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Tony was gone, but Steve stayed.
"Got other plans tonight? I'm not feeling this place—want to grab a drink somewhere else?"
"Sorry, Captain, I've got an interview on The Tonight Show," Anthony answered.
"A talk show?" Steve frowned.
"That kind of… entertainment program? Are you sure? They'll ask some… pretty weird questions."
"I know." Anthony smiled. "But people have a right to know their heroes, don't they? Steve, we can't hide behind masks forever."
Steve nodded thoughtfully.
"…Maybe you're right."
Ding! Special popularity +2000!
Anthony thought: Getting the old popsicle's approval was easier than expected.
Soon, after donating a cool hundred million at the charity gala and raking in a tidal wave of popularity, he shot into the night sky, racing to his next stage.
He understood the importance of "image" all too well.
"Fuck…" Tony muttered, watching him leave and knocking back another swig of champagne.
"I hate that guy. I swear, one day I'll build an Anti-Homelander armor and grind that smug smile right into the pavement."
"I'm afraid you'll have to take a number, Mr. Stark," a cold female voice said behind him.
Natasha Romanoff walked over, martini in hand, her gaze locked on Anthony's departing figure.
"Well, well, look who's here—my dear Natty." Tony raised an eyebrow.
"So, you want to 'grind' him too?"
Ignoring his innuendo, Natasha said flatly, "Fury's assessment is out. He's… dangerous. More than Loki and Hulk combined."
"Dangerous? No, no, he's just an attention-seeking egomaniac." Tony waved it off.
"Tony, he's too perfect. And in this world… nothing is 'perfect.'"
"Unless," Natasha sipped, leaving a red crescent on the rim, "he's pretending."
"…Welcome back! Tonight's guest—honestly, I never thought I'd land him—ladies and gentlemen, give it up for… Homelander!!"
In the Tonight Show studio, applause and screams nearly tore the roof off.
To heavy-metal riffs and a tsunami of cheers, Anthony—immaculate in his indestructible uniform and perfect smile—strode onto the Jimmy Tonight Show stage.
"Whoa! Whoa! Have a seat, please!" Jimmy fanned himself theatrically.
"My God, Homelander—in my studio! This is insane!"
"Thank you, Jimmy. Happy to be here." Anthony sat with effortless grace.
"No, no, thank you!" Jimmy clutched his chest. "Seriously, man, that outfit—do you always dress like that?"
"Pretty much," Anthony flashed a boy-next-door grin. "It's… comfortable. And, you know, always on call."
The crowd erupted in friendly laughter.
"Ha! On call! Love it!" Jimmy howled.
"You chase muggers, I chase guests—so, the question everyone wants answered…"
Jimmy leaned in conspiratorially.
"Do you actually fly, or is it like Stark—boosters and all?"
"Well…" Anthony glanced at the ceiling, then slowly rose from the couch—right in front of the entire audience.
He hovered half a meter above the floor.
The studio exploded.
"Oh my God!! He can fly!!"
"So cool!!"
Ding! Popularity +541!
Ding! Popularity +632!
Anthony drifted down and shrugged. "Sometimes it beats New York traffic."
The house roared again.
"Wow." Jimmy mopped imaginary sweat.
"Homelander, you're my first guest to literally fly in. That was awesome."
"We all know you're Anthony Starr. You survived that horrific sea disaster, vanished for a year, and now you're back as a hero… can you tell us what happened during that year?"
It was the script Vought's PR team had polished to perfection.
Anthony's face showed the perfect blend of bewilderment and resolve.
"Jimmy… honestly, a lot of it's… a blur."
"I remember only the icy water. I thought I was dead. But… I lived, and I got this gift—or curse."
He began his trademark vague narrative.
"It took me a long time to control it. I didn't dare come back; I was afraid… afraid I was a monster."
The studio quieted; the camera pushed in for a close-up.
"Then the Battle of New York." His voice dropped, powerful and low. "I saw the hole in the sky, saw people crying. That moment, I understood."
"I came back to protect them."
"Wow…" Jimmy was visibly moved.
"You're no monster, Homelander." He said earnestly.
"You're… an angel. Our guardian angel."
Ding! Popularity +1245!
Ding! Popularity +1058!
Ding! Popularity +1178!
A perfectly timed, "touched" smile crossed his face.
"Thank you, Jimmy."
The talk show was a smash.
Overnight, Homelander's down-to-earth, witty, justice-loving persona burned across America.
Vought wasted no time booking the next publicity stop: visiting children who'd lost parents in the Battle of New York.
Next, he arrived at the centerpiece of the photo-op—St. Agnes Children's Hospital.
It housed kids injured during the battle.
The director rushed to greet him.
"Oh, Mr. Homelander! Your coming is… a gift from God!"
"It's what I should do, ma'am." His voice was warm velvet.
He stepped into the activity room; the children fell silent.
Admiration, awe, and a hint of fear toward the stranger.
Anthony's gaze swept the room.
Suddenly he locked onto a little girl in the corner.
Frail, wrapped in a blanket, still haunted months later, clutching a brand-new Homelander action figure.
His inner actor radar pinged.
"She's the one."
He knew exactly what to do.
Slowly, deliberately, he walked over and crouched in front of her.
Without a word he knelt until his massive frame was level with hers.
"What's your name, sweetheart?" His voice could melt snow.