Chapter 7: Setting Sail to Fish
The morning light in the fishing hut always carried a warm, salty dampness. As the seventh ray of sunlight streamed through the window lattice and fell across the edge of the bed, Luka was slowly stretching his body.
He had already quietly removed the bandages. The gruesome wound that had once stretched across his chest and abdomen now remained only as a few faint, pale pink scars.
His broken ribs had healed completely, and even the spinal injury he had sustained had fully recovered its mobility.
He clenched his fist, feeling the power surging within him, a flicker of surprise passing deep in his eyes.
Viltrumites naturally possessed extraordinary regenerative abilities.
But this recovery, following injuries more severe than anything he had ever endured, had granted him an unprecedented boost.
His muscles had become more defined and compact, his strength doubling compared to before the injury.
His senses had also sharpened considerably. The faint crash of waves against rocks a hundred meters away, the whisper of sea wind brushing through leaves outside, all of it reached his ears with striking clarity.
Too bad I never really studied the details of the Invincible comics from my previous life, Luka thought, his fingertips tracing the shallow scars on his chest.
He wasn't entirely sure why Viltrumites possessed such formidable physiques. His combat class grades were good enough that he never needed to study Viltrum science.
Over the past seven days, he had cooperated with Tom's care, feeling his body gradually recover from the brink of death.
The return and astonishing enhancement of his strength allowed Luka to meticulously observe every inch of his body's transformation for the first time.
Previously, he had never had the leisure for such introspection. The end of a battle or special training session rarely granted him any respite. It was difficult to gauge how much stronger he had become.
Until he received special permission to participate in the graduation coming-of-age ceremony early, Luka's memories were filled with endless torment. Those around him were either eliminated or died, but those who kept pace with him seemed to be roughly as strong.
Though he had heard from some instructors that Viltrumites could gain limitless strength from sufficient combat experience, Luka had never felt it so profoundly and personally until now.
When Luka came downstairs, Tom had already prepared breakfast: his usual simple seafood chowder paired with crispy flatbread.
"How are you feeling? You look much better," Tom said, turning around with his usual gentle smile. His blue work overalls were still clean and tidy, though the salt stains on the cuffs seemed a bit more pronounced.
"Much better. Thank you for taking care of me."
Luka sat down, his gaze inadvertently sweeping over the old-fashioned television in the corner of the living room.
Over these seven days, this television had become his main window to understanding this world.
Every morning after Tom went out to sea to fish, Luka would turn on the television, piecing together the world's contours from various channels.
At first, the information came in fragments.
City news segments spoke of a "flying hero in Metropolis" and a "dark vigilante of Gotham."
The "Planet Media" logo occasionally appeared in advertisements.
Street interviews featured citizens passionately discussing "superheroes."
As the information accumulated, Luka gradually formed a clearer understanding.
This was most likely a world related to DC comics.
The Justice League's frequent appearances on television served as the best proof.
The evening news regularly broadcast the League's public actions: preventing meteor strikes, resolving urban disasters, apprehending high-tech criminals...
What puzzled Luka, however, was that news reports claimed the Justice League had been established less than two years ago, and the members shown on screen all appeared young.
The Flash's uniform still gleamed with a brand-new sheen, Green Lantern frequently went on "cosmic missions," and some Justice League heroes occasionally revealed "fatal" vulnerabilities during operations.
To put it bluntly, based on his current assessment, Luka was confident he could kill over half of the Justice League members without sustaining any injuries.
What concerned him even more was the information about Superman.
The Superman on television wore the classic red and blue suit, the S-shield on his chest particularly striking in the sunlight. A white contrail billowed behind him as he flew, and he always wore a gentle smile while rescuing civilians.
After repeatedly comparing news footage, Luka noticed that this Superman's eye color was identical to that of the black-suited Superman who had saved him in space that day. Both possessed the same pure blue eyes.
But their demeanors were worlds apart.
The red-and-blue Superman on TV was like a sunny, cheerful young man, brimming with trust and enthusiasm for humanity.
The black-suited Superman who had saved him, however, had a much more steady and weighty presence, with a trace of imperceptible weariness and sharpness hidden between his brows. Even the warmth conveyed by his palms at that time carried a gentleness born of enduring hardships.
Could there be two Supermen?
Luka lifted his soup bowl, masking the confusion in his eyes.
Furthermore, there were quite a few aspects of this world that contradicted the comic book settings from his memory.
For instance, the Daily Planet of the comics had become "Planet Media" here, a media conglomerate that not only published newspapers but also operated multiple television channels and online platforms.
And Superman's girlfriend, Lois Lane, was no longer just a reporter. She was the anchor of Planet Media's prime-time evening news.
Every night at seven, she appeared on screen, delivering domestic and international headlines with crisp efficiency, occasionally hosting special interviews with superheroes.
Perhaps these aren't contradictions, but more like keeping up with the times?
Luka shook his head, dismissing his own absurd thoughts.
"I'm going to mend the fishing nets again today," Tom said, interrupting Luka's thoughts. "The waves have been rough lately, so I need to make sure the gear is in good shape."
Tom set down his bowl, grabbed his straw hat from the corner, and turned to leave.
Luka's gaze fixed on Tom's hand as he picked up the hat.
For the past seven days, Luka had been constantly observing Tom.
Tom's words, actions, and mannerisms all exuded the authenticity of a seasoned fisherman. He went out to sea on time every day, meticulously repaired his fishing gear, sorted his catch upon returning, and occasionally exchanged casual conversation with the neighbors.
But Luka's intuition repeatedly warned him that this man was far from ordinary.
Once, Luka deliberately knocked over a water glass while Tom was mending his nets. Tom's reaction was astonishingly swift; without even looking, he twisted around and caught the glass mid-air.
At that moment, Luka was almost certain Tom was hiding something. But after that, no matter how he tested him, nothing similar ever happened again.
Whenever Luka tried to probe with words, Tom would immediately revert to his gentle, unassuming fisherman persona.
He would patiently help Luka change his bandages (even though the wound had long since healed), bring back fresh seafood after his trips to sea, and quietly sit beside Luka while he watched television, mending his gear without ever prying for unnecessary information.
"I'll come with you," Luka suddenly said. He wanted to use the sea voyage as an opportunity to observe Tom more closely and perhaps find more clues about this world in the maritime environment.
Tom paused, then shook his head.
"No need. The sea winds are strong, and your injury hasn't fully healed yet. You should stay indoors and rest properly."
"It's much better now," Luka insisted, standing up and stretching his arm to deliberately show Tom he could move freely. "Staying cooped up inside is suffocating."
"I can help with tasks like passing tools. I won't get in the way."
Tom stared at Luka for a few seconds, as if assessing whether he was truly fit for the voyage. After a moment, he nodded.
"Alright, but you must stay on deck. No wandering around. Hold tight to the railing when the waves get rough."
"Okay," Luka said, then chuckled. "I can actually fly, you know."
Tom looked at him seriously and shook his head.
"Flying above the sea hardly counts as fishing. You're too high up. From there, you can't really see the ocean's depth."
Luka was stunned for a second, then, watching Tom's back as he walked towards the door, a gleam of insight flashed in his eyes. He knew his probing had finally yielded a bit of progress.
(End of chapter)
Chapter 7: Setting Sail to Fish
The morning light in the fishing hut always carried a warm, salty dampness. As the seventh ray of sunlight streamed through the window lattice and fell across the edge of the bed, Luka was slowly stretching his body.
He had already quietly removed the bandages. The gruesome wound that had once stretched across his chest and abdomen now remained only as a few faint, pale pink scars.
His broken ribs had healed completely, and even the spinal injury he had sustained had fully recovered its mobility.
He clenched his fist, feeling the power surging within him, a flicker of surprise passing deep in his eyes.
Viltrumites naturally possessed extraordinary regenerative abilities.
But this recovery, following injuries more severe than anything he had ever endured, had granted him an unprecedented boost.
His muscles had become more defined and compact, his strength doubling compared to before the injury.
His senses had also sharpened considerably. The faint crash of waves against rocks a hundred meters away, the whisper of sea wind brushing through leaves outside, all of it reached his ears with striking clarity.
Too bad I never really studied the details of the Invincible comics from my previous life, Luka thought, his fingertips tracing the shallow scars on his chest.
He wasn't entirely sure why Viltrumites possessed such formidable physiques. His combat class grades were good enough that he never needed to study Viltrum science.
Over the past seven days, he had cooperated with Tom's care, feeling his body gradually recover from the brink of death.
The return and astonishing enhancement of his strength allowed Luka to meticulously observe every inch of his body's transformation for the first time.
Previously, he had never had the leisure for such introspection. The end of a battle or special training session rarely granted him any respite. It was difficult to gauge how much stronger he had become.
Until he received special permission to participate in the graduation coming-of-age ceremony early, Luka's memories were filled with endless torment. Those around him were either eliminated or died, but those who kept pace with him seemed to be roughly as strong.
Though he had heard from some instructors that Viltrumites could gain limitless strength from sufficient combat experience, Luka had never felt it so profoundly and personally until now.
When Luka came downstairs, Tom had already prepared breakfast: his usual simple seafood chowder paired with crispy flatbread.
"How are you feeling? You look much better," Tom said, turning around with his usual gentle smile. His blue work overalls were still clean and tidy, though the salt stains on the cuffs seemed a bit more pronounced.
"Much better. Thank you for taking care of me."
Luka sat down, his gaze inadvertently sweeping over the old-fashioned television in the corner of the living room.
Over these seven days, this television had become his main window to understanding this world.
Every morning after Tom went out to sea to fish, Luka would turn on the television, piecing together the world's contours from various channels.
At first, the information came in fragments.
City news segments spoke of a "flying hero in Metropolis" and a "dark vigilante of Gotham."
The "Planet Media" logo occasionally appeared in advertisements.
Street interviews featured citizens passionately discussing "superheroes."
As the information accumulated, Luka gradually formed a clearer understanding.
This was most likely a world related to DC comics.
The Justice League's frequent appearances on television served as the best proof.
The evening news regularly broadcast the League's public actions: preventing meteor strikes, resolving urban disasters, apprehending high-tech criminals...
What puzzled Luka, however, was that news reports claimed the Justice League had been established less than two years ago, and the members shown on screen all appeared young.
The Flash's uniform still gleamed with a brand-new sheen, Green Lantern frequently went on "cosmic missions," and some Justice League heroes occasionally revealed "fatal" vulnerabilities during operations.
To put it bluntly, based on his current assessment, Luka was confident he could kill over half of the Justice League members without sustaining any injuries.
What concerned him even more was the information about Superman.
The Superman on television wore the classic red and blue suit, the S-shield on his chest particularly striking in the sunlight. A white contrail billowed behind him as he flew, and he always wore a gentle smile while rescuing civilians.
After repeatedly comparing news footage, Luka noticed that this Superman's eye color was identical to that of the black-suited Superman who had saved him in space that day. Both possessed the same pure blue eyes.
But their demeanors were worlds apart.
The red-and-blue Superman on TV was like a sunny, cheerful young man, brimming with trust and enthusiasm for humanity.
The black-suited Superman who had saved him, however, had a much more steady and weighty presence, with a trace of imperceptible weariness and sharpness hidden between his brows. Even the warmth conveyed by his palms at that time carried a gentleness born of enduring hardships.
Could there be two Supermen?
Luka lifted his soup bowl, masking the confusion in his eyes.
Furthermore, there were quite a few aspects of this world that contradicted the comic book settings from his memory.
For instance, the Daily Planet of the comics had become "Planet Media" here, a media conglomerate that not only published newspapers but also operated multiple television channels and online platforms.
And Superman's girlfriend, Lois Lane, was no longer just a reporter. She was the anchor of Planet Media's prime-time evening news.
Every night at seven, she appeared on screen, delivering domestic and international headlines with crisp efficiency, occasionally hosting special interviews with superheroes.
Perhaps these aren't contradictions, but more like keeping up with the times?
Luka shook his head, dismissing his own absurd thoughts.
"I'm going to mend the fishing nets again today," Tom said, interrupting Luka's thoughts. "The waves have been rough lately, so I need to make sure the gear is in good shape."
Tom set down his bowl, grabbed his straw hat from the corner, and turned to leave.
Luka's gaze fixed on Tom's hand as he picked up the hat.
For the past seven days, Luka had been constantly observing Tom.
Tom's words, actions, and mannerisms all exuded the authenticity of a seasoned fisherman. He went out to sea on time every day, meticulously repaired his fishing gear, sorted his catch upon returning, and occasionally exchanged casual conversation with the neighbors.
But Luka's intuition repeatedly warned him that this man was far from ordinary.
Once, Luka deliberately knocked over a water glass while Tom was mending his nets. Tom's reaction was astonishingly swift; without even looking, he twisted around and caught the glass mid-air.
At that moment, Luka was almost certain Tom was hiding something. But after that, no matter how he tested him, nothing similar ever happened again.
Whenever Luka tried to probe with words, Tom would immediately revert to his gentle, unassuming fisherman persona.
He would patiently help Luka change his bandages (even though the wound had long since healed), bring back fresh seafood after his trips to sea, and quietly sit beside Luka while he watched television, mending his gear without ever prying for unnecessary information.
"I'll come with you," Luka suddenly said. He wanted to use the sea voyage as an opportunity to observe Tom more closely and perhaps find more clues about this world in the maritime environment.
Tom paused, then shook his head.
"No need. The sea winds are strong, and your injury hasn't fully healed yet. You should stay indoors and rest properly."
"It's much better now," Luka insisted, standing up and stretching his arm to deliberately show Tom he could move freely. "Staying cooped up inside is suffocating."
"I can help with tasks like passing tools. I won't get in the way."
Tom stared at Luka for a few seconds, as if assessing whether he was truly fit for the voyage. After a moment, he nodded.
"Alright, but you must stay on deck. No wandering around. Hold tight to the railing when the waves get rough."
"Okay," Luka said, then chuckled. "I can actually fly, you know."
Tom looked at him seriously and shook his head.
"Flying above the sea hardly counts as fishing. You're too high up. From there, you can't really see the ocean's depth."
Luka was stunned for a second, then, watching Tom's back as he walked towards the door, a gleam of insight flashed in his eyes. He knew his probing had finally yielded a bit of progress.
(End of chapter)
Chapter 7: Setting Sail to Fish
The morning light in the fishing hut always carried a warm, salty dampness. As the seventh ray of sunlight streamed through the window lattice and fell across the edge of the bed, Luka was slowly stretching his body.
He had already quietly removed the bandages. The gruesome wound that had once stretched across his chest and abdomen now remained only as a few faint, pale pink scars.
His broken ribs had healed completely, and even the spinal injury he had sustained had fully recovered its mobility.
He clenched his fist, feeling the power surging within him, a flicker of surprise passing deep in his eyes.
Viltrumites naturally possessed extraordinary regenerative abilities.
But this recovery, following injuries more severe than anything he had ever endured, had granted him an unprecedented boost.
His muscles had become more defined and compact, his strength doubling compared to before the injury.
His senses had also sharpened considerably. The faint crash of waves against rocks a hundred meters away, the whisper of sea wind brushing through leaves outside, all of it reached his ears with striking clarity.
Too bad I never really studied the details of the Invincible comics from my previous life, Luka thought, his fingertips tracing the shallow scars on his chest.
He wasn't entirely sure why Viltrumites possessed such formidable physiques. His combat class grades were good enough that he never needed to study Viltrum science.
Over the past seven days, he had cooperated with Tom's care, feeling his body gradually recover from the brink of death.
The return and astonishing enhancement of his strength allowed Luka to meticulously observe every inch of his body's transformation for the first time.
Previously, he had never had the leisure for such introspection. The end of a battle or special training session rarely granted him any respite. It was difficult to gauge how much stronger he had become.
Until he received special permission to participate in the graduation coming-of-age ceremony early, Luka's memories were filled with endless torment. Those around him were either eliminated or died, but those who kept pace with him seemed to be roughly as strong.
Though he had heard from some instructors that Viltrumites could gain limitless strength from sufficient combat experience, Luka had never felt it so profoundly and personally until now.
When Luka came downstairs, Tom had already prepared breakfast: his usual simple seafood chowder paired with crispy flatbread.
"How are you feeling? You look much better," Tom said, turning around with his usual gentle smile. His blue work overalls were still clean and tidy, though the salt stains on the cuffs seemed a bit more pronounced.
"Much better. Thank you for taking care of me."
Luka sat down, his gaze inadvertently sweeping over the old-fashioned television in the corner of the living room.
Over these seven days, this television had become his main window to understanding this world.
Every morning after Tom went out to sea to fish, Luka would turn on the television, piecing together the world's contours from various channels.
At first, the information came in fragments.
City news segments spoke of a "flying hero in Metropolis" and a "dark vigilante of Gotham."
The "Planet Media" logo occasionally appeared in advertisements.
Street interviews featured citizens passionately discussing "superheroes."
As the information accumulated, Luka gradually formed a clearer understanding.
This was most likely a world related to DC comics.
The Justice League's frequent appearances on television served as the best proof.
The evening news regularly broadcast the League's public actions: preventing meteor strikes, resolving urban disasters, apprehending high-tech criminals...
What puzzled Luka, however, was that news reports claimed the Justice League had been established less than two years ago, and the members shown on screen all appeared young.
The Flash's uniform still gleamed with a brand-new sheen, Green Lantern frequently went on "cosmic missions," and some Justice League heroes occasionally revealed "fatal" vulnerabilities during operations.
To put it bluntly, based on his current assessment, Luka was confident he could kill over half of the Justice League members without sustaining any injuries.
What concerned him even more was the information about Superman.
The Superman on television wore the classic red and blue suit, the S-shield on his chest particularly striking in the sunlight. A white contrail billowed behind him as he flew, and he always wore a gentle smile while rescuing civilians.
After repeatedly comparing news footage, Luka noticed that this Superman's eye color was identical to that of the black-suited Superman who had saved him in space that day. Both possessed the same pure blue eyes.
But their demeanors were worlds apart.
The red-and-blue Superman on TV was like a sunny, cheerful young man, brimming with trust and enthusiasm for humanity.
The black-suited Superman who had saved him, however, had a much more steady and weighty presence, with a trace of imperceptible weariness and sharpness hidden between his brows. Even the warmth conveyed by his palms at that time carried a gentleness born of enduring hardships.
Could there be two Supermen?
Luka lifted his soup bowl, masking the confusion in his eyes.
Furthermore, there were quite a few aspects of this world that contradicted the comic book settings from his memory.
For instance, the Daily Planet of the comics had become "Planet Media" here, a media conglomerate that not only published newspapers but also operated multiple television channels and online platforms.
And Superman's girlfriend, Lois Lane, was no longer just a reporter. She was the anchor of Planet Media's prime-time evening news.
Every night at seven, she appeared on screen, delivering domestic and international headlines with crisp efficiency, occasionally hosting special interviews with superheroes.
Perhaps these aren't contradictions, but more like keeping up with the times?
Luka shook his head, dismissing his own absurd thoughts.
"I'm going to mend the fishing nets again today," Tom said, interrupting Luka's thoughts. "The waves have been rough lately, so I need to make sure the gear is in good shape."
Tom set down his bowl, grabbed his straw hat from the corner, and turned to leave.
Luka's gaze fixed on Tom's hand as he picked up the hat.
For the past seven days, Luka had been constantly observing Tom.
Tom's words, actions, and mannerisms all exuded the authenticity of a seasoned fisherman. He went out to sea on time every day, meticulously repaired his fishing gear, sorted his catch upon returning, and occasionally exchanged casual conversation with the neighbors.
But Luka's intuition repeatedly warned him that this man was far from ordinary.
Once, Luka deliberately knocked over a water glass while Tom was mending his nets. Tom's reaction was astonishingly swift; without even looking, he twisted around and caught the glass mid-air.
At that moment, Luka was almost certain Tom was hiding something. But after that, no matter how he tested him, nothing similar ever happened again.
Whenever Luka tried to probe with words, Tom would immediately revert to his gentle, unassuming fisherman persona.
He would patiently help Luka change his bandages (even though the wound had long since healed), bring back fresh seafood after his trips to sea, and quietly sit beside Luka while he watched television, mending his gear without ever prying for unnecessary information.
"I'll come with you," Luka suddenly said. He wanted to use the sea voyage as an opportunity to observe Tom more closely and perhaps find more clues about this world in the maritime environment.
Tom paused, then shook his head.
"No need. The sea winds are strong, and your injury hasn't fully healed yet. You should stay indoors and rest properly."
"It's much better now," Luka insisted, standing up and stretching his arm to deliberately show Tom he could move freely. "Staying cooped up inside is suffocating."
"I can help with tasks like passing tools. I won't get in the way."
Tom stared at Luka for a few seconds, as if assessing whether he was truly fit for the voyage. After a moment, he nodded.
"Alright, but you must stay on deck. No wandering around. Hold tight to the railing when the waves get rough."
"Okay," Luka said, then chuckled. "I can actually fly, you know."
Tom looked at him seriously and shook his head.
"Flying above the sea hardly counts as fishing. You're too high up. From there, you can't really see the ocean's depth."
Luka was stunned for a second, then, watching Tom's back as he walked towards the door, a gleam of insight flashed in his eyes. He knew his probing had finally yielded a bit of progress.
(End of chapter)
Chapter 7: Setting Sail to Fish
The morning light in the fishing hut always carried a warm, salty dampness. As the seventh ray of sunlight streamed through the window lattice and fell across the edge of the bed, Luka was slowly stretching his body.
He had already quietly removed the bandages. The gruesome wound that had once stretched across his chest and abdomen now remained only as a few faint, pale pink scars.
His broken ribs had healed completely, and even the spinal injury he had sustained had fully recovered its mobility.
He clenched his fist, feeling the power surging within him, a flicker of surprise passing deep in his eyes.
Viltrumites naturally possessed extraordinary regenerative abilities.
But this recovery, following injuries more severe than anything he had ever endured, had granted him an unprecedented boost.
His muscles had become more defined and compact, his strength doubling compared to before the injury.
His senses had also sharpened considerably. The faint crash of waves against rocks a hundred meters away, the whisper of sea wind brushing through leaves outside, all of it reached his ears with striking clarity.
Too bad I never really studied the details of the Invincible comics from my previous life, Luka thought, his fingertips tracing the shallow scars on his chest.
He wasn't entirely sure why Viltrumites possessed such formidable physiques. His combat class grades were good enough that he never needed to study Viltrum science.
Over the past seven days, he had cooperated with Tom's care, feeling his body gradually recover from the brink of death.
The return and astonishing enhancement of his strength allowed Luka to meticulously observe every inch of his body's transformation for the first time.
Previously, he had never had the leisure for such introspection. The end of a battle or special training session rarely granted him any respite. It was difficult to gauge how much stronger he had become.
Until he received special permission to participate in the graduation coming-of-age ceremony early, Luka's memories were filled with endless torment. Those around him were either eliminated or died, but those who kept pace with him seemed to be roughly as strong.
Though he had heard from some instructors that Viltrumites could gain limitless strength from sufficient combat experience, Luka had never felt it so profoundly and personally until now.
When Luka came downstairs, Tom had already prepared breakfast: his usual simple seafood chowder paired with crispy flatbread.
"How are you feeling? You look much better," Tom said, turning around with his usual gentle smile. His blue work overalls were still clean and tidy, though the salt stains on the cuffs seemed a bit more pronounced.
"Much better. Thank you for taking care of me."
Luka sat down, his gaze inadvertently sweeping over the old-fashioned television in the corner of the living room.
Over these seven days, this television had become his main window to understanding this world.
Every morning after Tom went out to sea to fish, Luka would turn on the television, piecing together the world's contours from various channels.
At first, the information came in fragments.
City news segments spoke of a "flying hero in Metropolis" and a "dark vigilante of Gotham."
The "Planet Media" logo occasionally appeared in advertisements.
Street interviews featured citizens passionately discussing "superheroes."
As the information accumulated, Luka gradually formed a clearer understanding.
This was most likely a world related to DC comics.
The Justice League's frequent appearances on television served as the best proof.
The evening news regularly broadcast the League's public actions: preventing meteor strikes, resolving urban disasters, apprehending high-tech criminals...
What puzzled Luka, however, was that news reports claimed the Justice League had been established less than two years ago, and the members shown on screen all appeared young.
The Flash's uniform still gleamed with a brand-new sheen, Green Lantern frequently went on "cosmic missions," and some Justice League heroes occasionally revealed "fatal" vulnerabilities during operations.
To put it bluntly, based on his current assessment, Luka was confident he could kill over half of the Justice League members without sustaining any injuries.
What concerned him even more was the information about Superman.
The Superman on television wore the classic red and blue suit, the S-shield on his chest particularly striking in the sunlight. A white contrail billowed behind him as he flew, and he always wore a gentle smile while rescuing civilians.
After repeatedly comparing news footage, Luka noticed that this Superman's eye color was identical to that of the black-suited Superman who had saved him in space that day. Both possessed the same pure blue eyes.
But their demeanors were worlds apart.
The red-and-blue Superman on TV was like a sunny, cheerful young man, brimming with trust and enthusiasm for humanity.
The black-suited Superman who had saved him, however, had a much more steady and weighty presence, with a trace of imperceptible weariness and sharpness hidden between his brows. Even the warmth conveyed by his palms at that time carried a gentleness born of enduring hardships.
Could there be two Supermen?
Luka lifted his soup bowl, masking the confusion in his eyes.
Furthermore, there were quite a few aspects of this world that contradicted the comic book settings from his memory.
For instance, the Daily Planet of the comics had become "Planet Media" here, a media conglomerate that not only published newspapers but also operated multiple television channels and online platforms.
And Superman's girlfriend, Lois Lane, was no longer just a reporter. She was the anchor of Planet Media's prime-time evening news.
Every night at seven, she appeared on screen, delivering domestic and international headlines with crisp efficiency, occasionally hosting special interviews with superheroes.
Perhaps these aren't contradictions, but more like keeping up with the times?
Luka shook his head, dismissing his own absurd thoughts.
"I'm going to mend the fishing nets again today," Tom said, interrupting Luka's thoughts. "The waves have been rough lately, so I need to make sure the gear is in good shape."
Tom set down his bowl, grabbed his straw hat from the corner, and turned to leave.
Luka's gaze fixed on Tom's hand as he picked up the hat.
For the past seven days, Luka had been constantly observing Tom.
Tom's words, actions, and mannerisms all exuded the authenticity of a seasoned fisherman. He went out to sea on time every day, meticulously repaired his fishing gear, sorted his catch upon returning, and occasionally exchanged casual conversation with the neighbors.
But Luka's intuition repeatedly warned him that this man was far from ordinary.
Once, Luka deliberately knocked over a water glass while Tom was mending his nets. Tom's reaction was astonishingly swift; without even looking, he twisted around and caught the glass mid-air.
At that moment, Luka was almost certain Tom was hiding something. But after that, no matter how he tested him, nothing similar ever happened again.
Whenever Luka tried to probe with words, Tom would immediately revert to his gentle, unassuming fisherman persona.
He would patiently help Luka change his bandages (even though the wound had long since healed), bring back fresh seafood after his trips to sea, and quietly sit beside Luka while he watched television, mending his gear without ever prying for unnecessary information.
"I'll come with you," Luka suddenly said. He wanted to use the sea voyage as an opportunity to observe Tom more closely and perhaps find more clues about this world in the maritime environment.
Tom paused, then shook his head.
"No need. The sea winds are strong, and your injury hasn't fully healed yet. You should stay indoors and rest properly."
"It's much better now," Luka insisted, standing up and stretching his arm to deliberately show Tom he could move freely. "Staying cooped up inside is suffocating."
"I can help with tasks like passing tools. I won't get in the way."
Tom stared at Luka for a few seconds, as if assessing whether he was truly fit for the voyage. After a moment, he nodded.
"Alright, but you must stay on deck. No wandering around. Hold tight to the railing when the waves get rough."
"Okay," Luka said, then chuckled. "I can actually fly, you know."
Tom looked at him seriously and shook his head.
"Flying above the sea hardly counts as fishing. You're too high up. From there, you can't really see the ocean's depth."
Luka was stunned for a second, then, watching Tom's back as he walked towards the door, a gleam of insight flashed in his eyes. He knew his probing had finally yielded a bit of progress.
(End of chapter)
Chapter 7: Setting Sail to Fish
The morning light in the fishing hut always carried a warm, salty dampness. As the seventh ray of sunlight streamed through the window lattice and fell across the edge of the bed, Luka was slowly stretching his body.
He had already quietly removed the bandages. The gruesome wound that had once stretched across his chest and abdomen now remained only as a few faint, pale pink scars.
His broken ribs had healed completely, and even the spinal injury he had sustained had fully recovered its mobility.
He clenched his fist, feeling the power surging within him, a flicker of surprise passing deep in his eyes.
Viltrumites naturally possessed extraordinary regenerative abilities.
But this recovery, following injuries more severe than anything he had ever endured, had granted him an unprecedented boost.
His muscles had become more defined and compact, his strength doubling compared to before the injury.
His senses had also sharpened considerably. The faint crash of waves against rocks a hundred meters away, the whisper of sea wind brushing through leaves outside, all of it reached his ears with striking clarity.
Too bad I never really studied the details of the Invincible comics from my previous life, Luka thought, his fingertips tracing the shallow scars on his chest.
He wasn't entirely sure why Viltrumites possessed such formidable physiques. His combat class grades were good enough that he never needed to study Viltrum science.
Over the past seven days, he had cooperated with Tom's care, feeling his body gradually recover from the brink of death.
The return and astonishing enhancement of his strength allowed Luka to meticulously observe every inch of his body's transformation for the first time.
Previously, he had never had the leisure for such introspection. The end of a battle or special training session rarely granted him any respite. It was difficult to gauge how much stronger he had become.
Until he received special permission to participate in the graduation coming-of-age ceremony early, Luka's memories were filled with endless torment. Those around him were either eliminated or died, but those who kept pace with him seemed to be roughly as strong.
Though he had heard from some instructors that Viltrumites could gain limitless strength from sufficient combat experience, Luka had never felt it so profoundly and personally until now.
When Luka came downstairs, Tom had already prepared breakfast: his usual simple seafood chowder paired with crispy flatbread.
"How are you feeling? You look much better," Tom said, turning around with his usual gentle smile. His blue work overalls were still clean and tidy, though the salt stains on the cuffs seemed a bit more pronounced.
"Much better. Thank you for taking care of me."
Luka sat down, his gaze inadvertently sweeping over the old-fashioned television in the corner of the living room.
Over these seven days, this television had become his main window to understanding this world.
Every morning after Tom went out to sea to fish, Luka would turn on the television, piecing together the world's contours from various channels.
At first, the information came in fragments.
City news segments spoke of a "flying hero in Metropolis" and a "dark vigilante of Gotham."
The "Planet Media" logo occasionally appeared in advertisements.
Street interviews featured citizens passionately discussing "superheroes."
As the information accumulated, Luka gradually formed a clearer understanding.
This was most likely a world related to DC comics.
The Justice League's frequent appearances on television served as the best proof.
The evening news regularly broadcast the League's public actions: preventing meteor strikes, resolving urban disasters, apprehending high-tech criminals...
What puzzled Luka, however, was that news reports claimed the Justice League had been established less than two years ago, and the members shown on screen all appeared young.
The Flash's uniform still gleamed with a brand-new sheen, Green Lantern frequently went on "cosmic missions," and some Justice League heroes occasionally revealed "fatal" vulnerabilities during operations.
To put it bluntly, based on his current assessment, Luka was confident he could kill over half of the Justice League members without sustaining any injuries.
What concerned him even more was the information about Superman.
The Superman on television wore the classic red and blue suit, the S-shield on his chest particularly striking in the sunlight. A white contrail billowed behind him as he flew, and he always wore a gentle smile while rescuing civilians.
After repeatedly comparing news footage, Luka noticed that this Superman's eye color was identical to that of the black-suited Superman who had saved him in space that day. Both possessed the same pure blue eyes.
But their demeanors were worlds apart.
The red-and-blue Superman on TV was like a sunny, cheerful young man, brimming with trust and enthusiasm for humanity.
The black-suited Superman who had saved him, however, had a much more steady and weighty presence, with a trace of imperceptible weariness and sharpness hidden between his brows. Even the warmth conveyed by his palms at that time carried a gentleness born of enduring hardships.
Could there be two Supermen?
Luka lifted his soup bowl, masking the confusion in his eyes.
Furthermore, there were quite a few aspects of this world that contradicted the comic book settings from his memory.
For instance, the Daily Planet of the comics had become "Planet Media" here, a media conglomerate that not only published newspapers but also operated multiple television channels and online platforms.
And Superman's girlfriend, Lois Lane, was no longer just a reporter. She was the anchor of Planet Media's prime-time evening news.
Every night at seven, she appeared on screen, delivering domestic and international headlines with crisp efficiency, occasionally hosting special interviews with superheroes.
Perhaps these aren't contradictions, but more like keeping up with the times?
Luka shook his head, dismissing his own absurd thoughts.
"I'm going to mend the fishing nets again today," Tom said, interrupting Luka's thoughts. "The waves have been rough lately, so I need to make sure the gear is in good shape."
Tom set down his bowl, grabbed his straw hat from the corner, and turned to leave.
Luka's gaze fixed on Tom's hand as he picked up the hat.
For the past seven days, Luka had been constantly observing Tom.
Tom's words, actions, and mannerisms all exuded the authenticity of a seasoned fisherman. He went out to sea on time every day, meticulously repaired his fishing gear, sorted his catch upon returning, and occasionally exchanged casual conversation with the neighbors.
But Luka's intuition repeatedly warned him that this man was far from ordinary.
Once, Luka deliberately knocked over a water glass while Tom was mending his nets. Tom's reaction was astonishingly swift; without even looking, he twisted around and caught the glass mid-air.
At that moment, Luka was almost certain Tom was hiding something. But after that, no matter how he tested him, nothing similar ever happened again.
Whenever Luka tried to probe with words, Tom would immediately revert to his gentle, unassuming fisherman persona.
He would patiently help Luka change his bandages (even though the wound had long since healed), bring back fresh seafood after his trips to sea, and quietly sit beside Luka while he watched television, mending his gear without ever prying for unnecessary information.
"I'll come with you," Luka suddenly said. He wanted to use the sea voyage as an opportunity to observe Tom more closely and perhaps find more clues about this world in the maritime environment.
Tom paused, then shook his head.
"No need. The sea winds are strong, and your injury hasn't fully healed yet. You should stay indoors and rest properly."
"It's much better now," Luka insisted, standing up and stretching his arm to deliberately show Tom he could move freely. "Staying cooped up inside is suffocating."
"I can help with tasks like passing tools. I won't get in the way."
Tom stared at Luka for a few seconds, as if assessing whether he was truly fit for the voyage. After a moment, he nodded.
"Alright, but you must stay on deck. No wandering around. Hold tight to the railing when the waves get rough."
"Okay," Luka said, then chuckled. "I can actually fly, you know."
Tom looked at him seriously and shook his head.
"Flying above the sea hardly counts as fishing. You're too high up. From there, you can't really see the ocean's depth."
Luka was stunned for a second, then, watching Tom's back as he walked towards the door, a gleam of insight flashed in his eyes. He knew his probing had finally yielded a bit of progress.
(End of chapter)
Chapter 7: Setting Sail to Fish
The morning light in the fishing hut always carried a warm, salty dampness. As the seventh ray of sunlight streamed through the window lattice and fell across the edge of the bed, Luka was slowly stretching his body.
He had already quietly removed the bandages. The gruesome wound that had once stretched across his chest and abdomen now remained only as a few faint, pale pink scars.
His broken ribs had healed completely, and even the spinal injury he had sustained had fully recovered its mobility.
He clenched his fist, feeling the power surging within him, a flicker of surprise passing deep in his eyes.
Viltrumites naturally possessed extraordinary regenerative abilities.
But this recovery, following injuries more severe than anything he had ever endured, had granted him an unprecedented boost.
His muscles had become more defined and compact, his strength doubling compared to before the injury.
His senses had also sharpened considerably. The faint crash of waves against rocks a hundred meters away, the whisper of sea wind brushing through leaves outside, all of it reached his ears with striking clarity.
Too bad I never really studied the details of the Invincible comics from my previous life, Luka thought, his fingertips tracing the shallow scars on his chest.
He wasn't entirely sure why Viltrumites possessed such formidable physiques. His combat class grades were good enough that he never needed to study Viltrum science.
Over the past seven days, he had cooperated with Tom's care, feeling his body gradually recover from the brink of death.
The return and astonishing enhancement of his strength allowed Luka to meticulously observe every inch of his body's transformation for the first time.
Previously, he had never had the leisure for such introspection. The end of a battle or special training session rarely granted him any respite. It was difficult to gauge how much stronger he had become.
Until he received special permission to participate in the graduation coming-of-age ceremony early, Luka's memories were filled with endless torment. Those around him were either eliminated or died, but those who kept pace with him seemed to be roughly as strong.
Though he had heard from some instructors that Viltrumites could gain limitless strength from sufficient combat experience, Luka had never felt it so profoundly and personally until now.
When Luka came downstairs, Tom had already prepared breakfast: his usual simple seafood chowder paired with crispy flatbread.
"How are you feeling? You look much better," Tom said, turning around with his usual gentle smile. His blue work overalls were still clean and tidy, though the salt stains on the cuffs seemed a bit more pronounced.
"Much better. Thank you for taking care of me."
Luka sat down, his gaze inadvertently sweeping over the old-fashioned television in the corner of the living room.
Over these seven days, this television had become his main window to understanding this world.
Every morning after Tom went out to sea to fish, Luka would turn on the television, piecing together the world's contours from various channels.
At first, the information came in fragments.
City news segments spoke of a "flying hero in Metropolis" and a "dark vigilante of Gotham."
The "Planet Media" logo occasionally appeared in advertisements.
Street interviews featured citizens passionately discussing "superheroes."
As the information accumulated, Luka gradually formed a clearer understanding.
This was most likely a world related to DC comics.
The Justice League's frequent appearances on television served as the best proof.
The evening news regularly broadcast the League's public actions: preventing meteor strikes, resolving urban disasters, apprehending high-tech criminals...
What puzzled Luka, however, was that news reports claimed the Justice League had been established less than two years ago, and the members shown on screen all appeared young.
The Flash's uniform still gleamed with a brand-new sheen, Green Lantern frequently went on "cosmic missions," and some Justice League heroes occasionally revealed "fatal" vulnerabilities during operations.
To put it bluntly, based on his current assessment, Luka was confident he could kill over half of the Justice League members without sustaining any injuries.
What concerned him even more was the information about Superman.
The Superman on television wore the classic red and blue suit, the S-shield on his chest particularly striking in the sunlight. A white contrail billowed behind him as he flew, and he always wore a gentle smile while rescuing civilians.
After repeatedly comparing news footage, Luka noticed that this Superman's eye color was identical to that of the black-suited Superman who had saved him in space that day. Both possessed the same pure blue eyes.
But their demeanors were worlds apart.
The red-and-blue Superman on TV was like a sunny, cheerful young man, brimming with trust and enthusiasm for humanity.
The black-suited Superman who had saved him, however, had a much more steady and weighty presence, with a trace of imperceptible weariness and sharpness hidden between his brows. Even the warmth conveyed by his palms at that time carried a gentleness born of enduring hardships.
Could there be two Supermen?
Luka lifted his soup bowl, masking the confusion in his eyes.
Furthermore, there were quite a few aspects of this world that contradicted the comic book settings from his memory.
For instance, the Daily Planet of the comics had become "Planet Media" here, a media conglomerate that not only published newspapers but also operated multiple television channels and online platforms.
And Superman's girlfriend, Lois Lane, was no longer just a reporter. She was the anchor of Planet Media's prime-time evening news.
Every night at seven, she appeared on screen, delivering domestic and international headlines with crisp efficiency, occasionally hosting special interviews with superheroes.
Perhaps these aren't contradictions, but more like keeping up with the times?
Luka shook his head, dismissing his own absurd thoughts.
"I'm going to mend the fishing nets again today," Tom said, interrupting Luka's thoughts. "The waves have been rough lately, so I need to make sure the gear is in good shape."
Tom set down his bowl, grabbed his straw hat from the corner, and turned to leave.
Luka's gaze fixed on Tom's hand as he picked up the hat.
For the past seven days, Luka had been constantly observing Tom.
Tom's words, actions, and mannerisms all exuded the authenticity of a seasoned fisherman. He went out to sea on time every day, meticulously repaired his fishing gear, sorted his catch upon returning, and occasionally exchanged casual conversation with the neighbors.
But Luka's intuition repeatedly warned him that this man was far from ordinary.
Once, Luka deliberately knocked over a water glass while Tom was mending his nets. Tom's reaction was astonishingly swift; without even looking, he twisted around and caught the glass mid-air.
At that moment, Luka was almost certain Tom was hiding something. But after that, no matter how he tested him, nothing similar ever happened again.
Whenever Luka tried to probe with words, Tom would immediately revert to his gentle, unassuming fisherman persona.
He would patiently help Luka change his bandages (even though the wound had long since healed), bring back fresh seafood after his trips to sea, and quietly sit beside Luka while he watched television, mending his gear without ever prying for unnecessary information.
"I'll come with you," Luka suddenly said. He wanted to use the sea voyage as an opportunity to observe Tom more closely and perhaps find more clues about this world in the maritime environment.
Tom paused, then shook his head.
"No need. The sea winds are strong, and your injury hasn't fully healed yet. You should stay indoors and rest properly."
"It's much better now," Luka insisted, standing up and stretching his arm to deliberately show Tom he could move freely. "Staying cooped up inside is suffocating."
"I can help with tasks like passing tools. I won't get in the way."
Tom stared at Luka for a few seconds, as if assessing whether he was truly fit for the voyage. After a moment, he nodded.
"Alright, but you must stay on deck. No wandering around. Hold tight to the railing when the waves get rough."
"Okay," Luka said, then chuckled. "I can actually fly, you know."
Tom looked at him seriously and shook his head.
"Flying above the sea hardly counts as fishing. You're too high up. From there, you can't really see the ocean's depth."
Luka was stunned for a second, then, watching Tom's back as he walked towards the door, a gleam of insight flashed in his eyes. He knew his probing had finally yielded a bit of progress.
(End of chapter)
Chapter 7: Setting Sail to Fish
The morning light in the fishing hut always carried a warm, salty dampness. As the seventh ray of sunlight streamed through the window lattice and fell across the edge of the bed, Luka was slowly stretching his body.
He had already quietly removed the bandages. The gruesome wound that had once stretched across his chest and abdomen now remained only as a few faint, pale pink scars.
His broken ribs had healed completely, and even the spinal injury he had sustained had fully recovered its mobility.
He clenched his fist, feeling the power surging within him, a flicker of surprise passing deep in his eyes.
Viltrumites naturally possessed extraordinary regenerative abilities.
But this recovery, following injuries more severe than anything he had ever endured, had granted him an unprecedented boost.
His muscles had become more defined and compact, his strength doubling compared to before the injury.
His senses had also sharpened considerably. The faint crash of waves against rocks a hundred meters away, the whisper of sea wind brushing through leaves outside, all of it reached his ears with striking clarity.
Too bad I never really studied the details of the Invincible comics from my previous life, Luka thought, his fingertips tracing the shallow scars on his chest.
He wasn't entirely sure why Viltrumites possessed such formidable physiques. His combat class grades were good enough that he never needed to study Viltrum science.
Over the past seven days, he had cooperated with Tom's care, feeling his body gradually recover from the brink of death.
The return and astonishing enhancement of his strength allowed Luka to meticulously observe every inch of his body's transformation for the first time.
Previously, he had never had the leisure for such introspection. The end of a battle or special training session rarely granted him any respite. It was difficult to gauge how much stronger he had become.
Until he received special permission to participate in the graduation coming-of-age ceremony early, Luka's memories were filled with endless torment. Those around him were either eliminated or died, but those who kept pace with him seemed to be roughly as strong.
Though he had heard from some instructors that Viltrumites could gain limitless strength from sufficient combat experience, Luka had never felt it so profoundly and personally until now.
When Luka came downstairs, Tom had already prepared breakfast: his usual simple seafood chowder paired with crispy flatbread.
"How are you feeling? You look much better," Tom said, turning around with his usual gentle smile. His blue work overalls were still clean and tidy, though the salt stains on the cuffs seemed a bit more pronounced.
"Much better. Thank you for taking care of me."
Luka sat down, his gaze inadvertently sweeping over the old-fashioned television in the corner of the living room.
Over these seven days, this television had become his main window to understanding this world.
Every morning after Tom went out to sea to fish, Luka would turn on the television, piecing together the world's contours from various channels.
At first, the information came in fragments.
City news segments spoke of a "flying hero in Metropolis" and a "dark vigilante of Gotham."
The "Planet Media" logo occasionally appeared in advertisements.
Street interviews featured citizens passionately discussing "superheroes."
As the information accumulated, Luka gradually formed a clearer understanding.
This was most likely a world related to DC comics.
The Justice League's frequent appearances on television served as the best proof.
The evening news regularly broadcast the League's public actions: preventing meteor strikes, resolving urban disasters, apprehending high-tech criminals...
What puzzled Luka, however, was that news reports claimed the Justice League had been established less than two years ago, and the members shown on screen all appeared young.
The Flash's uniform still gleamed with a brand-new sheen, Green Lantern frequently went on "cosmic missions," and some Justice League heroes occasionally revealed "fatal" vulnerabilities during operations.
To put it bluntly, based on his current assessment, Luka was confident he could kill over half of the Justice League members without sustaining any injuries.
What concerned him even more was the information about Superman.
The Superman on television wore the classic red and blue suit, the S-shield on his chest particularly striking in the sunlight. A white contrail billowed behind him as he flew, and he always wore a gentle smile while rescuing civilians.
After repeatedly comparing news footage, Luka noticed that this Superman's eye color was identical to that of the black-suited Superman who had saved him in space that day. Both possessed the same pure blue eyes.
But their demeanors were worlds apart.
The red-and-blue Superman on TV was like a sunny, cheerful young man, brimming with trust and enthusiasm for humanity.
The black-suited Superman who had saved him, however, had a much more steady and weighty presence, with a trace of imperceptible weariness and sharpness hidden between his brows. Even the warmth conveyed by his palms at that time carried a gentleness born of enduring hardships.
Could there be two Supermen?
Luka lifted his soup bowl, masking the confusion in his eyes.
Furthermore, there were quite a few aspects of this world that contradicted the comic book settings from his memory.
For instance, the Daily Planet of the comics had become "Planet Media" here, a media conglomerate that not only published newspapers but also operated multiple television channels and online platforms.
And Superman's girlfriend, Lois Lane, was no longer just a reporter. She was the anchor of Planet Media's prime-time evening news.
Every night at seven, she appeared on screen, delivering domestic and international headlines with crisp efficiency, occasionally hosting special interviews with superheroes.
Perhaps these aren't contradictions, but more like keeping up with the times?
Luka shook his head, dismissing his own absurd thoughts.
"I'm going to mend the fishing nets again today," Tom said, interrupting Luka's thoughts. "The waves have been rough lately, so I need to make sure the gear is in good shape."
Tom set down his bowl, grabbed his straw hat from the corner, and turned to leave.
Luka's gaze fixed on Tom's hand as he picked up the hat.
For the past seven days, Luka had been constantly observing Tom.
Tom's words, actions, and mannerisms all exuded the authenticity of a seasoned fisherman. He went out to sea on time every day, meticulously repaired his fishing gear, sorted his catch upon returning, and occasionally exchanged casual conversation with the neighbors.
But Luka's intuition repeatedly warned him that this man was far from ordinary.
Once, Luka deliberately knocked over a water glass while Tom was mending his nets. Tom's reaction was astonishingly swift; without even looking, he twisted around and caught the glass mid-air.
At that moment, Luka was almost certain Tom was hiding something. But after that, no matter how he tested him, nothing similar ever happened again.
Whenever Luka tried to probe with words, Tom would immediately revert to his gentle, unassuming fisherman persona.
He would patiently help Luka change his bandages (even though the wound had long since healed), bring back fresh seafood after his trips to sea, and quietly sit beside Luka while he watched television, mending his gear without ever prying for unnecessary information.
"I'll come with you," Luka suddenly said. He wanted to use the sea voyage as an opportunity to observe Tom more closely and perhaps find more clues about this world in the maritime environment.
Tom paused, then shook his head.
"No need. The sea winds are strong, and your injury hasn't fully healed yet. You should stay indoors and rest properly."
"It's much better now," Luka insisted, standing up and stretching his arm to deliberately show Tom he could move freely. "Staying cooped up inside is suffocating."
"I can help with tasks like passing tools. I won't get in the way."
Tom stared at Luka for a few seconds, as if assessing whether he was truly fit for the voyage. After a moment, he nodded.
"Alright, but you must stay on deck. No wandering around. Hold tight to the railing when the waves get rough."
"Okay," Luka said, then chuckled. "I can actually fly, you know."
Tom looked at him seriously and shook his head.
"Flying above the sea hardly counts as fishing. You're too high up. From there, you can't really see the ocean's depth."
Luka was stunned for a second, then, watching Tom's back as he walked towards the door, a gleam of insight flashed in his eyes. He knew his probing had finally yielded a bit of progress.
(End of chapter)
Chapter 7: Setting Sail to Fish
The morning light in the fishing hut always carried a warm, salty dampness. As the seventh ray of sunlight streamed through the window lattice and fell across the edge of the bed, Luka was slowly stretching his body.
He had already quietly removed the bandages. The gruesome wound that had once stretched across his chest and abdomen now remained only as a few faint, pale pink scars.
His broken ribs had healed completely, and even the spinal injury he had sustained had fully recovered its mobility.
He clenched his fist, feeling the power surging within him, a flicker of surprise passing deep in his eyes.
Viltrumites naturally possessed extraordinary regenerative abilities.
But this recovery, following injuries more severe than anything he had ever endured, had granted him an unprecedented boost.
His muscles had become more defined and compact, his strength doubling compared to before the injury.
His senses had also sharpened considerably. The faint crash of waves against rocks a hundred meters away, the whisper of sea wind brushing through leaves outside, all of it reached his ears with striking clarity.
Too bad I never really studied the details of the Invincible comics from my previous life, Luka thought, his fingertips tracing the shallow scars on his chest.
He wasn't entirely sure why Viltrumites possessed such formidable physiques. His combat class grades were good enough that he never needed to study Viltrum science.
Over the past seven days, he had cooperated with Tom's care, feeling his body gradually recover from the brink of death.
The return and astonishing enhancement of his strength allowed Luka to meticulously observe every inch of his body's transformation for the first time.
Previously, he had never had the leisure for such introspection. The end of a battle or special training session rarely granted him any respite. It was difficult to gauge how much stronger he had become.
Until he received special permission to participate in the graduation coming-of-age ceremony early, Luka's memories were filled with endless torment. Those around him were either eliminated or died, but those who kept pace with him seemed to be roughly as strong.
Though he had heard from some instructors that Viltrumites could gain limitless strength from sufficient combat experience, Luka had never felt it so profoundly and personally until now.
When Luka came downstairs, Tom had already prepared breakfast: his usual simple seafood chowder paired with crispy flatbread.
"How are you feeling? You look much better," Tom said, turning around with his usual gentle smile. His blue work overalls were still clean and tidy, though the salt stains on the cuffs seemed a bit more pronounced.
"Much better. Thank you for taking care of me."
Luka sat down, his gaze inadvertently sweeping over the old-fashioned television in the corner of the living room.
Over these seven days, this television had become his main window to understanding this world.
Every morning after Tom went out to sea to fish, Luka would turn on the television, piecing together the world's contours from various channels.
At first, the information came in fragments.
City news segments spoke of a "flying hero in Metropolis" and a "dark vigilante of Gotham."
The "Planet Media" logo occasionally appeared in advertisements.
Street interviews featured citizens passionately discussing "superheroes."
As the information accumulated, Luka gradually formed a clearer understanding.
This was most likely a world related to DC comics.
The Justice League's frequent appearances on television served as the best proof.
The evening news regularly broadcast the League's public actions: preventing meteor strikes, resolving urban disasters, apprehending high-tech criminals...
What puzzled Luka, however, was that news reports claimed the Justice League had been established less than two years ago, and the members shown on screen all appeared young.
The Flash's uniform still gleamed with a brand-new sheen, Green Lantern frequently went on "cosmic missions," and some Justice League heroes occasionally revealed "fatal" vulnerabilities during operations.
To put it bluntly, based on his current assessment, Luka was confident he could kill over half of the Justice League members without sustaining any injuries.
What concerned him even more was the information about Superman.
The Superman on television wore the classic red and blue suit, the S-shield on his chest particularly striking in the sunlight. A white contrail billowed behind him as he flew, and he always wore a gentle smile while rescuing civilians.
After repeatedly comparing news footage, Luka noticed that this Superman's eye color was identical to that of the black-suited Superman who had saved him in space that day. Both possessed the same pure blue eyes.
But their demeanors were worlds apart.
The red-and-blue Superman on TV was like a sunny, cheerful young man, brimming with trust and enthusiasm for humanity.
The black-suited Superman who had saved him, however, had a much more steady and weighty presence, with a trace of imperceptible weariness and sharpness hidden between his brows. Even the warmth conveyed by his palms at that time carried a gentleness born of enduring hardships.
Could there be two Supermen?
Luka lifted his soup bowl, masking the confusion in his eyes.
Furthermore, there were quite a few aspects of this world that contradicted the comic book settings from his memory.
For instance, the Daily Planet of the comics had become "Planet Media" here, a media conglomerate that not only published newspapers but also operated multiple television channels and online platforms.
And Superman's girlfriend, Lois Lane, was no longer just a reporter. She was the anchor of Planet Media's prime-time evening news.
Every night at seven, she appeared on screen, delivering domestic and international headlines with crisp efficiency, occasionally hosting special interviews with superheroes.
Perhaps these aren't contradictions, but more like keeping up with the times?
Luka shook his head, dismissing his own absurd thoughts.
"I'm going to mend the fishing nets again today," Tom said, interrupting Luka's thoughts. "The waves have been rough lately, so I need to make sure the gear is in good shape."
Tom set down his bowl, grabbed his straw hat from the corner, and turned to leave.
Luka's gaze fixed on Tom's hand as he picked up the hat.
For the past seven days, Luka had been constantly observing Tom.
Tom's words, actions, and mannerisms all exuded the authenticity of a seasoned fisherman. He went out to sea on time every day, meticulously repaired his fishing gear, sorted his catch upon returning, and occasionally exchanged casual conversation with the neighbors.
But Luka's intuition repeatedly warned him that this man was far from ordinary.
Once, Luka deliberately knocked over a water glass while Tom was mending his nets. Tom's reaction was astonishingly swift; without even looking, he twisted around and caught the glass mid-air.
At that moment, Luka was almost certain Tom was hiding something. But after that, no matter how he tested him, nothing similar ever happened again.
Whenever Luka tried to probe with words, Tom would immediately revert to his gentle, unassuming fisherman persona.
He would patiently help Luka change his bandages (even though the wound had long since healed), bring back fresh seafood after his trips to sea, and quietly sit beside Luka while he watched television, mending his gear without ever prying for unnecessary information.
"I'll come with you," Luka suddenly said. He wanted to use the sea voyage as an opportunity to observe Tom more closely and perhaps find more clues about this world in the maritime environment.
Tom paused, then shook his head.
"No need. The sea winds are strong, and your injury hasn't fully healed yet. You should stay indoors and rest properly."
"It's much better now," Luka insisted, standing up and stretching his arm to deliberately show Tom he could move freely. "Staying cooped up inside is suffocating."
"I can help with tasks like passing tools. I won't get in the way."
Tom stared at Luka for a few seconds, as if assessing whether he was truly fit for the voyage. After a moment, he nodded.
"Alright, but you must stay on deck. No wandering around. Hold tight to the railing when the waves get rough."
"Okay," Luka said, then chuckled. "I can actually fly, you know."
Tom looked at him seriously and shook his head.
"Flying above the sea hardly counts as fishing. You're too high up. From there, you can't really see the ocean's depth."
Luka was stunned for a second, then, watching Tom's back as he walked towards the door, a gleam of insight flashed in his eyes. He knew his probing had finally yielded a bit of progress.
(End of chapter)