The letter was very formal.
The content was also very polite and gentlemanly.
It was just the sender's signature at the end that was a little... stimulating. Of course, for Ian, gaining recognition from the prototype character was a testament to and validation of his amazing talent.
Other people had a landmine-type girlfriend.
He had a landmine-type fan.
Both were a beautiful source of joy. If Ian could really cash the check for ten million dollars tomorrow, he would force himself to believe he had only encountered a fan with the same name.
Everything was fine.
No need for Batman to intervene.
"I told you I'm not a tattletale." In light of the rare appreciation shown for his literary work, Ian decided to carefully keep this letter in his backpack.
When he had time to visit Gotham later, this would be his best passport there. Seeing Ian's cheerful expression, Jordan couldn't help but lean closer out of curiosity.
Ian shielded the letter.
He knew who the real tattletale in this house was. Wary of his second brother, Ian opened his backpack and tucked the generous fan donation along with the letter inside.
"I bet it's a letter from the girl you like!" Jordan strained his neck, trying to catch some detail, but his gaze was immediately drawn to the blood-stained bull head in Ian's backpack.
"Wow, that figure is so realistic. Is it moving? Is it motorized?" Jordan first offered praise, also assuming the demon head in Ian's bag was just a toy figure.
However.
Seeing Ian didn't respond, he suddenly asked, his face thoughtful and slightly amazed, "Ian, where did you buy that thing?"
Ian's only answer to Jordan was the sound of a zipper closing.
"Don't call me Ian, call me 'Rich Bastard Brother'! That's the American traditional virtue." Ian looked at his poor, uneducated brother.
He always maintained a firm grasp on immersion.
"What the heck?"
Jordan looked bewildered, completely unaware that a rich person had quietly infiltrated the family. Ian was already calculating how much tax he would have to pay on this windfall.
"I know you're richer than Jonathan and me, but... wait, why did you suddenly get so much taller?" Jordan only belatedly realized this because he had been curled up on the couch.
He stood up from the sofa in astonishment, finding that Ian was almost as tall as he was—this wasn't due to Ian's physical attribute boost.
"I knew I felt like I was forgetting something! That damned special drink!" Ian was also slightly stunned when he heard this, and then quickly took off the long boots he was wearing.
"!!!!" Under Jordan's shocked gaze, Ian then removed the towering red high heels he had been wearing inside the boots.
The reason Ian kept stumbling when climbing walls earlier wasn't because he had poor balance. No one would believe in a five-foot-seven Batman, but he couldn't exactly break his own legs to forcefully add a dozen centimeters to his height.
"My eyes!"
Jordan's expression was as if he had been struck by lightning. His mouth opened and closed, and finally, he only managed to squeeze out: "What are you doing!? My God, should I be glad you're at least not wearing stockings?"
As soon as he spoke.
He watched in a daze as Ian pulled three pairs of nylon stockings from his pocket and tossed them into the trash can.
"There's a reason for this, but I'm afraid to explain it to you right now."
Ian, now wearing slippers, instantly felt much more comfortable. He didn't mind Jordan's twisted expression. The world was always going to misunderstand a superhero who operated in his fashion.
Especially the lack of understanding from family members, which was an old tradition in American culture.
"If Mom and Dad come back, just tell them I died outside. Whatever it is, talk to me tomorrow." Ian had serious business to attend to back in his room upstairs.
Only Jordan was left standing in the living room, staring at the spot where Ian had vanished for a long time. Then he slowly pulled his gaze away and looked at the trash can holding the stockings and high heels.
"Jonathan is like that, and Ian is like this... Do... Do I still have a chance to be a normal person?" Jordan's expression was sorrowful, and his low murmur echoed in the living room.
Doubt about life.
Fear of the future.
The most common emotions of adolescence were fully displayed on Ian's second brother.
...
Back in his bedroom.
Ian closed the door.
After thinking for a moment, he moved the wardrobe in front of the door to block it—this wasn't gambling on whether his father had the power to break the door, but trusting in Clark's admirable virtue of thriftiness.
"I really am a clever ostrich."
After completing his safety measures, Ian went to his desk. He placed the thermos on the desk. Looking into the mouth of the flask, he could see Mr. White crouching inside, burying his head.
Special individuals should collect such special, genuine figures.
Mr. White was perhaps the true ostrich.
"Mr. White, don't worry. For the sake of my Compound No. 1, No. 2, No. 3, and No. 7, 8, 9, and 10, I certainly won't hand you over to the personifications of Death again."
Ian tried to comfort Mr. White.
However, Mr. White's soul body trembled even more violently. He must have been deeply touched. Surely no one in this world would genuinely believe that a fourteen-year-old child was more terrifying than Death and a preordained fate in hell.
"Let me check my trash can."
Ian once again took the bull-headed demon's skull out of his backpack. Although the Joker makeup hadn't been removed, the bull-headed demon seemed much calmer now.
"No screaming, or I'll pee in your mouth." Ian wasn't very good at threats; he was still learning. Surprisingly, after Ian removed the gag, the bull head didn't start cursing again.
"You are the son of Superman Clark?" The bull-headed demon spoke in a hoarse, low voice, apparently having noticed a few things while being hung on Ian's butt earlier.
In hell.
Superman's name was also very well-known.
"Clark is my father."
Ian chose a different way to answer.
The bull-headed demon was silent for a moment.
"You want to learn magic?"
It remembered the conversation Ian had with Raven Rachel.
"To be precise, I want to learn Demon God Summoning." Ian wanted to summon a Demon God and then sacrifice it. In this developing era, it was time for the mystical side to have an assembly line.
"I can teach you."
The bull-headed demon replied in a muffled tone, seemingly unsurprised.
"The demon's temptation? Is that all?"
Ian, however, suspected the other party was trying to trick him.
When it came to creatures from hell.
You couldn't trust a single punctuation mark they said.
"I really can teach you. Although I'm not powerful, I carry the bloodline of my ancestors and have extensive magical knowledge." The bull-headed demon's attitude seemed very sincere.
But Ian was unmoved.
The drastic change in this guy's attitude must signify something fishy. As for what exactly was fishy, Ian didn't want to think about it, mainly because he was afraid that failing to figure it out would be an insult to his intelligence.
***
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