On the moon.
Divine light shone brilliantly.
The sound of forging, inaudible to ordinary people, echoed throughout the cosmos.
"Clang—Clang—Clang!"
Beside the Divine Power Furnace.
Clark swung a piece of super-alloy, smashing it against another piece, sending sparks flying. Despite being in a vacuum, the vibration of that power seemed to pierce the universe itself.
Ian floated cross-legged in mid-air.
A surging divine power constantly boiled above his head.
His head glowed gold.
He resembled a true Celestial Bodhisattva.
"This thing is seriously difficult. I think there's no way it'll be finished in a single day," Clark said, very seriously using the Divine Power Burst from Ian to forge the armor.
However, the progress was not ideal.
"How long is this going to take?" Ian glanced at the wristwatch he'd drawn on his wrist with a pen, it calculated Earth's time precisely, like a flowing piece of art.
"Dad, I'm going to be late for school." If there was one thing in the world that rivaled paying taxes in Ian's mind, it was attending school. He generally wouldn't skip class unless it was a major event.
Although a terrifying incident had just occurred yesterday, the many schools in Metropolis had not been damaged. Perhaps this was related to the fundamental tone of DC, which rarely allows children to die.
In short.
The school was fine.
This meant that students whose families hadn't died or been displaced could still attend school on Tuesday morning. Of course, public schools didn't actually enforce mandatory attendance.
They simply held classes as usual.
Whether to come or not was entirely up to the students.
And Ian was highly self-motivated.
"At least let me hammer out the basic frame first, right?" Clark, like most men from families, valued capability more and wasn't too concerned about whether his child was late for school.
As a farm boy.
He was highly skilled at this kind of manual forging. Anyone who understands America knows that you have to be ten-talents-in-one, because hiring labor is incredibly expensive.
Being skilled in various handicrafts was born out of necessity.
"Student Rule Number One: You can leave early, but you are absolutely never late!" Ian began to stop his Divine Power Burst, and his entire being reverted from a glass-like shell state back into a handsome boy.
"Fine then."
Clark was just a blacksmith, of course, he couldn't argue with the true core of the team, the Furnace Kid. Ian's insistence on going to school actually made him feel quite relieved.
At least he wasn't inflated like so many others who become blinded by power.
"Come back tonight."
Ian tidied up, dug out some moon dust from the ground, planning to use it for growing vegetables. Seeing that Clark had already cooled the forged embryo, the father and son immediately flew towards Earth.
His old man's flying speed far exceeded Ian's, but he slowed down to wait for his son.
"Tomorrow's fine too."
Of course, Clark wasn't in a hurry, he didn't need this suit of armor for himself.
Besides, he knew.
This was a protracted forging process.
It would take at least a few weeks.
It wasn't something that could be completed overnight. While returning,
"I always feel like you're secretly up to something," Clark said, flying while carefully examining the armor embryo in his hand. Its surface was covered with complex patterns, resembling ancient runes or naturally formed cracks, but the arrangement was strangely neat, even somewhat bizarre.
His Super Vision allowed him to clearly see that on a microscopic level, hidden within the patterns on the armor's surface were various pictures of Ian's facial expressions. He had no idea what purpose or meaning they held.
"Just like Damascus steel has Damascus patterns, metal forged with Ian's divine power naturally has Ian patterns. It's very scientific, very natural, and very, very reasonable."
Ian gave a righteous reply, not even blinking once.
"Hmm?"
Clark eyed his younger son flying beside him with suspicion.
"Did you tamper with Bruce's armor?" This wasn't really a question. Clark didn't believe Ian for a second, those patterns were too strange, and they surely contained a lot of private insertions.
He knew this deeply.
Yet, despite his recent frantic efforts to study the occult, he hadn't been able to decipher any clues.
"Dad, you've got paranoia. You should go see Doctor Lecter." Ian immediately raised his hand and swore, "My skull was open just now, so I couldn't be cooking up any schemes."
"I simply enchanted the armor—it's to repay Master Wayne's generosity. It's an ultimate enchantment, powerful enough to make Master Wayne cry with satisfaction and kneel down to call me Master Ian!"
"If Aunt Diana heard about it, she'd definitely come knocking on my window every night, begging me to enchant her gear," Ian's voice was full of immense confidence.
He was truly strengthening the Hell-Armor, just as he had indeed strengthened the Lasso of Truth, only Wonder Woman had clearly not yet realized the grace he'd bestowed.
That was normal.
If a person is a small step ahead of their time, they are considered a genius, but if they are many, many steps ahead, most people will struggle to recognize that they are the very embodiment of wisdom.
Of course.
Ian firmly believed that the Justice League was full of experts.
As soon as they used his gear against an evenly matched enemy, they would realize his greatness.
The boy grew more excited the more he thought about it.
Clark's Super-Hearing clearly picked up his son's heart rate accelerating by 0.3 seconds.
Seeing this, he didn't dare ask for more details about the enchantment. After all, if Ian had truly done something terrible, it would be better for him to face Bruce knowing nothing.
Having decided this in his heart.
Clark immediately asked a question in a different way.
"You didn't leave a backdoor on the armor, either?"
He spoke tentatively.
"I am always fair and honest!"
Ian bristled.
Hearing this, Clark frowned.
"Really none?"
He turned his head, his eyes deep and profound.
"Really none," Ian affirmed again with a determined attitude.
"..."
Clark was silent for a moment.
As they flew into the Earth's atmosphere.
He suddenly blurted out a sentence that bewildered Ian.
"You really should have."
It was hard to imagine such a cunning remark coming from Superman.
"Huh?"
Ian's flight path was slightly stalled. He turned his head incredulously to look at his old man. The young boy had thought that hiding his private money was the absolute worst thing Superman had ever done.
He hadn't expected Superman to have such crooked ideas.
"I'm serious," Clark said with a serious expression, wiggling his ear to check for listening devices. "Do you know who Bruce intends to use this suit of armor against?"
"Aliens?"
Ian ventured a guess.
"Exactly," Clark nodded. "And who is the alien he's fought the most?"
His old man was leading him on.
Ian wasn't stupid, and he immediately caught on.
"It's you, Dad!"
A 'ding' sound went off in Ian's head.
This was a new ability he'd unlocked after his divine power became sufficient.
It was to signify that he'd had a sudden flash of inspiration.
It was extremely vivid.
"It's us. We, as a family, are all aliens in Bruce's eyes. Even your mother, who married me, is a Kryptonian son-in-law's wife. That's a lot closer to him than Darkseid is."
"A backdoor is something you don't necessarily have to use, but you absolutely can't be without. And you need to create at least thirty—no, three hundred of them, and strategically let Bruce discover about two hundred and fifty."
"The remaining fifty are for buffer space. He'll eventually discover all the backdoors, so after the armor is forged, you'll need to perform regular maintenance for him."
Over the past forty-plus years, Clark had clearly been subjected to Batman's schemes. He seemed to be a mature Superman now—great and righteous on the outside, but also defensively minded on the inside.
Although this kind of precaution was often useless, it didn't mean he wouldn't take it, after all, people always need to grow. (In fact, his reasoning to Ian was only superficial.)
The deeper reason was that Clark had another concern: the King of Gotham had formulated many plans targeting other heroes, always worried about someone losing control.
However.
This also meant that if Batman lost control, he would become a disaster even more terrifying than Superman. Superman had taken to heart Batman's warning to keep an eye on him during the post-disaster reconstruction.
"You're right, Dad. I really am too young." Ian actually enjoyed getting hit by attacks that could deal damage, but he knew this wasn't the time to say such things.
The nine backdoors he'd left were clearly not enough.
Ginger is spicier when it's older.
His old man's plan for three hundred-plus backdoors sounded very secure. Adding another zero would probably make it even more secure. Just as Ian thought he must have surpassed his master now.
"Ding-a-ling!"
Clark's phone rang.
"Clark! How long does it take you to go to the bathroom?! Do you know there's a huge lightbulb in the sky! This is big news!" An angry voice roared from the other end.
It was Clark's newspaper boss shouting.
Superman instantly switched to the flustered tone of Clark Kent. "I was indeed in the bathroom, yes, with very serious constipation... Oh, of course, I know about it."
"And I even got a close-up picture of the lightbulb from an informant." As Clark spoke, he looked at Ian. Ian could only silently make his head light up a little again.
Not too bright, just right for a photo op.
"You have an exclusive photo? Hahaha, then you carry on, you carry on. Oh, I wasn't supervising your work; it's just that sometimes, being the boss is really tough."
The newspaper boss instantly changed his attitude.
Clark quickly exchanged a few more perfunctory words and hung up the phone.
"Click~"
He pulled out a camera from who knows where. Professional journalists are just different. After taking a few photos of Ian's glowing head from four directions, he instantly dove down through the clouds.
"Don't go causing any trouble outside today. Your mother and I want a good night's rest." He sped up and vanished into the sky, leaving Ian to quietly extinguish the light on his head.
"Ding dong~"
Because he was back on Earth.
Ian's half-a-phone received a delayed text message.
A bank notification popped up.
[Transfer from Adam Keaton has arrived: $1,000,000,000] This was clearly one of Batman's aliases. Heaven knows how many identity accounts he had opened on Earth.
It had to be said, the King of Gotham was very quick with payments. The money was transferred instantly, even before the product was manufactured. He was far more efficient than many bosses who take months to pay.
Ian figured Master Wayne was probably afraid he'd forget about such a small matter himself.
"Mom probably still doesn't know the house is gone. I need to hurry up and buy a mansion, or Mom is definitely going to kill me." Ian's gaze turned towards the direction of home.
The new wreckage site was completely charred.
The fire had long been extinguished.
A faint burnt scent still lingered in the air.
All that was left of the original house was a pile of broken walls and ruins.
But in the center of the ruins, his two older brothers were busy setting up a barbecue grill, skillfully flipping meat skewers, as if this wasn't their bombed-out home, but a newly established commercial area.
"???????????"
Ian rubbed his eyes.
He hadn't been mistaken.
His two older brothers hadn't slept inside the Hellcat. Instead, they were eating barbecue and dividing up the spoils—yes, Ian could clearly see Jordan holding a stack of cash.
"I'm the one who paid for Jordan's hospital visits! How does this guy have so much money!"
Ian was indignant.
He didn't understand why he wasn't included in the division of the family assets.
He quickly pricked up his ears to listen.
He was ready to see what kind of "Contention for the Heir Apparent" Jordan was engaged in. He saw Jordan counting the money and handing it to Jonathan, while also attempting to brainwash him.
"We're mitigating our losses! Yes, Ian blew up the house. We're just making reasonable use of the accident scene. He's the one who has to explain to Mom and Dad, not us."
"Heaven knows how desperate we both felt, watching our home burn after he rescued you and ran off," Jordan said dramatically, his face still streaked with black soot "makeup."
Jonathan didn't respond to this. He was simply hugging his large box, still shaken. "Fortunately, the idol is fine... This must be divine protection!"
Big Brother still cared that much about his idol.
"Stop being superstitious," Jordan shook his head. "Like Ian says, there's only one God in Metropolis, and that's the Father God. He's just too smart, that's why he blew up our house."
"I bet he was probably in his room researching some kind of fission-then-fusion nuclear bomb." Jordan's physics didn't seem great. It was a good thing he had now been transferred to the role of Kryptonian War God.
Otherwise, his knowledge level would certainly make going to university difficult.
"Oh? Superstitious?"
Jonathan didn't correct Jordan on the difference between nuclear fusion and fission. He was a football player, and now he was starting to make a strong claim along the path of a faith healer.
"Then how do you explain that our barbecue has never been burnt since we put up the Hestia idol?" Big Brother held his collection box of idols and counter-challenged Jordan.
"That's because my cooking skills are good. Ian said I have a super-brain, and a super-brain learns everything fast. I was just messing with you!" Jordan spoke with great confidence.
"That's the Gods' protection!"
Jonathan, however, continued to insist.
The two argued heatedly.
No one noticed their little brother in the sky quietly observing the whole scene.
"Alas, a troublesome time indeed."
Ian knew he wasn't entirely to blame.
He really had blown up the house.
He couldn't say much about it.
All he could do now was try to mitigate the loss with his Super-Cash ability.
"Time to find a new house."
Seeing that he still had half an hour before school, Ian scanned the city, and soon spotted a real estate agent who was working diligently, handing out flyers on the street early in the morning.
He was a middle-aged man in a plaid shirt with an overly enthusiastic smile.
Anyone willing to work at this hour was clearly very industrious.
And this person was clever, trying to capitalize on the opportunity that many people had lost their homes last night to push property sales. Ian loved dealing with people who were both clever and industrious.
"He's the one!"
Ian swooped down to the ground.
"Armor Warrior! Transform!" The Mimetic Armor quickly morphed around him into a normal student uniform. When he stepped out of the alley, he was a harmless-looking boy with a backpack.
At this moment.
The real estate agent was still pitching to morning commuters. On the streets of Metropolis in the early morning, sunlight had just spilled onto the sidewalk, and the air still carried a trace of last night's residual smoke.
"I'm Phil Dunphy! Professional real estate agent, your best choice!"
"Buying a house? What you need isn't location, isn't a school district, it's me! Because—I can change your life." The real estate agent, Phil, was a kind-faced man.
His beaming appearance suggested he was henpecked.
He held a thick stack of self-printed flyers.
Seeing Ian approach.
He enthusiastically wished Ian a good time at school.
A normal person wouldn't pitch property to a child, but that didn't stop the child from approaching on his own.
"I want to buy a mansion. It needs a big garden, several garages, several studies, and it should be possible to keep some cats and dogs. My pet isn't a dog, but my mom's pet is a cat."
Ian got straight to the point.
He didn't bother looking at the flyer in the man's hand.
Property information prepared for working-class people was not suitable for Master Ian, who was rich.
A billionaire.
Should live in a mansion.
"Huh? You want to buy a house?" Phil was stunned for a moment. He looked at the boy in front of him, who looked under fifteen, and his highly professional smile faltered slightly.
"Buying a house is something adults decide, isn't it?" Phil had no intention of driving Ian away. He figured Ian might be the child of a family preparing to move.
Of course.
It was also possible that he was simply dissatisfied with his current living situation. Vain young people were not uncommon in this era, but Phil had no intention of mocking or scolding him. He liked interacting with kids, so he had already prepared a speech to persuade Ian that he needed to study hard if he wanted to live in a nice house.
However.
To this.
Ian attempted a smug, 'Dragon King' smile, but the mouth twist was a bit awkward.
"I'm buying the house as a gift for my mom. That's just how we rich people are." He knew he was nouveau riche, so he had no qualms about immediately showing off his bank transfer information.
And his bank app background.
It must be said.
Ian perfectly interpreted the facade of a newly rich person.
Pure talent.
No acting required.
"!!!!!"
Phil the real estate agent's eyes nearly popped out of his head.
His mouth was agape, wide enough to fit a baseball.
He blinked, then blinked again, even using his hand to scroll through the app on Ian's half-a-phone, trying to confirm this wasn't a prank using some fake app.
But everything was real.
"One, ten... hundred..."
His voice grew softer and softer, turning into a whisper by the time he got to "billion." He looked like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.
It was understandable. After all, a middle-class person like Phil would really find it hard to imagine what kind of family would give a child billion US dollars to spend?
Compared to this, his own wealthy father-in-law seemed like a person from the slums!
Suddenly, he snapped to attention, standing perfectly straight as if possessed by a West Point instructor. His voice was extremely serious. "Mission accomplished, sir! Guaranteed!"
Phil absolutely did not want to miss out on such a huge deal.
Even if he didn't have the listing.
With enough persuasion, he could get a similar listing from someone else.
Ian blinked. "It's best if you can find it today. You know, we rich people's time is very precious—yes, that's a line I saw on TV."
Phil had mercilessly exposed him.
But he truly was in a hurry.
Ian could wait.
But his mother and family could not.
Unless he had his old man build a new wooden cabin, but Ian didn't like the feeling of living in a cabin. He'd been a wild man Paladin outside and didn't want to go home and experience the ordinary life of a savage.
"No problem!" Phil's response speed was like a reflex, though his brain was still processing the visual shock he'd just received—that string of numbers was long enough to make his own mortgage look like a convenience store receipt.
"Alright, alright, my number has been sent to your phone." Ian finished speaking, turned, and walked away. His school jacket billowed in the morning breeze in a dashing arc.
"But you haven't looked at my flyers yet."
Phil couldn't stop Ian from going to school.
He fumbled for his phone.
A new notification indeed popped up on the lock screen.
[New Contact: Mysterious Tycoon]
No number, no email.
Just this one callable contact information.
"Oh, I knew Men in Black technology was real!" Phil the real estate agent was stunned. It took him a long time to recover, and a flurry of eccentric thoughts arose in his mind.
A mysterious kid with mysterious technology was buying a mansion!
This was a story he could tell his own children for the rest of his life!
"I have to get to work. Hehe, if this deal goes through, Claire will definitely reward me handsomely tonight!" Phil picked up his phone and called a few colleagues.
"Hey, buddy, I'm looking for a listing. It needs a big garden, several garages, several studies, and it should be possible to keep some cats and dogs."
He repeated Ian's requirements.
"A big house that only rich people would consider?" The other end of the line was silent for a few seconds, followed by a low chuckle. "You're not looking for the Wayne family's mansion, are you?"
"Which mansion?" Phil asked subconsciously.
"The one Bruce Wayne just listed. It's on the East Side lakefront, three stories with a private garden and underground parking. I hear it even has a hidden wine cellar."
The voice on the other end was full of envy.
Phil was slightly taken aback.
"Bruce Wayne? The invisible billionaire who lives in Gotham? Didn't he just announce that he's taking on the Metropolis disaster reconstruction? He must be facing significant financial pressure, right? Is this to raise money?"
His confusion made his friend chuckle lightly.
"You underestimate that man."
"He's just selling the old to buy the new. You think he's short on cash? He probably just wants to replace a pied-à-terre that he barely uses. Maybe the new mansion is already on the blueprint for the disaster reconstruction zone."
His colleague's tone was full of emotion.
The things countless people desperately sought were perhaps just temporary conveniences for the rich, prepared on a whim. This was the difference between people in the world of capital.
Phil was also dumbfounded.
He marveled in his heart.
He felt the world of the rich was increasingly incomprehensible.
"Alright, I'll take my client to see it later," Phil first thanked his friend, then received the information the friend sent him. He checked it while speaking softly.
Hearing this.
The other party immediately offered a reminder.
"Okay, but you need to be quick. Three groups have already scheduled appointments. You know, many wealthy people want a chance to rub shoulders with Bruce Wayne."
This was a common maneuver in high society that many people understood.
Phil understood too.
But he could only sigh helplessly.
"What's wrong? Is your client usually very busy?"
His friend on the phone sensed Phil's difficulty.
Phil scratched his head.
"I think he might be a little busy? My client rushed off to school. By the way, what time does a private middle school usually let out?" Phil had clearly misunderstood the school Ian attended.
His words contained a lot of information.
And they instantly silenced his friend.
"Ridiculous rich people."
The voice on the other end was full of emotion.
"Who's disagreeing?" Phil shrugged. The two real estate agents sighed at the same time and began to tacitly discuss the question of what rich people were thinking. They eventually came to the same conclusion: the world of the rich was like quantum physics—you think you understand it, but you haven't even touched the door.
This was true enlightenment.
Meanwhile.
Ian also arrived at his school just in time.
He had always known that a superhero could lack great powers, but they absolutely must have an excellent education. Most highly popular superheroes were highly educated individuals.
"I wonder if that agent is reliable." Ian was still thinking about the mansion he planned to use to appease his mother. He didn't know that Phil had already found a very suitable listing.
He didn't possess true omniscience.
The fundamentally pure boy also couldn't have realized that even though he was in Metropolis, the money he earned from Master Wayne would eventually flow right back into Master Wayne's hands.
Of course.
That wasn't Ian's problem right now. He had returned to his student life. Even after becoming a billionaire, he didn't buy a plane to land in the school parking lot.
"I'm not a flashy person. At most, I'll only buy the opportunity to create the exam papers, so everyone can take a truly valuable, high-quality test."
Not only was he not flashy.
Ian also had the consideration to think of his classmates.
Entering the campus.
Most students had yet to arrive.
The morning sun slanted through the glass window onto the desk, reflecting a dazzling arc of golden light onto the classroom ceiling. Ian sat in the classroom, idly spinning the fountain pen in his hand.
He hadn't managed to wait for Madison, the little delinquent, to show up at school. Naturally, he couldn't personally use his billionaire status to condescend to trick the little delinquent into signing the New Justice League employment contract.
"Why hasn't the little delinquent shown up yet?" Ian was merely puzzled, not worried about his assets. He didn't think the little delinquent would be smart enough to run away to another city with his money.
Eager to show off to his good friend, Ian looked at the back door of the classroom for the 108th time, still not seeing that familiar figure who always chewed bubblegum.
By all accounts, Madison should have been here already, showing off some designer bag or shoes, and then being slapped down by Master Ian's bank balance. Ian was very frustrated that he couldn't successfully show off.
It was at this moment.
"Attention, students."
Miss Misha, the student counselor, tapped on the podium. She was wearing a T-shirt that read "LOVE & PEACE" today, looking even more like a student who hadn't graduated than usual.
Miss Misha commanded a good level of authority.
The entire classroom fell silent as soon as she walked in.
"First, we must mourn Mr. White..." Miss Misha's voice lowered. "The police have confirmed that the previous lab explosion was a suicide accident caused by Mr. White's experimental error."
The classroom observed a moment of silence.
Ian's thermos cup suddenly vibrated slightly.
"Therefore." Miss Misha suddenly glared at Ian. "Certain classmates who are good at fabricating rumors, please do not spread rumors such as Mr. White ascending to the planet Inner Steroid."
Her voice clearly carried a targeted meaning.
Ian knew why Miss Misha was targeting him.
"It was Madison who said you would start teaching me a lot of gender knowledge after class!" He remembered that Miss Misha had been investigated for this two years ago.
Hearing this.
Miss Misha's mouth twitched involuntarily.
"In fact, it was you who taught me, and I benefited greatly," Miss Misha covered her forehead helplessly. "Besides, the Child Protection Services people said the person who filed the complaint was a little boy."
"He complains about me every day... Oh my God, only God knows that I would chat with you simply because I was worried about you, constantly monitoring your mental health."
Perhaps Miss Misha was truly aggrieved, as she actually started arguing with Ian in front of the other students. In reality, this incident was not a secret to the students.
It was just another great achievement that made the school bullies fear Ian.
Of course.
Ian wasn't lying.
This achievement wasn't something he had cooked up himself. He genuinely enjoyed discussing psychological and physiological knowledge with Miss Misha.
"Madison is an actress! Who can forget that she can even play the ghost in Hamlet? A genius actress like that can certainly disguise herself as a little boy!"
Ian was truly wronged.
But the little delinquent hadn't come to class today.
He couldn't force the little delinquent to admit the truth to Miss Misha in person.
It was indeed the truth.
"Was it really Miss Montgomery? Didn't we all know why the school has changed principals three times?" Miss Misha clearly still didn't believe Ian.
The boy who cried wolf story's credibility was still rising.
Leaving Ian unable to defend himself.
Similar behavior truly fit the stereotype everyone had of him.
Just as Ian was about to say that he was different now and only advocated for positive energy, a cough suddenly came from outside the classroom door. Clearly, someone had been waiting outside for too long.
Reminded by the sound, Miss Misha finally remembered why she had come to the classroom.
"Alright, back to business. Although Mr. White has left us, everyone is very sad about it, but life must go on. He also has a successor who will continue his will and instruct you."
"Let's welcome the new chemistry teacher—Mr. White's former student, Mr. Jesse Pinkman." Miss Misha raised her hand to draw the students' attention towards the door.
Hearing the name, Ian's body trembled slightly.
Jesse Pinkman?
The star disciple of Breaking Bad was here too?
Ian looked down at the thermos cup he carried with him.
This cup was not an ordinary water bottle. It was a magical container he had earned from outside, containing Mr. White's soul, while the Kryptonian ancient god was kept in another thermos cup.
Just as Ian was lamenting in his heart that his classmates now had a clear career path.
"Click~"
The classroom door was pushed open, and a young man wearing frameless glasses and a plaid shirt walked in. He seemed a little nervous, his fingers constantly tapping on his lesson plan.
"Hello, everyone."
The young man greeted the students.
Miss Misha simply introduced them to each other and then left the classroom. She was a counselor and a psychological consultant and had many other things to do.
In the classroom.
The new teacher and the students stared at each other.
The atmosphere was slightly awkward.
"Ahem."
Mr. Pinkman seemed to cough a lot. He walked up to the podium and started handing out single-page test sheets. "We'll do a small test to understand everyone's chemistry level."
This was a common procedure for many new teachers taking over from others.
The questions were not difficult.
The main purpose was to allow the new teacher to quickly grasp the basic knowledge reserves of each student.
"Basic, way too basic." After the test paper was handed out, Ian lost interest with just a glance—these questions were as simple as asking "Can you drink water?"
They weren't even helpful for gaining experience in his [Student] profession.
He might as well read something else during the test.
"Good thing I always carry my former chemistry teacher with me." Ian poured out Mr. White from his thermos cup. He looked like a Lego figure and had been in a state of continuous panic for the past few days.
The little delinquent witch wasn't here either.
So, besides Ian, no one could see the soul.
"You don't need my help to cheat, do you?" Mr. White was well aware of Ian's level of knowledge, so he leaned on the desk and looked up at his Evil God student, confused. (In fact, among the many beings Ian knew, only Mr. White truly believed Ian was an Evil God.)
"What's this about cheating? I'm answering the questions based on my own Soul Summoning and Command ability. No one can fault me," Ian grabbed the little man and shoved him into his fountain pen.
"I'm just a common soul!"
Mr. White let out a scream, but no one could hear it.
"No. Starting today, you have a side job as a Planchette."
Ian succeeded. He truly stuffed Mr. White into the fountain pen. Knowing that if he didn't satisfy the Evil God, he would definitely suffer, Mr. White started moving on his own.
He was already regretting why he had ever sold and manufactured those addictive forbidden goods.
If not for that.
God certainly wouldn't have given him this punishment.
"Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh~ Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh~" Ian let go, and the pen immediately stood up by itself, furiously writing on the test paper. In less than three minutes, the entire test sheet was filled with answers.
The entire test was quickly filled out, the answers precise and accurate, even more detailed than the standard answer key. Ian nodded in satisfaction, looking around, and noticed that no one had paid attention.
This was mainly because Ian had set up plastic dividers around his test paper—if anyone else did this, people would find it strange, but his classmates were used to it with Ian.
As for the new chemistry teacher.
He was busy playing with his phone at the podium.
Judging by the sound of the keys tapping.
It seemed like he was online dating.
"Teacher, I'm finished. I'd like to use the restroom." Ian pulled Mr. White out of the fountain pen, tossed him back into the thermos cup, stood up, and walked straight to the podium with his test paper.
"That fast?"
Mr. Pinkman was a bit surprised. He had thought he'd encountered a poor student, but then he saw the test paper was completely full of answers. He instantly realized that the boy in front of him must be the top student in the class.
The new teacher quickly read and approved the paper carefully.
His expression gradually became a little trance-like.
"Kent, your answer style..."
He stared at the test paper.
"These phrases... these problem-solving approaches..."
His tone was hesitant.
"Is there a problem?"
Ian blinked his innocent, big eyes.
Mr. Pinkman looked up, a smile appearing on his face. "No, no problem. It's just seeing this written language reminds me of my late teacher."
"I imagine you must have been Mr. White's favorite student at the school, right?" Mr. Pinkman said with emotion, making a reasonable deduction for this strange situation.
Ian immediately puffed out his chest.
"Yes, yes, Mr. White loved me dearly." He said this without blushing or his heart skipping a beat, holding the thermos cup to his chest. Inside, Mr. White was lying in the cup, sighing constantly.
However.
Only Ian could hear it. He gave the thermos cup a good shake.
Instantly.
The thermos cup fell quiet again.
"Very good. I can tell you've inherited your teacher's true mantle." Mr. Pinkman wasn't sure if he was testing Ian, but he put down the test paper and agreed to Ian's request to go to the restroom.
Well.
Ian, of course, didn't need to use the restroom.
He was just bored in the classroom and headed straight for the school library, which few people frequented.
[Student Profession Experience +1]
[Student Profession Experience +1]
[Student Profession Experience +1]
...
He still had to study diligently at school.
Ian flipped through books that even the teachers probably wouldn't touch.
The experience value for his [Student] profession slowly rose.
Figuring out the lunch time, Ian stopped studying. He slowly walked out of the library, tidying his school uniform collar while contemplating which food stall to eat at for lunch.
A newly-minted billionaire should be particular about his diet.
A good idea.
And he was indeed "trying" to improve his quality of life.
However.
As Ian reached the hallway, he found the classroom empty, even the teacher was gone. He frowned and looked at his watch—11:47 a.m., it wasn't dismissal time yet!
"?????"
Ian grabbed a girl who was running past in a hurry.
"Where are they? Where are my classmates and teachers?"
He was already wondering if a new conspiracy, a major incident, was looming over his life, causing everyone in the school to be kidnapped, and some smart-aleck was going to threaten him with his classmates.
However.
"They went home,"
The girl from the next class gave a rather unremarkable reply. She looked at Ian with a bit of a lovesick expression, raising her hand to try and pinch Ian's cheek, but Ian dodged her.
Even so.
The slightly disappointed girl still explained the situation to Ian. "The school gave a temporary notice that there would be no classes this afternoon. Because the disaster yesterday was too upsetting, a group of so-called 'mental health advocates for students' were very unhappy that classes were still being held today, saying students shouldn't be forced to study with psychological trauma."
"The streets are full of protests and demonstrations. People are holding signs yelling 'No to Student Slavery,' 'Give the Children Back a Happy Childhood,' and so on. Our principal was afraid of the situation escalating."
The girl explained very patiently while simultaneously batting her eyelashes at Ian.
Ian pretended not to see it.
"So, we don't get lunch?" Ian was looking forward to lunchtime. He hadn't expected such an accident.
"There's still food, there's still food. The principal is a coward, he wouldn't dare withhold your meal," the girl said with a barely contained chuckle, describing the complex school situation that would likely be unheard of in other schools.
To this.
Ian was extremely satisfied.
It looked like his years of rectifying the inherent flaws of capitalism had been very effective.
"I'm going to eat now, bye." Ian thanked the girl, turned, and ran towards the cafeteria. His school jacket billowed behind him in a happy arc.
"Wait!"
The girl suddenly tried to stop him.
"Can I have your contact info?"
She clearly wanted to start a story with Ian.
She was very hopeful.
But Ian, with his Super-Hearing, didn't look back.
Seeing Ian disappear without a trace, the girl, who didn't even deserve a name, could only sigh, turn around, and vanish from the spotlight. This disappearance could last for a lifetime.
Ian was unaware of this.
He sprinted into the cafeteria, which was indeed quite full, even livelier than usual.
"Hmm, Merit +1. That one is also my Merit +1. This one too." Ian knew it was because of him that everyone was able to eat a pre-paid lunch.
And not have the money embezzled by the American school system.
He counted the students passing by in his mind while waiting in the food line.
"Merit +1."
"Another person I don't know, +1."
"This one was cursing the school yesterday. Today, they're eating heartily. Another +1."
After eating his fill.
Ian contentedly carried his thermos cup and followed the crowd out of the school.
The sun shone on his face.
He couldn't help but hum a song.
"Today is another day full of merit." This is what doing good deeds was like. Even good deeds done in the past would continue to bear fruit ceaselessly.
Merit generates merit.
Merit is infinite.
"The real merit is yet to come."
Because school had ended so early.
Ian hadn't received a call from Phil the real estate agent yet.
So, he decided to go and do something big.
Of course.
Ian was mindful of Clark's warning not to "go out and punish evil and promote good today." So the big thing wouldn't cause trouble. He would definitely maintain the form of a good child for the entire day.
"Master Ian is going to spread grace to the whole world."
After checking the bank balance on his phone again, Ian already had a plan for how to spend the money. He blew a whistle, and the Hellcat Sports Car executed a beautiful drift stop right in front of him.
The car door opened automatically.
The cola in the cup holder was still cold.
Clearly.
The Hellcat also knew its owner had become a billionaire.
It was adapting.
"Well done." Ian patted the dashboard, sat in his exclusive Ian seat, took a big gulp of the frozen cola, and shook the can.
"Once I find a way to link to Hell and create my own summoning technique for demons, you'll have good fuel every day," Ian started giving the Hellcat empty promises.
His ride was actually susceptible to this kind of flattery. The Hellcat's engine purred with delight, carrying the Capital Evil God through the streets of Metropolis, finally stopping in front of an old apartment building.
Getting out of the car.
Going upstairs.
Knocking on the door.
Ian didn't try the broken elevator. He took the stairs to a front door. A rustling sound came from inside the room, followed by the sound of slippers dragging on the floor.
"Who is it—this late in the afternoon?"
Leonard rubbed his eyes, looking tiredly at the boy standing outside the door. "Oh, it's you, the little rich boy who said he was going to hire us and had ten million in pocket money!"
He was a little surprised.
But more so, he was astonished.
"Who is it?"
Sheldon's voice came from inside the apartment.
No one replied.
Leonard and Sheldon were not ordinary NPCs.
They hadn't been sacrificed yesterday.
However, both were sleeping in the living room, seemingly catching up on sleep. Perhaps college students were not protected by the DC Minor Protection Act—their university was bombed yesterday.
They had no place to go to work.
"I'm a billionaire club member now, not a ten-million club member. Master Wayne gave me more money than his closest people. He must be very optimistic about my startup project."
Ian didn't forget to show off his bank balance.
He knew he still had to use Uncle Bruce's name.
Only then could he successfully hire useful scientists.
"!!!!!"
Another person whose eyes nearly popped out appeared.
Leonard was dumbfounded.
To those top-tier tycoons, was US currency truly just a number?
Such an exaggerated amount of "pocket money" made him begin to suspect that Ian's old man hadn't saved the King of Gotham's life, but rather that the King of Gotham would die for some reason if he lost Ian.
If not.
It simply made no sense!
"Uh..."
Leonard was too shocked to speak.
After a long while.
He managed to squeeze out a question he'd wanted to ask before.
"Did Mr. Bruce Wayne tell you where we live?" Although Leonard's memory wasn't great, he still remembered that he hadn't disclosed his address to Ian.
His previous encounter with Ian had been quite surreal, so the geek remembered it very clearly.
"No, I found this place purely by wisdom." Ian grinned. He could find his distant aunt even without a Black Box, let alone now that he was holding Marvel black technology in his hands.
"..."
Leonard didn't know how to respond. He had expected to hear about something like "satellite positioning," "facial recognition," or even a conspiracy theory about Wayne Enterprises monitoring the world.
"Wisdom?"
This word seemed to trigger a switch.
Inside the room.
Sheldon Cooper crawled out of a tent in the living room.
His tent had the words "Refuge" written on it. His hair was a mess, as if he'd been struck by lightning. "The Earth does need enough wisdom to create enough things to guard against disaster—mainly to protect me."
"What happened yesterday was too terrifying. It was more terrifying than the worst disaster in Star Trek." Sheldon's tone carried the anxiety of a frightened bird.
If Leonard hadn't taken away his bank card, he would have already bought a ticket to the African savanna—the conclusion the scientist reached after his calculations was that it was the safest place.
"Disaster! Yes! Disaster!" Ian grabbed this key word and squeezed through the door crack into the apartment, which was impeccably tidy everywhere except the living room, which was in chaos.
"I came here exactly for this!" Ian looked like a multi-level marketing boss, his eyes shining. If he wasn't afraid of scaring people, his head would be glowing now too.
"Gentlemen, due to that mysterious world-ending crisis yesterday, I believe you have realized the danger the Earth faces. If Stocking Superman hadn't stepped up, the Earth would be gone!"
"However, Stocking Superman can only save us once, and he is powerless to save us a second time! This is not a simple accident, it's a manifestation of humanity's lagging technological development and severely missing safety defense mechanisms."
"Humanity must take action!"
"And we will be the pioneers!"
"To prevent the world from being destroyed, to protect the peace of the world, and to embody the love and true goodness—Ian's Greatest Umbrella Technology Group is about to be founded!"
"Our group will be dedicated to advancing Earth's technology—from civilian to military, from the surface to outer space! Imagine what a wonderful scene that will be!"
Ian spoke eloquently.
He took a step forward.
His voice was loud and infectious.
"We will establish a disaster prevention system, develop a disaster warning network, build emergency rescue robots, and even construct a defensive shield for Earth that can resist asteroid impacts!"
"Heroes will no longer die in battle, because countless high-tech battle armors will protect every corner of the Earth for us! This is not fantasy, but the future we will eventually embrace!"
"The Ultron Project will only succeed, never fail!" Ian grew more and more excited, even jumping onto the coffee table. He was a student of Teacher Tony, this wasn't theft of ideas, but true knowledge transfer.
"Join me, join this grand destiny, and become a part of it." It must be said that Ian did have a bit of a talent for channeling the spirit of a certain German politician.
He spoke lavishly.
Leonard and Sheldon were stunned by Ian.
"Actually, Mr. Bruce Wayne has already invited us," Leonard said with a somewhat embarrassed smile, not knowing why his heart was surging.
This was clearly him telling Ian that he didn't need to keep fooling the two of them.
billion was a lot.
But Leonard also knew that it was impossible to achieve all those things.
"My Uncle Bruce is that thoughtful?" Ian was also stunned. He jumped down from the coffee table and watched Sheldon pull out a bottle of disinfectant and frantically sanitize the table.
Sheldon was muttering to himself.
"I can understand Klingon. My shoes don't have bioweapons or tetanus on them. I checked," Ian reminded Sheldon in a low voice.
"Where's your microscope?"
Sheldon was startled, then spoke seriously.
"Here,"
Although Ian could distinguish microorganisms with the naked eye, he still preferred to interact with people as an ordinary person. So, he truly pulled out a microscope from under his clothing.
Extra-dimensions could hold anything.
"?????"
Leonard was dumbfounded.
"!!!!!"
Sheldon was astonished.
"You're hiding a biological microscope under your clothes?" He had always known how rigorous and unique he was. After all these years, he hadn't expected to meet a second person so extraordinary.
"Let's talk business now. My Uncle Bruce wouldn't happen to have asked you to be spies to monitor me, would he?" Ian calmly put away the microscope and immediately switched to a suspicious expression.
"Yes," Sheldon nodded.
"Hey! Spies aren't supposed to admit it!" Leonard turned back and glared speechlessly at Sheldon.
"Hmm? Why not? I'm a multi-faceted spy."
Sheldon remained composed. "First, let him think we've defected, but we're actually still Bruce Wayne's people. Leonard, you're really not cut out for this spy work."
He even started criticizing his roommate.
"Is that right?" Leonard was taken aback.
"I'm still listening! I've been listening the whole time!" Ian raised his hand in protest.
Sheldon smiled.
"Oh, in that case, then we've truly defected and are only pretending to be Bruce's people... Triple spy! Can you understand what I mean, you middle school kid?"
He looked at Ian with eyes ready to test his intelligence.
"Of course, I understand."
Ian curled his lip.
"You're using nested dolls."
He summarized the situation.
"Clever!"
Sheldon gave a thumbs-up.
"The fact that you could get Bruce Wayne to find my mother to persuade me—that's vicious, but effective. So, I can reluctantly give you an opportunity to work for me."
"But you have to decorate my office to be exactly the same as it was at school. I have photos. I sent them to the school this morning, but the shameless school rejected them."
As he spoke.
Sheldon rushed towards the direction of the table.
"."
Leonard felt he was having difficulty fitting into this conversation.
"Are you really going to start a tech company?"
He was still hesitant to believe in such a thing. Although many geniuses and legends become famous early, the age of fourteen made it difficult to trust.
Faced with Leonard's distrust.
Ian had only one thing to say.
"I have a lot of money. I don't understand scientists, but I do understand how to respect them. So, I can give you a million-dollar annual salary." He held up one finger.
The one representing one million.
The directness of the nouveau riche could sometimes be so shocking.
Leonard's expression changed from suspicion to loyalty.
"It's a good thing the school was bombed!" He suddenly stood up straight. "It's time for us to jump ship."
Leonard's eyes were firm. Penny's phrase, "I only like men who can earn money," reappeared in his mind.
Sheldon was busy organizing the limited-edition, impossible-to-release photos of his office. Hearing this, he turned his head. "Leonard, you defected faster than my mother betrayed God."
He had always been disrespectful of God.
Leonard heard this but remained unmoved.
"Seriously, Boss, I'm not like him. I don't like being a spy. I can even tell on him: Sheldon is so agreeable because he insulted the principal this morning, so the school directly laid him off."
"This guy is completely unemployed now." Leonard not only betrayed his class but also his roommate. Sheldon stared at him in furious astonishment, but it didn't stop Leonard from swearing his allegiance.
"Actually, I can still use Uncle Bruce's spy. I'm not doing anything shady anyway," Ian waved his hand grandly. He was the magnanimous Ian today.
"When can I start work?"
Leonard asked the question he cared about most.
He was indeed captivated by the grand blueprint Ian had conceived.
This dangerous world.
Did indeed need more than just superheroes.
"No hurry."
Ian pulled out a tablet computer from under his clothing again.
"To protect the Earth, we must first dominate the civilian technology market!" Written as the Ultron Project, but actually the Evil God Cultivation Plan, Ian showed the two men some blueprints for civilian technology.
"TVs, computers, new energy vehicles, everything," Ian had had related ideas before. Now, he was just implementing his Evil God Cultivation Plan step by step.
Oh.
Incidentally.
Ian himself was that Evil God.
"Uh, with these blueprints, I might need the help of some engineer friends." Leonard could certainly understand the blueprints, but he wasn't familiar with the practical operations in many fields.
He was a physicist, after all.
"Bring them all! Bring them all! I have plenty of money! Preferably, your engineer friends can find ready-made factories for me to buy, buy, buy. The sooner my tech products go into production, the better."
Ian remembered that Leonard and Sheldon had an engineer friend, and that engineer, also named Howard, was indeed an excellent engineer when he wasn't being troublesome.
To reverse the usual order of things.
This engineer was comparable to the guy downstairs.
He had a wide network.
Ian thought he would be very suitable as a Human Resources Director, even if he didn't manufacture products.
"Uh, are you in such a hurry? Is Wayne Enterprises anxious to expand its commercial empire? Their food delivery app has been very useful recently," Leonard asked curiously.
Ian immediately refuted him.
"It has nothing to do with Wayne Enterprises. Ian's Greatest Technology Group is rising! I will provide many employment opportunities for everyone. I can even make America great again."
Ian still loved channeling spirits.
After channeling the German politician.
He started channeling Emperor Wansheng.
Leonard immediately felt a rush of heroic ambition.
"Uh... Hmm? ... Eh... Oh!" Sheldon wasn't concerned with the commercial empire. He sat in his exclusive seat and began studying the civilian technology blueprints Ian had displayed.
As a highly talented theoretical physicist, he had a wide range of interests.
"The resolution parameters... are three times higher than current flagship models! And this operating system architecture can combine better with my game console!"
Alright.
The things he was contemplating had clearly gone a little off track.
However.
He did understand all the blueprints.
"I didn't expect you to actually have good stuff." Leonard was fully enlightened after listening to Sheldon's detailed explanation. He sincerely expressed his astonishment at Ian's blueprints.
"That's a given."
Ian smiled crookedly.
He was extremely pleased.
Sheldon then offered a serious piece of advice. "They're all good, but I suggest you build the factory in Asia. The cost of producing these things in the United States is very high."
This was indeed extremely valuable advice.
However.
"I said! I'm going to make America great again!"
Ian immediately gave a veto.
He didn't want to disturb the peaceful Asia.
"Actually, I can sell at a loss."
Ian didn't care about costs, and his main goal wasn't to get rich.
Leonard and Sheldon were stunned.
"Then how will you make money?"
Leonard asked, confused. He didn't believe Ian was a philanthropist.
"You want to occupy the market first? That is indeed a good choice," Sheldon, when he wasn't going crazy, could genuinely provide good insights in many areas.
"Not just occupying the market. Even by selling at a loss, I can still make a profit. For example, the TV. You have to watch five minutes of ads when you turn it on. Of course, you can also choose to praise Ian for thirty seconds."
Ian pulled out his ultimate skill, laying out his grand vision. "The new energy cars are the same. Features like seat ventilation, heated air conditioning—all of them will require watching relentless ads, which will make people angrily ask why I didn't put an ad on the brake pedal too. To that, my only suggestion will be for them to praise Ian for thirty seconds."
"One minute of praise is worth half an hour of ads. This choice offers the best value."
This was Ian's astonishing overt conspiracy to gather magic. He wasn't trying to make a lot of money, he had learned from Bruce Wayne how to use Super-Cash ability to convert into actual combat power.
Why not go to the Asian world factory?
This tactic would be labeled a cult in Asia.
The Americas were different.
Cults were rampant here. Ian's actions were far more normal than those true cults.
"!!!!?????"
"!!!!!?????"
Hearing Ian's commercial blueprint, both Leonard and Sheldon fell silent. They now believed that Ian wasn't trying to make money. Perhaps this guy just wanted to purely torment the American people.
"Is this... legal? I mean, will this really not get you thrown into jail?" Leonard's eyes widened, his face red with pent-up reluctance to speak.
"In America? Of course, it's legal," Ian patted him on the shoulder, speaking a deafening, awakening truth. "We can even apply for religious tax exemption."
At this statement.
The entire scene fell silent again.
Ian was very satisfied with this.
Clearly.
Leonard and Sheldon had truly felt his astonishing wisdom. Checking the time, Ian knew his goal was achieved, and it was time to move on to the next task.
To help the Dream God find the Dream God's sandbag.
And before that.
He needed to find the little delinquent and get back his navigation map.
...
Meanwhile.
In a certain abandoned factory.
The bound Madison looked in terror at the minotaur demon walking into the dim room.
"Shh~"
The minotaur demon, whose body was pieced together from mismatched parts, raised a hand he had torn and patched together from a corpse, making a shushing motion towards the witch who was bound in a magic circle.
The minotaur was untying Madison.
Very cautiously.
It kept looking back now and then.
It seemed to be guarding against being discovered by something.
***
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