Once, a news report posed this question:

["Just how strong is that mysterious Superman?"]

When it first surfaced, no one could answer—not even with a guess at what response might suffice.

["Can’t answer directly? Then let’s break it down: kicking power, punching force, running speed, jump distance..."]

Once the host dissected the question, things grew both fascinating and straightforward.

["One punch can shatter a building!"]

["A single kick sends a dozen tanks flying!"]

["He runs like a sports car—or some say he rides electric scooters!"]

Answers spiraled into absurdity. No one grasped the terrifying scale of their imaginations. They’d elevated Zeming’s image to near-divine heights. Though not entirely wrong, this excessive worship unsettled him for the first time.

["Now, the final question: just how powerful is his jump?"]

..........The answer—revealed now!

"TRANSFORM————————"

Crouched low, Zeming exploded upward. The ground cratered beneath him as compressed air around his body burst outward. Like a cannonball, he rocketed skyward.

Earth tore open, leaving a massive impact crater like a rocket launchpad. In one second flat, Zeming had shattered through atmospheric pressure, soaring into the sky.

Battle Armor materialized over his body. The turbine on his belt whirred wildly, power surging through every limb.

The masked man couldn’t match Zeming’s speed. He fumbled arrows into his bow, panic flashing across his face.

"DIEEEEEEE!!!"

Wind pressure from Zeming’s leap coiled around him like armor, deflecting every arrow. The resulting vortex snapped shafts clean in half.

In a blur, Zeming crashed through a building’s window. Impact shockwaves rippled down to the foundations as his fist detonated the glass. The floor trembled violently—let alone the man pinned beneath his knuckles.

Cracks spiderwebbed through walls as two figures clashed mid-air. Metallic screeches filled the air—a mere nuisance to Shalulu, who hovered nearby channeling her Psychic Power.

Silhouettes collided, separated. Leyn’s form flashed against a wall. The spherical-headed man darted erratically, maintaining altitude through sheer speed.

*Useless. Child’s play.*

Leyn soared, spear glinting. As she descended, the spear-tip flickered—missing the sphere-headed man by inches. Their weapons sparked violently mid-air: blade against spear.

"Foolish... How can speed outrun the wind?"

Leyn landed gracefully, one knee bent, spear spinning half a circle to shield her before settling.

*Shhk—*

The sphere-headed man’s blade split. His waist folded like paper. His round head bounced with a *thump-thump-thump* as it hit the ground.

"Done. Shalulu, yours?"

Leyn turned. A boulder ripped from the earth behind her. Psychic Power unleashed—it plummeted like a meteor toward the armored man.

Predictably, he shattered it with a hammer swing. Shards rained down.

"Trouble?" Leyn called.

"No help needed. This idiot’s already in my trap."

Shalulu clasped her hands, focusing. Shards levitated, encasing the armored man in a rocky cocoon. He strained, but stone sealed his arms. The crushing pressure intensified—not just trapping him, but compressing him.

*Crack—Creak—Crunch—*

Metal screamed. Bones crunched. The cocoon swallowed his final cries. Only when silence fell did Shalulu turn to Leyn, exhaling.

"Finished. But our student still hasn’t woken."

"True. Neither was the mastermind... Who is?"

They shook their heads, unease stirring them to investigate.

"He still hasn’t brought backup," Shalulu pouted.

*Typical Muggle. Unreliable.*

"Maybe he’s in danger. We should check."

"...Reasonable. Let’s go."

*They’re dead. No more trouble.*

Just as they turned to leave—

*CRACK!*

Stone shattered. A figure lunged, unnaturally agile. Hands bladed like wings sliced toward their abdomens—aiming to kill.

Instinct saved them. They twisted aside.

*Impossible! That was a lethal strike!*

Shock jolted through them. They’d never intended to leave survivors. Why was he still moving?

————————————————————

"Why? Simple! Nothing here is normal!!!"

"What!?"

Zeming crouched in a cratered wasteland, one hand crushing the masked man’s skull against the ground, boots pinning his torso. Buildings groaned around them, stability crumbling.

"Why? Your arrogance blinded you." Zeming’s voice was flat.

"Arrows too fast. Walls too brittle. Poison eating the ground—yet healing in a second? Did you even consider that?"

*Perfect. His sloppiness gave me the opening.*

"You... DAMN YOU!!"

"Save it, pal. Your kung fu... just isn’t up to par."