Chapter 286 Fish.

Chapter 286: 286 Fish.

The Clam and Spam was one of those cramped, hole-in-the-wall restaurants where the seating was agonizingly tight, the decor was aggressively tacky, and the food was reliably spectacular.

It was a family-run joint, typically operated by a tight-knit community of ethnic immigrants. In this specific case, the ethnicity could best be described as ’bipedal salmon.’

You didn’t normally see a massive Neptunian population on the surface, at least not outside of a few deeply unsettling New England coastal towns.

But Metropolis was a cultural melting pot, and the bottom of the Mariana Trench was no exception. It helped that the city was built right against the ocean.

Besides, Neptunian cuisine was incredible. Absolutely nobody on dry land did sushi like they did. And if the kitchen staff occasionally tried to summon Cthulhu on alternating Thursdays?

Well, at least they were doing it for authentic cultural reasons.

Roger Lutz was incredibly easy to pick out in the dim, briny lighting.

He was sitting at a tiny two-top near the back wall, which was draped in genuine, barnacle-crusted fishing nets.

Unmistakable in his sharp dark suit, aggressively tinted yellow aviators, and heavily slicked-back hair, the agent lounged in his plastic chair with the cocky, thousand-watt smile of a guy who was always actively closing a deal.

It wasn’t exactly hard to spot his new hero, either.

The guy was actively taking up two adjoining chairs beside his agent, and he desperately needed the structural support.

’Musclebound’ didn’t even begin to do the man justice. He looked like he was biologically constructed entirely out of raw biceps.

He had a tight military buzzcut on a head that was shaped exactly like a thumb, and he was currently sporting a massive, swollen build that looked ready to violently rip out of his white, sleeveless workout shirt at any second.

A giant, neon explosion graphic was printed on the front of the stretched fabric, with the letters NH plastered aggressively over the blast.

There wasn’t anything super unusual about that specific fashion choice. A lot of C-list heroes came to these sorts of corporate meetings in full costume.

The fundamental trouble was, I had absolutely no idea if this was his official uniform, or just his everyday gym attire. But, if I didn’t want to work with bombastic, muscle-bound weirdos, I wouldn’t be running an elite villain league.

Spotting us navigating the narrow aisles, Roger half-rose out of his chair and waved frantically.

"Hey, hey, hey! Miles! So incredibly glad you could make it, buddy! And this must be the lovely Glacia! Roger Lutz. Absolutely charmed to meet you," he said, reaching out to shake Glacia’s hand with aggressive enthusiasm.

"Greetings," Glacia said neutrally. She offered a perfectly refined incline of her head, completely ignoring the extended hand.

"And hey! I completely forgot to introduce my newest client," Roger said proudly, pivoting and heavily slapping the massive, boulder-like shoulder of the man beside him. "Say hello, Gunther."

"Do not call me Gunther," the human mountain rumbled.

He lifted his thumb-shaped head and rose slowly out of his chair, towering aggressively over both me and Glacia.

"Call me by my officially registered hero name."

"Which is?" I asked.

He violently threw both his massive arms up, hitting a heavy front double-bicep pose with a deafening grunt. "No Whey!"

Hoo boy. A genuine, unfiltered meathead. This specific demographic was always incredibly tricky. Heroes who operated on this level of testosterone tended to be a bit... well, staggeringly dumb, to put it frankly. But I’d do my best to manage him all the same. I looked back to Roger, who was clearly the functioning brain of this operation.

"So—"

"Long ago!" No Whey suddenly bellowed, aggressively pumping his massive arms until thick, ropy veins throbbed wildly along his neck. "I was but a normal, everyday bodybuilder! But I was deeply unsatisfied with my current gains!

"Thus, I partook of a highly experimental, unapproved protein supplement! As a direct result, I gained incredible, superhuman might! Thews of iron! Abs of solid steel! Thighs of dense titanium! Thus, I became No Whey! Mighty defender of the weak with my massive guuuuns! Hooah!"

He dropped into a heavy crab pose, violently curling his biceps. Through the impossibly tight fabric of his wifebeater, I physically watched his massive pectorals violently twitch and dance to a rhythm only he could hear.

"...Uh-huh," I said dryly. I pulled out a plastic chair and took a seat, Glacia gracefully claiming the spot beside me. "Have you guys ordered yet?"

"Just waiting on you," Roger said affably, completely unphased by his client’s localized earthquake. "I hear the seafood here is absolutely killer!"

Seafood was literally all there was on the menu, but whatever.

The waitress waddled over on webbed feet. Her scaly, fish-like head was completely encased in a heavy glass water tank that bubbled constantly as her wide lips moved. Her voice was digitally translated through a waterproof speaker installed on the heavy brass collar of the tank.

"Are you ready to order?" she bubbled mechanically.

"Yeah," I said, barely glancing at the laminated menu. "I’ll take the grilled salmon with a heavy side of the seaweed salad. You?" I asked, looking at Glacia.

"I will have whatever you are having, sir," she said politely, her icy blue eyes tracking the fish-woman with mild, aristocratic fascination.

"An excellent, macronutrient choice!" No Whey declared at the top of his lungs. "Salmon is incredibly high in essential vitamin B12 and rich in wonderful, muscle-building protein!"

"Great. Glad to hear I’m hitting my macros," I said, handing over my menu.

"And the rest of you?" the waitress bubbled impatiently.

"I will take four massive orders of the Tuna Surprise!" No Whey declared, slamming a heavy fist on the table. "Yes! The mighty tuna fish! Chicken of the sea! Loaded with significantly more protein by weight than literally any other commercially available seafood! And all of it shall fuel my gains!"

"I’ll take a fish taco, thanks," Roger said seamlessly, completely ignoring his client’s explosive outburst.

I didn’t ignore it. It was always vitally important to get a deeply accurate measure of the supers you were actively working with, and No Whey wasn’t exactly what the industry called a subtle operator.

Actually, he struck me as the exact sort of registered hero who wore his entire personality not just on his sleeve, but plastered in neon letters right across his billboard-sized chest.

Oh boy.