[Perspective Switch: Odin - Alex Morgan]
[Personal Status: Trust Value 78.1% ⚠️Warning: Below 80% Critical Threshold]


Three hours now.

For three hours, that cursed number on my watch has been like a wound that never heals, constantly reminding me of that humiliation. 78.1%. In the face of this number, all my former glory becomes pale and powerless.

Worse still, I can feel the diminishing power. Every flight is more strenuous than before, every weight lifting meets the protest of my muscles. This mysterious faith power system is fair—it gives, and it also takes away.


But this isn't right. For three years, I've been perfect. I've saved countless lives, prevented countless disasters, never disappointed the public. Why should one ambush cause my trust value to plummet so much?

The cries of those victims... I've never heard them before. Not because they didn't exist, but because no one let me hear them. The PR team at Genesis Group always filtered out all "negative information," only letting me see praise and gratitude.


Looking back now, it was strange in itself, wasn't it?

[Genesis Group Top Floor, Valhalla—Odin's Office]

Odin thought he was waiting for a vengeful war council.

When he descended upon Silas's office with an inescapable fury from being provoked by mortals, what he saw wasn't battle maps, but a schedule filled with minute-by-minute details of foolish activities.

"What is this?" He swept the schedule off the table onto the floor, golden eyes burning with anger. But even this fury was much dimmer than usual.

"It's your work schedule for the coming week." Silas sat behind her desk, reviewing another document without looking up, as if the city-destroying entity before her was merely an unruly performer who needed discipline.

Silas pondered internally: "78.1%. This number represents a major crisis in fifteen years of building a business empire. But it's also an opportunity to reshape the brand narrative—a 'more humane' Odin might bring deeper public identification. He doesn't know yet that the drop in trust rating actually provides us with more room for manipulation..."

"Work?" Odin almost laughed out loud. "My job is to drag that fly called 'Typhon' out of their hole and crush them! Not to play games with a bunch of snotty-nosed kids!"
But he noticed a fleeting expression on Silas's face that almost looked like satisfaction. "Wait... was she just smiling? My analysis of human facial expressions is never wrong—why would my failure make her look... pleased?"

"When you impulsively displayed such 'unprofessional' anger, causing the group's stock price to drop by four percent, you already lost the right to decide the content of your 'work.'" Silas finally looked up, those gray eyes devoid of any emotion, containing only cold business calculations. "Odin, you need to understand one thing. Your value isn't in how much weight you can lift, or how fast you can fly. Your value lies in how much return this 'image' of yours can bring to the shareholders. Right now, your rate of return is declining."

"You..." Odin's fists clenched with audible cracking sounds, the air in the office beginning to heat up from the energy he was emanating.

"Want to make a move against me?" Silas met his gaze without any fear. "You can try. You can level me, this building, even the entire city to the ground. And then what? The Genesis Group will activate the 'Asset Liquidation' protocol, declare you completely out of control, and then dispatch your obedient 'brothers and sisters' to 'clean up' after you. You'll be defined as a failed 'product' that needs to be recalled. Is that what you want?"

Odin fell silent. His world-destroying power seemed so helpless in the face of this cold, flawless business logic. He was like an angry lion trapped in a cage, possessing deadly claws but unable to tear apart the invisible prison woven from rules and interests.

But in this moment, an unprecedented feeling of... confusion welled up inside Odin.

He looked at Silas' cold face, at those eyes that were appraising him like merchandise, and for the first time felt an indescribable... sense of alienation.

"I will... consider your suggestion," he finally said, his voice much lower than usual.

He didn't yield, but he didn't explode either. He just gave Silas a deep look, then turned around and stormed out of the office with enough force to dent the alloy door.

He didn't go to that damn children's hospital, but he didn't completely disobey orders either. Instead, he chose a middle path—patrolling the skies above the city, ostensibly fulfilling his duty as a "guardian," but actually...

Actually, he was observing.

He was carefully observing the city below in a way he never had before. Not from the previous lofty "divine" perspective, but truly looking with his heart at those tiny human figures, those ordinary people living under the shadow of the Genesis Group.

He landed in a district he had "saved" three months ago. The official report stated that he had successfully prevented a terrorist attack, saved all the residents in the district, and the people had been properly resettled. But now, seeing this place with his own eyes...

Half the district was still under reconstruction. Residents who had lost their homes were living in temporary tents. An old man sat in front of the ruins, holding a photograph in his arms.

Odin approached the old man. "Sir, I am... I want to learn about what happened three months ago."

The old man looked up, his eyes showing not the expected gratitude, but rather a complex... disappointment?

"You're that... Mr. Odin, right?" the old man's voice was calm. "My daughter admired you very much. She said you came to save us."

"Where is she now?"

The old man held up the photograph in his hand. "Under that pile of rubble. When you were fighting that 'terrorist' that day... the building collapsed."

Odin felt a tightness in his chest. "I... I'm sorry. I didn't know..."

"Of course you don't know." The old man's voice showed no anger, only exhaustion. "The news said you 'perfectly prevented the attack, zero casualties.' They never report these things."

On Odin's wrist, the trust value flickered again: 77.9%.

He began to understand. It wasn't Typhon's attack that caused his number to drop, but rather... the truth was beginning to surface.

Over the next two hours, Odin visited more than a dozen places he had previously "saved." At each one, the official record showed "perfect success." At each one, the reality was heart-wrenching.

- Fifth Avenue "terrorist stronghold elimination": Three residential buildings mistakenly bombed, 43 people left homeless
- Port district "biochemical weapon destruction operation": Water pollution destroyed fishermen's livelihoods
- Financial district "alien invasion defense": Electromagnetic pulse destroyed all electronic devices within a mile radius

Each truth was like a needle piercing his heart. Not because he had done anything wrong, but because he had never been allowed to know these consequences.

After each "rescue" operation, the cleanup team from Genesis Group would quickly arrive, "process" the scene, and then give him a "perfect" mission report.

He had always thought he was saving the world.
Now he realizes that perhaps he had been... destroying the world.

[Trust value continues to drop: 77.9% →77.1% → 76.8%]

But this time, the declining numbers no longer fill him with panic, but rather... relief?

When night fell, Odin did not return to the Genesis Group residence, nor did he appear at any planned event venues.

He sat atop the tallest building in the city, gazing at the sea of lights below, truly contemplating a question for the first time:

If I am not a hero, then what am I?
If Genesis Group is lying, then where is the truth?

And that "Typhon"... perhaps they weren't coming to destroy me. Perhaps they were coming to liberate me.

He closed his eyes and began to use his most primitive, most sensitive supernatural perception to capture and track that unique energy trace from that night, which remained in the depths of his soul.

But this time, it wasn't for the "Genesis Group," nor for the board's directives.

It was for himself. To find the person who dared to tell him the truth, to personally ask:

"Please tell me, what else can I become?"