Transmigrated into The Boys, Starting as Soldier Boy

Chapter 10: Chapter 10: Benjamin’s Threat

Stan Edgar’s office was in the southeast corner of the top floor of Vought Tower.

It was an absurdly large circular room, with floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides overlooking all of Manhattan.

At that moment, New York’s nightscape spread out below like a sea of light. The lights of countless office buildings reflected on the Hudson River, swaying slowly with the ripples.

Edgar sat behind an enormous solid-wood desk, holding a glass of whiskey. The ice cubes inside clinked softly against the glass.

The next moment, the entire office door was torn clean out of its frame.

The hand holding Edgar’s glass did not tremble.

He did not even stand. He merely lifted his eyes slightly, looking at the blond man in the doorway, clothes stained with blood and a wound still visible on his left cheek, with the same calm gaze he used to review financial statements.

"Homelander."

He called his name in an even tone.

"You’re staining my carpet."

Homelander stood in the doorway, his chest heaving violently.

Facing Edgar, he hesitated.

It was a nameless fear that had followed him since childhood.

Blood dripped steadily from the fingers of Homelander’s right hand, staining the carpet.

Deep in Homelander’s eyes, two visible sparks of light burned in his pupils. A sign that his laser eyes were about to erupt.

The faint, trembling red glow flickered at the edges of his irises, making the temperature in the office seem to rise by several degrees.

"Soldier Boy."

He spoke through clenched teeth.

"You sold him to the Russians. You locked him in a lab for forty years, then fed me some story about him dying on a mission.

You made me stand in silence before his headstone. You made me bow to his old uniform. You made me say in an interview that ’Soldier Boy was a great hero.’

And you knew where he was the entire time.

You knew he was strapped to an operating table, being tortured over and over.

You even knew he was my father, and you still did it!"

His voice rose higher and higher, the final words almost a roar.

The glass walls of the office trembled in the wake of his shout, letting out a low, continuous hum, as if the entire building were shaking.

Edgar set the whiskey glass on the desk, leaned forward slightly, and looked at Homelander without a trace of fear or panic.

"Yes," he said. "And then?"

Homelander’s pupils suddenly contracted.

He took a step forward, his boots crunching over the broken pieces of the door scattered across the floor.

Then Homelander kept closing in on Edgar.

Less than three steps separated them.

All he needed was a twitch of his finger, or a glance, and Edgar would be dead.

Kill Edgar.

The thought surfaced in Homelander’s mind.

Kill this bastard sitting behind his desk, staring at him with that utterly indifferent expression.

He could do it.

In less than the blink of an eye, there would be one more headless corpse in this office.

But his hand stopped.

Not only because of that fear ingrained in him since birth.

Because another sentence was echoing in his head.

"After you find out the truth, don’t do anything impulsive. Show the report to Edgar. He’ll know how to contact me."

Don’t be impulsive.

That was the tone a father used when speaking to his son.

Perhaps Soldier Boy wanted to take revenge with his own hands. frёeωebɳovel.com

Homelander’s breathing grew heavier.

Edgar watched it all, his expression unchanged.

He even picked up his whiskey glass again and took a sip.

But his fingers paused slightly on the rim of the glass.

"It seems he’s told you quite a lot."

Edgar’s voice remained steady.

"So, what do you want now? Everything is still negotiable, isn’t it?"

Though Edgar still did not know how Soldier Boy had learned all of this.

Could it have been through a former teammate?

Homelander placed his bloodstained hand on Edgar’s sofa, the motion stiff and rough.

He raised his head and looked at Edgar. The murderous intent in those glowing red eyes had not fully faded.

"Soldier Boy wants you to contact him."

Homelander’s voice was hoarse.

After saying that, he turned and walked out of the office.

...

Early the next morning.

Benjamin was brushing his teeth when his phone rang.

Sunlight from six-thirty in the morning streamed through the apartment window.

No one had come looking for trouble since yesterday evening.

As for A-Train, Vought’s PR had already gone to work.

At the time, he had been chasing...

...

The screen lit up, an unfamiliar number with no name flashing on it.

Benjamin stared at the string of digits for two seconds, spat out the foam in his mouth, and pressed answer.

"Soldier Boy."

The voice on the other end was steady, carrying the polished smoothness of a man long used to business dealings.

"This is Stan Edgar."

Benjamin wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder, turned on the faucet, and rinsed his toothbrush.

The sound of running water filled the room for a moment before he replied unhurriedly,

"I know who you are."

"We need to talk."

Edgar’s voice sounded again.

"Talk about what? How I’m going to kill you, tear your body into pieces, and feed it to the dogs?"

Edgar’s tone did not change.

"The situation has changed. You and I both know that once certain things are exposed, there is no going back.

Vought can handle one Homelander. But a Homelander carrying hatred, plus his father, even Vought can’t withstand that."

Benjamin leaned against the sink and wiped the corner of his mouth with a towel.

He said nothing, waiting for Edgar to lay his cards on the table.

"That’s your problem, isn’t it? Your goddamn Vought should’ve gone down a long time ago."

"But before that happens, you and Homelander will both be ruined. Your fine son cares about that. At least for now, Vought controls public opinion across the entire country..."

"Are you threatening me?"

Benjamin gave a cold snort.

"If Homelander and I are convicted of treason because of Vought, or destroyed by public opinion in some other way, then maybe I’ll take my wimpy son and turn all of New York into a place that makes him less of a wimp.

No, maybe I’ll destroy the entire United States with him, then take him to that mysterious Eastern superpower.

Oh, right. I don’t care if you’re recording this. You should know that once the gloves come off, who loses the most?

Homelander and I can simply live somewhere else. You, Vought, and the United States will disappear."

Benjamin’s voice was filled with anger.

"Of course, Benjamin. Calm down. That’s why I suggest we speak in person." freewёbn૦νeɭ.com

Edgar said,

"Not as enemies, but as two adults who need to solve the same problem. You choose the place, and you choose the time. I’m sure we can reach an agreement, can’t we?"

Benjamin draped the towel over his shoulder and glanced at the face in the mirror, that face the Queen of England had once... The corner of his mouth curved slightly.

"This afternoon, then," he said. "The café downstairs from my place. Come alone, unless you’re not worried I’ll fuck you up."

He hung up, tossed the phone back beside the sink, and continued brushing his teeth.