Chapter 173: The Addictive Suit

On a stretch of coast in France, not a tourist destination, the rocky shore was still dim with dawn light, and naturally there were no passersby or travelers here.

Henry, drenched, climbed onto the rocky shore from the sea; the ink on his face and the hasty work of water-based paint on his hair had long been washed clean by seawater, leaving no trace of his former mask.

He first spun around to shake off the water, then took off the exaggerated costume, folding and stacking everything—including the shoes—leaving only the final item: a bright red pair of underwear.

Henry stared at the suit in his hands, his expression filled with helpless frustration.

He recalled the final battle aboard the alien warship—it wasn't against aliens at all, but against a deranged Phoenix Woman chasing him!

One ran, the other chased; they smashed through walls, forced their way where there was no path.

Though the warship had alien defense teams, those weaklings were no match for a Kryptonian and a furious Phoenix Woman. Those who didn't catch them were lucky; those who did usually met a terrible end.

In the end, the Dibery warship fled, its hull battered and broken. Earth was too dangerous; the surviving crew decided to seek other places to ensure the survival of their species.

Henry remembered only his own thoughts then: one, to escape the Phoenix Woman; two, to avoid satellite surveillance technology, whatever state it had reached by then—so he dove into the sea.

Even decades later, as satellite technology and analytical methods advanced, there remained certain blind spots in live detection of deep-sea organisms.

Basically, beyond twenty meters in depth, optical monitoring became useless; only radio waves could cross-map fixed seabed topography.

This is why, in this world, the underwater people and underwater nations that dwell beneath the sea remain purely legendary, never confirmed or tracked.

So Henry decisively chose to travel underwater, returning from the Americas to the European mainland.

Henry had no idea why the Phoenix Woman didn't follow—perhaps she had her own plans. Whether she wanted to destroy the world or Earth itself, it was all the same to him.

The X-Men would handle the massive trouble; Henry's help ended with driving off the aliens. Fighting the Phoenix? Don't make me laugh. That earlier state? He was just immature…

Looking at the suit in his hands, Henry, sitting on a rock in nothing but his underwear, felt a profound sense of absurdity. Finally, he couldn't help but curse: "Fuck, this suit is way too addictive. I can't wear it again."

With resolve, he used his ocular heat beams to burn the cheap costume bought from a theater shop—along with the tap shoes—reducing it all to ash, then unleashed a powerful breath to blow the ashes into the sea.

He must never answer another call from the X-Men again. This time they wanted him to fight the Phoenix—next time, what absurd mess would they drag him into? He'd be left weeping silently.

But only when he'd stripped down to just his underwear did he remember one question: Would the wind pressure while flying blow away his underwear?

And then, indeed, a bird flew overhead…

So, superheroes who wear tight suits and capes and fly through the air—technically speaking, they're actually quite physically plausible. Except for Power_Girl in her battle suit…

The Flash's suit is also wildly unscientific. Every time the Flash is rebooted, they spend time explaining that ordinary clothes might tear from wind pressure or burn from high-speed air friction, hence the need for a special suit.

Yet when the story progresses, the Flash carries ordinary people at high speed, as if never considering this issue?

No matter how far or how fast he runs, the person is always transported fully clothed, arriving just as they left—maybe dizzy, maybe nauseous, nothing more.

If the actual need for the suit still holds, shouldn't the Flash, when carrying an ordinary person at high speed, depart fully dressed and arrive naked?

Don't think about it—thinking about it is entering the Speed Force realm. Just like explaining Superman's powers with biological fields—it's the same nonsense.

So now, is there any way to keep this underwear intact, fly back to Switzerland, to the room he borrowed from Lady He Ben? Or just fly straight back to his Los Angeles rental?

If his underwear met a heroic demise mid-flight, he'd have to run completely naked. Sure, if he moved fast enough, no one would see him—but such a public act of nudity in broad daylight? It's just too extreme…

Henry slapped his own head—he was still too immersed in the role, hadn't stepped out of character yet.

Indeed, suits must be worn with caution; roles must be chosen with care.

Pick a role that's just a cash-grabbing trash role, and your career is ruined. Likewise, wear an ill-fitting suit, and your hero dream shatters.

Ah, no! He'd never even wanted to be a superhero—whether it shattered or not, what did it matter?

The real question was: why did he pick that outfit? It was way too addictive.

He must've been insane to do this.

Ah, no again. It was the performance in that suit that was insane. Or perhaps the version of himself who chose to wear that suit was also insane.

Regardless, Henry firmly believed he was just an ordinary person, with only a suspected Kryptonian physiology.

Yes. Whether or not he was Kryptonian remained unconfirmed—but it didn't seem to matter anymore.

First, during this time, Henry had acquired pure lead blocks to test whether he was a Darsenian.

Pure lead doesn't glow like kryptonite, meaning kryptonite emits radiation, while pure lead does not. Thus, Darsenians wouldn't be affected by pure lead as Kryptonians are by kryptonite; Darsenians only develop allergic reactions upon direct contact with pure lead.

Henry didn't have an allergic reaction to lead, so he wasn't a Darsenian.

The Man of Steel template was even less likely—he wasn't an alien lifeform, and the Man of Steel had no biological field. Unlike Henry's condition, so he could be ruled out.

As for the vast universe, whether there might be other aliens in the Marvel Universe who gained power from Earth's yellow sun, Henry couldn't guarantee either way.

In any case, discussing one's origins matters when you care, but doesn't matter much when you don't.

Fortunately, that indescribable biological field had preserved Henry's red underwear—just like the Hulk's transformation, where those ultra-elastic pants always protected his last shred of dignity. It was a Marvel Universe miracle.

Even Thanos with all six Infinity Stones might not be able to snap away the Hulk's underwear—otherwise, Marvel comics would become an 18+ porn magazine.

So, should he collect the six Infinity Stones in this universe and try wishing, to test whether their power exceeds the Hulk's underwear permission level?

Henry slapped his head again, trying to shake off those abnormal thoughts, then used super-speed and molecular phasing to return to his room and change into normal clothes.

Elderly people living retired lives always wake early; when Henry came downstairs, Lady He Ben was wearing an apron, frying eggs in the kitchen.

Hearing his footsteps, she turned around, smiling happily, and greeted: "Good morning, child. I didn't hear you come back. Want breakfast?"

(End of Chapter)