American comic book: My Father is Superman, am I just an NPC?

Chapter 106 New Job Acquisition! Superman Awakening! [112k]

Chapter 106 New Job Acquisition! Superman Awakening! [11.2k]

DC Universe.

[Leader LV1 [1/10]]

A new ordinary profession has quietly appeared on the personal panel.

Ian ripped his head off "Ian's Book of Creation" with a joyful expression. He had verified it himself, so there was no need to ask Quora, the American version of Zhihu.

There's no need to ask God or anything like that.

This super-simp demon book truly possesses the power to create something from nothing. Golden light flowed between the pages as if alive, and lines of patterns and symbols that did not belong to any text began to appear.

“Perhaps it should be called Ianwen.” Ian knew that angels had their language, and demons had theirs, so naturally he should have his own language too.

Mages from all worlds should learn from Ian.

After all, Ian did create his own unique magic system.

He had just laid the foundation for his own system, but due to his insufficient magical power, this nascent source of magic could only conduct experimental magical creations.

[Four-Dimensional Appendicitis Reconstruction]

No matter how absurd the name of this magic may be, the fact that it can turn a useless appendix into a useful wallet is something that anyone who truly understands magic should know how cool this magic is.

"And it's practical too." Ian knew that the safest place was inside one's own body. What could be a safer anti-theft measure than storing one's possessions inside one's own body?
You should know that not everyone in this world has a fortress of loneliness like him.

Ian still needed to consider his future "followers" more. He didn't want others to think of him as the aloof and arrogant Lord Ian with the "let them eat cake" mentality.

Go deep into the grassroots.

Considering the suffering of the monks.

This is the real Ian Sir.

"I believe the believers will feel my goodwill." Ian felt very good about himself. He already had the qualities that a leader should have, and his mind was full of creative ideas for the benefit of the "people".

however.

Those ideas cannot be implemented yet.

How to describe this feeling? It's like a newly enthroned emperor with grand ambitions, whose lack of magic is the most important factor limiting his potential.

"Damn it, my super brain is still brimming with amazing magic." Ian felt as if his brain had been sucked out with a straw.

Inside the skull, it was as dry as a sponge that had been baked in the sun for three days.

prior to.

He used to have a feeling of being filled with magical energy, like his brain was filled with water, but now it feels empty, like his brain is dehydrated. This is probably a manifestation of excessive magical energy consumption.

The use of the Demon Book is highly dependent on magic.

No wonder the previous Prince of Hell acted like a weakling.

“A mature magic book should know that it provides magic to its master.” Ian’s manipulation was everywhere, except that the book on the table had a small mouth growing out of its cover.

It made a pitiful, whimpering sound.

"All you do is cry. You'll never get to eat three demons in your lifetime," Ian sighed helplessly. Just then, the demon head placed in the cabinet seemed to sense something and opened its eyes.

"If it won't eat it, I will."

This guy has already tasted the sweetness of getting something for nothing.

This is the ultimate form of depravity.

“Okay, wait, tonight I’ll make you some egg tarts with my poop… Damn, do you think I’m rewarding you?” Ian grabbed a black cloth and covered the expectant demon’s face.

He almost forgot.

Dogs are not the only animals in biology that exhibit "coprophagia".

The same goes for cows.

"It seems I'm the only normal person in this house." Ian was slightly unwilling, but he could only take a long-term approach, as accumulating magic power was not something that could be accomplished overnight.

Fortunately, he has already anchored himself to another form of capitalist.

How much magic does Ian possess?

It all depends on how hard the believers work.

The growth of the Ian Cult is bound to be rapid, there is no doubt about that. After all, he has only just created his own magic system, and a guinea pig has already eagerly become his believer.

This is proof of a promising future.

"I wonder who this lucky person is, with such a sharp eye for investment." Ian had a guess in his mind, but he didn't say it, because not saying it meant that he would never be wrong.

The flexible application of equations and inequalities is so simple and unpretentious.

[You are currently creating a work; Writer Experience +1]

……

The magic power wasn't actually consumed, but rather its activity level was depleted, requiring time to recover. So, Ian used this time to begin simultaneous creation of literature and comics.

By dividing tasks effectively between his two hands—one for drawing comics and the other for writing novels—Ian felt he would eventually be able to use both hands and feet simultaneously.

At that time, one can practice music, chess, calligraphy, and painting simultaneously. As for the idea of growing more hands, that's not even a consideration; a normal person should only have two hands and two feet.

"very hungry."

Ian was caught between creative inspiration and hunger; his stomach had been rumbling loudly for some time, but he knew he couldn't even bite the pen cap if he wanted to complete his job change.

It's always good to be cautious.

Ian believed in his willpower.

But he didn't trust his own thirsty mouth. Respecting the desires of every part of the body too much was the consequence of indulgence; Ian frantically tried to distract himself with writing and drawing.

The pen was indeed smoking from being swung around.

And just as he was immersed in his creative work.

"Ding Ding Ding ~"

Ian's black cell phone rang.

"Hello, this is Ian."

Ian paused writing for a break and answered the phone. The caller ID didn't show up, but he remembered it was his dad's number. Perhaps Batman had given his dad the information on the phone.

“Ian, remember to see your psychologist at 3 p.m. sharp. Dr. Hannibal has set aside an hour for you on the weekend for the sake of your studies.”

Clark's voice came through the phone, with the background noise typical of a newspaper office, the sounds of keyboards being typed and papers being turned.

Very busy.

"What about the patient who was supposed to be treated on the weekend?" Ian held the phone to his ear, remembering that his psychiatrist was always fully booked with clients.

"I heard she's in a relationship and doesn't need to see a therapist anymore." Clark was working while on the phone, and he seemed to be cheating by using a slightly super-fast speed.

Upon hearing this, Ian's eyes narrowed.

"Was that patient in love with octopus or with scallion?" Ian continued to probe his father, but Clark seemed only confused by his question.

"what are you saying?"

Clark preferred to suspect that there was something wrong with his hearing or his phone rather than doubt Dr. Hannibal Lecter, a behavior that surprised Ian somewhat.

“No, I just think Dr. Hannibal has a certain air about him that he’s a great cook,” Ian replied thoughtfully. He didn’t believe Clark hadn’t done a background check on Hannibal.

therefore.

This situation has occurred.

There must be something fishy going on behind this.

As for telling my dad directly?

Laugh to death.

Even among fathers and sons, there is competition in the world of superheroes. The credit belongs to Ian; tonight he'll see his ancestor on the front page.

Clark was unaware of Ian's ulterior motives.

Anyway, remember to go.

Clark continued, with the sound of a broken printer in the background, "Have Jordan come with you; I need to interview a real estate tycoon this afternoon."

“I’ll fix your printer when I get back tonight—don’t tell your mother, she’ll be back even later,” he instructed Ian as he repaired the printer.

"Where's Mom?" Ian listened intently to the sounds from the next room and had a good idea of what was going on. He didn't think his second brother, who had been working hard all day, would have the time or inclination to accompany him to the doctor.

“Your mom is going to interview an astronaut. NASA seems to have discovered aliens, and she’s very excited.” Clark said, seemingly while fixing the printer.

"..."

Ian opened his mouth.

I don't quite understand why my mom is so interested in aliens.

This kind of creature is clearly found in my home.

More than one.

"Remember, go home after your doctor's appointment and don't wander around," Clark said cautiously, hanging up only after receiving Ian's assurance.

"The person who made the guarantee is Ian, and has nothing to do with my ancestors." Ian grabbed his stockings, checked the time, and prepared to drive his car out to level up.

at noon.

There's still quite a bit of time until 3 o'clock.

Metropolis needs a new hero to protect it. Otherwise, with Clark only in his forties, how long will it take for Ian to become the new leader of Metropolis?
It is common for a crown prince to live for thirty years.

But Ian, a prospective superhero who has been in the industry for two and a half years, has absolutely no desire to be one.

He has a rebellious streak.

We have to go against the grain right now!

"Perhaps the public's adoration can also help me grow." Ian is certainly not going through a rebellious phase; his rebellious streak only emerges when there is something to gain.

[Leader LV1 [1/10]]

The main reason is that the emergence of this new profession gave Ian a tiny bit of an idea. Who says that people in the DC Universe have to suffer discrimination and can't become followers of Lord Ian?

It exists in the Marvel Universe.

Ian won't allow the DC Universe to be without Jesus! Even if Jesus came... it's better if Jesus doesn't come. Ian isn't fully developed yet, and he doesn't want to be portrayed as an unorthodox, heretical preacher.

He simply wanted to find some excellent Palus to help him cultivate his magic, and he was certainly not wrong. However, some people's perspectives in the secular world are always influenced by various factors.

Just like.

Ian looked at his collection of demons and his demon books.

"It's all your fault for making me look like an evil god." Under the somewhat bewildered gazes of the demon head and the demon book, Ian once again demonstrated his exceptionally good skills at shifting blame.

"Could it be that you are not evil...?"

Just as the demon's head opened its mouth as if to speak but then stopped...

"Ding dong~"

The doorbell rang from downstairs.

Ian didn't bother Jordan and chose to go downstairs and open the door himself.

He was eager to try, hoping it would be a supervillain coming to kidnap the child, but instead he found a man in an expensive suit outside. Such men usually don't reveal their true nature unless they use a demon to bewitch him.

"Who are you looking for?"

Ian slightly regretted not hanging the demon's head on his butt.

"Oh, is anyone home? I thought they were all out." Standing outside the door was a middle-aged man in a sharp suit, his hair neatly combed and a confident smile on his lips.

Richard Cassel.

The man introduced himself, raising an eyebrow with a flourish, "I am a bestselling mystery novelist, a regular on the New York Times bestseller list, and hailed as one of the most charming men of our time."

“If you’re a fashionable boy, you must have seen my work.” Kassel held a bunch of things in his hands, all of which looked high-end but were pretty useless detective gadgets.

“Oh, it’s you, that idiot on the plane…” Ian’s upbringing made him swallow back his words of sudden realization, “So you’re the famous bestselling author!”

He switched to flattering words.

"Yes, it's me. Do you want my autograph?"

Kassel genuinely believed that Ian was one of his readers and fans.

He clearly didn't recognize Ian as the boy who drove the speeding car. Because Ian's Hellcat was covered with a blanket, the writer hadn't yet had a chance to explore Ian's yard out of curiosity.

"No, thank you."

Ian wasn't a fan of detective novels, and even Sherlock Holmes was one of his followers, so how could he possibly lower himself to collect other people's autographs?

That's disrespectful to believers!
wrong.

I think I secretly told myself that I would never say it aloud, but I wasn't careful enough. Luckily, no one could hear my thoughts.

Ian patted his steel chest with relief.

Kassel gave him a strange look, but didn't comment further. He took out a letter from his suit jacket. "I found this place based on some scattered clues."

“Someone wants me to meet a certain mysterious author.” Cassel stared at Ian. “I think the person who stole my new book’s promotional resources is your… father.”

His gaze shifted to the inner room behind Ian.

“I see, you’re the person Mr. Wayne sent to learn from—you must have lost a lot of his money.” Ian suddenly realized that the person who came was a boastful new author.

He also often boasts.

He understood that feeling.

Ian revealed a look that seemed to see through everything.

Kassel touched his nose.

He felt like he was basking in the sun when Ian stared at him.

"Wow, your contact lenses are really pretty... Actually, I think he wants me to tutor an author. Am I wrong? Not your father, but your mother?"

Kassel stared into Ian's eyes for a moment, then gently corrected Ian's incorrect statement. He didn't want to get angry because of a child's misunderstanding.

Kassel is a writer of detective novels.

After ruling out several possibilities, he realized that the person in front of him was the author whom someone wanted him to mentor. A teenager certainly needs a good mentor.

Kassel was narcissistic in his heart.

however.

“That’s just what he made you think. You don’t understand Mr. Wayne’s wisdom.” Ian led Cassel into the house and poured him a cup of leftover tea from the previous night.

He has always been very well-mannered.

“Um… Earth Exploration Publishing is indeed a publishing house under the Wayne Group… Wait, you mean the person who commissioned me to come here is Bruce Wayne?”

"That Bruce Wayne everyone knows? He's a relative of yours!?" Cassel, who had just taken a sip of tea, seemed to only then realize what was happening and his eyes widened in surprise.

Seeing Ian nod.

He felt like he would never be able to get his publicity resources back in this lifetime.

“Actually, they’re not relatives, but my dad owes him some money, and he owes my dad several lives,” Ian corrected Cassel seriously. He was sizing up this writing apprentice Bruce Wayne had brought, wondering if there was a chance to make him a member of his Ian Cult.

Does this person exist in the DC Universe?
Ian wasn't sure.

“Isn’t this even closer than the relationship between relatives…” Kassel’s IQ was probably not low. He figured out the relationships between the people and immediately felt that this family was not simple.

I owe so many people favors.

No wonder they would ask me to teach this family's children to write.

"You really enjoy writing?"

Kassel tentatively asked a question.

“I don’t really like writing, but I’m very good at it… Have something to eat.” Ian enthusiastically prepared lunch for Cassel, enduring his own hunger while ensuring others were well-fed.

That's the vision of Mr. Ian.

"you are very welcome."

Kassel, who had just sat down in the living room, quickly waved his hand.

“No, it’s a matter of etiquette.” Ian’s voice came from the kitchen, accompanied by the clatter of pots and pans as he boiled a large pot of water.

"Okay, thanks. I haven't had lunch yet. Do you need my help?" Kassel thought that perhaps people in the metropolis were just that hospitable.

He didn't want to refuse the child's kindness.

however.

“I’m a great cook, trust me, I’ve read a lot of cookbooks.” Ian chased Cassel out of the kitchen and closed the door. Then he started cooking all the ingredients his mother had stocked in the refrigerator, including the parts he didn’t like, into one pot—all the broccoli and that wretched imported porcupine meat.

If Kassel eats everything, Ian won't have to eat anything himself; Ian's plan is quite shrewd. American home stoves generally have low heat output, so Ian decided to give his kitchenware a taste of something better.

He glanced back.

The boy's eyes blazed with golden light.

As the radiance erupted from within, Ian reduced the power of the rays; for some reason, the color didn't change, only the brightness decreased.

However, Kassel, who was outside the kitchen door, still sensed something was wrong.

"Has something caught fire?"

Kassel saw an eerie golden light shining through the crack in the kitchen door.

He became somewhat uneasy.

The image of his own daughter trying to cook for him began to surface in his mind.

"No, I was making a dish from the anime 'Cooking Master Boy,' so it's normal for it to glow." Ian's calm answer was reasonable, but Cassel became even more uneasy.

His vivid imagination led him to wonder if Ian was practicing alchemy inside.

"Damn it! I should have done a more thorough background check." This is a world where supernatural phenomena truly exist, so it's reasonable for Cassel to suspect he's stumbled into the lair of some evil wizard. After all, he's a writer with a rich enough imagination and has always been very interested in the supernatural.

Actually, I wasn't that hungry.

Kassel wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.

"Actually, I'm not a local here. I've heard that the specialties in the Metropolitan area are quite good. I've seen a lot of them on the Food Hunter app."

"This is also a newly launched application from Wayne Group. I'm sure you've heard of it... So, how about we go out to eat? Or we could use the food delivery function on the Food Hunter app."

"Wayne Group is integrating the national food delivery industry, and their delivery speed is really fast." Cassel tried to stop Ian's cooking with a slightly unnatural, even poorly structured statement.

only.

His long speech was met with only Ian's silence.

"..."

The golden light in the kitchen suddenly trembled violently twice.

No one spoke.

"Um, are you still there?"

Kassel knocked on the door cautiously.

He suspected the boy had poisoned himself in the kitchen.

"Yes, I've always been here~"

Ian's voice was calm, but in the kitchen just a door away, his expression gradually became distorted, and he stiffened as if struck by lightning.

This software looks familiar.

The cunning Batman!

Despicable Bruce!

That man is indeed a qualified capitalist!
They hang streetlights for more than ten days at a time!
"Is this the difference between a super-capitalist and an ordinary capitalist like me?" Ian realized. He felt himself turning to the dark side, and tonight he was going to post Batman on gay dating websites.

Hang a thousand!

He was going to use the new Tony Stark's high-tech box to lock Batman's information onto global dating websites! Ian's deep resentment seemed to permeate the entire kitchen.

Kassel, standing outside the door, was completely unaware of this.

"Seriously, why not give the new food delivery service a try?"

He is still trying to persuade Ian.

“Wayne Corporation plagiarized a wise man’s idea, and I won’t eat anything they recommend.” Ian looked down at the dish that had turned into a blackened mess due to his emotional outburst.

It's shameful to waste food.

This is no problem for him.

He had indeed read cookbooks.

“The strategy for dealing with this situation is very simple…” Ian composed himself and began to devise a little plan, taking out a few boxes of curry cubes and pouring them into the pot.

then.

Turn decay into magic.

The pitch-black food suddenly became perfectly reasonable.

"Click~"

The kitchen door opened.

"Please use."

When Ian came out carrying the "delicious food," he had already regained his polite demeanor. Looking at the food on the plate, Cassel felt not horror but rather immense surprise.

"My God, this is the most authentic Indian curry I've ever seen!" he exclaimed, feeling guilty for doubting the boy's cooking skills, not expecting that the boy was actually an excellent chef.

Full of anticipation, Kassel quickly picked up a spoon and took a bite.

next moment.

His joyful expression froze instantly.

His expression changed repeatedly as he struggled to hold it in for a long time.

"It at least looks authentic."

The great writer used truly great adjectives.

“Thank you.” Ian stared at Cassel.

"..."

Cassel gripped the spoon tightly, not daring to put another bite in his mouth—as a multi-millionaire, he was genuinely afraid of dying here, and then his daughter and mother inheriting his wealth and enjoying a life of extravagance in his place.

Quick thinking and resourcefulness come into play.

"Gulu~"

Kassel stared at the plate of black substance that was still bubbling slightly.

His Adam's apple bobbed a few times. At that moment, the bestselling author suddenly felt that discussing literary creation seemed like a safer option than continuing this dangerous lunch.

“Well, little one, how about we talk about your work? I’m very interested in the work of young writers.” Kassel’s way of changing the subject wasn’t too abrupt.

After all, that was his original purpose for coming here.

Hear the words.

Ian was taken aback at first.

“Of course, no problem. I’m always happy to share my work and, incidentally, teach those who are eager to learn.” Ian’s newly written manuscript also needs someone to appreciate it.

talking.

He rushed upstairs like a gust of wind, the wooden stairs creaking loudly under his footsteps.

"Phew~ I escaped death." Cassel breathed a sigh of relief. He knew this was his chance, and he finally had a chance to get rid of that terrible "dish".

Where's the trash can?

Kassel quickly circled the lobby, searching for a trash can. Just then, an orange cat, seemingly just waking up, crawled out from under the sofa and stretched on the carpet.

"Hey, little guy," Cassel gave a fawning smile, carefully picking up a piece of "curry" with his fork and offering it to the orange cat. "Want to try some?"

He attempted to feed the family's kittens the culinary disaster they were trying to create.

The orange cat raised its head.

A strange red light flashed in those cat-like eyes, like a warning light on a highway at night.

"hiss……"

Startled, Cassel quickly took a few steps back, his fingers trembling uncontrollably. The fork clattered to the ground, and he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

a cat.

The eyes are shining!
Just like Superman!
Just as Cassel felt a chill run down his spine and the cat's eyes grew increasingly red, the thumping sound came again, and as Ian went downstairs, the red light in the orange cat's eyes quickly disappeared.

It lay down on the carpet as if nothing had happened and began licking its paws. However, the scene that had just unfolded still left Kassel feeling shaken.

“Your cat? It…” Kassel saw Ian walk back into the living room. He bit his hand, hesitant to speak, wanting to say something but feeling that if he said it, he would be considered mentally ill.

Who would believe that a cat's eyes can glow?

“My cat is so well-behaved. I bought it with a loan from its mother, and we promised it would come back to collect the debt in its next life.” Ian placed a stack of manuscripts on the table.

He didn't see the mother cat when he found the kitten, but he still hoped that the mother cat could be reincarnated and come back to him, so that the Kent family could have another kitten for free.

You must be reincarnated first.

Otherwise, an old cat's lifespan would be too short.

The returns are not high.

"No, that's not what I meant." Cassell rubbed his eyes hard, and when he looked at the orange cat again, its eyes had returned to the warm amber color of a normal house cat.

The red light he had just seen seemed to be just his imagination.

“This is my work. Although Mr. Wayne tricked me, I won’t blame you.” Ian didn’t care about the reaction of Cassel, the older apprentice.

He spread the manuscript out in front of the other person, and then, with a casual gesture, he stretched his foot into the orange cat's belly, using a technique that many football players don't even possess, to lift the orange cat directly into his hands with his foot.

Let's get started.

"..."

Seeing this, Kassel could only suppress his shock and uncertainty, forcing himself to attribute what he had seen to his excessive time with the girl he met at the hotel the previous night. After mentally preparing himself and convincing himself, he picked up the manuscript, adjusted his posture, and began to read it seriously.

Approach to writing.

Kassel has always been very serious.

However, as he read on, his expression grew increasingly strange. His right hand kept moving away from his mouth and then back up, as if he were forcibly preventing himself from saying something he shouldn't.

but.

In the end, I couldn't resist.

"Who taught you to write it like this?"

Kassel tried to use a fairly normal tone.

"Self-taught, purely based on talent."

Ian opened a bottle of Coke for himself and poured a cup of aged tea for Cassel. The orange cat he was holding in his other arm squinted and purred softly in his arms.

Ian fed the orange cat a bite.

The orange cat was having a great time drinking it, and Ian gave the rest of the cola to the pet. After all, those in the know understand that people who drink cola only take the first sip.

"Self-taught?"

Kassel's expression was rather interesting. He stared at the manuscript in his hand, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly, his whole expression twisted as if he had prematurely entered his fifties.

"Isn't it well-written?"

Ian began to doubt the other person's taste. New authors are all like that; they think the work of established authors is bad, and they only believe they themselves are worthy of platinum status.

It is really difficult to teach such a novice.

"Forehead……"

Kassel started biting his nails again. He swallowed hard. "Actually, it's not that it's bad. Your writing is quite good. It's just that the style is indeed a bit... novel."

He truly lived up to his reputation as a writer; his words were indeed pleasant to hear. Ian regained his fondness for this older man with a dream of becoming a writer, feeling that the other man might still have some potential on the path of writing.

“You have a real talent for recognizing my new literary style.” Ian stepped forward and patted Cassel on the shoulder, as if rewarding a student who had performed exceptionally well.

"..."

After a moment of silence, Cassel began to organize his thoughts. "I can tell you're writing a story about Superman and his love, but why, after Superman already possesses absolute power, do you focus on having the female protagonist learn Ian's magic and become a sorcerer?"

"This is somewhat pointless, after all, it's a love story, and the female protagonist doesn't need to gain power." It must be said that Kassel is indeed quite professional in analyzing works.

He conducted a survey.

She knew the boy in front of her was named Ian.

and so.

The nature of the Ian Cult within is already quite obvious. To be honest, during the part where the female protagonist enters the faith and begins to praise Ian, Kassel felt he truly witnessed the talent of the boy before him; the richness and elegance of his vocabulary made him feel utterly ashamed of his own abilities.

How narcissistic can a person be?

That's how you write so many unique hymns and lyrics in English.

Kassel was absolutely stunned.

"Ah."

Seeing the amazed look on Cassel's face, Ian knew that the other man was impressed by his talent, so he became more patient with this devout apprentice.

"Because urban novels all have to go this way in the later stages, otherwise how do you make money? After we finish writing the love story, we have to start writing the story of the protagonist's growth."

"For example, I divided magicians into nine levels. I can write a million words for each level. After we reach the level where we can't level up any further, we can then introduce an enemy from outer space."

"This upgrades our worldview, introducing things like demon invasions, God's descent, and new cultivation levels, smoothly transitioning us from romance novels to fantasy novels."

"If you combine this writing style with a long-term contract with a publisher, believe me, it'll be enough to support you for a lifetime." Ian had indeed shared all his knowledge with the publisher.

He is not afraid of competitors.

My biggest fear is that there will be no one to appreciate it.

Moreover, this skill is like a martial arts manual; not everyone who practices it will achieve the same results.

"This……"

Kassel's jaw nearly dropped to the ground.

He was greatly shocked.

His mouth was so wide open it could fit an orange.

"Have you learned it?"

Ian asked in a deep voice.

"You've learned it... right?" Cassell answered subconsciously, though he wasn't entirely sure what he had learned, but that didn't stop him from making a change in tone at the end.

He defended the dignity of his traditional writing style.

"Good that you've learned it. Remember to ask Mr. Wayne to send the money... Also, I need to see my shares within three days, or I'll go to Gotham and corrupt his son."

"Let his son get addicted to early romance and become hopelessly addicted, and I also know several people from that GBT thing." Ian believed his threat would carry more weight than the Joker's.

“I don’t have his contact information.” Cassel said helplessly, deeply shocked by Ian’s threat—the way this boy threatened people was simply unheard of.

But it was also incredibly terrifying.

Did you bring your phone?

Ian tidied up his manuscript.

"Bring it."

Kassel pulled out his latest mobile phone.

"That's no problem."

Ian's response left Cassel completely bewildered.

Before the bestselling author could figure out what this had to do with Ian asking him to deliver a message, he saw Ian glance at the time on the wall and then begin to see him out the door.

Could it also be seen as rushing?
This kid is really strong.

"It's getting late, I should see a therapist."

Ian grabbed his coat. Although he was now quite tolerant of hot and cold temperatures, he still needed to make people think of him as an ordinary person when he was out in public.

This is how superheroes hide themselves.

"Why are you going to see a psychologist?" Kassel was pushed to the front door, and then to the outside of the courtyard. Before he knew it, he seemed to be standing on the street.

"Since you can ask this question, I think you should see a psychologist." Ian closed the outermost wooden fence and gave Cassel a very polite goodbye.

"Study hard, practice hard, and believe in yourself."

His encouragement was tinged with gentleness.

"..."

Kassel, however, didn't know how to respond.

My head is buzzing.

Standing on the street.

This usually lively writer was rather quiet; his mind was inexplicably polluted, and he didn't even notice the Hellcat emerging from the large iron gate on the side.

“I guess I don’t know how to write a book anymore.” Kassel was still struggling with the writing style. He stopped in front of the house, and Ian’s whispers seemed to keep echoing in his mind.

at this time.

The streets were very quiet.

"Bang~"

But perhaps it wasn't absolutely silent. Suddenly, a loud cracking sound rang out, startling Kassel and snapping him out of his existential reverie.

"Did something explode?" His expression was one of surprise and uncertainty, like a startled large animal, but he looked around but couldn't find the source of the explosion.

"Crack~"

Something was hanging in front of Kassel.

There were also bricks and sawdust.

"The roof of this house has been blown open!" Only then did Kassel realize that the explosion had occurred in the house directly in front of him, with a large hole blown into the roof.

"That is……"

Kassel saw a pink prop shoot into the sky—and then, it seemed as if someone was also shooting into the sky at a dizzying speed from a broken house.

It's a boy.

He raised his hand high.

Anxious expression.

It seems like they're trying to save that toy... which has been fried into a crispy sausage?

"Damn it! What's wrong with this family?!" Cassell rubbed his eyes hard, making sure he wasn't going crazy or that his bed partner had secretly given him some kind of hallucinogenic drug last night.

"Ding Ding Ding ~"

suddenly.

The ringing of the cell phone pulled Kassel back to reality from his daze.

Caller ID.

Bruce Wayne.

Kassel clearly hadn't saved that phone number, yet it was still displayed. However, Kassel was already numb to such things, utterly shocked.

"Hey?"

He answered the phone.

"You need to forget what you just saw." A rather magnetic voice came from the other end of the phone, a unique voice often heard on television.

"Are you really Bruce Wayne?"

Kassel swallowed hard.

"I'm."

The other party gave a brief response.

Have you talked to that boy?

Bruce asked the question that concerned him most.

“We’ve talked, but right now I just want to know what’s going on with this family, and… why you chose me.” Cassel covered the phone and jogged away from the eerie neighborhood.

"Because it's the one you're most comfortable using—and also, tell that boy that his dad said he'd go bad if he got rich, and that I should put his share in his trust fund!"

"Damn brat, he blocked me!"

Bruce's voice was tinged with annoyance.

Kassel didn't listen.

He was lamenting that he wasn't the kind of man who would be admired and considered highly capable even by the wealthiest. And while this middle-aged man, who liked to daydream like a child, was feeling depressed...

Followed by.

Bruce's voice rang out again, "You don't need to care about this family's situation. You just need to keep your mouth shut. I know you haven't even started writing a single word of your new book. If you don't want to pay the penalty for breach of contract, then complete the commission I've given you—if all goes well, I guarantee your worth will double again."

A classic carrot and stick approach.

The threats and promises of those with financial power carry significant weight.

“I understand.” Cassel stopped and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. “But I still need to go back and think about it. I need to sort out what I saw today.”

His words alerted Bruce.

"What else do you need to figure out about the stuff he wrote?" Bruce's voice was flat, but his skepticism was still very clear.

"Forehead……"

Kassel's expression became conflicted. "Actually, some of the parts that boy wrote were quite good. For example, there's a scene where Superman is carrying Metropolis with one hand, yet he still manages to kiss the female lead and make a domineering declaration. That kind of romance actually has a lot of appeal in certain markets."

He couldn't quite accept it.

But that doesn't mean he can't discern the market.

Cassell believed that a business tycoon like Bruce Wayne must also have the ability to discern.

however.

"This isn't the book I want you to read!"

Bruce spoke calmly, but he was actually grinding his teeth to powder.

"Yes, there's another one, about Batman. That book is indeed a bit absurd, but I think the plot where Batman threatens the doctor that if he can't save the child and the Joker, he'll make the whole of Gotham pay with his life should resonate with a large audience in Gotham's specific market."

Kassel's professional skills are exceptional.

Although he didn't know why Bruce had recently set his sights on the less profitable novel market, he felt that Bruce, as a capitalist, must also believe in publishing whatever makes money.

however.

This indicates the core judgment of the market.

However, Cassel did not receive Bruce Wayne's judgment.

All he heard was panting.

immediately.

A deathly silence fell over the other end of the phone.

……

The Hellcat sped along the highway, its wheels crushing a rock on the ground.

Vehicles sped past, sending fragments of stone flying that struck the exterior wall of a church before rolling into the church's entrance.

Even in broad daylight, the dim candlelight remained burning brightly inside the church.

It reflects the tall cross and the solemn holy images all around.

The afternoon sun streamed through the stained-glass windows into the empty church, casting a long shadow of Jonathan Kent. He sat quietly on the pew, gazing up at the high-hanging cross.

The eldest son of the Kent family has been in this position for nearly six hours.

"The Lord watches over everyone."

The priest walked slowly from behind the altar. He noticed Jonathan's presence and asked softly, "Young man, is there anything I can help you with? I've seen you sitting here almost all day."

The priest's concern was genuine. Jonathan didn't answer immediately; he seemed lost in his own thoughts. After a moment, he looked up and glanced at the priest with a wandering gaze.

"I'm thinking about a question."

Jonathan's voice was somewhat hesitant.

"what is the problem?"

The priest spoke gently.

Trying to understand the inner struggle of this young man.

“God can save us all, right?” Jonathan’s voice carried a hint of uncertainty, yet was filled with a desire for a positive answer.

The priest nodded slightly, giving an affirmative answer, "Yes, God's love is boundless, and He is willing to accept every soul that truly repents."

Hear this.

A hint of joy flashed in Jonathan's eyes.

“Well, that’s great.” Then, he did something that surprised the priest—Jonathan put the black diary in his hand into the church’s donation box.

The notebook made a dull thud as it fell to the bottom of the box.

however.

The priest seemed to see nothing.

"It belongs to God."

Done.

Under the priest's bewildered gaze.

Jonathan left without looking back.

“Ian is the smartest one among us, and thinking like him is definitely the right thing to do.” The big boy’s confident murmur echoed softly in the somewhat empty church.

"Is this boy sick?"

The priest was puzzled.

Within his invisible horizon.

A black angel appeared silently.

He was an acquaintance of Constantine.

Angel Manny.

"What the hell."

The angel tilted its head slightly, its golden eyes fixed on the ordinary plastic donation box. An inexplicable sense of unease emanated from within.

It's like something that shouldn't exist, yet it's there nonetheless.

"What is this? Is it something from outer space?"

He stretched out his pure, black hand.

He grasped the edge of the black diary with perfect accuracy.