"Fuck!"
Stiles—once a Triple Crown of Acting, now a bankrupt, washed-up drunk—crushed his last can of cheap beer in his fist.
The empty can spun off the edge of the rooftop, clattering down onto a balcony far below and drawing a furious shout from some unlucky resident.
Forty-four stories up.
The night wind cut like a blade, numbing his cheeks.
Bankrupt.
Blacklisted.
Canceled across the entire internet.
Set up—by the people he trusted most.
By his own team.
And by the woman he loved: Allison.
Overnight, he'd fallen from the clouds into the mud.
"Hahahahaha!"
Stiles burst into manic laughter.
He had been an actor—the top-tier kind.
He knew what audiences wanted.
He knew what capital craved.
He thought he was a chess player.
Only at the end did he realize he was just another disposable piece.
He knew he'd been framed.
But there was no proof.
Allison—the woman he'd personally pushed to stardom, the woman who had destroyed him with her own hands—had cleaned up perfectly.
"Shit…" he muttered. "It's all shit…"
He grabbed the bottle and took a savage gulp.
"It's all fucking shit—!!"
Right then, a brilliant meteor sliced across the night sky.
Stiles froze.
Meteor…. Shower….
He stared at that streak of light, baring his teeth in a twisted grin.
Then—he unbuckled his belt.
"Fuck you!"
He aimed straight at the glowing trail in the skies.
"Fuck you, meteor! Fuck you, Allison!"
Laughing on the edge of insanity, screaming into the howling rooftop wind, he let everything spill out.
"Come on! Hit me! You bitch! Hahahaha—!! I'll do whatever the hell I want!"
Then something wrong happened.
The meteor—something that should've vanished in seconds—
stopped.
It made a sharp, impossible turn.
Trailing a blazing inferno, like an intercontinental missile that had locked onto its target, it screamed straight toward the top of Stiles's head.
"I… what the fuck?"
The alcohol drained out of his system in an instant.
The madness froze on his face as the fireball filled his pupils—growing brighter, larger, closer.
"Hey—hey, this is a joke, right? You don't have to—"
BOOM—!!!
No scream.
No last words.
At the moment of impact, Stiles was vaporized.
Not even ash remained.
...
The very next second—
Stiles snapped his eyes open. "What the hell…?"
He looked down.
He was floating in midair.
Before him stood an absurdly extravagant skyscraper, its glass curtain walls smooth as a mirror.
And in that mirror—
Was a man.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Handsome.
Impeccably styled blond hair.
A tight blue suit clinging to a godlike physique.
Golden eagle epaulets on his shoulders.
A stars-and-stripes cape billowing behind him.
"..."
Three seconds of silence.
Stiles flexed his fingers.
The man in the glass flexed his fingers.
He smiled experimentally.
The reflection returned a flawless, dazzling smile.
"Uh…"
"I—I became Superman? No—wait…"
That look.
That face.
His mind raced, locking onto a familiar name.
"Shit… Homelander?!"
I transmigrated?
And I became that discount Superman from The Boys?!
"Did I seriously get thrown into the Boys universe?!"
His scalp tingled.
Exploding heads.
Blood everywhere.
A world soaked in insanity.
"Where am I right now? Vought Tower? Am I about to run into Butcher and his psycho crew?"
His heart pounded as he scanned his surroundings—
BOOM—!!!
A thunderous explosion tore through the air.
Stiles snapped his head up.
Above the city hovered a massive wormhole glowing an eerie blue.
Grotesque alien soldiers poured out endlessly on flying chariots, energy weapons spewing lethal beams, turning the once-glorious city into hell.
Taxis flipped.
Civilians screamed and scattered.
A colossal, armored leviathan—longer than a train—roared as it burst through the portal, smashing into the side of a skyscraper. Glass and steel rained down like hail.
"..."
Stiles slowly descended, touching down on the edge of the rooftop.
The star-spangled cape snapped violently behind him.
He looked down.
On the street below—
A furious green giant grabbed a police car and smashed it into a Chitauri soldier.
"HULK—SMASH!"
Nearby, a man in a helmet wielding a star-emblazoned shield barked orders to evacuating officers.
"Hold this street! Funnel them west!"
A red-haired woman in a black bodysuit flipped onto a Chitauri skimmer, frying the pilot with twin shock batons.
On another rooftop, an archer calmly named targets with a deadly array of high-tech arrows.
Farther out, a red-and-gold armored figure tangled midair with two leviathans, repulsors blazing.
"…Fuck."
The English slipped out naturally.
Stiles finally realized something far worse than landing in The Boys.
"This isn't The Boys…"
He stared at the wormhole—and the green monster wrestling a leviathan.
"This is… The Avengers? The Battle of New York?!"
A voice sounded without warning.
[Popularity System activated… Binding host… Binding complete.]
System Overview:
This is a persona-driven system.
Popularity equals power.
The higher your fame, the stronger your abilities.
Current Template: Homelander (Base Version)
Abilities:
Super Strength
Invulnerability (Version Bonus)
Cranial Bio-Field (Weak · Version Limitation · Non-Upgradable)
Super Endurance
Super Speed
Heat Vision
X-Ray Vision
Super Hearing
Flight
Current Popularity: 0
Popularity Rank: Unknown
Note:
When a region's rank reaches Global Icon, the abilities gained there become permanent.
Newbie Mission:A Perfect Entrance
During the Battle of New York, become the center of global attention.
Reward:
Unlock Homelander's exclusive suit — indestructible.
...
"Popularity… equals power…"
Stiles murmured the words, glancing at his bare-bones blue suit—then back at the battlefield below.
A smile slowly crept across his face.
"Ha…"
Then the laughter grew louder. Wilder. Unrestrained.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!"
He craved power.
He craved money.
He craved the spotlight.
"Ha… hahaha… hahahahaha!"
This was—
Perfect.
"A Popularity System…?"
He licked his lips.
"System… you really do know me."