Silence.
Still silence.
Ian really didn't expect to hear such treasonous words from his grandfather, who had always believed in patriotism.Was this still the same American general who said "America First" hundreds of times a day? Clearly, General Sam Lane's political ambition was swelling; he wanted to place the crown on the young Ian's head.
While Ian was shocked by the so-called "New America," Sam Lane continued his torrent of words. His radical thoughts caused Ian's expression to become increasingly strange.
Sam Lane was an elder who had lived through multiple economic cycles.
He had profound insights into the American economic system. At this moment, he was using a steady and firm voice to tell Ian about current social problems and possible solutions.
"Ian, look at the America of today. Although the economic data looks okay on the surface, if you observe deeply, you'll find that the public's sense of exhaustion is increasing daily. The unemployment rate isn't high, but the quality of employment is declining. Many people can only find low-paying, unstable jobs."
"Working three jobs a day just to feed oneself—that is not the life a developed country should have. This country of ours is already on a precarious edge."
"First, let's talk about the most lethal thing—debt. Thirty-six trillion dollars. Every American carries a debt of one hundred and six thousand. The interest is higher than the military budget. The government is now robbing Peter to pay Paul. The 'critical point' Yellen mentioned isn't alarmist. But what about those politicians in Washington? While shouting about cutting the deficit, they are frantically funneling benefits to specific corporations."
"The money saved has all gone into the pockets of plutocrats and politicians. Ian, we both know very well that our current economic system is like a building with a magnificent exterior but a riddled interior. The officials always boast about those pretty numbers, but the feelings of the people are the only things that truly don't lie."
"Take daily necessities, for example. Bureau of Labor Statistics data shows that grocery prices have risen by 24.6% compared to four years ago. Milk, eggs—things every household can't live without—have more than doubled in price. The people's income growth can't keep up with the speed of rising prices!"
"The income of about half of the adults in New York isn't even enough to cover basic living expenses."
Sam Lane could actually produce real data. This view in his head definitely wasn't something he just came up with on the spot; even a super-brain couldn't calculate these things in such a short time!
"Uh... this shouldn't have much to do with you, right?" Ian felt his grandfather's passion, which seemed a bit different from the empty talk of ordinary people behind a keyboard.
Sam Lane, Ian's grandfather, truly seemed to want to do something with his passion.
"Listen, kid. In America today, the price of a gallon of milk in a supermarket can make a veteran curse. College tuition is so expensive that students would rather go to Afghanistan as mercenaries to pay back their loans. Health insurance? Ha! A middle-class person can go straight to bankruptcy just by getting sick. A country with true hope shouldn't look like this!"
"Do you know what ordinary Americans fear most right now? It's not an alien invasion, it's not super-powered people fighting—it's receiving a hospital bill!" Sam's voice suddenly rose. "Last week, one of my privates didn't cry even after having his leg blown off by terrorists, but he fainted immediately upon seeing the price tag for skin graft surgery!"
"Because he couldn't prove his leg was blown off by terrorists, he had to pay for all follow-up medical assistance himself, except for emergency care!"
Sam Lane's tone was filled with resentment toward the situation his soldier faced, but he indeed had no solution, as the finances in this area were controlled by disgusting politicians.
"My family's health insurance payout rate is 65%, which is considered pretty good." Ian instinctively touched his health insurance card upon hearing this.
Although Ian's method of treatment was usually to cut off whatever was wrong, he still cared about his health insurance, as it was a rare symbol of nobility among American natives. Even though America's insurance rejection rate was high, the good news was that few people in this country could afford proper health insurance anyway.
"Then there's the housing problem."
On the other end of the phone, the old general continued firing.
"Apartments in Manhattan are so expensive that even university teachers have started sleeping under bridges. What do the tech elites on the West Coast think of this? They now call tents 'mobile micro-residences'!"
"How ironic!"
"This isn't the fairness and freedom we once fought for. Therefore, to eradicate these things, we must overthrow everything and establish a new order in the ruins."
The sound of a glass being smashed heavily on a table came through the phone. Ian guessed his grandfather must be drinking Bourbon—because he had seen in the past that some powerful officials loved drinking it.
"The best part is the education system." Sam's sneer continued. "Half of the children our public schools produce think 'evolution' is some kind of stock term, and the other half think the Earth is flat. Do you know how those 3680 genders came about? You can see how many fools we've raised just from our educational problems!"
"I bet if we went and caught a peking Man, his cognition would be higher than that of the teachers in our schools. With those teachers, why worry that our country doesn't have enough fools?"
Sam Lane's commentary was incredibly sharp. He had indeed pierced through every malaise of America today, but most people who understood this certainly couldn't change it.
There was no way around it.
That was reality; there were always more powerful people drowning out the voices of the insightful.
"Actually, it's 3699 genders."
Ian quietly corrected his grandfather's outdated data.
"????"
Sam Lane was clearly silent for a few seconds.
"Dammit! Nineteen more genders in one night! Even God didn't create the world at that speed!" He spoke with extreme irritation, his voice filled with hatred for the military's five-star generals.
"Look at those other countries in the worls. We should start learning. There is a correct path to take, so why don't we take it?" Sam Lane's voice was very, very red.
This allowed Ian to hear some of Sam Lane's political stance.
New America?
The United States of America was going to become the Republic of America!
That image was truly too beautiful.
Ian didn't dare imagine it.
He was afraid he might be tempted.
"Well, Grandfather, you've misunderstood. My tech company actually has another purpose... for my Kryptonian magic." Ian knew what name to give his magic and when.
However.
His explanation was not heard by the heated General Sam Lane—perhaps he truly loved his country, which was why he now hated it even more.
"I once thought your father would be that hope, and the result? A huge disappointment. Your father is just a man playing superhero house in Metropolis!"
The old general's sneer was like a bullet being chambered. Ian's phone suddenly became hot to the touch. He instinctively wanted to turn down the volume, but that seemingly wouldn't hinder Clark's super-hearing all the way in Africa.
"I didn't hear anything!"
Ian felt that Clark didn't dare hit his grandfather, but hitting him would certainly feel satisfying. He wanted to hang up the phone, but he was afraid Sam Lane would show up at the door tonight and try to persuade him to establish a New America in front of his father.
He had fully felt his grandfather's emotions and knew deep down that his grandfather really wasn't joking with him.
"Fighting crime syndicates? Deterring thugs? Clark doesn't understand at all. These scumbags are impossible to kill off like cockroaches because we are living on the eve of the fall of the Roman Empire!"
The sound of a heavy book slamming onto a table came from the other end of the phone. Ian could almost see his grandfather standing before a sandbox of world history, poking at rotten specimens of dynasties with the finger of a commander.
"Land being consolidated into the hands of Wall Street, the wealth gap steeper than a Mayan pyramid, the bureaucratic system more bloated than Byzantium, the currency devaluing faster than the Weimar Republic's Mark—we already have all the ailments of the late stages of every ancient dynasty on Earth. This is precisely why crime syndicates and thugs emerge incessantly!"
"This is truly the final years of the American Dynasty. Your father is an alien and doesn't know what it means to use history as a mirror, so he can't understand our current situation either."
"We Americans need a true man of destiny. That is the savior. But what about your father? Your father only knows how to hang bank robbers on the Metropolis clock tower!"
The old general's breathing became heavy, and his voice carried the sharpness of a scalpel. His words made Ian afraid that in the next second, he would hear his grandfather say something about how Aquaman and Wonder Woman lack strategy, or that Superman and Green Lantern are short-sighted, or that the great talent Batman only knows how to hunt the Joker and other minor villains in Gotham.
Fortunately, Grandfather Sam Lane didn't have Ian's bullshit-level literary talent.
He was just shouting.
Roaring.
"Only a true hero can create true peace. What a true hero must do is not bandage the wound, but perform an immediate amputation to let this country be reborn!"
"When the power of you alone exceeds that of everyone else in the world, then a prosperous age where all beings are equal under one person will arrive!" Sam Lane obviously saw through to the essence of the world.
He was speaking a cruel truth, a truth more fundamental than gravity.
Because of this.
Every word his grandfather said was like a scalpel slicing open America's skin, exposing the festering tissue beneath—and the most terrifying thing was that Ian found himself nodding.
Inwardly, he agreed with Sam Lane's viewpoint. This was a situation more terrifying than the seduction of the Lord of Hell, simply because Sam Lane was speaking a correct viewpoint! Those analyses were damnably correct! America truly was like a giant terminally ill, and Clark was still busy putting band-aids on this giant.
"The 'one person' you mentioned couldn't possibly refer to—" Ian was tempted by his demon grandfather, his heart trembling as he cautiously tested the waters.
As expected.
His grandfather didn't hesitate for a second.
"Jonathan has no ambition, Jordan... let's not talk about Jordan. So, naturally, you are the only one left." Sam's voice was filled with a low, calculating depth.
He had perhaps been thinking and planning such things for a long time, to the point where some of Ian's actions caused him to have a misunderstanding. This grandfather suddenly felt that Ian was the grandson who best embodied his own spirit.
"Do you expect it from your father, who thinks 'world peace equals saving three or five people a day'?" Sam Lane's counter-question once again earned Ian's feigned ignorance.
However.
This didn't hinder the high spirits of the good grandfather who wanted to be a Grand Duke Marshal.
"Remember, Ian."
The old general concluded. "Americans don't trust the government now, but they will always believe in two things—free WiFi and a savior who can reimburse health insurance."
"Your discount supermarket is good, but it's not enough."
"Therefore, you not only need to provide cheap daily necessities for the people, but you also need to grasp some key areas to bestow favors upon them." Sam suggested, "For example, in healthcare, you could consider launching some affordable medical service plans or starting a pharmaceutical factory to lower drug prices, making basic medical services affordable for more people."
"For another example, in education, you could establish scholarship or grant programs to help talented students who lack financial support complete their studies. You could also invest in vocational skills training to improve the competitiveness of adult workers, allowing them to occupy a favorable position in the future job market."
"Additionally, on the housing issue, you can also make a difference... Of course, as for the military, as I said before, as long as the existing benefits are doubled, I can get you into the White House. And if they can be increased three to five times, with guaranteed medical care, pensions, and daily meal standards."
"Even if they aren't my soldiers, they will help you level the White House." Sam Lane seemed to have a sense of being eager to try. He was like the world's most dangerous instigator.
"When you let desperate people see the light of hope, they will hold you high—you will become a true hero." These words, which carried quite a bit of social philosophy, made Ian swallow.
Ian's vision suddenly blurred, as if he saw the image of his own coronation—on the left, demons were scattering flowers; on the right, his grandfather was saluting with an army of a hundred thousand.
And in the distance... in the distance, Clark was sprinting while holding a sign that said "Spanking in public"!
Hiss!
Ian immediately shuddered and woke up from his grandfather's empty promises. His kindness and simplicity had equally special anchors. The young man didn't want to be fought as a villain by his father.
"Hello? Grandfather? The signal... the signal is bad..." Ian suddenly moved the phone away, shouting with exaggerated acting, "I can't... I can't hear... let's talk about these adult topics another day."
There was bound to be a place for his grandfather in hell. The moment the call hung up, the young man still felt a bit stirred up. After wiping the sweat from his forehead, he felt quite moved.
Even someone as bold as Master Ian only wanted to use his influence to get his mother into the White House, yet his usually serious and patriotic grandfather wanted to blow up the White House.
"I've become the radical being mocked by the conservatives!" Ian was full of emotion and sweating profusely. The two demons next to him, who had very sharp ears, didn't know for a moment whether they should call him King Ian.
"..."
Dr. Hannibal remained speechless. As a ghost, he had naturally heard Ian's phone call with Sam Lane, so he felt he had truly underestimated the mental state of Ian's family.
The grandson was obsessed with a New Heaven and a New Justice League, while the grandfather was dreaming of a New America. Was it possible that this entire family, from old to young, was one hundred percent crazy?
"I have to go complain to Mom!"
Ian thought it over for a long time.
He ultimately utilized his traditional skill as a top student.
Meanwhile.
In an office at a secret military base, General Sam Lane sat upright. He stared at the portrait of Washington on the wall, the corners of his mouth curling up unconsciously.
"Finally, I've waited for the opportunity!"
The old general whispered to himself.
"As expected, grandparents and grandchildren really do have that special bond, don't they?"
He remembered when Ian was little, sitting on his lap and breaking all his trophies with marbles—looking back now, that child probably had the temperament of a subverter since birth!
And now, this talent could finally be used for the right path. Sam Lane, believing he had pierced through to Ian's thoughts, drank the unsweetened black tea in his cup in a good mood. Yes, he felt he had completely seen through Ian's ambition—that so-called tech company wasn't just about wealth and power.
It was a blueprint for reshaping the world.
He, Sam Lane, would become the most critical pusher behind this blueprint. He was no longer the old general bound by the system, but a prophet about to witness and participate in a great transformation.
"Life is finally getting better!" After realizing this, Sam Lane gave up the Bourbon. He no longer wanted to drink, after all, he had to keep his body healthy to witness Ian bringing glory to the family.
"I almost forgot, Lois also asked me for a favor." Sam put down the teacup, suddenly remembered something, slapped his forehead, put on his military uniform, and walked out of the office.
In the corridor, whether they were high-ranking officers or ordinary soldiers, they all immediately stood at attention and saluted upon seeing him, their faces full of respect.
"Hello, sir!"
"General Lane!"
Sam nodded and smiled in greeting.
He walked firmly toward the most core forbidden area of this military district—the [Top Secret Building]. The passing officers all felt that General Sam's steps were lighter than usual today.
Old Sam passed through three security checks.
He finally stopped in front of a gray building without any markings.
"Retinal scan passed, General Sam Lane, authority level: Alpha."
A mechanical female voice announced coldly.
Sam Lane passed through three heavy explosion-proof doors via facial recognition and entered a brightly lit, futuristic underground laboratory. The air was filled with the smell of ozone and unknown chemical agents.
"General Lane?"
The lab supervisor, an arrogant middle-aged scientist wearing gold-rimmed glasses, looked up from a pile of data screens. "Why are you here? A critical experiment is in progress. General, unscheduled visits are a violation of regulations. I think you should also follow the rules you established yourself."
Although this person's tone was respectful, he looked down on high-level officials like Sam Lane from the bottom of his heart, thinking these officials couldn't even understand the knowledge he had learned in his teens.
Whether they were scholars or literati, they all seemed to have similar personalities.
"Give me the cat that my people captured using Kryptonite weapons earlier." Sam Lane didn't care about the researchers' disdain for him.
He spoke in a serious tone to make the request.
"The orange cat?"
The supervisor frowned, then reacted with a look of difficulty. "General, that's not just a cat. It's currently the only terrestrial creature capable of stably enduring Kryptonite radiation, and even more so, an excellent specimen for studying the weaknesses of Kryptonian life! Just like 'that dog,' its value is immeasurable! The research plan has already been reported; you cannot take it away."
This supervisor's acting was also quite good. Although he looked like he didn't want to offend Sam Lane, his tone left no room for negotiation.
"Listen, Major. Someone I absolutely cannot afford to offend has pressured me. So, if you don't want me to pressure you, give me that damn cat."
Sam's voice suddenly dropped, carrying an unquestionable authority. He stepped forward, his aura pressing down like a mountain, his gaze sharp as a knife.
"Hmm?"
The supervisor was intimidated by this sudden pressure and involuntarily took a half-step back. His mind raced—someone Sam Lane was so wary of, even calling someone he "cannot afford to offend"... could it be those truly powerful families hidden in the shadows of America? Those existences even the President has to show deference to?
Thinking of this, the supervisor's Adam's apple bobbed.
Cold sweat also broke out. He hurriedly waved his hand and gave instructions to his subordinates: "Quick! Go bring that Kryptonian orange cat from the cage in Sector B7 and hand it to General Lane! Quick!"
Soon, an ordinary, dull-colored orange cat was brought over in a specially made radiation cage. Through the Kryptonite glass, a comatose orange cat could be seen curled up inside, its belly rising and falling weakly with its breath. Without a word, Sam took the cage containing the comatose orange cat and turned to leave.
"A reminder for you, Major." Sam stopped at the door. "The person who truly loves violating regulations is you. Although I haven't caught any proof, I also advise you not to do those illegal biological experiments anymore."
He looked back deeply at the lab supervisor.
"This area is not under your jurisdiction, General Lane. You're just a general, aren't you?" The supervisor doctor showed a smile to Sam Lane without any guilt. There were forces supporting him behind his back, so he naturally wasn't afraid of the other party's warning, and he even secretly countered with a warning to Ian's grandfather.
"Yes, I'm just a general, no match for those politicians behind you who want power. Believe me, I know this even more clearly than you think."
Sam turned slowly.
His eyes were as cold as Siberian permafrost.
The moment the door closed, the supervisor, who had been watched until his back felt cold, finally withdrew his gaze. He quickly adjusted his breathing and walked quickly toward the forbidden area deep within the lab.
After passing through three airtight doors, the lab supervisor stopped in front of a massive glass chamber. Inside the chamber floated a soft glow, as if a living light was slowly breathing.
"Once I've researched this secret dug out of a preacher's body..." The supervisor pressed his face against the cold glass, his eyes burning with frantic ambition.
"No one will ever look at me with that kind of gaze again... they will believe in me, treat me as the one and only God. As long as I demand it of them, they will become like that!" The supervisor's breathing was exceptionally clear in the silent laboratory. He stared at the ball of light in the glass cover, his fingertips trembling slightly with excitement.
His lenses reflected an eerie light, and his shadow was cast on the specimen cabinet next to him—there were many things displayed there that this special military agency had "harvested" from outside.
In a bulletproof glass cabinet, an alien embryo covered in slime was slowly wriggling; in a sealed sandbox, an ancient Egyptian High Priest mummy wrapped in ancient bandages lay quietly.
However, his fingers seemed to twitch slightly.
No one noticed.
Perhaps it was the influence caused by this mummy. A wave of ability that had never been recorded by the laboratory instruments was being generated. Suddenly, a piercing sound of metal twisting came from behind the supervisor. A triple-protected sealed iron box burst open as if crushed by an invisible giant hand, and the special grade steel shattered like fragile tinfoil.
Before the alarm could even sound, it was snuffed out in the air by some older power.
The dust slowly settled.
Revealing the things sealed within.
"What's going on?"
The supervisor, knowing that only "mysterious things" were sealed here, was like a startled bird. He was greatly alarmed and instinctively looked back, as the fear generated after his consciousness reacted caused his pupils to dilate suddenly.
There was no way around it.
Since the supervisor knew his laboratory very well, the statue reflected in his pupils at this moment also caused his entire person to freeze instantly, not even daring to blink an eye.
In the center of the shattered container, a stone statue stood quietly. It had an elegant female silhouette, with long hair draped down and hands covering its face, as if it were weeping silently. Every detail of the carving was so perfect it was spine-chilling—those were not lines a human could have chiseled; they were more like the freeze-frame of some life being instantly petrified.
And now, it was facing him, looking at him.
[When you look at it, it's just stone, but once you look away, that's not necessarily the case.]
Information about this statue flashed through the trembling supervisor's mind. His eyes began to ache from not daring to blink, and cold sweat flowed frantically down his spine.
Soaking his white lab coat.
Just then, the light tube overhead suddenly began to flicker.
Bright.
Dark.
In that moment of darkness, the supervisor swore he heard the sound of stone rubbing. When the light came on again—the statue's arm had already extended forward half an inch.
This was the mysterious thing temporarily named the [Weeping Angel]. It belonged to the ancient, perfect biological beings in the universe that lived as long as the universe itself. Its ultimate defense mechanism was "quantum locking"—it would instantly petrify when observed by any living being, becoming unkillable. However, when the being blinked or turned its head, the statue would move at ultra-high speed to approach the target.
It would drain the target's life and the essence of its existence.
"Dammit! Quick! Quick, find a scapegoat!" The supervisor wanted to call out to his subordinates, but no one answered—the alarm system of this ultra-high-risk laboratory should have sounded immediately.
But when the supervisor's cries echoed within the enclosed space, the only thing that responded to him was a deathly silence—some ancient, eerie power had already cut off all connections between this place and the outside world.
"No! No! I can't die under an experimental subject I researched myself!" The supervisor's eyes were bloodshot from over-dilation. He remembered what the British agent had said when handing over the statue's file.
"You Americans always love collecting things you shouldn't touch." This sentence received strong resonance from the supervisor at this moment. However, he hadn't actually had a sudden awakening; he just knew he was going to die.
[Can't blink... absolutely cannot blink.]
The supervisor didn't dare move his gaze from the stone statue in front of him for even a second.
But human instinct is cruel after all. At the moment physiological tears welled up, his peripheral vision caught an even more terrifying sight—in the sandbox, that mummy labeled "licking can enhance virility" was now slowly sitting up. The decayed bandages fell away in rustles, revealing the pitch-black withered skin beneath.
It turned its head, its empty eye sockets aimed at the supervisor. As its jawbone opened and closed, it spat out obscure and difficult-to-understand Ancient Egyptian. The field of linguistics had truly reached the knowledge blind spot of a doctor of biology.
"Save me! Save me!"
The supervisor's scream almost tore his throat.
He knew clearly that asking a mummy for help was utterly absurd, but compared to this stone statue in front of him that could move and erase him, at least that dried corpse looked like it had a brain and could still communicate.
However.
The mummy did not respond to his cry for help.
It only let out a raspy laugh, like the whimpering of wind passing through the gaps of a pyramid. Then, the mummy slowly stepped out of the sandbox. Its body, composed of deathly grains of sand, made a "clack-clack" sound of bones rubbing as it slowly stood up. Its tall silhouette cast a massive, distorted shadow under the dim light.
The mummy didn't look at the supervisor, nor at the stone statue pressing closer. It just dragged its bandages through the fine sand and walked straight toward the glass cover in the center of the warehouse that held the mysterious light core.
Yes.
The glass cover sealed the light that the supervisor had been staring at with a perverted face earlier—perhaps, if someone knowledgeable were here, they could call out its true name.
Unfortunately, there was no one knowledgeable.
"No! That's my baby—"
The supervisor's words stopped abruptly.
The mummy's fist smashed the reinforced glass.
"Bang!"
The glass cover shattered at the sound, and a pale blue liquid poured out. That ball of gentle light, pulsating in the liquid as if containing the origin of the universe, lost its restraint and hovered in the air like a miniature star.
The light ball didn't flee.
It seemed to have curiosity and expectation, and it was eager to try. It didn't resist and allowed those bandages to wrap around it. Then, the mummy was seen opening its mouth.
That wasn't swallowing, but an invitation.
The light ball immediately dove inside as a response, being swallowed into the mummy's parched throat. In an instant, a blinding light burst out from the mummy's seven orifices.
In an instant, a sudden change occurred!
The mummy's body began to swell and change. New skin covered the entire head at an incredible speed, becoming tight and smooth, shimmering with a nearly metallic, healthy luster. The bandages snapped inch by inch, revealing a brand-new body beneath—sturdy muscles, smooth skin, and a shiny bald head.
The wrinkles on the mummy's face, the etchings of wind and sand, the mark of death—all were smoothed over. In their place was a young, handsome, and authoritative face.
"Imhotep."
The supervisor slumped to the ground, his eyes still not daring to leave the Weeping Angel, but he still breathed out the name he had found in the ancient books from which the mummy had been excavated. The newly born bald man moved his neck and showed a satisfied smile. He looked at the supervisor, who was still restrained by the stone statue, and spoke in fluent English.
"I wish you a pleasant death. Oh, a spoiler in advance: Hell is not a cozy place." With that, he turned and walked toward the gate. With his steps, the entire warehouse seemed to be injected with an eerie vitality—the alien embryos in the culture tanks suddenly accelerated their wriggling, and the Godzilla heart in the refrigerated cabinet began to revive.
Within a containment tank labeled "Dangerous Lifeform," a mass of slime began to rhythmically hit the glass. The supervisor's despair reached its peak. He realized he had made a fatal mistake—what was imprisoned in this laboratory might never have been "specimens," but a group of predators disguised as prisoners.
However.
The supervisor had obviously realized this too late.
Now.
The cages were open.
Due to a trance, the statue's finger was another inch closer to his eye. Outside the laboratory, the bald man seemed invisible to everyone as he broke through layer after layer of blockades.
He hummed an ancient Egyptian folk song and walked into the sunlight.
"I say, let there be a carriage to carry me away." As the words fell, it was as if what he said became law. A carriage dropped from the sky as if someone had entered a cheat code in a Grand Theft Auto game.
The bald man sat on it.
His shadow was cast on the ground, but it was not in a human shape.
...
Ian suddenly sneezed, almost dropping his phone on the ground.
"It must be Grandfather muttering about me again," he grumbled, rubbing his nose. He smoothly opened his contact list and unhesitatingly dialed his mother's number—when it comes to complaining, one must seize the initiative.
The call was connected faster than he expected.
"Mom! Grandfather he—" Ian switched to a pitiful tone in a second. "He actually egged me on to be Napoleon! He clearly knows I'm still growing; isn't this intentionally trying to prevent me from growing to one hundred and eighty centimeters?"
The sound of a glass clinking against ice cubes came from the other end of the phone. Lois Lane was clearly dealing with the family crisis with whiskey: "...Did your grandfather really say that?"
"He implied it!" Ian added fuel to the fire with righteous indignation. "He also said Dad's crime-fighting is like playing house, said America is now like the late Roman Empire, said I should be the Augustus of the New Rome..." He intentionally omitted the most critical part about political subversion.
There was another long sound of ice cubes shaking.
"You come home first."
Lois's voice carried a strange weirdness.
"And then we'll denounce your grandfather in person?"
She mentioned home.
Ian's cold sweat instantly broke out.
The young man said cautiously, "That... the house was blown up this morning. So... actually, I bought you a villa!"
He tried to make up for it with material things to restore his image.
"The kind with a constant temperature wine cellar!"
These words didn't achieve the desired effect.
Unexpectedly.
Laughter broke out from his mother on the other end of the phone after she had been drinking.
"That friend of yours has already helped us repair the new home."
Lois's voice suddenly became light. "I must say, his taste is much better than yours—the whole house is in Baroque style, the master bedroom ceiling is a starry sky dome, and even the kitchen has an anti-magic barrier installed. Yes, our home finally has a device to prevent mage sneak attacks; we no longer have to worry about the situation where your father isn't sensitive to magic sneak attacks."
Her tone was full of emotion.
She made a joke about her own family.
"My friend?"
Ian suddenly had an ominous feeling.
"Oh, right."
Lois seemed to have just remembered.
"He also brought along that... exceptionally enthusiastic mother of his." Her tone suddenly became playful. "That lady has been asking me what color bed sheets you like."
Upon hearing this.
Ian's phone thudded onto the ground.
What was Lois saying? How could his super-brain not understand?
"It's Lucifer and the Goddess of Creation!" The more Ian thought about it, the more he felt it was likely. Given Lucifer's personality, after being tempted by a few bouts of maternal love from the Goddess of Creation, he might very well take the lead in drugging him.
"Well, that's not it—you run, run fast, that friend's mom is crazy!" Ian was about to continue defending himself when he suddenly heard the sound of a door opening on the other end of the phone, followed by Lois's surprised cry: "Jonathan? You finally knew to come back! This bouquet of roses is... My God, you actually know how to buy flowers?"
Ian's blood instantly froze. His eldest brother was home? Carrying flowers? That Jonathan Kent who believed "romance is a capitalist trap"? There must be a trick in this!
Ian made a quick decision, hung up the phone, and called Jordan.
"Jordan! Run! Don't go home!"
Ian felt he should save whoever he could.
However, what came from the receiver was the noisy sound of a film set.
Interspersed with the shouts of an excited director.
"Jordan! I told you this profession was meant for you; I've realized this since the first moment I spotted you in school. Please, one more Getsuga Tensho! Your acting is too good! It doesn't look like acting at all!" The other party was obviously an international director who had seized a business opportunity to make an investment.
"Ian? What's wrong now? I'm filming; I'll call you back in a bit." Jordan's voice sounded helpless, and there was also a sense of busyness.
As the words fell, Jordan, who had hung up the phone, once again proceeded with the filming of the Homelander character who had come to the door. The copyright for this comic supposedly ended up in the hands of Queen Industries for some reason.
It was the film company under this group that suddenly came to the high school where Jordan was located and, with a discerning eye for talent, selected him and Jonathan from among hundreds of high school students.
However, Jonathan chose to refuse, so the opportunity to debut in Hollywood fell to Jordan. Actually, as a person with social anxiety, Jordan didn't want to be an actor at first.
However, the other party simply gave too much, and they even flattered him, saying he was the incarnation of Homelander himself. He didn't even manage to say the words that the original creator of this comic was his own younger brother and the prototype they were referring to wasn't himself; he was dazed and was fooled into the crew.
Once he entered the set for filming.
Jordan found that he seemed to have the talent of a genius in the field of acting. Several sequences of filming in a row didn't have any NGs, so he also became quite dedicated to this mysteriously obtained opportunity.
Just before Ian called, Jordan had already achieved financial freedom. He had made a fortune through the preparation of the series' merchandise—the early operation of merchandise for film and television dramas is also very normal.
After all, waiting until the series becomes popular to start production wouldn't keep up according to American industry, and Queen Industries didn't have partner factories for producing special merchandise.
Yes, special merchandise. From ancient times to the present, among Hollywood actors, Jordan had created a unique one—a one-to-one golden ratio Homelander, living mold, real touch, squeezing out the patriotic gene.
You who long to be loved deserve to have it!
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