Under normal circumstances, Ian could not keep his mouth shut to save his life.
But tonight, if he wanted to avoid waking up to two bloodshot eyes floating at his bedside in the middle of the night, he had no choice but to lower his head and stuff his mouth full of food.
This was torture.
Who said Superman could not be used in scary stories to frighten kids? Feeling the mountain-like weight of his father's heavy love pressing down on his shoulders, Ian chose the path of survival and put on the expression of someone who had also just figured something out.
Honestly, he did not think those so-called Superman serums could really create a Superman. He had drunk them himself, and they had barely given him any experience. That alone proved the science and chemical nonsense inside them was nowhere near good enough.
Of course, Lois and everyone else at the table clearly did not know that.
"I see."
The suspicion and confusion in Lois's heart gradually faded, replaced by a sense of wonder at the strange connection between Ian and Clark. She truly believed Clark's explanation, since it sounded logical enough.
Clark also let out a quiet sigh of relief. At moments like this, he understood that his super brain existed for exactly this kind of thing. He had to use every possible method to preserve the harmony and stability of this family.
Was it underhanded?
Clark thought maybe it was.
But if Ian took the hit, then the family would win.
At that moment, Clark understood a little more about how Bruce must have felt when making some of his own cold calculations in the past. Tonight, he felt like he could finally forgive Bruce for at least a tiny part of those things.
Because there really was no other way.
After all, Clark could hardly tell Lois that Bruce had once said Ian seemed capable of drawing power from writing, could he? Lois would not believe it, and even Clark himself still had not fully decided whether he believed it after seeing the clues firsthand.
He would bet anything that if he ever said that out loud, Lois would march straight out and make a pair of scissors out of Kryptonite.
"My dear, what part would you like to cut first?"
His super brain really was good enough to imagine every terrible possible outcome of every terrible decision.
That was why even an invincible Superman could not afford to gamble.
And Ian's reliably bizarre reputation gave Clark the perfect cover. The truth was, no one at that table found it strange that Ian would drink random nonsense.
Because with Ian, that kind of thing was genuinely normal.
A doctor had already signed off on it.
"This is great."
Jonathan could not help speaking up.
"If there's something as amazing as superhuman baby formula, why not let me have a sip too? I feel like I could still be saved."
If he had the chance, of course he wanted to be a second-generation Superman too.
Even if the price was never being able to play football again.
That part was a little sad.
But carrying on his father's legacy was obviously far more appealing and had way more value than football.
"We still can't confirm whether that serum can actually awaken dormant genes safely. We can't let you risk your life just to test it."
Sam's stern warning saved Clark a little mental effort.
"That's right, sweetheart. Ian may just be a special case." Lois quickly joined in, trying to dissuade Jonathan. She knew there was a very high chance Ian's powers came from a total fluke.
Maybe Ian's strange eating habits had simply given him a terrifying digestive system.
Aliens, after all, were all different.
Maybe Ian had some special organ inside him for all anyone knew.
Deep down, Lois did not want to believe Ian was sick, so she had long since found a reasonable explanation for his strange appetite.
You could not judge an alien's diet by human standards.
"All right."
Jonathan looked a little disappointed.
And that was exactly the kind of thing Clark had hoped to avoid.
That was why he had hidden the truth in the first place.
At moments like this, even Superman did not know how to comfort his eldest son.
When it came to Kryptonian genes, either they awakened or they did not. No one could force them. Outside methods only led to disaster. Clark had seen enough humans lose control after being contaminated by Kryptonian biology.
Just as Clark was struggling with what to say, Jonathan suddenly waved it off.
"I'll just go back to playing football. Maybe my kid will get lucky someday and awaken powers instead. That'd still be pretty cool."
The eldest son of the family was clearly trying hard not to make things worse for everyone else.
"Well, as Ian always says, poor people mutate, rich people use technology."
That bit of humor actually eased the atmosphere quite a lot.
By then, Ian had already cleared his plate.
"It's fine, Jonathan. I've been studying magic lately. Once I figure it out, I'll teach you the supreme divine arts of Ian. I promise I won't charge you a single cent in interest or tuition."
No one believed him. Everyone just thought he was trying to lighten the mood, and the whole table burst into laughter.
Ian did not care. He simply took advantage of the moment to steal a strip of roasted beef rib from Jonathan's plate.
Dinner became much more relaxed after that.
The warmth of family slowly returned.
After everyone had eaten and drunk their fill, General Sam prepared to leave.
"I'll keep following up on the Lex investigation." He stood there in his neat military uniform, his voice steady. "If anything comes up, I'll tell Clark directly. If this involves Kryptonian matters, then Clark deserves to know too."
That was a fair point.
Clark's resentment eased just a little.
"Maybe you should investigate this place too." Ian bent under the table, rummaged around, then marked a location on a map with a circle.
"Good. If this helps crack a major case, I'll apply to have the military pay you a proper informant bonus." Sam accepted the map with a smile, not even asking where Ian had gotten the information.
After all, Ian had been the one to report the first case in the first place. In Sam's mind, Clark was clearly just helping his newly awakened little son get used to using his powers.
A reasonable assumption.
A beautiful misunderstanding.
Clark had no intention of correcting it.
"Do you think I'll still get one percent of the full amount after all the military old men finish taking their cut?" Ian asked in a low voice when Sam hugged him.
It was a serious question.
He was worried the military would tax him based on the amount before deductions instead of what he actually received. The U.S. military absolutely could pull something like that. Ian had no intention of winding up owing taxes after barely getting any money at all.
"…"
Sam was momentarily silenced by Ian's seriousness.
"Don't worry. You'll get every cent you're supposed to get. There are regulations for this." He gave the guarantee, though he was not about to admit in front of his grandchildren that he himself was one of the people taking those cuts.
"Thanks, Grandpa."
Only then did Ian finally hug him back.
"I'll walk you out."
Lois escorted her father to the door.
Night had fully fallen.
The street outside was quiet.
"Lois, our project is mainly about creating human super-soldiers through Kryptonian genes. If it ever proves safe... I'll try to secure a chance for you too."
Sam lowered his voice as they reached the small path outside the yard.
"You don't seriously think I'd agree to that, do you?" Lois replied immediately.
Still, Sam's tone stayed firm.
"You need it. Look at your family. You married a god, at least in terms of the power he holds."
"And you? You're still just an ordinary person. Just like when you were little, still fragile. In a world that keeps getting more dangerous, no one knows what might happen next."
He took her hand, his expression extremely complicated.
Lois opened her mouth, but could not argue.
"Even so, I don't want it."
She held firm.
Seeing that, Sam stopped trying to persuade her.
He knew better than anyone how stubborn his daughter was. That was part of what made her such a good reporter, and also part of what gave him headaches.
"Well, that's enough for tonight." Sam finally turned toward his top-of-the-line Hummer, bought courtesy of all the money he had skimmed over the years.
"Wait, Dad. I still don't trust you. Swear on Grandma's name that I'm not going to see a cloned version of my husband or sons walking around out there someday."
Lois blocked him one last time, still not fully reassured.
"…"
Sam finally understood why Ian had been able to silence him earlier.
The entire family really did treat the military like a criminal syndicate with a flag.
And the worst part was, he did not exactly have the moral ground to deny it.
"Please. Do you think we can clone a living Kryptonian from a few dead bodies? You're giving our scientists way too much credit. Sometimes I regret not forcing you to read more when you were younger."
"If you had, maybe you'd understand that any scientist truly capable of pulling that off would never work for the salaries we offer. Even if we paid them in full, it still wouldn't be enough."
"…"
Lois wanted a drink, but found nothing in her pocket. She had understood exactly what he meant about military corruption, and as a reporter, her professional conscience was now in open revolt.
Should she investigate?
And what if her father turned out to be the biggest rat in the building?
"I think you've had enough for tonight. Just go home," Lois said, hugging him.
Sam kissed her forehead, then climbed into his Hummer.
Before driving off, he looked back at the yard.
"Your new car's nice."
He left with that strange remark, then drove away with the kind of speed only military plates could excuse.
"Huh?"
Lois watched him go, then turned back into the yard, confused.
Sure enough, right there beside her rose bushes was a car.
A black Dodge Hellcat.
"Who on earth could say no to a car like that?"
Her eyes widened in surprise, and she could not help stepping closer.
…
Inside the house, Jonathan and Jordan had already gone back to watching TV. A baseball replay was on, and when the pitcher threw a perfect curveball, Jonathan whistled.
"That was a beautiful throw."
Clark was doing the dishes, but he was still half-watching the game through the wall.
Ian, meanwhile, had no interest in any of that.
"Spit it out! It was you, wasn't it? If it wasn't you, then you definitely saw it!" He sat cross-legged on the carpet and started rubbing the orange kitten's belly, trying to feel whether the two missing serum vials were still inside somewhere.
"Hey, Ian, how should I expose Mom?" Jordan asked, still not over his theory. He remained completely convinced that Lois had to be Supergirl.
"I suggest filling your room with Supergirl posters and buying a bunch of Supergirl merch. Pretend you're obsessed with her. I guarantee someone in this house will tell you the truth eventually."
Ian offered the advice with total seriousness.
"That's way too obvious, isn't it?"
Jordan frowned, clearly considering whether the plan would work.
"Honestly, I don't think Mom could be out there as Supergirl," Jonathan said, sounding like the only relatively normal thinker in the room. "She cut her hand just last week."
"So who do you think Supergirl is?" Jordan turned to his older brother.
Jonathan leaned back on the sofa and smiled.
"Obvious, isn't it?"
Then he pointed.
"At him."
His finger went straight toward Ian.
Jordan's pupils shrank.
Realization struck.
"You think Ian is Supergirl!?"
To be fair, it was not a completely random leap. Jordan still knew Ian's secret. The high heels and stockings from that day had traumatized him so badly he would probably never look at either the same way again.
He truly believed Ian liked dressing up.
"Someone's mouth is spewing garbage."
Ian exploded on the spot.
Without needing super hearing at all, he had caught every word of Jordan's nonsense. He immediately picked up a baseball and hurled it straight at him.
Jordan tried to dodge.
Then realized he did not need to.
"Ow!"
It was Jonathan, sitting beside him, who got nailed right in the forehead.
"Jordan is the one talking trash, not me," Jonathan said, rubbing his head. "What I meant was that you know who Supergirl is."
Then he pulled out his phone and brought up a video.
It showed a reporter interviewing Supergirl while, in the background, a stocking-masked man charged people for photos.
Seeing the video, Ian realized he had blamed the wrong brother.
"Bang. Bang."
He stood up, picked up the baseball, walked over, and bonked Jordan twice on the forehead with it.
Justice for Jonathan.
"You know who Supergirl is?" Jordan asked, far more interested in that than in complaining.
Just as Ian was about to answer, or maybe steer Jordan into tormenting Clark instead, Clark silently appeared behind him.
"Ian. Come here."
The moment he heard that, Ian's spine straightened.
"Dad, do you need something? You want me to help clean the living room, right?" He turned with wide innocent eyes.
"No. It's about that serum. I still don't like it. I need to study it."
Clark was holding an empty plastic bottle.
"…"
Ian understood immediately.
He hated how smart he was.
"A cautious person knows better than to hand over biological material to anyone. Dad, I need to start building that habit now."
He refused.
"Hmm?"
Clark looked speechless. "Do I ever see you going off to some secret location just to pee or take a dump? The waste from this entire neighborhood gets collected by your grandfather's people every day."
That made Ian's eyes go wide.
"That's only because I can't fly yet. If I could fly, I'd go to Mars every day to do it."
Actually, Ian was not all that worried about people studying his biological material.
He got stronger through his class system. There was so much weird mixed nonsense in his waste that anyone trying to analyze it would probably face the greatest challenge of their scientific career.
"Bathroom. Pee."
Clark gave the order.
"All right."
Ian obediently accepted the plastic bottle and headed into the bathroom.
Five minutes later, he came back.
Without the bottle.
He was carrying Clark's washbasin instead.
It was absolutely full of suspicious yellow liquid.
"Smack."
Clark slapped a hand against his own forehead.
Loudly.
"The bottle you gave me was too small. Maybe you don't know this, but next time I go, you can peek and see I'm definitely not lying."
Ian was extremely sincere.
He really had looked for other containers.
But who could resist using Superman's washbasin when the chance presented itself?
The two brothers immediately burst out laughing even harder.
"I can testify that Ian tells the truth at least twenty percent of the time," Jordan added helpfully.
"That much?"
Jonathan stared at the washbasin in shock.
That was a whole basin.
"All right, all right. Three hundred dollars." Clark finally gave in and slapped the money into Ian's hand. Then, after thinking about it, he added another two hundred.
Mostly because he was worried that if he did not show some generosity tonight, then his toothbrush cup might be next.
Really, people should not do bad things.
"Thanks, Dad."
Ian took the money and ran off on the spot, leaving Clark holding the basin while his two brothers stared.
A moment later, Clark vanished and reappeared, having apparently dealt with it somewhere. No one wanted to know where.
At that exact moment, the front door banged open.
Lois practically stumbled back inside, looking deeply shaken.
"What happened?" Clark hurried over.
"That car outside. Whose is it? The one I said I loved when I was younger, and you told me you couldn't afford it, and I thought you were being honest, so I decided to marry you!"
Her thoughts had clearly come apart under the stress, and the boys had just learned a little more about old family history than they ever needed to know.
"Hellcat. Yes, that one. Where did it come from?"
Her voice was several pitches higher than usual.
"It's Ian's."
Clark answered with visible exhaustion.
"I knew it!"
Lois charged to the wine cabinet, yanked out a bottle, and drank straight from it.
"Well... it is a pretty weird car," Clark said weakly.
By now he had decided that after making Ian take the fall at dinner, he should at least try to protect the car.
His brain started turning.
But just then, Lois kept going.
"Do you know what it said to me? It told me to get it two blankets, and then it played a weather forecast saying it would be cold tonight. I have never experienced anything that creepy in my life."
She drained the bottle in one go, then grabbed a second. The alcohol clearly made the whole thing feel more manageable.
The boys, meanwhile, had lit up like fireworks.
"What?"
"A talking car? That's awesome!"
In a heartbeat, they were both at the window, pressing their faces to the glass.
"Ian and I are the closest. He'll definitely let me drive it!"
"No way. I'm getting my license tomorrow!"
"You're too young. Besides, I'm the one with no powers, so I deserve comfort!"
They began arguing instantly.
"It doesn't literally talk," Lois corrected, already halfway through bottle number two. "It uses radio voice lines. You know. Like... Transformers?"
"Wait, it transforms too?" Jonathan gasped.
That was not what she meant, but it was close enough for them.
Clark stood there for a moment, watching both sons run to the yard.
Then he looked at the cat he had picked up and softly asked, "What should I call you, lucky little thing?"
The cat trembled.
No one noticed.
As for Ian, he was upstairs in his room, seated cross-legged in front of his computer, browsing the news.
On his screen were more than a dozen open pages.
"Shock! Strange Mass Fainting Incident. Experts Suspect Collective Hysteria."
"Was It Aliens or Government Testing? All Unconscious Citizens Recover."
"Witness Claims Two Aliens Fought to the Death. Hallucination Caused by New Drug?"
"Perhaps an Unknown Hero Just Saved 8,650 People."
…
The early headlines were whatever.
But when Ian saw the glowing praise for some nameless hero, something twisted inside him.
No one knew it had been Zuzongren who built up that much glorious merit.
"If I'd known nobody would try to sue, I would've left the name behind."
Ian strongly suspected there was some kind of official disaster compensation fund set aside for superhero cleanup in this world.
Watching all the other articles continue praising the nameless hero without ever identifying him, Ian felt genuinely torn.
"I'm not Homelander, but I'm superstitious. What if all the merit points don't get credited to me?"
He absolutely knew that, in this world, good people could go to Heaven.
And he also knew that Heaven's angels were all glorified slackers. If they forgot to count his merit properly, who exactly was he supposed to complain to?
Ian's subtle anxiety pushed him into action.
Then an idea struck him.
Crackling with energy, he immediately began registering over a hundred alternate accounts on every forum he could find, playing the role of survivor after survivor and informing the public who had saved the day.
Because, really, stopping the scheme of a demon prince descending into the human world counted as saving the world, did it not?
Then one of the icons on his computer popped up.
The queen virus of all the viruses in his machine had sent him a message.
Its icon was a blue-haired anime girl with sky-colored twin tails and the kind of impossibly polished proportions that screamed professional illustration.
It had been the reason all the viruses in his PC had coexisted peacefully for years.
"When did you become a superhero fangirl?" the little speech bubble popped up.
"Ever since I realized heroes deserve praise," Ian typed back.
Then he dragged the virus into the locked folder in the bottom right corner again.
Nothing worth talking about.
He had always believed there was a sweaty middle-aged guy on the other side.
Probably one with self-harm tendencies too.
Why else would someone have created the locked folder in the first place?
Then Ian remembered what Jordan had mentioned earlier.
The site called Superhero Popularity Center.
If a place like that existed, how could he not make use of it?
A fresh idea lit up his mind.
And so Ian began creating hero profiles.
Stocking Superman. Feature: indestructible stockings.
Zuzongren. Feature: likes making everyone call him Dad.
Second Great-Uncle Immortal Lord. Feature: wins by rank suppression and forcing enemies to kneel.
Dancefloor War God. Feature: cannot stop dancing.
…
Bald Infinite Buddha.
When he got to the twenty-fifth hero, Ian paused, thought about it, and deleted that one.
The price was too high.
Even if the opportunity ever came up, there was no way he would put on that identity.
"This is the deep planning Batman has inspired in me. Even if I never use them, I need enough backup identities."
Just as he was about to make a hundred more, the site blocked him from further submissions.
At that same moment, a private message popped up.
I'm Definitely Not Batman: ??????
Ian did not hesitate. He tried to block the account.
Could not.
He immediately grabbed his phone.
The line connected.
Not the usual stupid voice mailbox this time.
"What are you doing?"
Familiar voice. Familiar tone of interrogation.
Obviously Bruce.
"Unblock me. Just for a second."
Ian had already figured out the truth. This site was almost certainly one of Bruce's information traps, built to gather public reports.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Bruce hung up.
Still, Ian soon discovered that while he could not create new profiles anymore, he could still edit the ones he had already submitted.
Apparently Bruce had thought it over and granted him partial access.
His great-great-grandfather was a slave hanged from an oak tree by plantation owners in 1863.
His great-grandmother was a Chinese laundress born during Prohibition, half her face burned in an anti-Asian riot. His mother was an undocumented immigrant fleeing famine in Latin America.
When his mother gave birth to him near the Mexican border, it was discovered he also had a trace of Indigenous ancestry…
Heroes needed origins.
And Ian gave Zuzongren the most perfectly American origin possible.
Because Ian had thin skin.
He could not stand people insulting him online.
So it was critical that Zuzongren be stacked with every possible form of moral protection.
That kind of thing could not stump a good writer.
In fact, thinking so hard about it leveled up his Writer class.
Writer Lv2 [1/20]
He got a general skill point too, though since Writer was an ordinary class without its own skill tree, he did not bother with it for now.
He kept pouring out his talent.
His battle suit is not fabric. It is a millennium of inheritance.
That line, incidentally, was there to justify the cheap disposable costume he might keep using later.
Zuzongren delivers food and washes dishes by day. By night, he trains to become a superhero. Once homeless, he used to sleep in his car, but the dream of heroism gave him hope.
Depression and cancer could not defeat Zuzongren. Superman denied him. Batman denied him. But none of that shattered his determination to protect the world.
As Ian wrote, even he started getting emotional.
Then he noticed that in the finished file, every mention of Batman had been mysteriously replaced with Green Arrow.
"??????"
Ian was stunned.
Corporate sabotage.
Bruce had dragged that right into the superhero lane.
How terrifying.
"His heart is filthy."
He found that he could not change the text back, no matter what he did. In the end, he gave up. It was enough for tonight.
His backup identities already had plenty of background.
"This is defense even sturdier than steel."
Feeling pleased, Ian checked the time, then got up and pulled the demon head out of his bag.
"Oh, great Ian Kent, I feel I'm close to evolving. I just need a few more demons…" the head babbled, offering lavish praise.
Ian remained unmoved.
Before it could finish, he stuffed one of Jordan's socks in its mouth.
Then he shoved the whole head into a new cabinet in his room.
It was an alloy locker with strange carvings Ian could not understand. But he had zero doubt in its reliability.
Because his father had brought it home that night from Bruce's house.
The bat symbol had not even been fully scraped off.
Ian pretended not to see it.
He knew Bruce's place had everything.
Like Doraemon Wayne.
Much more loyal than the so-called "I'm Definitely Not Batman" on the forum.
"That's the trace of magic and technology. A container built specifically for imprisoning beings like me. Great Ian truly can create anything."
Even sealed away, the demon head kept up the praise.
During the hours it had spent quietly thinking, it had finally understood something.
Serving Trigon certainly offered a bright future.
But changing leaders might offer an even broader one.
It wanted to be loyal.
But after tasting a demon prince, it knew there was no going back.
It could not apologize to Trigon personally, because the core nature of a demon was betrayal.
"Praise Ian God!"
Who said Hell could not have a new master?
The demon now felt it had to lick boots hard enough to redefine footwear.
Maybe then its entire bloodline could finally rise in Hell.
Even if Ian abused it, threatened it, and constantly tested it, the demon was now convinced Ian had the proper nature to become a true Lord of Hell.
"Shut up."
Ian slammed the locker shut and lay on the bed holding Ian's Magic Book.
The hour approached.
Since Death still had not come looking for him, Ian certainly was not going to wait forever. He did not have that luxury. The Marvel world's call would come every single night like clockwork.
"Tonight, I'm multiclassing into mage."
He wanted to understand the strange magic book in his hands.
Of course, for someone extraordinary, only extraordinary magic would do.
He wanted to figure out a way to become the source of magic himself.
And he knew that Tony, his divine machine teacher in the Marvel world, could definitely help with that.
"The only question is... what'll the price be?"
Full of anticipation, Ian sank into sleep the moment the clock chimed.
…
At the same time, the house was deep in the quiet of midnight.
In the room nearest his parents' bedroom, the young man on the bed had his brow drawn tight. Sweat covered his forehead in a fine sheen.
Jonathan Kent's fingers unconsciously clawed at the sheets, his knuckles pale.
He looked like he was having a nightmare.
"Power…"
And maybe it really was one.
In the dream, Jonathan stood in a void.
Broken galaxies stretched beneath his feet.
Above him hung a twisted black sun.
Whispers slithered along his spine like ice-cold snakes.
"We can give you power."
The voice came from everywhere at once.
Jonathan spun around in confusion, only to see countless versions of himself floating in the emptiness. Some wore Kryptonian armor. Some were drenched in blood. Some had eyes that were nothing but empty black holes.
"Don't you resent it?"
The voice sounded suddenly close.
"Damn it. Where is this?" Jonathan shouted, turning wildly, but could not find the speaker. Even covering his ears did nothing. The words wormed straight into his skull.
"Jordan and Ian... they have both become part of that supreme race."
"And you?"
"Will you live a dull life? Waste your whole future? Do you really think a single bad hit on the field won't leave you permanently crippled? Do you truly believe you can escape your tragic fate?"
The voice was seductive.
Tempting.
All around him appeared images of the family.
Clark and Jordan laughing in the clouds.
Ian making faces while hugging a talking car.
Lois under the spotlight with a Pulitzer in hand.
And Jonathan?
Jonathan stood at the very edge.
Like some random extra who had wandered into a superhero movie by mistake.
"No!"
He shook his head.
"You... or all of you... who the hell are you? What do you want?"
His resistance was firm, but no matter how he ran, he could not escape the dream.
"We were once failures too."
The voice spoke again.
"But if you help us... then together, we can rise to the new peak of this world."
The dark murmur burrowed deeper and deeper into Jonathan's mind.
"Get lost!"
Jonathan roared.
Lightning flashed.
And for an instant, it illuminated countless shadows.
Things that did not belong to this universe.
(End of Chapter)
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