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“I am not Superman. I am Homelander.”
    The whisper was an internal prayer, a caustic reassurance. Outside the glass tower, the world saw only the Homelander, the Icon, the Man Who Flew the Bomb. They saw the perfect, smiling face of the hero who, in the chaos of the Battle of New York, carried a nuclear warhead through the wormhole and saved a city. The cheers from the streets below—the deafening, worldwide adoration—were the fuel for his ascension. He was crowned their king, a savior in star-spangled spandex.
    In this new reality, fame wasn't just influence; it was power.
    He had a system now: the Superstar System. The higher the popularity, the stronger the abilities. It was a viciously simple contract, one he embraced completely.
    “Matt,” he purred into the spotlight, curing the blind lawyer's eyes on live television. “Your city needs an icon, not a devil. Let the light in.”
    He assembled his own team—a perfectly marketed, perfectly managed Super Seven—with Spider-Man now running PR and Daredevil as his reformed protégé. Every action was a performance; every enemy, a prop.
    When the news of a purple alien named Thanos reached his gilded penthouse, Azu smiled, a blinding, dangerous flash for the cameras.
    “Thanos,” he murmured, the adoration of billions surging through his veins, making his skin feel like charged steel. His eyes flared with a dazzling red light that promised annihilation. “I heard you're going to wipe out half of my fans?”
    He was trapped in the Marvel universe, now its most powerful celebrity. And the show had only just begun.