Chapter 106: New Profession Acquired! Superman Awakens! [112k]
DC Universe.
【 Leader LV1 〔1/10〕】
Accompanied by the personal panel, another ordinary profession silently appeared.
Ian pulled his head off the 《 Ian’s Book of Creation 》 with a joyful expression. He had personally verified it, so there was no need to consult the American Quora.
There was also no need to ask God OAA or anything similar.
This super simp demon book indeed possessed the power to create something from nothing. Golden light flowed like a living thing between the pages, and patterns and symbols that belonged to no known language had already appeared on them.
“Perhaps it should be called Ian Language.” Ian knew that angels had their language, and demons had their language, so naturally, he should have his own language.
Mages from all worlds should learn Ian Language.
After all, Ian had indeed created his own unique magical system.
He had even laid the foundation for his own system just now, but due to insufficient magic power, the newly born magic source only managed to attempt a tentative magical creation.
【 Four-Dimensional Appendix Modification 】
Never mind how ridiculous the name of this magic is, being able to turn a useless appendix into a practical wallet is truly cool for anyone who truly understands magic.
“And it’s very practical too.” Ian knew that the safest place was inside his own body. What better anti-theft measure in the world than to store all one’s property within one’s own body?
After all, not everyone in this world has a Batcave like him.
Ian still had to consider his future “followers” and didn’t want anyone to think he was that kind of aloof Master Ian with the idea of “Let them eat cake.”
Get down to the grassroots.
Consider the plight of mages.
This is the true Master Ian.
“I believe the followers will feel my goodwill.” Ian felt very good about himself, possessing the virtues of a superior, with his mind full of creative ideas for the “people.”
However.
Those ideas could not yet be implemented.
How to describe this feeling? It’s like an emperor who has just ascended the throne with grand ambitions; the lack of magic power is the most significant factor limiting his abilities.
“Damn it, my Super Brain still holds many wondrous magics.” Ian’s current feeling was as uncomfortable as having his brain drained through a straw.
The top of his head felt as dry as a sponge left out in the sun for three days.
Previously.
He had felt a magic-infused fullness, like his brain had been flooded, but now it felt as empty as a water-deprived brain. This was likely a sign of excessive magic consumption.
The Demon Book relies heavily on magic power.
No wonder the previous Hell Prince acted like a weakling.
“Mature magic books should know to provide their owner with magic power.” Ian’s PUA was everywhere, but the book on the desk only had a small mouth growing on its cover.
It let out a wronged, whimpering sound.
“Just crying, you’ll never eat three demons in this lifetime.” Ian sighed helplessly. At this moment, the demon head placed in the cabinet seemed to sense something and opened its eyes.
“If it doesn’t eat me, I’ll eat it.”
This guy had already tasted the sweetness of acquiring things without effort.
True degradation could be no more than this.
“Alright, wait, tonight I’ll make some tarts for you with my poop… Damn it, do you think I’m rewarding you?” Ian grabbed a black cloth and covered the demon’s expectant face.
He had almost forgotten.
In biology, it’s not just dogs that exhibit “coprophagia.”
Cows do too.
“It seems I’m the only normal person in this room.” Ian was slightly reluctant, but he could only plan for the long term; accumulating magic power was not something that could be done overnight.
Fortunately, he had already anchored himself as a capitalist of another kind.
How much magic power Ian had.
It all depended on how hard his followers worked.
The growth of the Ian Cult was bound to be rapid, that was beyond doubt, especially since he had just created his own magical system and already had a guinea pig eagerly becoming his follower.
This was proof of a promising future.
“I wonder who this lucky person will be, to have such sharp investment vision.” Ian had a guess in his heart, but he wouldn’t say it, because not saying it meant he would never guess wrong.
This was the simple and unadorned flexibility of using equations and inequalities.
【 You are creating, Writer Experience +1 】
【 You are creating, Writer Experience +1 】
【 You are creating, Writer Experience +1 】
…
Magic power wasn’t actually consumed; it was more like its activity was depleted and needed time to recover. So, during this time, Ian also began simultaneous creation of literature and comics.
Both hands were reasonably divided; one hand drew comics, and the other wrote novels. This was the benefit of having a Super Brain. Ian felt he would eventually be able to use his hands and feet simultaneously.
At that time, everything from Go, chess, calligraphy, and painting could be done simultaneously. As for growing more hands, that was out of the question; normal people should only have two hands and two feet.
“I’m so hungry.”
Ian’s creative inspiration coexisted with hunger. His stomach had long been rumbling loudly, but he knew that if he wanted to complete the job change, he couldn’t even chew on a pen cap.
Caution is always wise.
Ian believed in his willpower.
But he didn’t trust his thirsty mouth. He respected the desires of all parts of his body too much; this was the consequence of being spoiled. Ian frantically used writing and drawing to distract himself.
The pen was literally smoking from being swung.
And while he was immersed in creation.
“Ding ding ding~”
Ian’s black mobile phone rang.
“Hello, this is Ian.”
Ian stopped writing mid-break to answer the call. The caller ID was not displayed, but he remembered it was his old man’s phone number. Perhaps Batman had informed his father about this phone.
“Ian, remember to see the psychiatrist at precisely 3 PM. For the sake of your studies, Dr. Hannibal has specifically cleared one hour on the weekend for you.”
Clark’s voice came through the phone, with the typical office noise of a newspaper agency in the background, the sounds of keyboard typing and paper rustling rising and falling.
It was quite busy.
“What about that patient who was supposed to be treated on the weekend?” Ian held the phone between his ear and shoulder. He remembered that his psychiatrist always had a full client list.
“Apparently, they found love and no longer need to see a psychiatrist.” Clark was also working while on the phone, and it was suspected he used a bit of Super Speed.
Upon hearing this, Ian’s eyes narrowed.
“Did that patient fall in love with star anise, or with Sichuan pepper?” Ian continued to probe his father, but Clark seemed only confused by his words.
“What are you talking about?”
Clark would rather suspect his hearing or the phone had issues than doubt Dr. Hannibal. This reaction was truly somewhat unexpected for Ian.
“No, I just think Dr. Hannibal has the aura of someone who cooks very well.” Ian replied thoughtfully. He didn’t believe Clark hadn’t done a background check on Hannibal.
Therefore.
Such a situation occurred.
There must be something strange behind it.
As for telling his dad directly?
Haha, laughable.
On the superhero track, even between father and son, there is competition. Merit belongs to Master Ian, and tonight he would see his ancestor make the headlines.
Clark was unaware of Ian’s little scheme.
“In any case, remember to go.”
Clark continued, with the sound of a broken printer in the background. “Have Jordan accompany you. I still need to interview a real estate tycoon this afternoon.”
“I’ll fix your workshop when I get back tonight – don’t tell your mother, she’ll be back even later.” He instructed Ian while repairing the printer.
“Where’s Mom?” Ian listened to the sounds from the next room, having a good idea of the situation. He didn’t think his second brother, who had worked hard all day, would have the energy to accompany him to the doctor.
“Your mother is going to interview an astronaut. NASA seems to have discovered aliens, and she’s very excited.” Clark spoke while seemingly fixing the printer.
“…”
Ian opened his mouth.
He didn’t quite understand why his mother was so interested in aliens.
There were already creatures like that at home.
More than one.
“Remember, go home after seeing the doctor, don’t run around.” Clark cautioned vigilantly. After receiving Ian’s definite assurance, he hung up the phone.
“The one who gave the assurance is Ian, not my ancestor.” Ian grabbed his stockings, checked the time, and prepared to drive his small car out to level up.
Twelve noon.
There was still a significant amount of time until three o’clock.
Metropolis was about to welcome a new hero to protect it. Otherwise, if Clark was only in his forties, when would Ian be able to become the new celestial being of Metropolis?
A crown prince for thirty years was common.
But Ian, a reserve superhero who had been in the wings for twelve two-and-a-half-year periods, didn’t want to be that at all.
He had rebellious bones.
The kind that needed to rebel now!
“Perhaps public adoration can also help me grow.” Ian wasn’t having a rebellious phase; his rebellious bones only appeared when there were profits to be made.
【 Leader LV1 〔1/10〕】
Primarily, the appearance of this new profession gave Ian a slight idea. Who said people in the DC Universe couldn’t become followers of Master Ian and be discriminated against?
What the Marvel Universe has.
Ian does not permit the DC Universe to lack it! Even if Jesus came… it’s better if Jesus doesn’t come. Ian was not yet fully grown and didn’t want to be branded as a heretical god spreading his faith.
He just wanted to find some excellent partners to cultivate magic power for him. Of course, he was not wrong, but worldly views were always influenced by various factors.
For instance.
Ian looked at his demon collection and his demon book.
“It’s all your fault for making me look like an evil god.” Under the bewildered gazes of the demon head and the demon book, Ian once again displayed his exceptionally excellent skill of shifting blame.
“Aren’t you an evil…”
Just as the demon head opened its mouth to speak but stopped.
“Ding dong~”
The doorbell rang from downstairs.
Ian didn’t disturb Jordan and chose to go downstairs to open the door himself.
He was eager, hoping it was a supervillain coming to kidnap children, but he found a man in an expensive suit outside. This kind of man usually wouldn’t reveal his true nature without using demons to bewitch him.
“Who are you looking for?”
Ian slightly regretted not hanging the demon head from his backside.
“Oh, is someone home? I thought everyone was out.” A middle-aged man in a sharp suit stood outside, his hair meticulously combed, a confident smile on his lips.
“Richard Cassell.”
The man announced his name, raising an eyebrow with flair, “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’ve definitely read my works.” Cassell held a pile of things, all seemingly high-class but rather useless detective props.
“Oh, it’s you, the idiot from the airplane…” Ian’s upbringing made him swallow his exclamatory remark. “So it’s the renowned bestselling author!”
He switched to flattering words.
“That’s right, it’s me. Want an autograph?”
Cassell actually believed Ian was one of his readers and fans.
He obviously didn’t recognize Ian as the boy who drove the airplane. Since Ian’s Hellcat was covered with a quilt, the writer hadn’t had a chance to explore Ian’s small yard out of curiosity.
“No, thank you.”
Ian wasn’t interested in mystery novels, and since even “Sherlock Holmes” had become his follower, how could he stoop to collecting other people’s autographs?
That would be disrespectful to his followers!
No.
He seemed to have secretly thought about something he would absolutely not say aloud. He hadn’t been cautious enough. Fortunately, no one could hear his inner thoughts.
Ian patted his Steel Chest with relief.
Cassell glanced at him strangely but didn’t comment further. He took out a letter from his suit. “I found my way here based on some scattered clues.”
“Someone wished for me to meet a certain mysterious author.” Cassell looked at Ian. “I believe the one who snatched my new book’s promotional resources is you… your father.”
His gaze shifted towards the inner room behind Ian.
“I see, you’re someone sent by Mr. Wayne to learn – you must owe him a lot of money.” Ian suddenly understood, realizing the visitor was a new author who liked to boast.
He also often boasted.
He understood this feeling.
Ian looked at him with an expression of seeing through everything.
Cassell rubbed his nose.
He felt Ian’s gaze was like basking in the sun.
“Uh, your colored contacts are really pretty… In fact, I think he sent me to teach an author. Did I guess wrong? Not your father, but your mother?”
Cassell stared at Ian’s eyes for a moment, then gently corrected Ian’s incorrect statement. He didn’t want to be angry because of a child’s misunderstanding.
Cassell was a writer of mystery novels.
After ruling out several possibilities, he also understood that the person before him was the author someone wanted him to teach and guide. A teenager indeed needed a sufficiently excellent mentor.
Cassell was narcissistic in his heart.
However.
“That’s just what he wants you to think; you don’t understand Mr. Wayne’s wisdom.” Ian invited Cassell into the house and poured him a cup of aged tea from last night.
He had always had good upbringing.
“Uh… Earth Exploration Publishing House is indeed a publisher under Wayne Enterprises… Wait, are you saying that the person who commissioned me to come here is Bruce Wayne?”
“Bruce Wayne, the one everyone knows? He’s related to your family!?” Cassell, after taking a sip of tea, widened his eyes as if only just realizing.
Seeing Ian nod.
He felt like all his promotional resources for this lifetime were gone.
“Actually, we’re not relatives, but my father owes him some money, and he owes my father a few lives,” Ian corrected Cassell’s statement earnestly. He was sizing up this writing apprentice sent by Bruce Wayne, wondering if there was also an opportunity to get him to join his Ian Cult.
Is there such a character in the DC universe?
Ian was unsure.
“Isn’t that relationship even closer than relatives…” Cassell’s intelligence might not be low; he figured out the relationship dynamics and immediately felt the uncommon nature of this family.
Owing so much favor.
No wonder he was asked to teach this family’s children how to write.
“Do you like writing very much?”
Cassell tentatively asked.
“I don’t like writing very much; I’m very good at writing… Let’s eat something.” Ian enthusiastically began preparing lunch for Cassell; he could endure hunger but ensure others were fed.
This was Master Ian’s generosity.
“No need to be so polite.”
Cassell, now seated in the living room, waved his hands quickly.
“No, this is etiquette,” Ian’s voice came from the kitchen, accompanied by the clatter of pots and pans. He had boiled a large pot of water directly in the kitchen.
“Alright, thank you. I haven’t had lunch yet, do you need any help?” Cassell thought perhaps everyone in Metropolis was this warm and hospitable.
He was unwilling to refuse the child’s kindness.
However.
“My cooking skills are very good, trust me, I’ve read many cookbooks,” Ian shooed Cassell out of the kitchen and closed the door. He then began to boil the parts he disliked from the ingredients his mother had stocked in the refrigerator, all into one pot—that is, all the broccoli, and the abominable imported kangaroo meat.
If Cassell ate it all, Ian wouldn’t have to. Ian’s plan was quite clever. American home stove heat was quite low, so Ian decided to let the home’s cookware taste something good.
Looking back.
The boy’s eyes erupted with golden light.
As the light surged out, Ian slightly reduced the power of the rays. The color inexplicably didn’t change, only the brightness decreased.
However, Cassell, outside the kitchen door, still sensed something abnormal.
“Did something catch fire?”
Cassell saw an eerie golden light seeping from the kitchen door crack.
He became a little uneasy.
The scene of his own daughter trying too hard to cook for him began to appear.
“No, I’m making gourmet food from “Chūka Ichiban!” It’s normal for it to glow,” Ian’s calm reply was reasonable, but Cassell became even more uneasy.
His rich imagination led him to consider if Ian was practicing alchemy inside.
“Damn it! I should have done more thorough background checks.” This was a world where supernatural phenomena genuinely existed, so Cassell’s suspicion that he had entered the lair of some evil wizard was reasonable. After all, he was a writer with a sufficiently rich imagination and a constant interest in the supernatural.
“Actually, I’m not that hungry…”
Cassell wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.
“Actually, I’m not from around here. I heard Metropolis has some great specialty dishes. I saw quite a few on the Gourmet Hunter app.”
“This is also an application recently launched by Wayne Enterprises. I’m sure you’ve heard of it… So, how about we go out to eat? Or using the takeout function on the Gourmet Hunter app would be good too.”
“Wayne Enterprises is integrating the national takeout industry; the delivery speed is really fast.” Cassell tried to stop Ian’s cooking with words that were slightly unnatural, even with language organization issues.
Only.
His long speech only earned him silence from Ian.
“…”
The golden light in the kitchen suddenly flickered violently twice.
No one spoke.
“Uh, are you still there?”
Cassell cautiously knocked on the door.
He suspected the boy had poisoned himself in the kitchen.
“Yes, I’m always here~”
Ian’s voice was very calm, but inside the kitchen, separated by the door, his expression was becoming increasingly distorted, and his entire body was stiff as if struck by lightning.
This software looked so familiar.
The cunning Batman!
The despicable Bruce!
That man is indeed a qualified capitalist!
The kind who would hang for ten extra days when hung on a street lamp!
“Is this the difference between a super capitalist and an ordinary one like me?” Ian understood. He felt like he was about to turn dark. Tonight, he would put Batman on a gay dating website overnight.
Hang a thousand of them!
He would use New Teacher Tony’s black technology box to lock Batman’s information onto global dating websites! The entire kitchen seemed to be filled with Ian’s deep resentment.
Cassell, outside the door, was completely unaware of this.
“Still don’t want to try the new takeout service?”
He was still trying to persuade Ian.
“Wayne Enterprises plagiarized a wise person’s idea. I won’t eat what they recommend.” Ian looked down at the dish that had turned into a pot of dark food due to his emotional fluctuations.
Wasting food is shameful.
This was not difficult for him.
After all, he had genuinely read cookbooks.
“The strategy for dealing with this situation is very simple…” Ian composed himself, began to use a little trick, and took out a few boxes of curry blocks to put into the pot.
Thus.
Rot was transformed into magic.
The pitch-black delicacy turned into something perfectly reasonable.
“Crunch~”
The kitchen door opened.
“Please, enjoy.”
As Ian came out with the “gourmet food,” he had regained his polite demeanor. Looking at the food on the plate, Cassell not only felt no fear but was incredibly surprised.
“My goodness, it’s the most authentic Indian curry I’ve ever seen!” He exclaimed, feeling guilty for doubting the boy’s cooking skills. He hadn’t expected the other person to truly be an excellent chef.
Cassell, full of anticipation, quickly picked up a spoon and took a bite.
The next moment.
His joyful expression instantly froze.
His expression changed repeatedly, and he struggled to hold back for a long time.
“It looks authentic, at least.”
An excellent writer used truly excellent adjectives.
“Thank you.”
Ian stared at Cassell.
“…”
Cassell, clutching the spoon, dared not take another bite. As a millionaire, he was genuinely afraid of dying here and having his daughter and mother inherit his wealth to live extravagant lives in his place.
Quick thinking was coming into play.
“Gulp~”
Cassell stared at the black substance still gently bubbling on the plate.
His Adam’s apple bobbed a few times. At this moment, the bestselling author suddenly felt that discussing literary creation seemed a safer option than continuing this dangerous lunch.
“Um, little guy, why don’t we talk about your work? I’m very interested in the creations of young writers.” Cassell’s way of changing the subject was not too abrupt.
After all, this was his original purpose for coming here.
Hearing this.
Ian was taken aback at first.
“Of course, no problem. I’m always happy to share my work and, by extension, teach those who are seeking knowledge.” Ian also needed someone to appreciate the manuscripts he had just finished writing.
Saying this.
He rushed upstairs like a gust of wind, his footsteps making “deng deng deng” sounds on the wooden stairs.
“Phew~ Escaped the clutches of death.” Cassell let out a long sigh. He knew this was his chance to finally get rid of that terrifying “dish.”
“Where’s the trash can?”
Cassell quickly scanned the living room, searching for a trash can. Just then, an orange cat seemed to have just woken up, crawled out from under the sofa, and stretched on the carpet.
“Hey, little guy,” Cassell smiled ingratiatingly, carefully picking up a piece of “curry” with a fork, and holding it out to the orange cat. “Want to try some?”
He intended to feed the dark cuisine to the family’s kitten.
The orange cat looked up.
A strange red glow flashed in its cat eyes, like warning lights on a highway late at night.
“Hiss…”
Cassell, startled, quickly retreated a few steps. His fingers trembled uncontrollably, and the fork clattered to the floor. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
A cat.
Its eyes were glowing!
Just like Superman!
Just as Cassell felt a chill down his spine and the cat’s eyes grew redder, the sound of footsteps approaching again came, and with Ian descending the stairs, the red glow in the cat’s eyes quickly disappeared.
It lay down on the carpet as if nothing had happened, licking its paws. However, what had just happened still left Cassell feeling shaken.
“Your family’s cat? It…” Cassell saw Ian returning to the living room. He bit his hand, wanting to say something but feeling that if he said it, he’d be considered mentally ill.
Who would believe a cat’s eyes could glow?
“My cat is very well-behaved. I took out a loan from its mother to buy it, and it promised to come back to collect its debt on time in its next life.” Ian placed stacks of manuscripts on the table.
He hadn’t seen the mother cat when he found the kitten, but he still hoped the mother cat would truly reincarnate and find him. That way, the Kent family could have another cat without spending money.
It must reincarnate first.
Otherwise, an old cat’s lifespan is too short.
The return is not high.
“No, that’s not what I mean.” Cassell rubbed his eyes vigorously. When he looked at the orange cat again, its eyes had returned to the gentle amber color of a normal house cat.
The red glow seemed to have been his illusion.
“This is my work. Although Mr. Wayne tricked me, I won’t blame you.” Ian paid no mind to the reaction of Cassell, the older apprentice.
He spread the manuscripts in front of the other person, then, using his foot, he extended it into the orange cat’s belly and, with a technique many soccer players lacked, lifted the orange cat directly into his hands.
He started petting it.
“…”
Seeing this, Cassell could only suppress his astonishment and doubt, forcing himself to attribute what he had seen to having played too much with the girl he met at the hotel last night. After a period of self-persuasion, he picked up the manuscript and adjusted his posture to begin reading seriously.
When it came to writing.
Cassell was always serious.
However, as he read deeper, his expression became increasingly strange. His right hand repeatedly moved away from his mouth and then back, as if he were forcibly preventing himself from saying something he shouldn’t.
But.
He couldn’t hold back in the end.
“Who taught you to write like this?”
Cassell tried to use a relatively normal tone.
“Self-taught, pure talent.”
Ian opened a bottle of cola for himself and poured Cassell a cup of aged tea. In his other arm, he held the orange cat, which purred with its eyes closed in his embrace.
Ian gave the orange cat a sip.
The orange cat drank with great enjoyment. Ian gave the remaining cola to the pet, as those in the know understood that people who drink cola only drink the first sip.
“Self-taught?”
Cassell’s expression was somewhat amusing. He stared at the manuscript in his hands, his mouth repeatedly opening and closing, his entire expression contorted as if he had prematurely entered his fifties.
“Isn’t it well-written?”
Ian began to question the other’s appreciation level. Novice authors were all like this, thinking the works of established writers weren’t good and believing only they themselves had platinum potential.
Such novices were indeed very difficult to teach.
“Uh…”
Cassell began biting his fingers again. He swallowed. “It’s not that it’s not good. Your writing style is very good, it’s just that this writing method is indeed a bit… novel.”
He lived up to his reputation as a writer; his words were pleasant. Ian’s good impression of this older man with a dream of becoming a writer was renewed, and he felt that perhaps he still had some future in the path of writing.
“You can recognize my new literary style; you have great talent.” Ian walked forward and patted Cassell on the shoulder, as if commending an excellent student.
“…”
After a moment of silence, Cassell began to organize his thoughts. “I can see you’re writing a love story about Superman and his girlfriend, but why, with Superman’s absolute power already established, are you focusing on having the heroine learn… Ian’s Divine Arts, making her a magician?”
“This is a bit of a gimmick. After all, it’s a love story, and the heroine doesn’t need to gain power.” It had to be said that Cassell was indeed professional when it came to analyzing works.
He had done his research.
He knew the boy in front of him was named Ian.
So.
The situation with the Ian Cult inside was already obvious. To be honest, in the part where the heroine embraced faith and began to praise Ian, Cassell felt he truly saw the boy’s talent. The richness and splendor of the vocabulary reached a level that made him feel deeply inferior.
To what extent must one be narcissistic.
To write so many varied hymns and praises in English.
Cassell was simply stunned.
“Heh.”
Ian saw Cassell’s astonished expression and knew that the other man had been captivated by his talent, so he had some patience for such a devout apprentice.
“Because urban novels have to be like this in the later stages, otherwise how do you make money? After we finish writing the love story, we’ll start writing the protagonist’s growth story.”
“For example, I divide the magicians into nine levels, and I can write a million words for each level. After upgrading to the point where they can’t be upgraded anymore, we can introduce enemies from beyond the heavens.”
“This is how we upgrade our worldview. Stuff like demon invasions, the coming of God, new cultivation levels can be introduced again, smoothly transitioning from romance novels to fantasy novels.”
“This writing method, if used with a long-term contract from a publishing house, believe me, it’ll sustain you for a lifetime.” Ian was indeed teaching him everything he knew.
He wasn’t afraid of competitors.
He was afraid of not having admirers.
Moreover, this kind of skill was like a martial arts secret manual; not everyone who practiced it would achieve the same results.
“This…”
Cassell’s jaw almost hit the floor.
He was greatly shocked.
His mouth was open wide enough to fit an orange.
“Did you learn it?”
Ian asked in a deep voice.
“I learned it… I think?” Cassell answered subconsciously, though he was completely unsure what he had learned. However, this didn’t stop him from adding a change in tone at the end.
He defended the dignity of a traditional writer.
“It’s good that you learned it. Remember to tell Mr. Wayne to send money… Also, within three days, I want to see my shares, otherwise, I’ll go to Gotham and corrupt his son.”
“Make his son fall into early love and be unable to extricate himself, and I also know a few people from that…GBT community.” Ian believed his threat would carry more weight than the Joker’s.
“I don’t have his contact information,” Cassell said somewhat helplessly. He was also deeply shocked by Ian’s threat – the way this boy threatened people was unheard of.
But it was also terrifying.
“Did you bring your phone?”
Ian tidied up his manuscript.
“I did.”
Cassell pulled out his latest model mobile phone.
“Then there’s no problem.”
Ian’s response left Cassell completely bewildered.
Before the bestseller author could figure out what this had to do with Ian asking him to pass a message, he saw Ian glance at the clock on the wall and begin to usher him out.
Perhaps one could also call it rushing him?
This kid is really strong.
“It’s getting late, I need to go see my psychiatrist.”
Ian casually grabbed his jacket. Although his tolerance for cold and heat was already quite high, when out and about, one always needed to appear to be an ordinary person.
This was how superheroes hid themselves.
“Why are you going to see a psychiatrist?” Cassell was pushed to the main door, then pushed out into the courtyard, and before he knew it, he found himself standing on the street.
“If you can ask that question, I think you should go see a psychiatrist too?” Ian closed the outermost wooden fence and made a very polite wave goodbye to Cassell.
“Study hard, practice hard, and believe in yourself.”
His encouragement was tinged with gentleness.
“…”
Cassell didn’t know how to respond.
His head was buzzing.
Standing on the street.
This usually lively writer was somewhat silent. Due to his mind being inexplicably contaminated, he didn’t even notice Hellcat driving out from the large iron gate on the side.
“I probably don’t know how to write books anymore.” Cassell was still struggling with writing techniques. He stood looking at the house in front of him, with Ian’s whispers seemingly echoing in his mind.
At this moment.
The street was very quiet.
“Bang~”
But perhaps it wasn’t absolutely quiet. The sound of something suddenly exploding startled Cassell, snapping him out of his existential crisis.
“Did something explode?” His expression was a mixture of surprise and uncertainty, looking like a startled large animal, but he couldn’t find the source of the explosion by looking around.
“Crack~”
Something fell in front of Cassell.
There were also bricks and wood shavings.
“The roof of this house blew up!” Cassell then noticed where the explosion had occurred – it was the house directly in front of him, with a large hole blown through the roof.
“That’s…”
Cassell saw a pink toy shoot up into the sky – and then, it seemed like someone rushed out of the broken house and into the sky at an astonishing speed.
It was a boy.
His hand was raised high.
His expression was anxious.
As if he was trying to save that… toy that had exploded into a crisp sausage?
“Damn it! What’s going on with this family!?” Cassell rubbed his eyes hard, confirming he wasn’t crazy or that his bed partner hadn’t slipped him some hallucinogen last night.
“Ring ring ring~”
Suddenly.
The sound of a mobile phone ringing pulled Cassell back to reality from his daze.
Caller ID.
Bruce Wayne.
Cassell definitely hadn’t saved this number, yet it displayed. However, Cassell, who was already as shocked as he could possibly be, was numb to such things.
“Hello?”
He answered the call.
“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?”
Cassell swallowed.
“I am.”
The other party responded concisely.
“Have you spoken to that boy?”
Bruce asked the question he cared about most.
“I spoke to him, but now I just want to know what’s going on with this family, and… why did you choose me?” Cassell covered the phone and jogged away from the strange block.
“Because you’re the most convenient to work with – and tell that boy that his father said he’d turn bad once he got rich, and to put his share into his trust fund for me!”
“Damn kid, he blocked me!”
Bruce’s voice carried annoyance.
Cassell didn’t hear.
Because he was lamenting that he wasn’t the kind of man who was highly regarded and considered exceptionally capable even by billionaires. While this uncle, who liked to fantasize like a child, was feeling dejected.
Then.
Bruce’s voice rang out again, “You don’t need to worry about this family’s situation. You just need to keep your mouth shut. I know you haven’t written a single word of your new book yet. If you don’t want to pay the breach of contract fee, then complete the commission I give you – if all goes smoothly, I guarantee your net worth will double.”
A classic carrot and stick approach.
The threats and promises of someone with money power were both weighty.
“I understand,” Cassell stopped and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. “But I still need to go back and think about it, and sort out what I saw today.”
His words piqued Bruce’s suspicion.
“What do you need to sort out about the things he wrote?” Bruce’s voice was flat, but the tone of questioning was clearly conveyed.
“Uh…”
Cassell’s expression became conflicted. “Actually, some of the things that boy wrote are really good. For example, there’s a scene where Superman holds up Metropolis with one hand, but he can still kiss the heroine and make a powerful declaration. This kind of romance actually has a significant audience in certain markets.”
He could hardly accept it.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t discern the market.
Cassell believed that a business magnate like Bruce Wayne would definitely have discernment abilities.
However.
“I’m not asking you to look at this one!”
Bruce’s tone was calm, but in reality, he was grinding his teeth.
“Yes, there’s another one, about Batman. That book is indeed a bit absurd, but I think the plot where Batman threatens the doctor after the Joker is hit by a car, saying that if they can’t save the child and the Joker, he’ll make Gotham pay, should resonate with a specific market in Gotham.”
Cassell’s professional ability was immense.
He didn’t know why Bruce was lately focused on the less profitable market of novels, but he felt that as a capitalist, Bruce would certainly believe in publishing whatever made money.
However.
Such a judgment on the core of the market.
Cassell did not receive an evaluation from Bruce Wayne.
He only heard a gasp.
Then.
The phone line suddenly fell into deathly silence.
…
Hellcat sped down the road, its tires crushing a stone on the asphalt.
The vehicle shot past, and fragments of the stone splashed against the exterior wall of a church, then rolled through the church’s open doors.
Even in broad daylight, dim candlelight still burned within the church.
It illuminated the tall cross and the solemn, majestic holy images all around.
Afternoon sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows into the empty church, casting a long shadow of Jonathan Kent. He sat quietly on a pew, gazing up at the suspended cross.
This eldest son of the Kent family had maintained this posture 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 something you need? I see you’ve been sitting here for almost the entire day.”
The priest’s concern was genuine. Jonathan didn’t answer immediately, as if lost in his thoughts. After a moment, he looked up, his gaze drifting towards the priest.
“I am contemplating a question.”
Jonathan’s voice held a hint of hesitation.
“What question?”
The priest spoke gently.
Attempting to understand the young man’s inner struggle.
“God can save us all, right?” Jonathan’s voice was tinged with uncertainty, yet filled with a desire for a definitive answer.
The priest nodded slightly, giving an affirmative reply. “Yes, God’s love is boundless, and He is willing to accept every soul that genuinely repents.”
Hearing this.
A flicker of happiness crossed Jonathan’s eyes.
“Well, that’s wonderful.” He then performed an action that surprised the priest – Jonathan placed the black diary he was holding into the church’s donation box.
A muffled thud echoed as the notebook fell to the bottom of the box.
However.
The priest seemed to see nothing.
“It belongs to God now.”
After saying this.
Under the priest’s perplexed gaze.
Jonathan left without looking back.
“Ian is the smartest among us, thinking like him is definitely right,” the big boy muttered with certainty, his words echoing softly in the somewhat empty church.
“Is this kid crazy?”
As the priest looked on in confusion.
Within his invisible line of sight.
A black angel appeared silently.
A familiar face to Constantine.
The angel Manny.
“What the hell is this.”
The angel tilted its head slightly, its golden eyes fixed on the ordinary plastic donation box. An indefinable sense of disharmony emanated from the box.
It was like something that shouldn’t exist, yet it was there.
“What is this? Something from the outer universe?”
It extended its clean, black, pure hand.
Accurately pinching the edge of the black diary.
The next moment.
The deeply abhorrent essence hidden within the black notebook, unknown to anyone, seemed to have found a more suitable host – it attached itself silently.
“Hmm?”
The angel’s pure gold eyes began to show signs of being stained black.
However.
The angel seemed oblivious to this.
