Chapter 79 Headshot Lock
1263 Words
Sapphire froze for a second, startled by the hand suddenly extended toward her.
From across the field, Edward watched the scene and smacked his forehead in exasperation, instantly reminded of his own past.
Back then, Adam had practically made it a daily ritual to shake his hand for no clear reason. Now it seemed he’d found a new target.
But Sapphire had no idea about any of that. She remembered Adam vaguely—only later learning that this level-5 powerhouse was actually just a freshman.
And now, among the seven or eight people who’d arrived together… why had he singled her out?
Could it be…?
Her thoughts raced. Flustered but not refusing, she lowered her eyes slightly and reached out to shake his hand.
“Hello.”
[C-rated talent: Precision Marksmanship — successfully copied!]
[Evolved into: A-rated “Headshot Lock”!]
[Headshot Lock: All thrown or fired projectiles will automatically strike the target’s head.]
[Note: Newton’s laws don’t apply here—physics bows to superhumans!]
Their hands touched—and parted in an instant.
Adam felt the familiar mental ping of a successful copy and gave a small, satisfied nod.
Finally, another one. Guess lower-tier talents really do have higher replication success rates.
He murmured a quick “Thanks” to Sapphire, then turned and walked straight over to Diana and Kenny to get the full briefing on this PR assignment.
Sapphire: ???
Wait… what?
Her momentary shyness evaporated into pure confusion.
What was that? Where’s the follow-up? The contact info? The casual chat? The… the something?
You just… walked away?!
Still dazed, she watched as the group climbed onto a waiting shuttle bus.
Kenny immediately plopped down next to Adam, slinging an arm around his shoulders like they were old war buddies.
“Let me tell you, PR gigs are the best—easy credits, zero risk. But listen up: when we get there, you gotta follow my lead.”
“I’m serious—without me, some of these corporate types? Total nightmares. They won’t budge unless you speak their language.”
Adam instantly regretted sitting with him. Kenny talked nonstop the entire ride, bragging about his “diplomatic genius” like a one-man hype machine.
The moment they stepped off the bus, a stout middle-aged man gave them a curt nod, squinting through narrowed eyes like he was looking down his nose at them.
“You’re late. Hurry up—the press conference is about to start.”
During the ride, Kenny had drilled Adam on protocol:
“Don’t think your superpower makes you untouchable. You’re young, you’re a student, and civilians operate under a totally different system. They don’t have to respect you.”
“In fact,” he’d added, “some will test you because they know you’re polite. Think you’re gonna throw a punch in front of cameras? The law still applies—even to superhumans. You’re not invincible.”
Now, seeing the organizer’s smug, dismissive expression, Adam understood exactly what Kenny meant.
The man reeked of petty arrogance.
But whatever. It was only two days. Grab the credits and bounce.
Then—Kenny spoke up.
“This is where we’re staying? No way. We need a five-star hotel. If not, we’re leaving.”
Adam glanced sideways. Kenny had planted his feet in a wide, swaggering stance, lips curled in a smirk—the very picture of a spoiled brat raised on privilege.
Compared to that, the chubby organizer suddenly looked almost… reasonable.
The man blinked, taken aback. “This is the best hotel nearby—”
“Six-star!” Kenny snapped. “And if you argue, I walk. Got it?”
“But the event’s already starting—”
“Starting? You never cleared the schedule with us! Make it seven-star!”
Sapphire, unable to take it anymore, leaned in quietly: “Maybe we should just go in first? We can sort the lodging later…”
Kenny whipped around, locking eyes with her—dead serious.
Adam’s eyebrows shot up. For the first time, he felt genuine intensity radiating from Kenny. It was… surprisingly commanding.
In the end, they headed to the venue. Kenny stayed behind, insisting he “had to inspect the hotel’s fire exits.”
“Wow—real live superhumans!”
“Heard they were in the action that night!”
“Ask them to explain what really happened!”
Adam and the others sat in a neat row behind microphones, listening to the murmurs of the crowd.
Questions soon began—but Diana handled nearly all of them. Adam and the rest stayed quiet; none of them had PR experience.
He watched Diana’s calm, composed demeanor—cool, precise, effortlessly in control.
Her core message was carefully crafted: omit any mention of Acolytes or Deities. Instead, frame the incident as a rogue superhuman terrorist group using experimental mind-control tech. Everything else? Truthful enough to sound credible.
Not a bad gig, Adam thought, propping his chin on his palm. Low effort, decent credits.
Then—chaos.
An elderly woman suddenly burst through the crowd, shoving past security.
“Give me back my son! Justice for my boy!” she wailed, waving her arms dramatically as reporters swung their cameras toward her.
“They used brutal force! My son was a victim—and they hurt him again!”
“All his teeth—knocked out! Beaten black and blue! Tortured like an animal!”
“You superhumans—you think your powers make you above humanity? You’re heartless monsters!”
Sapphire paled. She remembered those very civilians—biting lampposts, clawing at walls, attacking her in a frenzy.
She stood abruptly. “Ma’am, please calm down! They weren’t in control—they were hurting themselves. We never used violence!”
She reached out to help the woman up.
The instant her fingers made contact, the woman shrieked, collapsed to the floor, and clutched her wrist.
“She broke my bones with hidden force! I demand compensation! Superhumans can’t just do whatever they want!”
“Compensation! Compensation!” she howled, rolling on the ground in theatrical agony.
Reporters, scenting scandal, immediately zoomed in on Adam’s group.
Adam’s jaw tightened. Classic setup. She’s faking it.
Sapphire stood frozen in panic. Even Diana looked momentarily at a loss.
Then—“Huh? What’s going on here?”
Kenny shouldered his way through the crowd and knelt beside the woman.
By sheer “coincidence,” her flailing hand slapped against his neck.
Kenny’s reaction was instant—and Oscar-worthy.
He flipped backward in a full somersault, crashed to the ground, and began convulsing violently—like a marionette with its strings cut.
His performance dwarfed the woman’s by two full levels of drama.
Foam bubbled at his lips as he gasped, voice trembling with “terror”:
“Everyone—get back! She’s… she’s infected!”
“There’s something on her—it makes people lose their minds! I think she’s carrying it!”
“Run! Civilians are in danger! I—I can’t hold on…”
Blood-tinged froth spilled from his mouth. His eyes rolled white. His face turned ashen.
The entire room froze.
Diana and the others shot to their feet, genuinely alarmed.
But Adam’s instincts flared. He remembered Kenny’s “seizure” during his superpower assessment test—the same over-the-top twitching.
He looked up.
The crowd was already scattering like roaches, fleeing in every direction. Reporters abandoned their tripods, cameras swinging wildly.
And then—Adam caught it.
Lying on the ground, Kenny gave him the tiniest, most deliberate wink.
- Writer
