Chapter 154: Ian Ambushed! Michael Sheds Tears!
Ian pushed open the wooden door of Dr. Hannibal’s psychiatric clinic.
The hinges creaked slightly, like the groan of some dying creature.
Instead of the familiar incense, a strong smell of blood assailed him, a rusty, acrid scent that almost solidified, clinging to his nostrils.
It was like a basin of red pigment spilled on the carpet, pungent, viscous, and nauseating. Ian looked up, and the most prominent image at the information desk in the lobby was extremely graphic.
The chandelier swayed above.
Dim yellow light spilled down.
Illuminating the “artwork” hanging below the chandelier. It was the clinic’s receptionist, Maria Sanchez, a Mexican woman who always smiled gently.
Now her smile would be forever frozen in the most grotesque image. She had been made into a “flesh angel,” her head bowed, golden hair glued to her cheeks with blood, her eyes gouged out, leaving only two dark hollows, her mouth violently torn open and meticulously stitched into a sinister smile.
And that wasn’t all.
The poor nurse’s arms were also broken, extended at odd angles to her sides, her back skin completely peeled off, her muscle tissue carefully trimmed into wing shapes and attached to her arms.
Muscles and fascia stretched into a pair of deformed “wings,” like a work of art under some aesthetic of violence. Blood was still dripping slowly, forming a dark red lake on the ground.
This “lake” of collected blood was the source of the bloody smell.
“Gentle Miss Maria… damn Dr. Hannibal, he finally couldn’t help but attack someone close to him.” Ian looked at the “perverted artwork” before him with a somber expression.
He remembered Miss Maria always giving him candy when he waited for his appointments. Although not valuable, it was rare to find a nurse in America who liked children so much.
A kind person was gone, placed in the center of the lobby as if the perpetrator wanted the first thing anyone entering to see to be this “work.”
Whose style would it be if not Dr. Hannibal’s? Ian quickly stepped forward and reached out to feel Maria’s carotid artery – but the body was already cold, dead for at least an hour. Her blood had semi-congealed but was still dripping faintly, like some eerie timer.
“Completely beyond saving, her soul must have been taken by the grim reapers.” Ian sighed, withdrew his hand, and looked around. The entire clinic lobby was dead silent.
There were no signs of struggle, no indication of a fight, and even the bloodstains were concentrated only beneath the nurse’s corpse, as if the entire clinic had only ever had the nurse existing within it.
“The crime scene was cleaned up so thoroughly.” Ian only found some footprints and skin fragments by the elevator, likely from a scheduled patient who came and left.
They hadn’t called the police.
Perhaps most people in America were afraid of getting involved.
“I just hope those mental patients weren’t stimulated by this and their conditions worsened.” Ian took a deep breath and walked towards Dr. Hannibal’s office.
The door was unlocked.
He pushed it open; it was empty inside.
The documents on the desk were neatly arranged, and the pen was still placed next to the ink bottle, as if the owner had just temporarily left. But Ian knew Dr. Hannibal probably wouldn’t be back.
To commit a crime against a subordinate so brazenly in his own clinic, the perpetrator must have been prepared to abandon his lair. He opened the drawers and searched through the files.
As expected.
All patient files were gone. The safe had also been opened, and the valuables inside – including cash, encrypted hard drives, and even some psychiatric medication – had all been taken.
“Committed his last case and then left Metropolis directly?”
Ian hesitated for a moment.
He considered his own personal qualifications: a white boy, excellent grades, parents with respectable professions, and good looks, so he shouldn’t be considered a suspect. He then took out his half-broken mobile phone.
“Beep beep beep~”
The 911 emergency call always required a long wait, but fortunately, this service hadn’t been outsourced to the “Indian bros” yet, so after a long wait, a result could eventually be obtained.
“Hello, this is the emergency dispatch center, how can I help you?” The operator’s voice was quite serious; if one ignored the sound of “gurgling” beer, she might have been considered competent.
The sound of drinking water and drinking beer were very different, at least to someone with “super hearing,” Ian could clearly distinguish that the other party was clearly breaking regulations.
Perhaps also illegally.
“I want to report a crime.” Ian said in the tone of a “terrified” ordinary citizen, “I found a corpse at Dr. Hannibal Lecter’s psychiatric clinic.”
“Who is Dr. Hannibal? Damn it, you live in our country, don’t you ever see a psychiatrist?”
“Okay, you’re right, if you have money to see a psychiatrist, you indeed won’t be ‘drinking’ to suppress your condition. No, I haven’t illegally installed cameras in the dispatch center.”
“In short, I really don’t have a video of you and your colleagues exercising in front of the phone, I don’t like threatening people, send police quickly, this is the fifth avenue office building at 94 downtown.”
…
Ian found communicating with the operator very difficult.
He had tried his best to appear anxious, but after confirming he didn’t have a threatening video, the other party’s attitude became somewhat perfunctory again.
“Can you describe the scene?”
The operator’s voice was very steady; after all, it wasn’t her relative who had died.
“No biubiubiu, just me, and a poor woman. The deceased is the clinic’s receptionist, female, Mexican, about 30 years old, around 165cm tall.”
“Her weight is estimated to be around 50 kilograms, slightly overweight, which is understandable considering her love for burritos. No signs of struggle at the scene, initial judgment is that the killer was familiar with the victim and possessed some medical dissection knowledge. Oh, and her time of death is estimated to be between one and two hours ago.”
“Considering the clinic’s air conditioner is set to a constant cool breeze of 19 degrees, this estimate might be distorted. The specific situation requires forensic examination.”
Ian spoke.
While squatting down to carefully examine the corpse’s condition.
The nurse’s eyes were dilated, and her skin was cold.
He turned over the corpse’s wrist and found fine needle marks on the skin. Clearly, before being killed, she had been ambushed at close range with a sedative by someone she knew.
This also explained the lack of resistance at the scene – after Ian told the operator all of this, the female operator on the phone fell silent.
“Sir, are you… a forensic doctor?”
“No.”
“A criminal investigator?”
“No.”
“Then why can you describe the scene so professionally?”
“Because I love watching 《 CSI 》! If you don’t learn professional knowledge from TV shows, what’s the point of watching them?” Ian was somewhat puzzled by the other party’s inexplicable attitude.
“Uh… okay.”
The operator seemed choked up.
After a few seconds, she said with some regret, “Due to the excessive number of supernatural events in Metropolis recently, police resources are limited. Your report is currently being queued.”
“Estimated waiting time… half an hour? Or maybe an hour. I can’t say for sure, it depends on the police force allocation at the station.” Her words made Ian’s eyes widen.
“We have to queue for a report? Are you a restaurant? Do you want me to top up my VIP to speed up the response?” Ian truly hadn’t expected there to be someone more absurd than Batman in this world.
“I’m just doing my job, don’t question me. If you know a precinct chief or a superintendent, you can call them and ask them to prioritize your report.”
The operator, earning three thousand a month, also spoke with a tone of helplessness.
“It seems topping up for VIP isn’t enough, you need to be Svip…” Ian, who was always a bit unconventional, spoke speechlessly, having been taught a lesson by America, which was even more unconventional than he was.
The operator also sighed.
“In any case, have a pleasant day. Please wait at the scene and do not disturb it.” She again gave Ian a standardized response, following her seven-day training program.
“I’ll stay here, and then you won’t find the killer, so you’ll use me as a scapegoat, right?” Ian angrily hung up the phone. He was just venting his frustration and wasn’t panicking.
After all, a police officer’s small-caliber pistol posed no threat to him. He could leave whenever he wanted, and if necessary, he could even use mimicry to turn himself into a blessed abomination.
“I knew it. If reporting crimes was useful, America wouldn’t have so many different kinds of superheroes! And it wouldn’t have a superhero worship culture!”
Ian grumbled as he searched Dr. Hannibal’s office. Drawers, filing cabinets, bookshelves – all had been cleared out, leaving no valuable clues.
He didn’t even find his own medical records.
“Heartless Dr. Hannibal, not only committed murder and fled but also took away the mental illness certificate my parents paid for!” Ian slumped onto his usual sofa. Every time he had a psychiatric consultation, he would nestle here, listening to Dr. Hannibal analyze his non-existent illness in an elegant tone.
Now.
A faint scent of cologne lingered on this sofa; he didn’t know who had sat on it before. After thinking for a moment, Ian took out his mobile phone and dialed Dr. Hannibal’s private number.
【 The number you have dialed is not in service. 】
As expected.
Dr. Hannibal’s phone also couldn’t be reached. Mature criminals would erase all their identity information before fleeing. Ian couldn’t even force the phone to turn on using the black box.
It had clearly been destroyed.
Seeing this, Ian immediately switched the black box interface and brought up the Wayne Enterprises black box tracking system – some of the components in Dr. Hannibal’s phone were products of Wayne Technologies, so theoretically, as long as the device wasn’t completely destroyed, the signal could be traced. Three seconds later, the location results appeared.
The signal source was in this office.
Ian narrowed his eyes, scanned the surroundings, and finally walked towards the bathroom in the corner of the office. The lid of the toilet tank was lifted, and a waterlogged phone floated on the surface.
Ian fished it out and looked – the screen was cracked, and the motherboard was burnt, but the Wayne Enterprises chip still stubbornly flickered with a weak signal. Things made by Gotham Freaks were always reliable.
“Normally, I don’t like to interfere in other people’s business, but Dr. Hannibal has gone too far. Committing a crime right under the nose of the Son of Superman is a provocation to the authority of the Superman family!” It’s hard to say whether Ian felt any guilt, he had been waiting for the police in Dr. Hannibal’s office for a long time.
However.
The clock on the wall ticked, three hours had passed, and there was still no sign of a police car. The sky outside gradually darkened, and the neon lights lit up one by one.
The city’s clamor came through the glass but seemed exceptionally distant.
“If I wait any longer, Dr. Hannibal could reach Antarctica and feed the penguins.” Ian didn’t intend to ask his old father to look for Dr. Hannibal, because in most cases, his old father would try not to kill if he could. Just as Ian was preparing to seek help from Batman, who had a no-kill principle, but only for himself.
“Whoosh!”
A blinding flash streaked past the window, and Ian’s pupils contracted sharply. A sniper’s bullet whizzed through the air, aimed directly at his forehead, clearly a very precise shot!
Of course.
This would not affect Ian.
“Snap.”
Since being shot by a bullet meant he couldn’t level up, Ian directly raised his hand and precisely caught the rapidly spinning bullet. The metal felt slightly hot in his fingers.
The markings on the casing were clearly visible.
“Hahahaha!”
Ian’s gaze locked onto the direction from which the bullet came. The next moment, his figure had already disappeared from where he stood; teleportation, visible to the eye, was very useful in this situation.
On the rooftop of the opposite building.
The sniper was frantically adjusting the scope.
“Damn it! I missed! Where is he? Where did he go?” He cursed under his breath, quickly pulling the bolt to prepare for a second shot, only to find the target had disappeared from his sight.
“Looking for me? I’m behind you.”
A sinister voice sounded in his ear. The sniper stiffened and spun around – only to see that the target boy had somehow appeared behind him.
Not only that.
He was even playing with the bullet that was supposed to have pierced his head.
“Damn it! A superhuman! This job is a huge loss!” The sniper reacted extremely quickly, instinctively turning his gun and squeezing the trigger, aiming at Ian’s chest!
“Bang!”
The gun fired.
But the bullet couldn’t fly out of the barrel.
Because Ian had closed in and blocked the muzzle with his finger, the sniper rifle burst its chamber, metal twisted and deformed, and fragments flew, splattering the sniper’s face.
“Ahhh!”
He fell to the ground, emitting a painful wail.
“Dr. Hannibal sent you to kill me? I can’t believe he said he liked me last night!” Ian gritted his teeth, his emotions appearing very angry and annoyed.
“No!”
Seeing Ian’s foot placed on his head, as if about to crush a watermelon, the sniper, ignoring the pain of his disfigurement, began to beg for mercy loudly.
“Don’t kill me! Don’t kill me! I’m just doing this for money! I have no information about my employer!” The sniper swallowed hard and yelled with all his might.
“I just took a job at the 【 Continental Hotel 】! The target information was only your photo and location, and I know nothing else!” The killer clearly had a strong will to live.
“The Continental Hotel?”
Ian’s brow furrowed.
He was somewhat familiar with this hotel.
It was said to be a global chain of assassin organization strongholds controlled by the High Table, with bases in New York, Osaka, Rome, and other locations, providing neutral shelter and trading places for the underworld. As the hub of the global criminal network, the 【 Continental Hotel 】 functions for weapon supply, intelligence trading, and temporary shelter.
It was supposed to exist in another universe; it was clearly another legal fusion.
“The Continental Hotel is all about rule-following assassins, I’m just an ordinary citizen, yet you want to kill me for money? You should all be thrown into hell by me!”
Ian didn’t care if the hotel was legally integrated; attacking him, an ordinary person, was an illegal act. Today was supposed to be just an ordinary day for ordinary Ian!
“Huh?”
The sniper shivered at this.
“You, you mean throw you into prison, right?” He hoped this was just a slip of the tongue, as the 【 Continental Hotel 】 occasionally took on assassination missions for superhumans.
However, when it came to anything supernatural, the 【 Continental Hotel 】 basically wouldn’t touch it.
It was beyond their capabilities.
“Heh.”
Ian ignored the killer and took out his phone to make a call. Officer Kate Beckett was a female police officer Ian met during a robbery incident at a convenience store.
If Ian weren’t feeling so wronged right now, he wouldn’t be thinking of contacting this officer.
After all, she had recently been showing a lot of interest in his life on social media, so Ian had reason to suspect Officer Kate Beckett was secretly in love with him.
“Officer Beckett, it’s me, it’s Ian.”
The call connected, and his tone suddenly became relaxed, as if the killing intent from before had never existed. “Yes, it’s me again… This time it’s not about asking for advice on how to kill someone without anyone noticing; that was just for literary creation. I’ve really encountered a murder case, and I’ve also been attacked by an accomplice of the criminal.”
“Yeah, the accomplice of the criminal ran away. You know, I’m just a boy who’s almost fifteen years old, and a fifteen-year-old’s long legs can’t outrun the old legs of someone in their thirties or forties.”
“The texture of the muscles biting is different…”
Ian was reporting a crime for the second time, making use of his limited connections. The female officer Kate Beckett on the other end sighed, seeming accustomed to Ian’s style of calling.
Ian stated the location.
Hearing “accomplice ran away,” the sniper wanted to shout, but Ian directly stuffed a mop he picked up from the ground into his mouth. Sweat streamed from his bloodied face.
The sniper suspected he might not live to see tonight.
…
I have to say.
Finding a responsible police officer in America is not easy.
Fortunately, Officer Kate Beckett is one of those rare specimens.
More than ten minutes later.
Police sirens sounded from afar and grew closer. As Kate Beckett’s police car screeched to a halt at the clinic entrance, the sharp cry of tires on asphalt startled the pigeons roosting under the eaves. Ian looked through the blood-stained glass window at the blonde officer from the NYPD striding purposefully, accompanied by her two junior officers.
Javier Esposito and Kevin Ryan.
One black, one white, a classic color scheme.
The former is a retired special forces soldier, and the latter is a former anti-drug police officer turned gangster. Both can be considered capable police officers. The group hurried upstairs.
“Oh! Thank heavens! Someone’s finally here to save me!” Ian greeted them at the elevator door and began to frantically tell the police officers, whom he had only met a few times, about his ordeal.
After some time.
“You’re saying you saw a corpse as soon as you entered the room, then called the police and were treated like a black person by the operator, tried to solve the case yourself, and were then mysteriously attacked, and the bullet, unwilling to harm your peerless beauty, veered off course and smashed a nearby vase?” Kate Beckett’s expression was extremely strange after hearing Ian’s account.
“Mhm!”
Ian glanced into his extra dimension, where the sniper, stripped naked and thrown onto a deserted island to “survive in the wild,” had been. He then nodded vigorously.
He was now sitting on the sofa in the reception area, appearing obedient, cradling a cup of coffee that had long gone cold—Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee found in Hannibal’s private collection cabinet.
“Are you kidding me? Bro? I think this vase was smashed. How could a sniper bullet be lying among the fragments? It should have penetrated the vase and shot into the wall.”
Detective Javier Esposito, a black detective, was squatting by the broken vase. As a former professional soldier, he had never doubted the power of a sniper rifle.
Of course, Javier Esposito didn’t refute Ian’s statement about being treated like a black person; he also knew the attitude of some police officers towards black people.
“If the bullet could be moved by my astonishing beauty, it would naturally become limp and weak.” Ian began to spout nonsense with a straight face.
He didn’t want to reveal his superhuman nature, and he knew his professional knowledge couldn’t compare to that of real detectives, so playing for time was the best course of action.
“Did you perhaps take some of the clinic’s controlled substances?” Detective Kevin Ryan leaned in suspiciously, noticing some granules on Ian’s teeth.
“Of course not!”
Ian quickly denied it.
“But what you’re saying sounds like madness.” Javier Esposito said unceremoniously, as he and his partner were collecting information from the scene.
“Huh? Madness? Why do you think I’m here?” The youth smirked contemptuously and pointed at the “Psychiatric Clinic” signboard on the wall.
The “mental illness” card was truly useful.
“Ah!?”
Suddenly, all the detectives felt that everything made sense. No one questioned how the “helpless” Ian was unharmed, or why the sniper didn’t take a second shot at Ian.
“Sorry.”
They even felt guilty and apologized to Ian.
“Mhm.”
Ian graciously accepted.
“Um, Kate, I think you should send this child home first and not let today’s events worsen his condition.” The female forensic doctor even felt pity for Ian.
“Mhm.”
Police Officer Kate Beckett nodded in agreement.
“I have legs! My legs know how to get home. I just want to find Dr. Hannibal now and ask him why he killed someone—my psychiatrist is definitely the prime suspect.” Ian’s desire to solve the case was strong. He also had a secondary account on the Superhero Popularity Center named Exorcist Detective Moriarty Holmes.
“See? No signs of struggle, and there’s a needle mark here. Clearly, he was ambushed at close range. The victim was defenseless before that, so it must be an inside job.”
“The office stuff was all taken, indicating the killer was prepared.” Ian attempted to touch the body again, but his hand was lightly tapped by the female forensic doctor’s gloved hand.
It didn’t hurt.
But Ian understood the meaning of refusal.
“Your deductions are good. I can see you’re really obsessed with perfect crimes.” Beckett nodded after listening, her expression as calm as ever as she looked at Ian.
“I told you, it’s for literary creation.”
Ian rolled his eyes.
“You really should go home. A crime scene is no place for a child—I believe you haven’t started committing crimes yet.” Beckett showed her trust in Ian.
“Don’t leave Metropolis. If I get any news, I’ll let you know.”
Anyone with high emotional intelligence knew this was a polite dismissal.
“Alright.”
Ian walked towards the elevator, looking back repeatedly. Until he entered the elevator, he could still hear the discussions outside, whispers about him, the one who reported the crime.
“So this kid is also a suspect?”
“Have you ever seen a serial killer who calls the police after killing and waits three hours? Not to mention arranging the body like a Renaissance sculpture. Unless he’s truly twisted to the core.”
“A child wouldn’t have that much strength.”
……
“Why aren’t you discussing the case and instead talking about my literary works?” Even as he walked towards the parking lot, Ian could still perk up his ears and hear Beckett giving other police officers an introduction to Ian.
In her words.
Ian was a highly intelligent boy obsessed with perfect crimes. Kate and the others would never have imagined that every word they discussed was clearly heard by this “mentally ill” “helpless” patient.
“They called me highly intelligent, so it’s true love.” Ian sat on Hellcat, not going home, but continuing to eavesdrop with his super hearing for a long time. Only after the crime scene was sealed off and the police returned to the station with the body for an autopsy did he pat Hellcat and let it drive onto the road.
Along the way.
Ian was thinking about why Dr. Hannibal had suddenly gone mad.
His phone suddenly vibrated wildly. The name of the little punk girl Madison appeared on the screen. The moment Ian pressed the answer button, her loud voice filled the car.
“Ian! Michael is having his archangel tantrum on the assembly line again!” Madison’s tone was full of helplessness, and the background was filled with the sounds of metal clashing and angels rushing in.
“Ten angels couldn’t hold him down! My street lamp is hitting him on the head, but he doesn’t seem to care!” Madison sounded extremely exasperated.
“I’m coming right away.” Ian sighed, and the steering wheel jerked sharply, causing Hellcat to drift and turn, leaving two scorched marks on the asphalt.
He temporarily put aside his thoughts and drove towards the new factory he had bought overnight.
The newly acquired factory was located on the outskirts of Metropolis’s industrial zone. It was originally a processing plant for a certain gang, but after the gang was taken down by superheroes, Ian got a pretty good deal.
The former sweatshop had now been transformed by Ian into an “Angel Re-employment Training Center.” The neon sign at the entrance flashed the words “Ian’s Greatest Technology Manufacturing Group.”
Below, it was written in fluorescent chalk: Today’s KPI: 500,000 Canned Screaming Food. As soon as Ian pushed open the workshop door, he saw chaos on the assembly line. Ordinary angels were diligently labeling canned fermented soybeans with douchi that praised Ian, each one reciting, “In the name of the Holy Father, this is a quality product.”
And on another production line.
Michael was standing on the assembly line with one foot, holding a twisted and deformed microwave oven.
“Creating the universe was so easy for me! Incredibly simple!” The archangel’s roar caused dust to fall from the ceiling. “Why can’t I get this damn metal box!”
“Conspiracy! There must be a conspiracy!” The microwave oven let out a dying “ding” in his hand, and the turntable flew out, hitting the head of an ordinary angel who happened to be passing by.
The ordinary angel was angry but dared not speak. He merely made a mental note, vowing that next time the envoy of the Savior Angels wanted to deal with Michael, he would be the first to charge forward with a mace.
Tonight, he would secretly make a mace.
“It’s okay, Michael. It’s good to see you. I don’t think it’s entirely your fault that you can’t assemble the microwave. Perhaps such a simple task isn’t suitable for an omnipotent being like you.”
Ian strolled over with his hands in his pockets.
His tone was as gentle as coaxing a grumpy cat.
He secretly hid the parenting book back into his extra dimension.
“It’s you, Ian Kent.”
Upon hearing this, Michael suddenly turned his head, his brilliant golden pupils flickering with stellar flames.
“It is I.”
Ian flashed a professional smile and uttered a cliché.
“Tell me what’s going on.” Michael was still bothered by his demotion to the mortal realm. He had already noticed the increasingly strong radiance emanating from Ian.
This made him even more shaken internally.
“Want to know? Exchange it for points.” Ian chuckled lightly and, as if by magic, pulled out a gilded employee performance redemption booklet and handed it to Michael.
Michael’s expression was as if he had swallowed something indescribable. He looked around—those ordinary angels seemed to be doing much better here than he was.
Even the youngest Cupid angel could operate a coffee machine independently.
This greatly frustrated the archangel.
“I can’t do this!”
The archangel’s chest heaved violently, and the microwave oven in his hand dented further.
“Then I’ll arrange a live stream for you.” Ian snapped his fingers, his tone still cheerful. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to sing or dance; just chat with the ordinary people.”
He began his psychological manipulation.
Upon hearing this, Michael’s wings exploded.
“I am the strongest angel! How can I pander to mortals? You can kill me! I will never do such a thing!” His words were filled with unwavering resolve.
In response.
Ian was prepared.
“God wants you to love all beings. Until you learn to do so, don’t expect to return to Heaven.” Ian suddenly said sternly, his voice serious. His figure became increasingly radiant in Michael’s eyes.
“……”
The air suddenly froze.
Michael’s expression shifted from rage to disbelief, then to struggle, finally settling into an extremely conflicted twist.
“Can you communicate with Him?”
This was something Michael had to doubt, as Ian’s radiance was undeniable. Of course, even so, the archangel’s voice was barely audible.
“God loves our family. He also gave my eldest brother a gift.”
Ian answered a question with a non-sequitur.
Michael, being too clever for his own good, was misled.
“That statement of yours is true.” Michael’s pupils widened in shock. He could naturally tell it was true, but he completely misunderstood the direction, being led astray by Ian’s half-truths.
After another period of internal struggle.
His performance proved that Wang Jingze’s “I regret it” had value even in Heaven.
“What do I need to do?”
The archangel slowly straightened his body.
The broken microwave oven clattered to the ground.
“Follow me!”
Immediately, Ian took him to the adjacent live stream studio. The live stream studio was Ian’s most prized renovation; he had converted the original poison purification room into twenty pink-themed live stream rooms.
Each was equipped with beauty lights and teleprompters. As a grand archangel, Michael was led to the largest one, with Vatican-style cloud murals on the walls.
A plastic holy grail was placed in the corner.
“Your target audience is women aged 45-65.”
Ian brought up a collection of elderly internet celebrities.
“Be domineering yet slightly sleazy, like this: smirk at the camera, say nothing, just adjust your clothes.” His understanding of the live streaming industry was deeper than Madison’s.
“You want me to imitate this… damn it, he deserves to go to hell.”
Michael’s face turned green.
“Think of Heaven~”
Ian dangled the employee handbook.
“Think of the holy songs~ Think of your empty throne~”
He had found the other’s weakness. This sentence struck Michael like a heavy hammer to the heart.
The archangel froze.
A flicker of pain and unwillingness crossed his eyes.
“Damn it! Why does it have to be you!”
Michael’s expression changed continuously.
“I’ll teach you some simple phrases now, for example, you can start with: ‘Babes, your man is back.'” Ian saw Michael’s psychological defenses being breached again and again.
He began to instruct.
“And then?”
Despite his disgusted expression, Michael diligently took notes.
“Remember to add some interaction too.” Ian added with a smile. “For instance: ‘Are there any sisters who feel their husbands have been cold to them lately? Then you need to be careful. Men are always looking for novelty. Remember one thing—the more aloof a man is, the more he loves you.'” These things were naturally easy for Ian, a writer.
Michael listened, his expression extremely complex.
Three hours later.
He finally sat in front of the camera, took a deep breath, and began his first live stream.
“Everyone… sisters.” His tone was stiff. “I am Archangel Michael. Today, I will chat with you about life and my story of past glory and present downfall.”
Although he wasn’t very proficient yet, Ian had high expectations for him, so he bought a lot of traffic. As soon as the screen lit up, the number of viewers in the live stream room began to soar.
Ian nodded with satisfaction as he looked at the data panel.
“Excellent!” He patted Michael on the shoulder. “Your talent in this field is much stronger than your talent for tightening screws!”
Michael’s mouth twitched, but he forced himself to continue live streaming. His demeanor—holding back his anger, harboring disdain, yet forcing himself to offer flattery—was unexpectedly popular.
Just as Ian was about to exert more psychological pressure, his phone vibrated again.
It was Detective Kate Beckett.
He walked out of the live stream room and answered the call.
Inside the room, only Michael remained, parrot-like, continuing the live stream.
His physical appearance was truly remarkable.
“Thank you for the rocket from ‘God Bless You.'” Michael read from the teleprompter with a stern face, wearing the floral shirt Ian had forced him to put on.
The bullet screen instantly exploded:
【 Archangel Michael is so cute! That name is so chuunibyou! 】
【 That awkwardness is like my old man when he was young 】
【 Archangel Michael, quick, dance to the Gekko- ahegao! Ian Kent’s adapted version! 】
The owner of the last comment spammed 1000 fantasy castles, and the special effects caused the live stream room to lag into a PPT. Veins bulged on Michael’s forehead, but remembering Heaven and Ian’s point targets, he forced a twisted smile.
“Thank you, friend. I’ll learn it right away. Let me see how the video goes.”
The 1,000 fantasy castles would earn employee points equivalent to over a hundred days of manual labor. Michael was determined to endure the humiliation. He felt his radiance returning—dancing was not difficult for an angel.
Michael’s learning ability was indeed good.
Therefore.
To return to Heaven as soon as possible.
He gritted his teeth and learned while dancing.
The data panel showed that Michael’s live stream room retention rate was as high as 85%.
The tip amount had already exceeded three days’ worth of production from the canned food department.
As expected.
To make money, you still need to live stream.
The wealthy patron struck again.
After another 1000 Fantasy Castles.
【 Hahaha, Michael! I’ve recorded it all for you! 】
【 Starting tomorrow, an event that all of Hell must watch will commence! Don’t ask who I am! My alt accounts are flooding every corner of the live stream room; you can’t ban all my accounts! Look, I’ve used my Divine Power again to create a hundred thousand alt accounts to visit you! 】
【 Oh, sorry, I forgot you no longer have Divine Power, hahahahaha~ 】
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