Nick Fury sent out a message without hesitation:
"Hill, put Homelander under Project Insight. I want to know what toothpaste this Antony Starr uses."
Antony left the Helicarrier—but he didn't go to his apartment right away.
He circled above the city.
Everywhere he flew, he heard his own name.
On the massive screens of Times Square, footage looped endlessly:
him hoisting the nuclear missile, plunging into the portal, and finally returning—dragging back a containment pod filled with over a hundred children.
"—Tonight, we witnessed a miracle! A mysterious hero calling himself Homelander has saved Manhattan!"
"—Sources suggest Homelander's true identity may be Antony Starr, a Columbia University student who went missing in a maritime accident one year ago!"
"—The Avengers were incredible, but Homelander was the real MVP tonight! He single-handedly turned the tide!"
"—Oh my God, he's so hot!!"
Ding! Popularity Points +120
Ding! Popularity Points +88
Ding! Popularity Points +205
The system notifications no longer exploded like before—but they continued to tick upward, steady and unceasing.
Antony descended at a busy intersection.
The moment his boots touched the ground, people surged toward him, shouting his name.
He smiled.
He shook hands.
He embraced sobbing civilians.
He bent down and kissed a child gently on the forehead.
"Don't be afraid," he said softly.
"It's over now."
"As long as I'm here," he added, voice calm and reassuring,
"New York is safe."
He soaked it all in—every look of awe, every trembling smile, every tearful gaze filled with faith.
-----
Meanwhile, on one of Times Square's giant screens, a live news segment cut in.
"—We interrupt with a discovery from the battlefield ruins—"
A reporter stood in front of a half-collapsed luxury apartment building.
"—Here, at the fiercest point of the fighting, a nine-year-old girl named Kate was trapped. Her father… unfortunately, did not survive."
The camera shifted.
The girl was thin, wrapped in a blanket, her face smudged with dust.
But her wide eyes shone with something extraordinary.
The reporter knelt and held out the microphone.
"Were you scared?"
Kate nodded—then shook her head.
"I… I thought I was going to die. An alien… it was going to kill me…"
"What happened then?"
Her eyes lit up.
"Homelander!" she blurted.
"He—he flew down from the sky! And— and his eyes went zzzt! And the bad guy just… broke in half!"
"He saved you?"
"Yes!" Kate nodded fiercely.
"He was really tall. He smiled at me, and then… he flew away to save more people!"
In her hands was a half-burnt comic book.
A Superman comic.
"He's… a real hero."
Antony never heard this small, fleeting moment.
After basking in the city's adoration for a full hour, he finally slipped away from the crowds and headed toward the apartment address S.H.I.E.L.D. had given him.
The building was near Columbia University.
He landed silently on the fire escape.
His X-ray vision swept the interior.
"Empty. Thick dust."
He opened the door.
A stale, long-abandoned smell washed over him.
This was Antony Starr's home.
A guitar leaned against the wall.
A basketball sat in the corner.
Textbooks lay scattered across a desk.
And then—
a photograph.
In it, Antony Starr stood between his parents, arms around them, grinning without a care in the world.
Antony picked up the frame and stared at the reflection of a face identical to his own.
"Antony… Antony…" he murmured.
"You really lived a pathetic life."
He casually tossed the frame aside.
"But it doesn't matter."
He pulled open the curtains and looked down at the city he had just saved.
"Your life ends here," he said quietly.
"I'll take it from now on."
…..
The following month was the most comfortable period of Antony's life.
In his previous world, even as a triple-crown Best Actor, he'd clawed and schemed—only to remain a pawn of capital.
Now?
He was capital.
The Starr Group was an old New York financial titan, spanning real estate, energy, and biotechnology.
Antony's parents—Edward and Martha—had died in a plane crash three years ago, leaving behind an immense fortune and a trust fund for their only son.
A dead heir returning to life—now crowned as Homelander—was the kind of story that would make its way into economics textbooks.
Upper East Side, Manhattan.
The Starr family's penthouse duplex spanned three full floors, complete with a private helipad and an open-air pool.
Antony stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows, Central Park glowing beneath the morning sun.
He wore nothing but an expensive silk robe, a glass of Romanée-Conti wine in his hand.
"This," he said softly,
"is what life is supposed to be."
Days earlier, lawyers and trust fund executors had lined up to meet him.
"Mr. Starr… these are the post-tax inheritance documents left by your parents. Please sign here…"
From that moment on, Antony officially controlled everything this body was entitled to inherit—
hundreds of billions in personal assets, and absolute controlling interest in a massive conglomerate.
"System," he said, smiling at his reflection in the glass,
"I feel amazing right now."
Current Popularity: 7,982,301
Global Popularity Tier: Rising Star
Ability Enhancements:
Steel Body (Planetary Tier)
Heat Vision (4,000°C)
Super Speed (Mach 15)
…
"Still not enough."
He narrowed his eyes.
The dividends from the Battle of New York were nearly exhausted.
Popularity growth had slowed—from an explosion to a trickle.
As a former movie star, he understood fame better than anyone.
Without constant exposure, without new "works," audiences forgot fast.
Popularity never stood still—it either grew or died.
"Looks like it's time to go back to work."
He set down the wineglass.
In the next instant, the red-and-blue suit and star-spangled cape wrapped around him seamlessly.
-----
For the next half month, New York truly understood what security meant.
"What kind of safety is this?"
This kind.
"Look! It's Homelander!"
"Oh my God—he's back again!"
Midtown Manhattan.
A city bus had lost control, screaming toward the sidewalk.
The driver was unconscious.
Pedestrians scattered in terror.
At the final moment—
A red-and-blue figure appeared as if teleporting into existence.
No flashy technique.
Antony simply stood there…
and raised one hand.
BOOM—!!!
The bus came to a dead stop.
And New York held its breath.