Leaving the police station, he rushed non-stop to the slums, forcefully took Waylon Jones away, and sped off with a stomp on the accelerator.
The seats and suspension of the Chevrolet G20 were not great—at least, not in this particular van. Even driving on the smooth coastal ring road, Jay still felt like he had a rock stuffed under his butt.
He glanced at Waylon Jones, who was curled up like a refugee in the passenger seat, and couldn't help but feel a little amused. Losing focus for a moment, the wheel hit a pothole, and both men felt themselves fly up.
"Ah," Waylon smacked his head on the ceiling with a thud. He rubbed his head and couldn't help but ask, "Officer, if… if I join the team, will people really stop hating me?"
"How could that be? The world is never fair." Jay curled his lip. "The good-looking ones will always be tolerated, while the less pleasing ones will be treated harshly."
"Then… what's the point of us coming to Metropolis?" Waylon asked, utterly lost. Leaving his familiar environment, even one that mocked him endlessly, made him feel insecure.
"To show your worth, Waylon. A person's value is not just in their face." Jay smiled. "No matter how extraordinary a face is, it will never be cuter than Franklin's face. If one isn't enough, get a few more. If one box isn't enough, get a few more boxes. Wait! Hold on!"
He floored the accelerator, overtaking a BMW that was slowly sightseeing ahead.
"Oho, this thing can actually overtake! That's a pleasant surprise." Jay beamed with delight. "Where were we? Right, money.
Of course, some people on the team won't like you, but as long as you create enough value for the coach and the owner, they'll teach those bad seeds a lesson without you lifting a finger.
And when you become a star in the spotlight, rolling in money and indulging in decadence, countless people will, in turn, kneel down to flatter you. That is the magic of money."
"Spotlight… star…"
Waylon silently repeated the words, falling into a thoughtful silence. After a while, he spoke. "But… even then, they'd only be doing it for the money, not for me…"
"So what?" Jay scoffed. "Do you think the President of the United States got elected because of a handsome face?"
He turned the steering wheel, and the van curved onto the road toward Metropolis. Jay stepped on the gas, and the vehicle roared with Waylon inside, breaking free from the gloom of Gotham and crashing headlong into the brilliant sunlight beneath the clear sky.
"Ah… look at the bright light of Metropolis… Waylon, I guess your good days are about to begin."
About half an hour later, the van stopped outside the stadium. The two jumped out, and Clark and Lois were already waiting there.
"I'm sorry, are we late?"
"No, it's not time yet. We're a little early," Clark smiled and nodded. "We just got here, too."
"Folks, this is Waylon Jones I told you about. What do you think, doesn't he look like Hercules?"
Jay rubbed his hands and pulled the timid, shrinking Waylon forward. "Waylon, this is Clark, and this is Lois. We owe them a big thanks for helping with your situation."
"Thank you, thank you both." Waylon cautiously extended his hand. Lois quickly reached out before Clark, taking his hand and looking up at Waylon with curiosity.
"Oh, you three, I feel like a flower seedling surrounded by towering trees. Hee hee." She gestured behind her, leading the three toward the stadium entrance. "This way, please. Mr. Daynes, the owner of the Metropolis Suns, is waiting for us."
Clark walked behind them, quietly explaining the team's environment and history to the two—mainly to Waylon. Jay had heard of the team, ranking mid-to-high in the major league, but that was all he knew.
Perhaps because Lois was leading the way, they proceeded without obstruction until they reached the field. There was no game today, only two teams of players doing routine practice.
In the front row of the empty stands, an elderly man in a blue down jacket, about sixty years old, stood up.
"Hello, Mr. Daynes. I brought them over."
"Hello, Miss Lane. I initially thought this was just a favor for you," the old man opened his arms and embraced Lois, then fixed his gaze on Waylon. "But I didn't expect you to bring me a potential star."
He proactively grabbed Waylon's hand and patted his knuckles hard. "Hey, kid, you're Waylon? My goodness, look at that strength, those muscles. I think you have a bright future."
Waylon seemed unaccustomed to such sudden enthusiasm and appeared flustered. "Thank you, sir. I… I…"
"Don't be shy. Go try it on the field. Cole!"
A coaching assistant on the sidelines ran over at the call.
"Get him a uniform, smarten him up, and tell him where to run. This is our good lad."
The assistant coach gave an 'all good' signal and extended his hand to Waylon. Waylon instinctively turned to look at Jay, who nodded, before turning and running with Cole toward the field.
Daynes withdrew his gaze and nodded to Jay and Clark. "Please sit down, gentlemen. Lois told me the whole story. Officer, thank you for your efforts on behalf of Waylon Jones."
Jay felt slightly irritated by the capitalist tone, which already treated Waylon as a possession, but that wasn't his goal, so he didn't care much. He exchanged a few polite words with Daynes and then shrunk back, becoming a silent observer.
Clark Kent received the same treatment. Daynes just greeted him and then engrossed himself in conversation with Lois, discussing topics like international affairs, economic development, and high-level policy, which made Clark feel a little self-conscious.
The bored large man moved closer to Jay and quietly asked, "Jay, I have a question. Why didn't you recommend Waylon to a Gotham team? As far as I know, the Gotham Gators are pretty good, though a bit inconsistent."
Why? You ask why?
I'm afraid he'll kill them all one day.
Jay mused inwardly, glanced at Daynes, and leaned in close to Clark's ear. "The success of Gotham teams doesn't rely on skill, it relies on bookies and betting lines."
Seeing Clark's shocked expression, Jay felt a bit smug. Suddenly, a cheer erupted from the field.
"Touchdown!"
The few people in the stands looked toward the sound. Several intercepting players scattered like reeds blown by a storm. Waylon, unstoppable like a tank, had charged into the opposing end zone.
"Beautiful!"
Daynes' eyes immediately lit up. He leaped down from the stands and ran onto the field. Lois and Clark also started applauding. Jay watched for a moment and then suddenly asked, "What does 'touchdown' mean?"
"A touchdown is when a player…" Clark instinctively began to explain, then realized something, and said a little forlornly, "Uh, Jay, be honest, have you really read the articles I wrote?"
"Ha? Ha! Hmm… perhaps," Jay awkwardly touched his face. "But your kindness is real. The problem was solved thanks to you, wasn't it?"
With the flattery back on, Clark immediately forgot about the fake fan. "No, I didn't do much, it was thanks to Lois's help…!"
"No, Clark, this couldn't have happened without your own effort," Lois walked forward two steps, standing beside Clark. "Officer, please don't joke like that in the future. Losing a fan would truly sadden Mr. Kent. He was genuinely happy about it for a long time."
"Ah, it's fine, I… Ah!"
Lois subtly bent her right leg back and kicked Clark on the side.
Jay felt the brilliant light constantly radiating from the two of them was practically blinding his eyes, the eyes of a gloomy Gothamite.
"Since the matter is settled, I should be heading back." Jay had no desire to watch the Man of Steel's love show and resolutely decided to leave. "One more thing, please help me review Waylon's contract to ensure there aren't any trap clauses."
"No problem," Clark immediately stepped forward and declared, completely ignoring Lois rolling her eyes behind him. "Jay, are you leaving now? I'll call Waylon over."
"No, no need," Jay shook his head, looking at Waylon running on the field. "Wow, that's the first time I've seen him smile. It's just… tsk tsk, he looks even uglier when he smiles, doesn't he?"
"Jay, judging people by appearances is wrong."
"Right, right, absolutely correct. Thank you, Father, you have saved my fallen soul. Well then, goodbye Clark, goodbye Lois."
Jay shook hands with both of them, then turned and left the stadium alone.
"A huge weight has finally been lifted." He smiled, walking toward his van.
Just then, the ground behind him suddenly vibrated, and a massive voice called out to him.
"Officer… Jay!"
He spun around, and a mountain was crashing toward him. Before he could react, he was wrapped in a hug.
"Jay, thank you."
He felt a warm liquid soaking his back, mixed with sobs and a heavy body odor.
"Hey, don't be so clingy. You're going to be a big star."
Waylon released him, reaching up to wipe the tears from his face.
"Officer… Jay, thank you. If it weren't for you…" He held Jay's hand in his thick palm, his voice choked with emotion. "I swear, I will… I will definitely repay you in the future."
Jay pulled out a handkerchief, wiped the crisscrossing tears and dirt from Waylon's face, slipped the handkerchief into his palm, and gently patted his hand.
"No, Waylon, remember my words. If one day you achieve fame and success, forget me, forget Gotham, and forget everything about your past. Enjoy your life, and never, ever come back."
…
As the Chevrolet G20 turned onto the main road, Waylon's gigantic figure, bathed in the twilight, remained motionless under the shadow of the trees, gazing at him from afar.
Jay took a deep breath, looked at the darkening sky ahead, and stepped hard on the accelerator.
Gotham, I'm back!
——————
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