Scott collapsed in the driver's seat, his face ashen.
Compensation?
Even if he were dismantled and sold like a Gundam, it wouldn't be enough to pay for it!
Even if he went back now and agreed to Luis's deal, no matter how risky that job was, the stolen money probably wouldn't even be enough to paint this car!
"It's over. I'm going back to San Quentin... Cassie, Daddy will never see you again..."
Just as Scott felt like the end of the World had arrived, the gull-wing doors of the sports car slowly rose.
Homelander stepped down from the driver's seat.
His perfectly tailored high-end suit and the Patek Philippe on his wrist exuded the aura of a wealthy man.
He walked to the back, glanced at the wretchedly mangled rear end, and curled his lip slightly.
"Tsk, carbon fiber is a real pain to repair... Forget it, I'll just give it to Pietro later."
Homelander wasn't angry; after all, this car was no different from a toy to him. Besides, the impact just now had given him a long-lost sense of jolting, which was actually quite refreshing.
He then took a leisurely stroll over to the smoking beat-up van and rapped his knuckles twice on the driver's side window.
"Knock, knock."
Inside the cabin, Scott shuddered all over. With a face like a death row prisoner awaiting sentencing, he slowly rolled down the window.
He was already prepared to face a storm.
The other party might be a hot-tempered Wolf of Wall Street, or perhaps a mob scion with a girl in tow.
The man would roar at him, humiliate him with the most vicious language, and then call the Police to send him back behind those cold iron bars.
"Hey, buddy." Homelander looked at the dejected man in the driver's seat, his tone flat. "If you tell me this was caused by your wife running off with someone, I might let it slide."
"I... I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Really, truly sorry!"
Scott's voice was trembling. He fumbled to unbuckle his seatbelt and practically rolled out of the car, standing before Homelander as fidgety as a child who had done something wrong.
"Sir, I know this sounds like total bullshit... but today... I've had a really bad day. I lost my job, my ex-wife won't let me see my daughter, my head is a mess..."
Scott waved his hands incoherently, trying to explain, but the more he explained, the more desperate he felt.
"I know this car is expensive... it looks like Batman's weekend ride. I... I don't have any money. I only have about a dozen bucks and a Baskin-Robbins employee discount card in my pocket right now."
Scott lowered his head, his words dripping with deep despair.
"You can call the Police, sir. Let them take me away. I just got out of the joint anyway; they might still have a bed saved for me..."
Homelander looked at the frantic man in front of him, and his original thought of just sending him on his way suddenly paused.
He narrowed his eyes slightly.
This face... looked a bit familiar.
"Scott Lang?" Homelander thought the name to himself.
The second Ant-Man.
In this city of millions, he had just come out for a casual drive and actually got rear-ended by the second Ant-Man.
This fate was simply beyond words.
"Relax, buddy, relax."
Homelander reached out and gently patted Scott's shoulder, his tone gentle.
"Take a deep breath. Your face looks worse than this shattered piece of carbon fiber. No one was hurt, that's what matters most, isn't it?"
Scott was stunned, looking at the young wealthy man from the East with utter disbelief.
"Sir... you're not angry?" Scott asked stutteringly. "I crashed your car. This car looks like it costs at least... tens of millions?"
"Angry?" Homelander shrugged nonchalantly. "To be honest, if some jerk looking for trouble had hit it, I might have stuffed his head into the exhaust pipe."
"But you're not. You look more like an... unlucky guy who just went through the end of the World."
"But... your car..." Scott pointed at the crumpled carbon fiber rear end.
"Just a little commuter tool," Homelander comforted him. "It's not worth forcing you to jump off the Golden Gate Bridge."
"However..." Homelander's tone shifted, "breaking someone's property usually comes with a price. Those are the rules for adults, right?"
Scott's heart, which had just begun to settle, instantly leaped back into his throat.
"You said just now that you've had a bad day?"
Scott nodded dully.
"Coincidentally, I happen to feel a bit bored today." Homelander glanced at the sky. San Francisco was sinking into darkness, and neon lights were beginning to flicker on street corners.
"How about this? Since you don't have the money to pay for my car, we'll change the method of compensation."
Homelander pointed to a retro bar with neon lights across the street corner.
"You buy me a drink in there. This repair bill will be wiped clean. How about it?"
Scott's eyes widened, practically unable to believe his ears.
"A... a drink?" Scott pointed at the thirty-million-dollar supercar, then at the bar. "Are you sure?"
One drink in exchange for tens of millions of dollars in compensation?
Unless the guy was crazy, it meant God finally felt He owed him something and sent an Angel to save him.
"What? Not willing?"
"No! Of course! No problem! I'll buy you whatever you want to drink! Even if you want Lafite, I'll... I'll try my best to scrape the money together for you!"
Scott nodded repeatedly, terrified the man would change his mind.
Homelander smiled slightly and turned toward the bar. "Let's go, buddy. Just leave the car here; the insurance company will handle it."
Scott stood there for a full three seconds before snapping out of it and hurrying after him.
...
The two of them pushed the door open and entered.
The bar was a classic American underground tavern style.
Dim lighting, country rock, and a smell that mixed cheap alcohol, crushed peanuts, and the pine of the bar counter.
This clearly wasn't the kind of place a billionaire driving a top-tier supercar like Homelander should be in.
But Homelander seemed very comfortable. He sat casually on a high stool at the bar, looking with interest at a faded Captain America poster on the wall.
Scott sat beside him awkwardly and asked the bartender for two large mugs of the cheapest draft beer.
After taking the mug from the bartender, he took a huge gulp. The bitter beer flowed down his throat into his stomach, finally letting his racing heart calm down a little.
"Thank you... I mean, thank you so much, sir. You have no idea how you saved my life today," Scott said with tearful gratitude.
"I'm Scott. Scott Lang."
"Hello, Scott. You can call me Danny."
"So, Scott." Homelander raised his mug and clinked it against his. "I heard you say just now that you just got out of 'the joint'?"
Scott gave a bitter smile. "Yeah, San Quentin State Prison. I was in for three years.