Chapter 51 You Already Know That I Am Your Father
"Call me President."
"You've only been President for one day."
The son sat, but the father stood, and the son even put on airs of a President towards his father, looking at him as if he were a subordinate employee.
Homelander suppressed his anger after an enraged remark, and took a breath.
He didn't dwell on it; Ron just didn't understand his identity yet, Homelander said with a complicated expression.
"Listen, I always wondered why someone with abilities so similar to mine, and strength not inferior to mine, suddenly appeared. I thought Vought had replicated and created you.
But just a few days ago, I discovered something."
He paused, then looked up, his eyes fixed on Ron, his tone much heavier and more serious.
"Ron, I am actually your father, and you are the son born to Becca and me!"
After he finished speaking, the office fell silent. Homelander gazed at Ron's face, expecting Ron to be surprised and question him the next second, then he could explain and reveal everything.
Becca had hidden it, Vought had deceived, and Ron was unaware, which was why he treated his father that way. Once he confirmed his identity, he would surely exclaim in panic about what he had done before.
Provoking his father, fighting with his father, and even threatening his father with leverage—was that something a son should do?
Then Ron would apologize and repent, and he would smile gently, pat his son's shoulder, embracing him like an old father…
"Are you done?"
But—there was no shock, no questioning. Ron, sitting in the chair, looked at him as if he had heard a trivial piece of news, interrupting his conjecture.
His ability points had inexplicably surged again, and Homelander, who loved being in the spotlight and enjoying the cheers of the crowd, had suddenly disappeared for several days without a word. He had somewhat guessed the truth of the matter.
"I mean—you are the son born to Becca and me."
Something seemed wrong. Homelander paused, then quickly repeated.
"I heard that. Is there anything else?"
Looking at him calmly, Ron leaned back, his hands crossed, his expression like a President whose valuable time was being wasted by an ignorant employee.
"I…"
Homelander looked at Ron, whose expression hadn't changed, his throat feeling constricted, unable to speak.
"There's a lot waiting for me on my first day as President. Remember to knock next time you come up."
He waved his hand, signaling Homelander to leave.
"This is a company; rules and regulations are very important."
"Do you mean you knew…?"
Homelander, bewildered by his attitude, suddenly understood something, blurting out in disbelief.
"You knew I was your father all along?"
All that time he treated his father that way, Ron knew?
"I told you to leave. Don't repeat your useless nonsense."
Hearing Homelander repeat the same nonsense several times again, Ron remained expressionless.
"Are you forgetting something?
You need to remember, when I speak, you will always just obey!"
He pointed at Homelander, emphasizing.
"You… how can you treat me like this? I am your father!"
Homelander, who had never encountered such a situation, opened his mouth, feeling a surge of absurdity, so absurd he wondered if he was dreaming.
His son sitting behind the desk, displeased, teaching his father to clarify their relationship, to recognize who was the boss?
On the phone on the desk, a video of Homelander on the plane, just a gentle tap away from being sent to major newspapers and websites, Ron looked at him and slowly said.
"Do I need to remind you of the consequences of defying my will?"
…
Homelander left Ron's office, a look of existential doubt on his face. He wanted to go back and figure out where things went wrong.
He was threatened by Ron before he knew Ron was his son, and he was still threatened by Ron after he knew, with no change whatsoever.
But how could things be this way?
Could it be that the social and family relationships Vought made him memorize, having grown up in a lab, were wrong?
Was it actually a good son who could casually scold his father, threaten and control his father?
…
"Today, we are here to deeply mourn the victims of Transoceanic Flight 37."
In an empty grassy area, a public memorial service was being held for the victims of Transoceanic Flight 37, which had crashed due to hijackers, a tragedy that had recently shocked the U.S..
People from all walks of life, dressed in black with solemn expressions, stood in the front rows, where the victims' families sadly held portraits of their loved ones, weeping softly.
Mei, in her battle suit, stood on the stage, her usual heroism gone, her brows weary. She looked at the audience, delivering a speech.
"Over two hundred innocent souls, vanished instantly in a senseless act of violence."
"Caroline Kosinski, a kindergarten teacher from Skokie…"
Her voice trembling, she read the speech Vought had prepared, looking at the victims' families in the audience, a buzzing sound in her ears.
In a daze, Mei seemed to be back in the chaotic cabin, filled with screams and wails, where those suffering and despairing people begged her for help.
She ignored those who had once seen her as hope, offering meaningless apologies, and cruelly abandoned them.
Leaving them to fall into the ocean with the plane, their bodies never recovered.
"The young Doctor, Julian Barlow, a neurosurgeon from France…"
Each name of a deceased person she read felt like an interrogation and a condemnation. Mei couldn't help but recall their terrified faces before death, and finally, unable to bear it, she hastily ended her speech with tears in her eyes, put down the manuscript, and ran off.
"I apologize. I deeply sympathize with these families who have lost their loved ones."
Next were the eulogies from others.
Mei ran to a distant roadside bench and sat down, her face pale, silent tears streaming down her cheeks.
"This fragile appearance of yours is quite different from the brave, fearless, and never-hesitating Queen Mei that Vought promotes."
A voice suddenly sounded.
On the path scattered with a few fallen leaves, Ron slowly approached, hands in his pockets.
"As a member of The Seven yourself, don't you know that all that propaganda is fake?
Aside from superpowers, we are nothing."
Not wanting others to see her in this state, Mei subtly wiped away her tears, self-deprecatingly.
"Everything is fake."
"I suppose you haven't slept well these past few days, tormented by guilt and self-blame in the dark, tossing and turning."
Sitting down on the bench, Ron said.
"Because you couldn't save those people, and watched them die?"
"You know?"
Hearing this, Mei frowned and stared.
Homelander and she had told the outside world a consistent story: they only arrived after the plane crashed.
"Oh, I forgot, you're already the President."
She then relaxed her brows, shaking her head as if recalling something, her tone resentful and sad.
"You are qualified to know more of the company's dark secrets."
Mei had figured it out afterward: Homelander's laser blast was no accident; it was deliberate, possibly in collusion with Madeline, for Vought's sordid interests, to pass the bill, disregarding human lives!
"No."
He chuckled softly.
"No one told me; I saw it with my own eyes."
"With your own eyes?"
Mei's tone was surprised and questioning as she repeated the phrase.
"What do you mean by 'with your own eyes'?"