The airport had already descended into chaos, red and blue police lights flashing in a tangled blur. The SWAT captain, being yanked by the collar, shouted angrily, “We haven’t received orders from above yet! The passengers haven’t all been evacuated!! We—”

Beep beep!

A car horn sounded, drawing closer, and the crowd scattered in panic.

Four armored anti-riot vehicles sped onto the scene, screeching to a halt at the entrance to the tarmac. Dozens of well-trained, heavily armed Evolvers jumped out, all wearing uniform collars around their necks, each with “Shenhai City Supervision Bureau” emblazoned on their uniforms.

“E-Evolvers?”

“Are those Evolvers?”

The crowd stirred in terror, when suddenly someone noticed something: “Look! That car is—”

A domestically made black sedan with a license plate of six 1s came to a steady stop in front of the runway. The car door opened, and Brian Sullivan bent down and stepped out, one hand pressing down the black coat billowing in the wind.

A young man shoved the SWAT captain aside and sprinted forward: “Inspector!”

The Evolvers from the Supervision Bureau along the way all called out: “What’s the situation, Leader Brooks?” “Leader Brooks!”

But this young man—Deputy Group Leader of the Supervision Bureau, Jason Brooks—had no time to answer his colleagues. He dashed up to Brian Sullivan and saluted: “Inspector, the situation is very bad. The mastermind behind the hijacking, David Bolton, his ability has just been confirmed—he can control the weather in a small area, and he’s connected to several fishing boat hijacking cases from years ago…”

Brian Sullivan said nothing, striding toward the tarmac against the howling wind.

“Senior, listen to me.” Jason Brooks quickly glanced around, lowered his voice, and changed his form of address, anxiously saying, “Your body really can’t take these frequent injections anymore. We should request outside support. Before Brother Clark returned to the central district, he told me that no matter what happens, you can always ask him for help. After all, Brother Clark is the first person in our country to be classified as an A-level ability user…”

Jason Brooks caught a glimpse of Brian Sullivan’s expression and immediately fell silent in fear.

“Just a dog left behind after Kevin Foster’s death,” Brian Sullivan said coldly.

“……”

Jason Brooks dared not speak, only to see a trace of mockery flash in Brian Sullivan’s eyes: “Besides, just A-level.”

Was he talking about the hijacker David Bolton, or Brother Clark from the central district?

Jason Brooks mumbled, not daring to make a sound. At that moment, Brian Sullivan stepped over the police line just as the SWAT captain turned around. He didn’t recognize the Chief Inspector of Shenhai City, but when his gaze landed on Brian Sullivan’s neck—devoid of any identification—he was instantly alarmed:

“How did a passenger get in here? This area is extremely dangerous, someone get him out of here!”

Before he finished speaking, the captain suddenly felt his hands empty—his submachine gun had been snatched away by an unimaginable force.

Brian Sullivan didn’t break stride, heading toward the control tower, holding the submachine gun in one hand and raising it to the sky—

Bang bang bang bang bang!

Bullets flew, screams erupted, and the entire chaotic scene fell silent in an instant.

“I am from the Shenhai City Supervision Bureau. I am now taking over this area. All non-combat personnel, evacuate immediately!”

Brian Sullivan’s expression was icy. He tossed aside the empty submachine gun, drew a silver special-issue pistol from his lower back, and loaded it as he walked: “Notify the tower to contact MN538. I want to speak to the hijacker personally.”

Under the leaden sky, clouds gathered thick and heavy.

A massive civilian airliner roared across the sky.

As the riot and screams erupted from the rear of the cabin, Ethan White was lying in a fully reclined first-class seat, his long legs crossed lazily. Deafening music thumped through his over-ear headphones as he focused intently on a book with a suspiciously risqué cover.

“Hands up! Don’t move!”

“Aaaah—”

A flight attendant sprinted down the aisle, but Ethan White didn’t notice at all, eyes glued to his book as he turned another page.

“Everyone, put your hands on your heads! Get down! Or I’ll shoot!” A C-class mutant hijacker burst in, sweeping the muzzle of his submachine gun around the cabin, then suddenly stopped in disbelief: “Hey? What are you doing here?!”

Under the barrel of the gun, seat 1A, Ethan White slowly raised his head from behind his book: “?”

Hijacker: “……”

Everyone: “……”

“Put your hands up, damn it!!” The hijacker was practically losing his mind.

Ethan White looked at the gun in confusion, then leaned back to glance at the trembling passengers behind him. Only then did he realize what was happening, and he reached up to remove his obviously expensive over-ear headphones.

The next moment, a scalp-numbing blast of music poured out: “Super Idol’s smile, not as sweet as yours—”

“A hijacking?” Ethan White closed his book, blurting out the three words in utter confusion.

Instantly, everyone’s first reaction was: This handsome guy must be a little slow in the head.

Ethan White’s style was a bit like a returning overseas student: white T-shirt, jeans, sneakers, a black smart watch on his wrist, and a streak of silver-white dyed into his spiky black hair—pretty trendy.

Describing his looks as “sword brows and starry eyes, strikingly handsome” was no exaggeration. But for all his good looks, his common sense was just as lacking. Just looking at his face, you’d never guess how clueless he was—his looks and his brains were in perfect inverse proportion.