Chapter 158: The Phone Calls Again

Henry, again receiving a call at Audrey Hepburn's home in Switzerland, now truly felt the urge to smash the entire X-Men to pieces.

Remember last time, he returned covered in dust, and the lady gave him a sidelong glance, mistaking him for having spent the night under the sky as his canopy and the earth as his bed, fighting eight hundred rounds in the wild.

This time, upon receiving another call, the sharp-eared Lady He Ben hurried into the kitchen, peering out with half her face hidden—her eyes curled into crescents, a real strain for those big orbs of his.

Forcing a strained smile, Henry's temples bulged with veins as he gritted his teeth and asked the man on the phone: "What's your excuse this time for dragging me over? I thought we settled everything last time."

"What, fight aliens…?!" Henry nearly lost control of his mouth and bit his tongue.

Only then did he remember his earlier careless remark: "Come find me when you're fighting aliens." Now that aliens had actually shown up, it seemed he had no choice but to fight.

He truly wanted to ask if the other could just treat his words as a fart—sniff it, wave it away, and forget it.

Watching Lady He Ben's face emerge more and more, her expression brimming with excitement as if she were about to rush forward and press her face against his to interrogate him, Henry knew he couldn't stay in this house another moment.

If he didn't give the old aunt some time to calm down, he might not sleep at all tonight—he'd be grilled till dawn.

Unable to endure it any longer, the Kryptonian resorted to the final stratagem of the Thirty-Six Strategies: flee.

After receiving the meeting location, Henry hung up and turned toward the kitchen. The Oscar-winning actress seized the moment, jumping out to say: "Off again, child?"

Why did this feel exactly like a son sneaking out on a date and getting caught by his mother? Wasn't the next question going to be whether he'd brought safety measures?

But Audrey Hepburn never asked about safety—instead, she said: "You must speak to girls with courtesy. Otherwise, you'll end up being disliked."

Mom, they're not girlfriends—they're mutants no different from demons and monsters! I'm going to fight a big battle, but it's not a belly-churning romance!

As Lady He Ben reached out to adjust Henry's collar, her eyes suddenly glowed gold! She studied him up and down and said: "Aren't you changing clothes before you go out? This home outfit's taste is unacceptable."

Her best friend was a top-tier designer in the fashion world, and she herself had led a generation's trends—Lady He Ben's eye for style had long been refined.

Henry's home outfit was just supermarket-grade, bought years ago in Los Angeles. His clothing standard was simple: clean and unripped.

Though he'd spent some time as a background actor and picked up a bit of fashion knowledge, chasing trends costs money. The only thing remotely stylish he owned was the Armani suit he wore with the lady; everything else was cheap supermarket junk.

Cheap clothes are fine if you know how to style them—but the fabric's poor. From afar, others won't notice. But wearing them on a date?

Lady He Ben offered advice: "Luca left some clothes at home—he's about your build. Why not wear his?"

"I picked out all his clothes myself, and many are still unworn. Even if I just gave them to you, he'd never know. So don't worry."

Luca Doti, the lady's second son, born in 1970—roughly Henry's generation, which was why Lady He Ben made this suggestion.

But Henry wasn't going on a date. He stepped back with a bitter smile, putting distance between himself and Lady He Ben, who was about to strip him bare: "Boss, I'll do it myself. The place I'm going is… unusual."

"Unusual, hmm?" The Oscar-winning actress raised an eyebrow, her playful smile devastating—even the Kryptonian cracked.

But she finally suppressed her innate urge to dress him like a doll. "Then I won't interfere. Will you be back for dinner?"

"Hmm, I think it'll be like last time—I won't know how late it'll be. Don't wait for me. I'll eat out." Henry admitted honestly.

Stepping back, Lady He Ben's eyes sparkled sweetly as she beamed: "Bon voyage!"

The Kryptonian fled in panic.

Henry, scrambling out the door, didn't fly away—he pondered what came next.

Two days ago, he'd experienced the small-town battle from the movie X-Men: Dark Phoenix. Given that the X-Men never showed up without reason, they weren't inviting him for drinks—they were dragging him into another spectacle.

And just now, he'd used "fighting aliens" to shut himself down—how could he complain after his own careless words? Was this his own butterfly effect, causing them to detect aliens earlier than in the film?

Thinking of the movie's absurd plot—both sides just started fighting for no clear reason—it felt like each side had no idea who the other was, yet they immediately went to war. Did they themselves feel confused: "Who are these people? Why are we fighting?"

In short, barring accidents, he'd be summoned into a string of major battles—and ones that would put him on display before the U. S. government.

To keep hiding his identity, some disguise was necessary. So, a battle suit? Even without a mask, he'd need to alter his face.

Of course, doing nothing was an option—and the one most aligned with his original persona. But watching a movie from the best seat in the theater? No one else had this free ticket. Could he really give it up?

Henry had never planned to take on the world. Even if World War III broke out and nuclear bombs rained down, he'd watch coldly as Earth turned into a boiling pot.

But considering that, in every version, Mystique was the mutant who caused the most chaos—last time, she'd even fooled him by impersonating Lady He Ben. He didn't think he'd be fooled again, but she was just too good at stirring up trouble.

Being watched by someone who could change her appearance at will was, in some ways, more troublesome than being tracked by intelligence agencies.

As for those who think Mystique is the chosen girlfriend—why don't they consider whether they could accept her original blue skin and red hair?

If they couldn't, and during the mission she suddenly shifted from a celebrity's face back to her true form, they might suffer a heart attack—or worse, develop lifelong impotence.

Not to mention she's apparently lived since World War II—she's at least fifty years old, the same generation as the old aunt inside.

Thinking of this, Henry shuddered.

They say men have three curses: cold tea, thin wine, and old women. Now it seems they don't just harm the body—they wound the soul. The wisdom of our ancestors never lied.

(End of Chapter)