing just won't work anymore."
"If anyone thinks this work is too hard, then I can transfer them to a less demanding position. After sitting on the bench, they can leave as soon as they like; Vought International will not force anyone."
"Understood."
The assistant nodded, "Mr. Homelander has provided feedback that the current state of The Seven is better than ever. However, while there are many assigned missions, the intensity isn't quite enough. He hopes the team can take on larger-scale missions."
"That's John for you."
Madelyn was extremely satisfied, "Tell him we'll keep that in mind. The Seven have always been Vought International's trump card; with great power comes great responsibility."
"Alright." The young assistant looked at her notes, her expression joyful, "There's some good news here."
"Go ahead, what news?"
Madelyn pinched her brow with her fingers.
"It's about the R&D and procurement of the custom suits."
The assistant lowered her voice, "Jonathan Group has finally agreed to our price proposal and is willing to provide new materials for our hero suits. According to the data received by the R&D department, once the suits are delivered in batches, it will boost our superheroes' overall strength by at least seven percent, with an even higher percentage for individual custom models."
Damn Superman; they were one step closer to that guy.
Vought International's gritted-teeth efforts over this period were finally starting to show results step by step.
"Whew!"
Madelyn let out a breath, and her brows relaxed.
She smiled and said, "Jonathan Company's new materials are famous in the industry; orders are already booked three and a half years out. It is well worth it to reach a cooperation agreement at a procurement price of 380 million. We currently have over three hundred popular superheroes; a seven percent increase in combat power is enough to bring about earth-shattering changes."
"Oh, by the way—"
Madelyn stopped mid-sentence, suddenly remembering something. She said to her assistant, "Tell our representative to inform Jonathan Company's board of directors that, given their company's rapid expansion, we would be happy to provide superheroes to escort and ensure their personal safety…"
"Um, Ms. Madelyn…"
The assistant regretted not finishing everything she had to say earlier. She looked down at the rest of the notes and spoke faster.
"During the latest round of negotiations, our representative proposed a similar supplementary exchange condition, but it was rejected by Jonathan's representative. Their response was that they would prioritize Texas's 'House of Superman,' believing that their superheroes are well-trained and also possess astonishing strength."
"House of Superman?"
Madelyn had been secretly monitoring the development of this organization all along, and she was also aware that their founder had recently recruited a group of superhumans.
But precisely because she knew, Madelyn also knew exactly what the 'protective force' of the House of Superman currently consisted of.
To put it bluntly, it was all trash that Vought International had picked over and discarded.
"A bunch of superheroes who have never received professional training?"
Even with her composure, Madelyn felt somewhat disdainful at this moment, "The most powerful one among them is still a disabled person. Jonathan Company is an expert at making materials, but they don't have a very good eye for people in other aspects."
However, Madelyn wouldn't say anything more; perhaps this was just Texans sticking together.
One must not lower their status.
Vought International was a massive enterprise, renowned globally for its superhero business, with plenty of clients lining up to seek cooperation.
The affiliated heroes of the House of Superman?
The ragtag soldiers under Superman?
Don't make me laugh.
A small, insignificant organization that had just been set up not long ago; any random fourth or fifth-tier superhero from Vought International could easily wipe out their entire team.
Madelyn believed that while Vought might currently lack the confidence to deal with Superman, in their area of expertise, the 'House of Superman' could not compare in any way.
That's no joke; even if they were given another fifty years, they wouldn't be able to develop a decent superhero team.
As an expert in managing superheroes, her judgment would absolutely not be wrong.
"Heh."
Madelyn gazed at the New York street scene outside the floor-to-ceiling window, a smile on her face. She poured herself a glass of red wine and murmured, "We are the true holders of the golden key; any imitators will ultimately end in failure."
...
"Brad, to be honest, he doesn't look like Superman at all."
Shawn watched the crew members busily setting up the studio backdrop on Kent Farm in the distance. The young white man wearing the 'haute couture Superman costume' captured most of his attention.
"Buddy, does it really matter if he looks like him or not? You're not Superman!"
"Besides, I asked you to audition before, but you didn't agree. Pete is already the most suitable candidate for this movie."
Brad, as the producer of "Smallville," sat with him under the pavilion, puffing away on a cigarette, "As long as the story is told well and the fans buy it, that's all that matters."
Fine, that's very 'The Boys.'
But.
"Are you serious? That long horse face and aquiline nose, plus that upturned chin, and he's even wearing medium-length hair—are the fans blind?"
Shawn felt insulted. This guy could at most be considered to have distinct features; he was a hundred thousand miles away from Superman's handsomeness.
He couldn't help but complain, "What's his name again? Pete?"
"Whew… Pete Nicholas."
Brad exhaled a breath, flicked the ash from his cigarette, and said nonchalantly, "An Italian-American. Don't look at him like that; he's been immersed in film culture since he was a kid, and his acting is impeccable. When he showed up wearing the Superman suit, I swear I almost thought I was going to die!"
That much pressure?
Shawn: "I think he should go act in other new superhuman roles, like a flaming motorcycle rider, a mutated spider-man, or something like Shadow Spider."
Brad rolled his eyes, "Does anyone even watch that stuff you're talking about?"
"That's hard to say."
Since things had come to this, what else could Shawn say?
He was curious about another detail, "As far as I know, even in the 'House of Superman,' not many people know who Superman is or where he lives, right? Won't you get sued for fraud for filming this movie?"
"Hahaha, you're worrying for nothing."
Brad clapped his hands, laughing as if he'd heard a joke.
He explained, "You can go check out Vought Studios' superhero series. No matter which version it is, or who the protagonist is, I bet more than ninety percent of the content in there is nonsense. The origins, personalities, and growth backgrounds of those heroes are all settings fabricated by screenwriters, done purely to fit the IP positioning."
"I really couldn't tell you knew all this, but to be honest, doing it like that sounds like a crappy show."
Shawn's brows knit together as he looked at the busy people in the distance, "If you hadn't called and begged for help, I wouldn't have lent you this farm for filming, no matter what."
"Oh, come on!" Brad looked matter-of-fact, "It's a hero IP project led by the Texas state government, and it's the first show about Superman. It's a guaranteed profit. You keep buying more and more of these thousands of acres of farmland; it's just sitting there anyway. What's the harm in letting me use it? You should know that if others wanted me to use their land, I wouldn't even want it!"
Shawn smiled noncommittally.
"I know what you're going to say."
Brad interrupted, waving his hand grandly and spiritedly, "Buddy, I'll count it as an additional investment for you, and we'll split the dividends when the time comes!"
I could tell back then that this guy's thick skin wouldn't get any thinner just because his status improved.
Shawn didn't know whether to laugh or cry and replied perfunctorily, "Is that so? Well, I really thank you then."
"Don't doubt it, buddy."
Brad said solemnly, "The movie isn't just being filmed randomly. Although the general public doesn't know Superman's specific background, they roughly guess that he might have grown up in the Texas countryside. Your farm is large enough and has typical Texas scenery and topography, which makes filming convenient. It'll come out realistic enough, and that's already the first step to success."
Shawn: "I have to say, you guys really know how to pick."
Brad was very proud, "That's right. As the producer, I'll at least put in some effort. After all, if the great founder of the 'House of Superman' doesn't care, Superman might come over and kick my ass hard after watching the movie."
'Bang!'
Shawn didn't even think; he stood up and gave his butt—along with the chair—a swift kick. After sending him staggering, he walked away into the distance with a smile.
Brad shouted, "Asshole! It's such a bright sun, sit for a while longer! Where are you going?"
"I'm going to get an autograph from Pete Nicholas in advance. Like you said, what if the movie is a huge hit?"
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