Chapter 143: Departure

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A silent breakfast… 

This was probably the first time in years that the McCoy household had ever been this quiet during a meal. 

As soon as they finished eating, Charles quickly gathered the plates and said, "I'll wash them!" 

He had never been this eager to do the dishes before, but the heavy atmosphere was suffocating him. 

Erik hesitated for a moment, but before he could react, Charles had already disappeared into the kitchen. 

Mike stood up and said, "Come with me." 

Without hesitation, Erik followed him into the living room. 

"Dad, I—" 

"Hold on," Mike interrupted. He pulled out a card and activated it, then looked at Erik and said, "Close your eyes." 

Erik was confused but obeyed. 

Mike studied his son's face for a moment before reaching out and kneading it with both hands. 

A few minutes later, he stepped back and said, "Alright, done." 

Still puzzled, Erik opened his eyes—just as Charles emerged from the kitchen. 

The moment Charles saw Erik, he let out a startled cry. "Erik?!" 

"Hm? What's wrong?" 

Erik frowned at Charles's stunned expression, then reached up to touch his own face. 

"Your face!" 

"My face?" 

Recalling what Mike had just done to him, Erik suddenly had a bad feeling. He rushed to the bathroom, and the moment he saw his reflection in the mirror, he froze. 

His face… wasn't his face anymore. 

Shocked, he stepped back into the living room and stared at Mike. "Dad, what is this?" 

"Relax," Mike said calmly. "You can change back whenever you want." 

Satisfied with his work, Mike nodded approvingly. "When this is all over, you'll still be able to return to your normal life." 

Realization dawned on Erik, and his initial shock was replaced by excitement. "Thanks, Dad!" 

Beside them, Charles finally let out a small smile. 

Seeing this, Mike felt that staying up all night had been worth it. 

Erik was never one to hesitate. After chatting with Mike for a bit longer, he straightened his posture and said, "Dad, it's time for me to go." 

Mike patted him on the shoulder. "If you run into trouble you can't handle, make sure you come to me." 

Erik nodded. After a brief, firm hug, he turned to leave—only for Charles to suddenly call out, "Wait!" 

Without another word, Charles sprinted upstairs. A couple of minutes later, he came rushing back down, holding a helmet in his hands. 

"Hey! Erik! Don't forget this!" 

He shoved the helmet into Erik's arms. 

Mike blinked. "Wait a second… This looks familiar." 

"Uh… Dad, you brought it back," Charles admitted awkwardly. Then, noticing Erik staring at him suspiciously, he cleared his throat and added, "I was worried you'd lose it, so I… hid it." 

Erik's eye twitched. "So that's why I couldn't find it! It was you all along!" 

Charles looked a bit guilty. When Erik kept staring at him, clearly unimpressed, he panicked and tried to escape—but before he could, Erik suddenly pulled him into a tight hug. 

"…Goodbye, Charles." 

Charles stiffened, about to say something— 

But Erik spoke again, this time with a grin. "Goodbye!" 

He clapped Charles on the back a few times before abruptly shoving him away. Before Charles could react, Erik had already taken a step back, smirking. "I'm off, Dad! No need to see me out!" 

With that, he turned and quickly walked away. 

Charles glared after him and shouted, "You better wait for me, you bastard!" 

But the moment Erik opened the door and disappeared from sight, the anger on Charles's face melted away like snow in spring. 

Now, all that remained was quiet sadness. 

He turned to Mike and said softly, "Dad, I'm going back to my room." 

Before Mike could respond, Charles had already rushed upstairs. 

Mike let out a long sigh and shook his head. 

This was the path they had chosen for themselves. As their father, he couldn't stop them. He couldn't walk it for them, either. 

All he could do… was support them. 

--- 

The next day, Charles also left home. 

Their plan was now in motion. From this point on, they would rarely contact the family. 

All three of them knew why. 

Once again, the house was empty. 

Mike stepped outside, standing under the bright sunlight. He squinted up at the sky. 

"That brat Clark… He still hasn't called me. I wonder how he's doing?" 

Annoyed, he ruffled his hair. Then, without another word, he suddenly shot into the sky, disappearing in an instant. 

--- 

The next day.

 New York, Hell's Kitchen – A Run-Down Motel 

Erik sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes fixed on the helmet resting beside him. With a slight motion of his hand, the helmet floated into his grasp. 

He studied it in silence, his gaze flickering as he focused. Under his control, the helmet began to twist and warp, as though crushed by invisible hands. It disintegrated into fine metallic particles, swirling and dancing in the air before him. 

The helmet's ability to block telepathy didn't come from its design—it was all in the materials used to create it. 

A small smile played on Erik's lips. As the floating particles shimmered in his palm, they started reforming, assembling into different helmet shapes under his precise control. 

Knock, knock. 

The sudden sound of knuckles against the door interrupted his thoughts. Erik clenched his fist, and in an instant, the helmet returned to its original form, dropping onto the bed. 

The moment he opened the door, a gun was shoved in his face, forcing him to step backward into the room. 

"Heh." 

Erik smirked at the man holding the gun. 

He had heard about how chaotic this neighborhood was—so bad that even the police didn't dare patrol here. But he hadn't expected to run into trouble so soon. 

Well… lucky him. 

He scoffed. 

"Stay still and hand over all your money!" the thug barked, eyes filled with greed. 

Erik chuckled. "You know, this kind of robbery won't get you far in life." 

"Cut the crap! Give me your money, or I'll shoot!" 

The corners of Erik's lips curled up in amusement. "Go ahead, then." 

"Son of a—! You think I won't?!" 

A murderous glint flashed in the thug's eyes. He wasn't new to killing. 

This was Hell's Kitchen, after all. His brother ran one of the biggest gangs here. 

Erik, unfazed, reached out, gently guiding the man's gun hand until the barrel was pressed against his own forehead. "Come on. Pull the trigger." 

The robber hesitated, momentarily stunned. 

He had never seen someone this arrogant before. 

"You're asking for it!" 

Cursing, he pulled the trigger. 

Bang! 

The gunshot rang out. 

But there was no blood. No gaping wound. 

Erik's expression hadn't changed in the slightest. 

The thug staggered backward in horror, his aim wavering. 

A single bullet hovered, perfectly suspended in midair, mere inches from Erik's forehead. 

Calmly, Erik reached out and plucked the bullet from the air, holding it between his fingers. With an almost amused grin, he said, "This is the first bullet ever fired at me. Quite a keepsake." 

He knew it wouldn't be the last. The path he had chosen… it would only bring more bullets his way. 

"You—" 

The man's face contorted with terror, but he instinctively raised his gun again. 

Before he could react, the weapon jerked violently out of his grip, floating in the air. Then, in an instant, it flipped around, aiming directly at his own forehead. 

"Get lost." 

Erik's voice turned cold. 

With a flick of his wrist, the gun shot forward, slamming into the thug's chest and sending him crashing into the hallway. 

Even now, Erik found himself hesitating. He still couldn't bring himself to kill. 

(End of Chapter)