Marvel: A Lazy-Ass Superman

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In the end, Henry agreed to Channing's request and became a staff member at the party.

The decision was simple enough. After all, he knew that no matter how much he tried, he wouldn't have easily been invited to such a high-class event. So why not take the opportunity to work as a staff member and experience it firsthand?

There was also the matter of returning a favor to Channing. The stunt performance he did for the B-movie was partly thanks to Channing's recommendation. Although Henry had contributed to the production team, it was Channing who had opened that door for him.

Now, Henry was in a bit of a jam, and Channing's call had offered him a chance to resolve things—whether he needed it or not.

This was one of those favors that, if not needed, could be politely declined. But right now, it was something Henry could take or leave, so he decided to accept.

So here he was, wearing a rented black suit, standing at the corner near the poolside of a mansion, playing the role of an emotionless bodyguard.

The reason he didn't work as a reception staff member was simple: the male staff uniform was a white sleeveless shirt with a black bow tie, paired with suspenders and very short shorts, finishing the look with knee-high socks and black shoes. The whole outfit was frankly absurd, and Henry didn't have the fortitude for it.

Even though the reception staff got paid more, it wasn't about the money—it was about dignity. And Henry didn't have the right mindset for that job.

As for the host of the mansion, Henry had no idea who they were. The mansion had been rented by the event company specifically for the party.

Food and drinks were plentiful. The reception staff's job was simple: carry trays, walk around the venue, collect empty glasses, and provide food and drinks to guests.

Party decorations like balloons, streamers, and party poppers were scattered everywhere. Anyone who wanted to play with them could just grab them.

The DJ booth and speakers were set up near the main area by the pool, and the music blasting from the speakers was early-stage electronic dance music that felt like a mental stimulant, buzzing through the air.

What surprised Henry the most, however, was the smoking area inside. People who smoked regular cigarettes didn't come in here; anyone who entered was soon engulfed by the potent smell in the air, gradually becoming intoxicated and slipping into a trance-like state.

The party had a decent crowd. You could tell who the invited guests were by their attire. The staff, including the receptionists and the "companions," were dressed in outlandish costumes like bunny suits or cowboy outfits.

Henry, dressed in a smart black suit, was just there to serve as a backdrop, standing motionlessly like the bodyguard he was meant to be.

The invited guests, mostly the wealthy, had a more relaxed dress code—mostly t-shirts and sweatpants, dressing for comfort over formality. But just because they dressed casually didn't mean they were wearing cheap clothes. From Henry's observations, these were people wearing clothes worth thousands of dollars.

There were two bikini-clad beauties floating on pool loungers; they were among the "companions."

Every now and then, some guests would jump into the pool without even bothering to strip down, splashing water all over the place and making the two girls laugh.

If one of the bikini beauties got "invited upstairs" by a guest, the other would be replaced by someone else. It was all about ensuring that there was always something pleasant to look at, with plenty of attractive playmates available.

For Henry, it was an eye-opening experience. He'd never seen such a decadent, hedonistic scene before in his past life.

But what really stood out was that this wasn't even the top-tier flesh market event. This was just a regular Hollywood party organized by a company that had to call in Channing's team for extra help.

If someone like Henry, an outsider with no real background, could casually join the event, it just went to show that security and privacy weren't exactly top priorities here.

The level of confidentiality at this event was low, and no matter how high the status of the guests, it was clear that this wasn't an exclusive gathering.

Henry didn't want to feel sorry for the parents who had worked hard to raise these young men and women, even if they were being treated roughly or disrespectfully. If he truly wanted to be high-minded, he would just leave. But instead, Henry chose to wear sunglasses, pretending not to care, and observing everything with a cold eye.

As bodyguards at these events, their main role wasn't to protect anyone in particular. Their job was to step in when someone got too carried away and help them cool off.

It wasn't about worrying that these guests would hurt the girls or boys, but more about preventing them from taking out their frustrations on the other invited guests.

Also, when someone got too drunk to care for themselves, the bodyguards had to step in, find an empty bed or sofa, and ensure they were taken care of—not let them pass out in unsafe conditions or choke on their own vomit.

Most of the people at the party were young, and they were more likely to push things too far, potentially hurting themselves or causing trouble. The bodyguard's job was to make sure no one died at the party and kept things from getting too messy.

Henry was starting to regret his powerful senses. With his heightened perception, he could sense everything happening throughout the mansion.

Just a few days ago, after testing his abilities on the echoing hull of a battleship, Henry had learned to use sound to create spatial images in his mind. He could perceive almost everything—except for color, which he still needed to rely on his vision for.

He wished he could turn off his superpowers. Unfortunately, Henry had no switch to do so. The only thing he could do was distract himself and ignore the unpleasant things around him.

Standing still as a bodyguard, though, was a little different from the action-packed work he was used to. He hadn't trained himself to be able to zone out like that. As a result, the constant barrage of stimuli from the mansion was starting to get on his nerves.

Had it not been for Channing's favor, he would have left by now. But as things were, Henry decided to wait and see if Tony Stark would actually show up at the party, resolving the mess Henry had found himself in.

The real question was, though: Would Stark even show up?

Channing had made sure to emphasize that Tony Stark's name was on the guest list. But just because someone was invited didn't mean they'd actually show up. Henry had heard plenty of stories about parties where they'd invite a bunch of high-profile people, only for none of them to actually make it.

As he stood there, wondering if he should focus on the lip colors of the girls around him to pass the time, a sudden distraction arrived in front of him—a guest with a loud and obnoxious snap of their fingers.

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