Marvel: A Lazy-Ass Superman

Chapter 297: Chapter 297 — A Rather Unconventional Dinner

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After getting dressed and stepping out of the bedroom, Charlize Theron looked around the apartment with a hint of amazement. It was a house unlike any she’d ever seen.

The most eye-catching feature was a series of steel platforms built up along the walls, at varying heights. There was no unified shape or style to them; the only thing they had in common was that all the edges and corners had been carefully rounded and polished smooth, completely non-threatening.

A sofa sat right in the very center of the living room. From the perspective of space utilization, putting it there was downright strange.

Aside from the fully equipped kitchen, the remaining wall space was filled with all kinds of odd, unfamiliar machines—very few of which Charlize could recognize. About the only things she knew were a vinyl record player and a screen tube roughly the size of a television.

What looked like speakers, however, were everywhere—seven or eight of them, large and small, mounted near the corners of the ceiling.

Every speaker was aimed at the same spot: the sofa. And the distance from each speaker to the sofa was identical.

The creature Henry called ”the tabby cat Katy”—the tiger—had its head buried in a metal feeding basin, tearing and chewing loudly. The wet, meaty sounds were especially intimidating.

Yet, to her own surprise, Charlize didn’t feel all that nervous. Compared to being surrounded by a group of men that morning, this tiger somehow felt... friendlier.

Henry, busy in the kitchen, noticed her coming out and immediately said,

”Charlize, there’s nothing you can’t eat, right? I’m just stir-frying a few dishes—it’ll be ready in a bit.

”Oh, and while Katy’s eating, don’t go near her. If you want to pet her, wait until she’s finished. She’s not very clingy, but her temper’s actually pretty good.”

: Damn it, you Kryptonian two-legged freak—how do you think my temper got so good?!

The tiger wanted to roar in protest, but decided to keep eating instead, magnanimously forgiving the Kryptonian who didn’t understand tiger speech.

”Is there anything I can help with?”

Although she really wanted to touch the tiger, Charlize followed Henry’s advice and didn’t approach an animal while it was eating. Instead, she circled around Katy and stopped by the kitchen.

As for her cooking skills... well, they were still at the ”won’t kill anyone” level. She’d never seriously learned from her mother. Compared to the man in front of her—who cooked like a professional chef—Charlize had no intention of exposing her shortcomings.

”Help me set out the plates and utensils wherever you want to eat,” Henry said. ”There are drinks in the fridge—grab whatever you like and bring them out.”

There was no dining table in sight, so Charlize placed the plates and cutlery on the low table in front of the sofa.

The fridge held fruit juice, milk, ice water, and bitter beer.

She recognized the beer brand—it was cheap. She’d tried it once and sworn never to touch it again.

Beer brewed with hops was usually bitter, sure—but there were levels to bitterness, and differences in how it tasted going down.

This one?

This one was truly bitter. One sip was enough to make your face scrunch up.

So Charlize took out the ice water and placed it on the low table.

This was actually Henry’s oversight. He never expected guests, and with his body’s inability to get drunk, there was little point in stocking alcohol.

If you can’t get drunk, drinking isn’t much fun.

There was no whiskey, no red wine—not a single bottle. The bitter beer in the fridge was nothing more than a cheap substitute for bottled water.

The only exception was cooking rice wine in the kitchen—meant for cooking, not drinking.

Ironically, the lack of a liquor cabinet or a fridge stuffed with beer made Charlize like Henry a little more.

After all, no one liked a drunk—especially Charlize, who had bad memories tied to alcohol. In her experience, men who drank heavily often came with frightening violence and irrational behavior.

No matter how gentle a man might seem normally, once drunk—or under stress—violence could surface.

It wasn’t inevitable, but in Charlize Theron’s internal scoring system, men who didn’t drink were far more trustworthy than those who did.

Henry’s dinner consisted of tomato spaghetti, braised fish, and scrambled eggs with garlic chives. The key detail: the chives weren’t minced, but cut into segments—a taste straight out of long-buried memories.

Once everything was ready, he brought the dishes over to the low table.

”Here, try it. If it’s not to your liking, I can make something else.”

In 1990s America, Chinese food still wasn’t very widespread—at least not in most white households. Chopsticks were something many people still struggled to use. It wasn’t like thirty years later.

So Charlize used a knife and fork, while Henry grabbed an extra pair of chopsticks for himself.

The tomato spaghetti was familiar territory for her, but the braised fish and the chive-and-egg dish were not.

She’d probably seen braised fish somewhere before, but never eaten it. The chive dish was also new—she could identify the ingredients at a glance, but the strong aroma made her unsure if she’d like it.

Encouraged by Henry, she picked up her fork, flaked off a piece of fish, and put it in her mouth.

The rich seasoning of the braised fish, combined with the freshness of the meat, instantly conquered her taste buds. In that moment, nothing else seemed important—not even the terrifying events of the morning. One bite was enough.

With the braised fish as a confidence booster, Charlize scooped up a bite of scrambled eggs and chives with her spoon and ate it.

It wasn’t as stunning as the fish, but the unique flavor wasn’t unpleasant at all. Without needing any urging from Henry, Charlize went at the meal with knife, fork, and spoon flying.

After what she’d been through earlier—and skipping a proper lunch—followed by an unspeakable afternoon battle, she was starving. At this point, table manners were the last thing on her mind.

Henry didn’t compete with her for food. Instead, he went to the record player and put on Pachelbel’s Canon, performed by the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra.

It was the most famous canon in existence. The original was written for three violins with harpsichord, cello, and lute accompaniment. The vinyl version, however, was an orchestral arrangement performed by a world-renowned symphony.

The volume wasn’t loud, but the moment the music began, Charlize felt as if she were sitting in a concert hall, listening to a live performance.

She suddenly understood why the sofa was placed there.

That spot truly was the best listening position in the house.

Henry wasn’t the only one who appreciated the atmosphere. After finishing her meal, Katy padded over to the low table, curious to see if there was anything she could eat.

Having a full-grown tiger walk up beside her—saying she wasn’t nervous would be a lie.

Henry lightly pressed the loose skin at the back of Katy’s neck and said,

”If you want to pet her, scratch under the chin, the head, or her back. Try not to touch her paws, belly, or tail—those make her angry. Oh, and don’t pull her whiskers.”

”...I really can?” Charlize asked.

”Give it a try. You won’t lose anything by trying.”

Charlize Theron scratched the tiger under the chin.

Katy immediately looked blissed out, eyes half-closed, wearing an expression that was downright goofy and adorable.

Seeing a tiger make that face gave the bold girl the distinct feeling that she’d just discovered an entirely new world.

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