It was raining.
The rain was spraying out of the fire hydrant.
The atmosphere on site was quite subtle.
"You didn't pull the handbrake?"
The traffic cop was dumbfounded.
"Uh..."
Ian was reluctant to admit the simple mistake he had made.
"This hasn't happened just once today?" The traffic cop looked at the delinquent boy before him with an exceptionally serious expression, as if he had seen a true menace to the roads.
Just at that moment.
"How much will it cost to pay..."
Ian asked with an awkward smile.
The traffic cop turned to look at the splashing fire hydrant.
"That's not under police jurisdiction, but according to the standards of the Highway Department, the repair costs will be at least 100,000 U.S. dollars." Good heavens, this was why America had its own value system.
With this amount of compensation.
It was likely that the ever-present Commissioner Smith could net at least ninety-nine thousand profit. Ian turned back to the taxi, pulling out a toolbox from beside the driver's seat.
"What are you doing!"
The traffic cop reached for his gun.
He was extremely vigilant.
The cop was currently only slightly worried that Ian might also pull out an instrument of truth.
"Repairing the fire hydrant, of course!" Ian found a hammer, forcefully pushed the car off the fire hydrant, and immediately started hammering the hydrant fiercely.
"Handbrake!"
The traffic cop saw the taxi sliding toward Ian's backside and quickly put down his gun, diving into the taxi. He managed to stop the car just before it could kiss Ian.
"How did you even get a license?"
The traffic cop wiped the sweat from his forehead. He climbed out of the deformed car door, only to find that Ian had disappeared, leaving only a fire hydrant that was no longer spraying water.
Although the fire hydrant looked hideous, it had at least been "fixed." Moreover, a dilapidated car key was resting on the fire hydrant.
It had been in the ashtray all along.
"Damn it! Where did he go?"
The traffic cop looked around frantically.
He only saw a figure running faster than Usain Bolt vanishing around the distant corner.
"Stan Lee, was it!"
The traffic cop gritted his teeth in anger. He felt that the subsequent sliding of the car was definitely a malicious trick by that awful young man. He immediately picked up his walkie-talkie and prepared to issue an "all-points bulletin" for Ian.
Of course.
Because the ID showed him the fake name Ian wanted him to see, this "APW" clearly wouldn't have a good ending, but this didn't stop the cop from fiercely requesting backup from his colleagues.
In the sky above.
Within the clouds.
Slap
The feeling of mental and physical exhaustion caused the old father to slap his forehead. Having witnessed the entire process, he had to admit that Ian was quite different from what he and Lois had previously believed.
How to put it?
He had morals, he had a conscience... but it felt like he didn't have too much of either. Clark felt immense pressure trying to properly guide this unique child.
"What an un-worry-free little rascal!" Clark sighed heavily. He couldn't help but recall the night he found Ian. Perhaps he should have realized then that Ian's future wouldn't be ordinary.
Realizing it now.
It wasn't too late.
Clark, now middle-aged, had three children. However, compared to his eldest and second sons, he felt that Ian, his adopted son, was the most similar to him.
After all.
That day.
That night.
And that meteor shower—it was like a familiar cycle of rebirth.
...
Having missed the last bus.
Ian only had the option of taking a taxi, which made him slightly uneasy. But before that, his first priority was to quickly fill his stomach, which was rumbling from hunger due to [Healing Frenzy].
The stomach is an emotional organ.
Only when he was full would Ian be in the mood to go home and complain. He pushed open the door of a street-side convenience store. The store immediately rang out a welcoming sound, but the word "Welcome" sounded completely insincere to him.
It was far less down-to-earth than "Hey, brother." After entering the convenience store, Ian headed straight for the "quick carbs" section, which consisted of cheap but high-calorie processed foods.
"This one, this one, and this one." Through his own efforts, Ian had more money than his two brothers combined, so he didn't need to worry about being short on cash while selecting items. The cashier was a young man wearing glasses, whose clear eyes had the distinct look of someone working part-time to fund their education.
"That comes to $29.45 in total."
The young man scanned the barcodes of all the food items one by one.
"Okay."
While stuffing food into his mouth, Ian pulled out three ten-dollar bills and counted out forty-five cents in coins. He clearly saw the cashier briefly freeze.
"You can just give me one dollar change."
Ian reminded the other party.
"Oh, oh."
The cashier suddenly understood, but not completely. He even picked up a calculator and furiously calculated before finally handing a one-dollar bill back to Ian as change.
"Thanks."
Ian, chewing on a hot dog, turned to leave.
Just then.
"Welcome~"
The emotionless voice sounded again at the convenience store entrance, but the person who walked in was full of emotion. He wore a stocking over his head and rushed toward the cash register, holding a small-caliber instrument of truth.
"Robbery!!"
What a cliché plot.
Anyone who didn't know better would think this was Gotham next door.
"No funny business!"
The robber pointed his gun at the startled cashier. Then, he looked warily at Ian, who had stopped, and instinctively shifted the gun toward him.
Seeing the muzzle pointed at him, Ian immediately put up his hands.
"Well, the farmer weeds the field under the noon sun, everyone has their own sorrows. I understand you." Ian wasn't trying to cozy up or show social graces.
"Who the f*** is who? Who is sorrier?" The robber was clearly confused and didn't quite understand Ian's American-style poem. He became immediately exasperated, as if his intelligence had been insulted.
"Little brat, get out of here right now!"
It was clear.
This was an ambitious robber whose mind was only on the big score and who couldn't be bothered with a middle schooler's petty cash. So, he waved his gun a few times, threatening Ian to leave quickly.
"Alright, I'm rolling."
Ian quickly ran out of the convenience store.
Just as the robber prepared to focus on the convenience store clerk.
"Welcome~"
Ian circled back.
He certainly didn't want to be a superhero, defeat the robber, and save the store—that was the insurance company's job. The detail-oriented teenager suddenly realized a very important issue after stepping onto the street.
"Well, I respected America's street tradition, but did someone forget to say thank you to me?" Soul corruption might not be entirely without effect on Ian.
His way of thinking was clearly more peculiar than usual.
***
Let's make a goal guys, 50 stones for bonus