Jill Young moved like a whirlwind, checking John Yang from head to toe in the blink of an eye. No signs of drugging, coercion, or any sneaky micro-bombs or tracking devices planted on her dad. Just to be sure, she sent out a mental shockwave—her eyes practically shooting lasers—scanning him up and down. Good news: Dad’s mind was also untouched.
Since no one had messed with him, and with HQ records and the think tank’s analysis backing her up, Jill finally relaxed a little—but also felt a wave of anger bubbling up.
"Dad, five days! It’s been five days and not a peep from you! Do you know what you’ve been doing?" Jill slapped the boss’s desk so hard her hand left an imprint. "Forget everything else—just look at this place! The explosives around here could kill a guy, and we set up a whole chain of traps. If Jonathan Black hadn’t stumbled on what’s going down here, you’d be toast!"
Her emotions boiling over, Jill laid into her dad: "Seriously, why did you come here? Didn’t I tell you to stay home? Trying to give me a heart attack? And what are you doing at a nightclub? Sightseeing during a crisis? Do you even know what’s happening in Japan? Just to keep that sleazy Stephen Evenson safe, I’ve been outsmarting and out-fighting half the world! Jonathan Black—the strongest guy on Earth—wouldn’t even risk coming here, afraid it’s a trap! Ever since you disappeared, Mom’s been boxing every day just to chill out!"
Jill just kept getting angrier, her voice rising: "You don’t know anything, fine, whatever—but why come out here and stir up trouble?"
Behind the boss’s desk, still standing in front of his unfinished math problems, John Yang looked a little spaced out.
John Yang gripped his draft paper tightly.
Then, gently, he let go of the paper.
Inhale… exhale… He felt a little dizzy—mental exhaustion after too much excitement. His steps were wobbly, his mind reeling from the emotional blow.
"Dad, what’s wrong?" Jill jumped in a flash, appearing behind John Yang and pressing her hand to his back. Warm, innate energy flooded his aging body, soaking him like a bubbling hot spring.
John Yang’s face was pale, his voice dry, as he stubbornly pushed Jill’s hand away and stood up on his own: "I’m fine. Really. I just… I just wanted to help out here, that’s all."
Seeing her dad looking so washed out, Jill scratched her head, annoyed but finally letting her anger go: "You being safe in the back office, not making me worry—that’s the biggest help you can give!"
After another thorough check, Jill made sure her dad was really fine—no injuries, no poison, no weirdness—and finally relaxed. Still fuming, she spun around and yelled, "Hey, old man hiding over there, get out here! Don’t think I don’t know you’re skulking outside!"
Charlie sheepishly appeared, all the Dom Pérignon he’d drunk now pouring out of his pores as cold sweat.
"You’re pretty slick, huh? Sneaking out past HQ, leaving no trace, thinking the new kids are nothing special, and secretly patting yourself on the back—drank a few too many and forgot who you are? If I hadn’t shuffled the Chosen One off elsewhere, you wouldn’t have made it a step onto that island!"
Jill held back a little with her dad, but let Charlie have it: "Dad might not know what’s up, but you sure do, right? We’re in the middle of a war! Top eight on the Heavenly List, world powers, Zade Family, Heart of Tiberius, Jonathan Black’s life on the line—why are you, a regular guy, jumping into the chaos? Gods flying everywhere, super moves going off all over, do you even know what league you’re in? And dragging my dad into it? Seriously? You think Japan doesn’t have a Chosen One? You think there’s nothing going on here? Just because I don’t take this island seriously doesn’t mean you can! If you weren’t a founding elder, for this mess—and for putting my dad in danger—I’d knock you into retirement with one punch!
Charlie’s face turned purple from the scolding, but he couldn’t get a word out. The two old guys exchanged awkward glances, neither knowing what to say.
"Enough, we’ll deal with everything later—just follow me!" Jill checked the area again—clean, no tails, no surveillance. With a cold snort, she turned and walked off. Gotta admit, Charlie’s got skills; he followed the clues to the right spot and covered his tracks well. But Jill was still ticked off, so none of that mattered right now.
She strode into the secret doorway, with John Yang clutching his unfinished draft paper and Charlie, face as purple as an eggplant, trailing behind.
How far they walked, how many tunnels they crawled through, which entrance led underground and which secret spot they ended up in—John Yang couldn’t remember any of it. He just drifted along, doing whatever he was told, feeling lost and a little nervous.
Now that his adrenaline had cooled off, John Yang couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed.
Thinking it over, Jill may have yelled at him, but she wasn’t wrong. If he were in her shoes—fighting on the front lines and suddenly hearing his old man had snuck off—he’d probably blow a gasket too. Honestly, her yelling was mild—only because he was her dad. If his own son pulled this, he’d have strung the kid up for a beating!
And honestly, all he’d done was make things messier…
What now? Man, this is awkward. If only he’d breezed in and out, pulled off something Jill couldn’t, and swaggered home, he could’ve said, “Kids these days just don’t have what it takes!”—super cool. But instead, not only did he not help, he got caught red-handed. Talk about embarrassing!
What happened? Seriously, what happened! Last time, facing the Alien Queen, he actually helped out—a regular guy doing stuff even movie tough guys couldn’t. He was a legend! So why was this time so off-script? Total flop!
How’s he ever supposed to show his face in front of his wife and kid again?
Now he’d be stuck with the title: “That clueless old guy who just gets in the way.”
No more keeping up that heroic dad image in front of the kids. No more humblebragging about his glory days.
What now! What now!
Plus, thinking back, was there something weird mixed into what Jill said earlier? Like, ever since he snuck off, Susan Morrow started doing something to blow off steam?
What was it again… let me think…
Bang—a dull thud snapped John Yang back to reality. He looked up and saw his wife, Susan Morrow, standing right there. Her expression was half-smile, half-creepy, eyes narrowed to slits that glowed a terrifying red. She was staring him down, dressed in comfy workout gear, boxing gloves on her hands.
Quick, say something to break the ice…
Bang!
Susan Morrow twisted her hips and stepped forward, unleashing a lightning-fast hook that slammed into the punching bag. Her skinny arms packed a wild punch—the bag dented deep, swung high, and made a tortured squeak. John Yang couldn’t help imagining his own gut taking the hit, eyes bugging out, spine popping. Then the bag sagged back down, creaking like a corpse on a meat hook, making him picture himself strung up for a good airing.
"Susan…"
"Hmph!" Susan Morrow turned and walked off. "No time for you now—sit tight, I’ll deal with you later." She flicked off her gloves with a flourish, letting them thud to the floor.
Hearing something odd in the sound, John Yang rushed to pick up the gloves—whoa, heavy! Were these things stuffed with steel? Was Susan really boxing with steel-loaded gloves? Just look at that poor punching bag, covered in dents—she’d clearly been beating it up for ages.
Wait… when did his wife start going the super-strength route like Jill?
Weren’t regular Earth folks supposed to stay normal?
"Uncle." Jonathan Black came over, grinning nervously and trying to smooth things over. He knew exactly how his uncle was feeling and was here to help the queen keep the peace: "Don’t take it to heart, Cousin Jill and Aunt Susan were just worried…"
"You don’t have to say it. I get it." John Yang took a deep breath, pulling himself together. "I screwed up this time, made a mess for everyone. So, how’s it looking on your end?"
"Big fight’s about to break out—storm’s coming." Jonathan Black nodded to Charlie, then led the two down the corridor, voice low: "We’ve done all the prep we can. Anything we couldn’t prep for, we’ll just handle as it comes. We thought it over and decided to keep the battlefield in Tokyo—better there than on our own turf."
No clue if this base was underground, but it was sealed tight—no windows, just rows of lights for illumination. The place had a hardcore vibe, every wall at least seventy centimeters thick. Even a Chosen One would have trouble busting through. The whole setup screamed battle fortress.