After having lunch with his company staff, Herman freshened up and changed into a suit that gave off a mature and composed impression—perfectly tailored and refined.
Kiton suits had always been a reliable choice. Each bespoke Kiton piece was designed and crafted one-on-one by a master tailor.
Of course, that level of craftsmanship didn't come cheap.
With its exquisite handwork and top-tier fabrics, a Kiton suit typically started at around thirty thousand—just for the ready-to-wear versions. Custom-made, or bespoke, suits could easily reach the hundred-thousand range.
Each bespoke suit took roughly three months to complete, during which a team of four to five specialists worked with the client. The designers would tailor every detail to the client's preferences and needs, striving to create a one-of-a-kind suit made exclusively for him.
"Honestly, with my build, even a cheap street-stall suit would probably look like high-end designer wear on me."
Herman stood before the mirror, admiring his reflection. It wasn't vanity—his physique genuinely allowed him to pull off almost any style effortlessly.
Just like a beautiful woman could make a potato sack look like haute couture from a Paris runway, a well-built, handsome man could make even the simplest clothing look exceptional.
"As for the gifts… let's see. Gwen Stacy's mother's a housewife, and her father's a police officer. What kind of presents would suit them?"
As a man with plenty of experience in romance, Herman knew that winning a girl's heart was only half the battle—the real challenge was impressing her parents.
After all, if you only knew how to charm the girl but not her family, you'd never win over a good, decent one. At best, you'd end up with someone looking for a fleeting thrill in nightlife circles.
The true masters of the game, however, preferred the chase—the challenge of winning over reserved, respectable women. That was where the sense of conquest came from. And for a "hunter" of Herman's caliber, even when he got bored and decided to end things, he usually managed to leave the girl's parents thinking it was her fault.
"Huh… when I think about it that way, maybe the All-Seeing Eye's assessment of me wasn't entirely wrong," Herman muttered to himself as he stepped out of his dressing room.
Ravens circled at his feet, and in the next moment, they whisked him away—teleporting him straight to America's most famous shopping district.
Beverly Hills.
As the country's most luxurious residential area, it naturally hosted one of the world's most exclusive shopping streets, lined with nearly every elite brand imaginable.
Along the sidewalks, every shopper who dared to step into these boutiques was decked out in attire worth at least the price of a luxury sports car.
"Still plenty of time… might as well take a stroll."
Herman often came here to shop, which was why he could use the ravens to teleport directly to the area. Checking his watch, he saw there was no need to rush.
To avoid being recognized and dealing with the usual "It's Homelander!" reactions, he had made sure to wear both a mask and sunglasses before leaving.
He'd already had enough experiences of being recognized and mobbed—far more than any top celebrity ever had.
After all, this was the Marvel Universe, where the main theme was worshiping the strong.
He'd even run into several Hollywood A-listers in Beverly Hills who screamed hysterically when they saw him—just like ordinary fans spotting their favorite idol.
If he hadn't made a quick escape, some of those stars might've literally tried to drag him into a "fight." One particular pop singer named Taylor Swift had even gone home after bumping into him once and written a song expressing her desire to "have his children."
What could he say? Celebrities, in the end, were no different from regular people. Meet someone they idolize, and they become just as starstruck as anyone else.
"Lucky day—no one's recognized me yet," Herman thought, adjusting his mask and sunglasses. Unless someone knew him personally, there was no chance they'd recognize him.
As he walked down the most extravagant shopping street in America, he passed countless stunning men and women—and even a few fifty-year-old men flaunting eighteen-year-old girlfriends.
"Daddy! Buy me this! I want this bag!"
"Of course, sweetheart. But tonight you're wearing the Balenciaga stockings. I bought ten pairs—you'll need to go through at least five by the end of the night."
…
This kind of conversation.
At a glance, it was obvious that wasn't a normal father-daughter relationship.
Herman wasn't particularly interested in the lewd exchange, but the woman clinging to the old man kept stealing glances at him.
With his heightened senses, it was impossible for him not to notice. He sighed inwardly.
Even with his face concealed behind a mask, his flawless physique wrapped in a suit was still irresistible to most women.
To put it simply—a well-built man in a suit was like a beautiful woman in a stepmother's dress. The woman hanging on the old man's arm was clearly entertaining thoughts that made Herman roll his eyes internally.
He promptly left the store and chose another.
Every shop along Beverly Hills' commercial street gleamed with opulence—polished marble paired with brass doors and sculpted fountains under arched facades, lending the entire street an air of extravagant majesty.
"Welcome!"
Every boutique was staffed with tall, elegant hostesses and sharply dressed attendants. The moment Herman stepped inside, they offered impeccable service—though they probably didn't recognize his unbranded clothes.
Still, professional training had sharpened their instincts. They could tell at a glance who belonged to their clientele.
And even if their instincts failed, anyone working in Beverly Hills could recognize the watch on Herman's wrist—worth over ten million dollars.
"This belt looks nice."
Herman quickly picked out a belt for Gwen Stacy's father. It cost more than seventy thousand dollars. For a comfortable middle-class family like the Stacys, that was no small sum—something only true millionaires could casually afford.
What defined a wealthy family?
The ability to have a steady stream of income without needing to work.
Gwen's father, as the NYPD Captain, held an admirable position. But without corruption or side income, his annual salary would be around three hundred thousand dollars—enough to live well, but not nearly enough for this level of luxury.
If Gwen Stacy were just an ordinary girl he'd met, Herman would never buy such an expensive gift for a first meeting with her parents. Even though he could afford it, it would've been unnecessary.
But since Gwen Stacy had been turned into his fiancée by the [All-Seeing Eye], meeting the future in-laws called for something suitably extravagant.
Herman still wasn't entirely used to this sudden "relationship," but at least Gwen fit his taste.
If the [All-Seeing Eye] had matched him with someone hideous, he would've been genuinely distressed.
After all, when it came to Identity Exclusive Missions, Herman had something close to obsessive-compulsive tendencies—he simply couldn't leave a mission unfinished.
And so, this mission involving Gwen Stacy was no exception. It wasn't about desire—it was about compulsion.
"When it comes to women, skincare products are always a safe choice."
After another round through the mall, Herman selected a full set of high-end skincare products for Gwen's mother, priced at roughly two hundred thousand dollars. Naturally, the gift for the mother-in-law had to outshine the one for the father-in-law. That was just common sense.
Once all the gifts were ready, he grabbed a bottle of red wine as well. In America, bringing wine when invited to someone's home was standard etiquette—much like bringing fruit when visiting someone in China.
Just as he finished his purchases, his phone rang. The caller ID displayed the name that always made him sigh—[Fiancée No. 1].
Herman still couldn't figure out why the [All-Seeing Eye] liked to toy with him like this. This time, his identity clearly included only one fiancée—Gwen Stacy.
"Herman, are you ready? Should I come pick you up from Stellar Tower?" Gwen's bright voice came through the receiver. Since the world's history had been rewritten, she now possessed far more knowledge about him.
Her mind even held memories of their past dates. However, their physical intimacy had never gone beyond holding hands.
According to the [All-Seeing Eye]'s revised narrative, the reason was simple—Herman believed Gwen was still underage.
A perfectly reasonable explanation.
Herman had already received that bit of information.
How to describe it...
It was probably the one thing the [All-Seeing Eye] hadn't completely messed up. Otherwise, if he had to "take responsibility" for a girl he'd never actually hugged, kissed, or touched, he'd probably end up questioning whether he'd just been cheated on—by himself.
A truly philosophical dilemma.
If the [All-Seeing Eye] rewrote reality without his direct experience, then what did that make him?
Had Herman just cuckolded himself... or had the [All-Seeing Eye] done it for him?
Thankfully, that was one paradox he didn't have to solve—at least, not yet.
"No need. Actually, I'm already at your door."
Herman stood in Beverly Hills, Los Angeles—thousands of kilometers away from New York.
Yet, as his words fell, gasps erupted among nearby pedestrians as he vanished in a swirl of ravens and reappeared at Gwen Stacy's doorstep. He'd been here before, after all, to confirm whether Gwen Stacy was the same Spider-Woman captured in Peter Parker's photos.
He truly hadn't expected to return one day in this kind of role.
"I didn't see you on the road!" Gwen's voice called from the second floor of the cozy suburban house, echoing through both the open window and Herman's phone.
Thanks to his super-hearing, Herman pinpointed her exact location—leaning out of her bedroom window upstairs.
"Maybe you should come down and open the door for me?" Herman took a few steps back from the gate and looked up, spotting Gwen peeking through the window.
"You're really here!" Gwen exclaimed in delight, her voice filled with joy and excitement.
She immediately disappeared from the window, hurrying downstairs to let him in. But when she turned and saw her room plastered with stickers and photos of Herman, her face went bright red. She instantly sprang into action, using her superhuman agility to snatch down every single photo and poster in seconds.
"Just a sec! Wait for me!"
Still tidying, Gwen kept her phone wedged between her shoulder and ear, her call with Herman uninterrupted. In her rush, she nearly knocked a water glass off the desk—but caught it mid-fall with her foot, balancing it perfectly on her shoe.
For an ordinary person, that would've been impossible. For someone with Gwen's abilities, it was just barely close.
"Phew…"
Letting out a small sigh of relief, Gwen resumed cleaning, all while panicking that Herman might somehow sense her frantic state from downstairs. She tried to keep him distracted with random conversation.
"Did you see this year's reports on global warming?" Gwen blurted out the first topic she saw on a magazine cover in her room.
It was obvious she was terrified he'd somehow glimpse her walls. For Gwen, that embarrassment might've been worse than death itself.
Fortunately for her, Herman already knew exactly how her room looked—long before the rewritten history.
The only new additions now were a few photos of the two of them together.
How did he know that?
Well, one of the powers granted by the [Hidden Superpowered Being] was a form of x-ray vision... though since it couldn't selectively block clothing, he rarely used it. Scanning through walls, however, was effortless.
"Coming! Coming!"
After finishing her cleanup, Gwen darted downstairs. When she opened the door, her cheeks were flushed, and she was slightly out of breath.
Even for a superhuman, cleaning an entire room in minutes was no easy feat.
"Your face is red. What were you up to just now?" Herman asked, feigning curiosity while suppressing his amusement.
"I was doing yoga—in my room. Yeah, just exercising," Gwen replied, blinking rapidly as she scrambled for an excuse.
"Looks like quite the workout," Herman chuckled, but didn't press further. Instead, he glanced toward the inside of the house.
"Not planning to invite me in?"
"Oh! My bad! Come in, come in! My mom already got new slippers ready for you!" Gwen exclaimed, finally remembering her manners.
Seeing him up close made her pulse quicken; she'd wanted to hug him the moment she saw him—but hadn't quite dared.
"I'll have to thank your mother in person, then."
After slipping on the slippers Gwen handed him, Herman naturally leaned forward and gave her a light hug. Gwen froze for a moment, then lit up with happiness, her bright eyes sparkling with joy.
Herman couldn't help but notice... yes, his earlier impression from Peter Parker's photos had been right—Gwen was definitely D-cup territory.
"You said you wouldn't get too close to me until I was an adult, but now you're the one taking the initiative," Gwen teased softly, her mood soaring.
"Well, we're meeting your parents today—and your birthday's just around the corner," Herman replied with an easy smile.
It sounded perfectly reasonable.
Gwen didn't doubt him for a second.
"Yeah! My parents wanted to talk to you about that... I'm almost an adult now. They don't object to our secret engagement anymore, but they still wanted to meet you in person…"
Her youthful face glowed with vitality, her skin soft and flawless, a natural pink like fresh apples. Girls her age often had good skin, but Gwen's complexion was particularly radiant and smooth—the kind of natural beauty even the best skincare could never reproduce.
'Alright… I take it back. I can't really blame the [All-Seeing Eye] for this one,' Herman mused silently.
He wasn't a shallow man, but let's be honest—didn't most love stories begin with a spark of attraction? A girl like Gwen Stacy… what man could possibly turn her down?
And besides—she was Spider-Woman.
That flexibility had to outmatch even dancers and yoga instructors.
Just from that hug, Herman had already confirmed one thing—Gwen Stacy was as light and soft as she looked.