The night was deep.
Ian's pen tip still danced wildly on the paper. He was working hard, drawing the comic about Sentry's origin. The awakened Author job class made the boy feel his drawing skills had become more refined.
"Worthy of me, and my system accessory." Ian was a master of the winning philosophy, knowing that all credit should go to himself. Because of the new job class awakening, he felt his thoughts were exceptionally clear.
The unexpected gift of the ordinary [Author] job class allowed Ian to recall the storyline more clearly, and when he picked up the pen, it felt as if countless inspirations welled up.
However, Ian dared not improvise too much with this comic. He had some trouble controlling himself while drawing The Boys, resulting in quite a few personal details that he believed far surpassed the original work.
"Sometimes, being too talented is also a troublesome thing. This drawing skill, this panel layout—Marvel would kneel and exclaim that all this grace was bestowed by me."
Ian licked the corner of his mouth, quickly wiping off a few spatters of ink and paint on his face.
The soiled paper was, of course, tossed into the trash can.
"I..."
The box was opened, then closed. Before the demon head could say a word, it felt the texture of inky paper—fortunately, it only contained the scent of paint, not anything else.
Ian's hand speed was comparable to a human printer.
Live-person printing.
Page after page of comics stacked up like magic.
Just when he felt he was hitting his stride.
*Ding ding ding*
The phone rang.
The gift from the Gotham weirdo.
"Good evening, Mr. Batman." Ian picked up the call seamlessly. There was no number displayed, so before the other party could speak, he politely greeted the Gotham weirdo.
"What are you doing right now?"
Batman's inquiry carried a degree of wariness, as if he were facing a formidable enemy.
"Broadly speaking, I am drawing a comic. And microscopically speaking, I am allegedly providing peeping material for a pedophile weirdo." Ian maintained good manners, his voice lighthearted.
His hand continued to draw. He finally couldn't resist adding two cowlicks sticking up on Sentry's head—that damn hand seemed to have a mind of its own! Ian frantically blamed himself internally. To be honest, not adding two massive chest weights to male Sentry was already a great sign of respect for Marvel.
If this got out.
He would probably be cyber-bullied to death by certain popular Western groups.
Batman started heavily panting on the other end of the phone again.
Ian guessed that the billionaire might have had too many medications when he was younger.
"May I be so bold as to ask, Mr. Batman, if you could share the Wi-Fi hotspot from your Bat-camera for me to use? As you know, my father is reluctant to subscribe to ultra-high-speed internet service."
"The internet speed at home is too slow. The hundreds of viruses living on my computer are almost dying from neglect." Ian's heartfelt request did not receive a generous response from Batman.
"You cannot install cameras in your house."
Batman merely replied through gritted teeth. He might not have been lying. At this moment, he wasn't just emotionally triggered by Ian, but by the thought of the windfall of selling used cameras that he had made Clark earn once.
Setting aside the fact that the mortgage papers for this house were currently held by the bank under his name, just the down payment for at least one room came from his contribution.
That damned Kansas boy had an excessive habit of frugality and resource recycling.
"No cameras, really? I don't believe it... You're definitely spying on me. My sixth sense is very strong." Ian looked around, searching for places where a camera might be hidden.
"Turn around! Outside the window!"
Batman's voice came through the phone receiver again.
He seemed to be in an exceptionally bad mood for the latter half of the night.
"Mama Mia!"
Ian turned his head.
He shivered all over.
He couldn't help it. Who could have expected to see a Bat-freak hanging upside down from the eaves, eyes shining brightly in the night? Who could have imagined that the ultra-high-tech billionaire would use the lowest-tech method of peeping!
"This is slightly beyond my wisdom's comprehension..." Ian hurriedly got up to draw the curtains, and thoughtfully wiped down the eyelids over the eyes of the Bat-freak who was staring at him.
"It's kind of creepy out there."
Ian maintained the call and walked back.
"?????????"
Batman outside the window was stunned. He had seen a lot of the world in his life, encountered all sorts of people and events, but this was definitely the first time he had seen this type of ostrich.
"Kid, are you off your meds?"
Having been in contact with Ian's psychiatrist, Batman had some understanding of Ian's condition. However, it was strange that he didn't seem to want to mention Hannibal.
"Crrack~"
Accompanied by the sound of the window being pried open, Batman's movement as he entered the room was very graceful.
which would have been a perfect ten if he hadn't stepped on his own cape when landing.
"I haven't stopped taking my meds, but I ran out. Since my anxiety disorder is gone, Dr. Hannibal probably won't prescribe me any more, so I'm hoping some kind soul will sponsor me two or three tons as a friendly favor." Ian hadn't experienced the marvel of his own body yet and truly longed to level up and learn how to fly.
At the same time.
He subtly mentioned Hannibal, but Batman seemed to have no reaction, nor did he offer to generously sponsor him a pharmaceutical factory.
The billionaire simply stared at Ian, seemingly deep in thought.
"Is there something you need from me?"
Since he clearly couldn't refuse Batman, Ian had no choice but to stop, turn around, and ask tentatively—he was afraid Batman had come to demand compensation for defamation.
Mister Wayne might not care about small change.
But the Batman he impersonated would certainly love to see him penniless.
"I'm not pursuing your previous actions, so stop poking and prodding me." Batman was a straightforward man. He removed his mask, Revealing himself as the billionaire Bruce Wayne.
Ian wasn't sure whether he should pretend to be surprised.
So.
His expression changed several times in one second, finally returning to normal with a look of slight shock, as a token of his attitude. This once again rendered the human-form Bruce speechless.
"..."
He sighed helplessly.
"I need your manuscript." Mister Wayne got straight to the point, stating the purpose of his night raid on a lonely boy's house. He certainly hadn't traveled all the way from Gotham just to get annoyed.
"Which one?"
Ian tilted his head. He wasn't being deliberately obtuse, he treated all his works with single-minded devotion, showing no favoritism, so he didn't know which magnum opus Batman was obsessed with.
"The most deranged one."
Bruce's voice sounded like he had swallowed broken glass.
It was hard to say.
"I only write serious literature. Behind seemingly absurd stories are truly astounding truths. For example..." Ian was ready to logically refute him.
However.
"Give me the manuscript!"
Bruce suddenly raised his voice, interrupting him. His mental state was somewhat shattered tonight, though not because of Ian, but because of what had happened in Gotham.
Paper raining down all over the streets.
Everyone in Gotham City had read the story that, according to his prediction, should have only circulated in the asylum—there really weren't many things in this universe that could make Mister Wayne lose his composure.
The combination of the Joker and Ian's so-called talent was truly the ultimate trump card.
***
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