What's wrong with Superman's son wanting to be Superman?

Page 455

Fortunately, it was ultimately set in white.

It's whiter than if someone ate ten pounds of bleach.

He had even begun to rapidly plan in his super brain how to trick his father, Clark, into moving his several homes to another parallel universe in his classic pose.

Or perhaps you could apply for refuge in Batman's mental hospital at Kepler 186F?

That's not safe enough.

“Ian? What’s wrong?” Madison asked, puzzled, looking at his suddenly changed expression. “Have you caught some strange illness? Your face looks as white as if you’ve taken melatonin.”

obviously.

This is the level of common sense that a typical American blonde girl possesses.

Melatonin helps you sleep, it doesn't bleach your skin—most people know that, but blonde bombshells don't, and Ian is too preoccupied to correct Madison's absurd understanding of drugs.

“Hey little punk, this isn’t just any ordinary old stonemason. He’s terrifying. Yes, don’t look at me like that. I’m much, much more innocent than him.”

"This is a true devil incarnate."

Ian sighed.

Madison frowned in dissatisfaction upon hearing this.

"A devil incarnate? Impossible! If he were a devil incarnate, why would he be banging on stones at home every night? Shouldn't a devil incarnate be causing destruction?"

Madison's understanding of these terms has a very stereotypical flavor.

“Maybe he wasn’t hammering rocks late at night, but tinkering with some technology that could turn us into putty,” Ian explained listlessly.

Before the troubles of God's family were over, another new American horror story appeared that made him feel uncomfortable. This really made Ian wonder if he should burn some incense for his future self.

"Although he does always wear that dirty white lab coat and looks like a failed mad scientist, but!" Madison remained convinced of his judgment.

"He genuinely accepted my order for the stone tablet! And he delivered it on time! Isn't that enough to prove that he's a very skilled old stonemason?"

"The logic is so sound."

Madison was very impressed with his own logic, which had such a perfect closed loop.

“Is it possible that he just finds it fun…” Ian looked at Madison’s confident “I have perfect logic” look, and then felt the ridiculously high-tech stone chair under his buttocks, which seemed to be the same as the one in heaven. He felt like he was sitting on pins and needles, as if he was sitting on a singularity bomb that could explode at any moment.

"Oh?"

Madison seemed to be deep in thought.

"If you put it that way, it's actually quite possible. You don't know, when I mentioned to him that I wanted to carve a stone tablet that read 'God is dead, Ian shall rise,' intending to use it to fool—no, to enlighten those angels—the old stonemason was overjoyed! He praised me for being clever and having ideas, saying I was an interesting soul!"

Like Ian, Madison had mastered the art of language that could even fool himself, though he wasn't very skilled at it, but fortunately he corrected himself in time.

She was radiant and spoke eloquently.

"He also said he'd disliked that old bastard God for a long time! The new God, he'll vote for you just like me. See how good the old stonemason is!"

As soon as these words came out.

Ian's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

"No, how did he know about me???" He felt like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, as if his soul was about to float out of his head.

Madison was completely oblivious to Ian's state of preparing for an astral projection and reincarnation. She grew increasingly excited as she spoke, as if she could already envision Ian's coronation as the new God.

“You taught me! You said, ‘The masses are the foundation, and we can’t lose the high ground of public opinion!’ That’s why I have such strong execution skills!” Madison lifted Ian’s hand and patted his shoulder hard.

She finally went mad and surpassed her teacher.

The young delinquent counted her "achievements" on her fingers: "Not only did I promote the project to the old stonemason, but I also printed tons and tons of flyers! They were so well-designed, with your handsome photo printed on them. I photoshopped it, added some special effects, and there was that catchy slogan—'God is dead, Ian shall rise!'"

"Oh, right, and my own idea: Believe in Ian, and you'll gain eternal life, and after death, you'll be directly registered as a VIP in Heaven. Hmm, I remember you said you had to pay to get SVIP."

Madison was truly a pragmatist.

Ian's eyelids twitched violently, and his blood pressure soared. Madison, meanwhile, continued to boast, "I figured the Metropolis was your base, so we had to start there! That's why I gave the first box of flyers to your... well, that effeminate guy who always looks gloomy but charges very reasonable prices, and told him to go and distribute them first!"

"My second brother?! Jordan?" Ian was stunned. He hadn't expected his family to be involved, and that he, as the person involved, had been kept in the dark the whole time.

What kind of part-time jobs has Jordan been taking on behind his back?

"..." Ian dared not imagine the tragic scene of the second-generation Superman being surrounded and chased by reporters and police on the streets of Metropolis, clutching a stack of shocking rebellious leaflets.

"Jordan? Maybe that's his name? Anyway, it doesn't matter." Madison waved her hand dismissively, her brain clearly filtering out all the details she deemed unimportant. "My brain isn't very good enough, so I basically don't remember unimportant names. Anyway, he took the money and promised to help post it!"

"Once we've expanded to Metropolis, we'll march on Gotham! Then the whole of America! The whole world! Let everyone know that a new era has arrived!" The young delinquent was already dreaming about the future.

Ian has become the "King of Confusion".

His brain couldn't process the massive amount of information about his suicidal tendencies. Looking at Madison's excited expression, as if he'd done His Majesty a great service, only one thought occupied his mind.

The Middle Ages are gone.

But this girl really looks like she wants to be burned at the stake!

No... Damn it, I should go to the stake with one too!

Religion is a dangerous thing; nobody in their right mind would get involved. When it gets going, it's incredibly disruptive. It's hard to imagine how God's followers would react to those leaflets.

As the one who was "become God," Ian would definitely have to join Madison and Jordan in making kebabs! Although it was heartwarming, Ian still remembered that he needed a simple life.

Just like the ordinary life that every superhero longs for.

of course.

Ian's main goal is to fulfill his self-imposed three-year deadline and the premise of the Dragon King's return. He can't go, and he can't follow; he's the most rational of this generation of superheroes.

"Da da da da~"

The sound of typing on the phone's keyboard filled the air. Ian frantically pulled out his phone, his fingers almost blurring out a blur, and frantically sent messages to his second brother, Jordan.

[Jordan! I don't care what Madison gave you! Immediately! Burn it! Burn it all! Not a single one is allowed! If anyone asks, say it was performance art! It was satire! It was fake! Okay, just say you were controlled by an alien's cerebellum! In short, absolutely, absolutely no more distribution!!!]

While texting Jordan, Ian also told Madison to stop doing that.

"You can't believe it, you dare? There really is a God in this world!" Ian grabbed Madison's head, who was still dreaming about his global publicity plan, and shook him vigorously a few times.

He longed to shake all the water out of it.

however.

It doesn't seem to be very effective.

Seeing his anxious expression, Madison gave him an "I understand" look and nodded vigorously: "I know there is a God in this world! But you are the one everyone hopes for, aren't you?"

"When all the angels believe this, won't you become the true God? Then the original one will be a false God, right? This is what we call... uh... a strategic raid!"

Madison spoke eloquently, displaying the air of a wise man strategizing for the world.

What a brilliant raid!

Stealing God's house!

As Ian's facial muscles gradually stiffened, to the point where he felt like he was about to develop lividity, he saw how "firm" and logically consistent Madison was, and he knew that reasoning with the delinquent girl was useless.

The most urgent thing is to change the subject; this is a family secret technique.

Ian forced a stiff smile, trying to steer the conversation back to the more dangerous source that might give her a sliver of doubt.

"Hey little punk, take this flyer for example. Any reasonably normal person who sees your flyer would immediately think you're crazy, or that it's some kind of prank, right?"

Ian tried to make his voice sound persuasive.

Madison thought for a moment, then nodded, seemingly agreeing.

Ian quickly pressed his advantage: "But! That old geezer... no, I mean Mr. Rick Sanchez, not only didn't think you were crazy, he actually supported you and even wanted to vote for you... don't you think that's... strange? Would a normal person do that?"

He tried to guide Madison to discover Rick's abnormality on his own.

Madison fell into deep thought again. Ian held his breath, hoping she would have an epiphany.

A few seconds later, Madison slammed his fist in his hand, his eyes lighting up as he drew a conclusion.

“I understand now. So the old stonemason was an Antichrist. That’s great. No wonder he was so excited when he heard you were going to carve a stone tablet and even gave you a massage chair.”

“I believe there are many people like the old stonemason in this world, certainly more than 51 percent.” Madison seemed to interpret this as some kind of public opinion.

Ian was completely helpless.

He and Madison are simply not on the same wavelength.

Explaining Rick Sanchez's danger to Madison is like talking to a brick wall; the brick wall might even think your music is disturbing its grazing.

no way.

Ian could only console himself.

At least... at least Madison saved Rick's wife? Does that mean Rick still has family, that there's still a tiny, possibly existing anchor of "humanity"? As long as he doesn't actively provoke that madman and stays far away from his house, maybe... perhaps... maybe... he can still barely get by?

Ian prepared himself mentally.

Just then, the school bell rang again.

This is a history class.

The history teacher was a middle-aged man named Mr. Wilson, who wore gold-rimmed glasses and had his hair neatly combed. He walked in carrying his lesson plan, his gaze habitually sweeping around the classroom. When he saw the stone chair under Ian's bottom and Madison, he paused noticeably, his lips twitching slightly, but he quickly regained his serious and stern expression.

"Students, open your textbooks."

He began to recite from the script, recounting carefully selected and embellished historical accounts—such as the friendly and equal trade between early immigrants and local indigenous peoples, which brought advanced agricultural techniques and civilization.

Upon hearing this, countless images of ceiling blankets, treacherous treaties, and bloody massacres flashed through Ian's super brain. He knew that such truths were little known in America.

"The War of Independence was a just and great struggle for democracy and freedom, and all participants were noble patriots. The westward expansion embodied the American nation's spirit of exploration and pioneering, and was an inevitable trend in national development." The history teacher's eloquent speech was essentially "correcting" history with the abilities of an ordinary person.

"Furthermore, everyone should remember that we played a crucial role as the 'arsenal of democracy' during World War II, making an indelible contribution to saving world peace."

Mr. Wilson spoke passionately, attempting to instill a singular, glorious national narrative into the students' minds. The students' reactions varied. Most were drowsy or secretly playing on their phones under their desks. A few "good students" diligently took notes, treating the teacher's words as gospel.

"What exactly are Ian and that bitch talking about?"

As Emily took notes, she stole mournful glances at Ian, as if she were recording a tragic story about her future husband being forced to live with a villain.

"I'm a ruthless test-taking machine; I just need to remember the answers." Ian listened to these highly embellished historical accounts, but remained unmoved by the reality of exam-oriented education.

While listening to the lecture, he pondered what level of Rick he was in and why he had merged into the DC universe.

History lessons proceeded slowly and methodically in this atmosphere of interwoven reality and absurdity, truth and lies, and a sense of unease about the universe.

……