When talking about Americans, it's easy to think of the NBA.
In American homes with even a small yard, there's often a basketball hoop, and Atreus's villa was no exception.
Through the second-floor window, he had his eyes set on making a layup, but unfortunately, his body didn't have the strength.
He was being double-teamed with no mercy.
The ridiculous part was that the opponents ignored the "No Hand-Check Rule," which prohibits using hands to push off offensive players, and directly pressed on his waist.
With the other side playing so dirty, Atreus had a headache. After all, it was a private game, and there wasn't even a referee.
He had no choice but to brace against the defender, holding the ball in both hands, constantly using the "Triple Threat" stance to break through their tight defense.
I'm in! Now I'm out!
He executed perfect lateral movements.
Meanwhile, he had to rely on his post-up skills, which he had been practicing for over two and a half years, to firmly resist the defender's harassment behind him.
After Atreus used his perfect footwork for the 999th time, he finally broke through the defender in front of him and turned all his focus on dealing with the one behind.
The game was brutal.
NBA games are 12 minutes per quarter, four quarters total, plus various substitutions, timeouts, and breaks—it takes around 150 minutes. Overtime is 5 minutes per period.
This was a high-intensity sport.
And in the end, Atreus couldn't finish off his opponent in regulation, winning only after one overtime period.
...
A bright and sunny morning.
Listening to the chirping birds outside the window, Sara opened her sleepy eyes, momentarily unable to tell if she was dreaming or if this was real.
What she saw wasn't her run-down apartment in a poor neighborhood that ate up 30% of her monthly paycheck. There was no smell of her neighbor's tobacco, nor the usual morning noise and chaos.
Everything was too perfect, making her a bit incredulous.
A familiar voice brought Sara back to reality. Emerging from the white blanket across from her was the face of her sister, Dinah.
"Good morning, Sara."
Sara blinked, then replied, "Good morning, sis."
"You… alright?"
With that question, terrifying memories flooded back. Sara remembered everything: the terrifying zombie woman who looked just like her, Atreus's heroic rescue, and…
Taking a deep breath, Sara braved a response, "I'm not scared anymore."
Dinah reached out her pale arm from under the blanket, interlocking her fingers with her sister's.
The two sisters suddenly felt a sharp sting at the same time, frowning and looking at each other, a bit embarrassed.
Just then, they noticed the TV in the room had been on all along.
The host was broadcasting gossip news:
"Oh—what a pity! The latest woman to try and claim the title of Mrs. Tony Stark is the famous journalist Christine Everhart. Unfortunately, she, too, was thrown out of Tony's house after a friendly match. The one who showed her out was none other than Miss Pepper Potts, the Stark family's housekeeper."
"So, who will be the next to challenge for the title of Mrs. Stark? Stay tuned. For those interested in betting, visit XXXX."
In America, you can bet on anything.
In fact, New Yorkers loved placing bets on how long any particular woman could stay by Tony's side.
For most viewers, this was part of the city's daily entertainment.
But when that entertainment involved you, it wasn't as fun anymore.
The Lance sisters' faces stiffened.
They dressed quietly, choosing not to mention someone's status as a VIP at all the high-end nightclubs in Gotham. They held hands and walked out of the room, something they hadn't done in a long time.
Just as they stepped out, they were met by a row of twelve maids, all bowing in unison: "Good morning, Miss Lance."
"Good morning," the sisters replied stiffly.
Is this it?
Is it time to leave?
Well, it's only fair. Atreus doesn't owe us anything.
This is where we part ways.
...
The air was unusually still, and after a few seconds of awkward silence, the oldest maid stepped forward, "Miss Sara Lance, awaiting your instructions."
"Instructions?"
Instructions for what?
The head maid seemed to understand Sara's confusion and reminded her, "As per Mr. Atreus's orders, Miss Sara Lance, you are now the housekeeper of this estate, and all of us are here to follow your commands."
"Oh!" Sara, whose brain was still lagging, remembered that Atreus had mentioned something like this. She quickly recovered, "Nothing for now, just as usual."
"Understood." The head maid curtsied, followed by the rest, who then left the room in an orderly fashion.
The modern-style second-floor hall was suddenly empty, leaving just the Lance sisters.
They exchanged a look.
"Sara, it seems I'm the secretary now, and you're the housekeeper."
"Yeah."
The sisters were a little lost, especially Sara, who took a while to process her new identity.
Following the maids' instructions, they made their way to the underground training area. After greeting Louis and a few other bodyguards, they entered and saw Atreus practicing sword arts, continuously swinging his sword.
He was so focused, each movement executed with precision.
Hundreds of times, even a thousand—his movements never wavered, like a machine.
After finishing his thousandth swing, Atreus finally noticed the sisters' presence.
Seeing them face to face again, both sisters blushed simultaneously for the first time.
Sara couldn't bring herself to look at Atreus. Technically, she had only met him for the first time yesterday. Maybe a lot of American girls were casual, but Lance sisters were conservative.
After an awkward pause, Sara finally managed, "Did you sleep well last night?"
"Not really. I didn't sleep enough," Atreus bluntly replied, catching Sara off guard.
Before she could respond, Atreus suddenly flashed a charming smile, "But for you two, I'm willing to sleep a little less."
In an instant, the sisters' faces flushed as red as lobsters.
Unable to hold back, they scurried off awkwardly, walking like crabs.
After finishing his training, Atreus glanced at the progress bar in his system with satisfaction. Drying himself off, he headed to the dining room, where he enjoyed breakfast while reading today's *Gotham Daily*.
After reading the first four pages, Atreus couldn't help but wonder, *What did I just read?*
According to online reports, last night, a mysterious woman in a bat suit busted up a major arms smuggling deal run by Falcone. Another woman in a strange black-and-white spider suit took down dozens of Joker gang members, stopping a massive disaster.
Then there was a clown-dressed lunatic who stole a fuel truck, crashed it into a train carrying d4ngerous chemicals near a factory, and caused an explosion visible 30 kilometers away.
And yet, the mayor reassured citizens that Gothamites had nothing to worry about. It was the Canadians who should be concerned.
So many major events in one night, yet what did the paper focus on?
From speculation on why Bruce Wayne hasn't been dating recently, to the Gotham Zoo celebrating the birth of two baby goats, and apparently, Atreus himself had hooked up with the former lead singer of the Black Mask Club.
The entire paper was devoted to proving one point: *Nothing major happened yesterday!*
What a joke!
(End of chapter)