The letter was written with great seriousness.
The content was also very polite and gentlemanly.
The signature of the final letter was a little provocative. Of course, for Ian, gaining the
approval of the real‑life inspiration for the character was undoubtedly a recognition and
testament to his extraordinary talent.
Other people have girlfriends who are like landmines.
He has fans who like landmines.
It's all something to be happy about. If Ian can actually withdraw ten million dollars
from his check tomorrow, he'll force himself to believe he's just met a fan with the same
name.
everything is fine.
No need for Batman to intervene.
"I told you I'm not one to tattle." Seeing that someone finally appreciated his work, Ian
decided to keep the letter safe in his bag.
When he has time to travel to Gotham in the future, this will be his best passport in
Gotham. Seeing Ian's happy face, Jordan couldn't help but move closer out of curiosity.
Ian blocked the letter in his hand.
He knew who the real tattletale was in the family. Wary of his second brother, Ian
opened his backpack and stuffed in the donations from enthusiastic fans along with the
letters.
"I think it's a letter from the girl you like!" Jordan craned his neck, trying to catch
some details, but his eyes were immediately drawn to the bloodstained bull's head in
Ian's backpack.
"Wow, this figure is so realistic. It even moves? Is it an electric one?" Jordan exclaimed
in approval, also thinking that the demon head in Ian's backpack was just a toy figure.
but.
Seeing that Ian didn't reply, he suddenly asked again, his face full of thoughtfulness
and a slightly surprised expression, "Ian, where did you buy this?"
The only response Jordan received was the sound of Ian zipping up his jacket.
"Don't call me Ian, call me 'rich bastard brother'! That's in line with America's
traditional virtues." Ian looked at his good‑for‑nothing, penniless brother.
He has always had a very good grasp of creating a sense of immersion.
"What the hell?"
Jordan looked completely bewildered, unaware that a wealthy person had quietly
infiltrated his home. Ian, meanwhile, was already calculating how much tax he would have
to pay this time.
"I know you're richer than me and Jonathan, but... wait, how come you've suddenly
grown so much taller?" Jordan, who had been curled up on the sofa the whole time, only
realized this belatedly.
He stood up from the sofa in utter astonishment, only to find that Ian was almost as
tall as him—not because Ian had gained any physical enhancements.
"I knew I'd been feeling like I'd forgotten something! Damn this special drink!" Ian was
slightly taken aback when he heard this, and then quickly took off his boots.
"!!!!!!!!!!" To Jordan's astonishment, Ian took off the sky‑high red high heels that had
been encased in his boots and were now on Jordan's feet.
The reason Ian kept falling when climbing walls wasn't because he had a bad sense of
balance. No one would believe that Batman was 1.7 meters tall, but he couldn't just break
his own legs to force himself to grow more than ten centimeters taller.
"my eyes!"
Jordan looked like he'd been struck by lightning; his mouth opened and closed
repeatedly before he finally managed to squeeze out, "What are you doing?! God, should I
be glad you weren't wearing stockings?"
The words fell.
He stared blankly as Ian pulled three pairs of stockings from his pocket and threw
them into the trash can.
There's a reason for that, but I'm not sure I can explain it to you right now.
Ian felt incredibly comfortable after changing back into his slippers. He didn't notice
Jordan's contorted expression; people often misunderstand superheroes like him.
In particular, the lack of understanding from family members is a long‑standing
tradition in American culture.
"If Mom and Dad come back, just tell them I'm dead out there. Talk to me about
anything else tomorrow." Ian went upstairs to his room; he had important business to
attend to.
Jordan was left standing alone in the living room, staring at Ian's disappearing figure
for a long time before slowly turning his gaze to the trash can containing stockings and
high heels.
"Jonathan is like that, and Ian is like that⋯ Do I⋯ do I still have a chance to be a
normal person?" Jordan's expression was worried, and his low murmurs echoed in the
living room.
Questioning the meaning of life. Fearing the future.
The most common mindset during adolescence is vividly displayed in Ian, the second
older brother.
⋯⋯
Return to the bedroom.
Ian closed the door.
After a moment's thought, he moved the wardrobe to block the door—not because his
father was capable of breaking down the door, but because he believed in Clark's virtuous
character of diligence and thrift.
"I'm such a clever ostrich."
After taking safety precautions, Ian went to his desk and placed the thermos on it.
Looking through the opening, he could see Mr. White crouching inside, his head buried in
his hands.
Special groups of people should collect such special real figurines.
Mr. White might be the real ostrich.
"Mr. White, rest assured, for the sake of my compounds number one, two, three, seven,
eight, nine, and ten, I will definitely not hand you over to the Grim Reapers again."
Ian attempted to appease Mr. White.
However, Mr. White's spirit trembled even more violently. He must have been moved;
surely no one in this world truly believes that a fourteen‑year‑old child is more terrifying
than death and a destiny destined for hell.
"Let me see my trash can."
Ian pulled the Minotaur's head out of his bag again. Although the clown makeup on it
hadn't been removed yet, the Minotaur's emotions seemed to have stabilized considerably.
"Don't scream, or I'll piss in your mouth." Ian wasn't very good at threatening; he was
still learning. Surprisingly, after he took the rag away, Bull Head really didn't start cursing
anymore.
"Are you Superman Clark's son?" the Minotaur asked in a hoarse, deep voice, clearly
having noticed something when Ian had been carrying it on his backside.
In hell.
Superman's name is also very well‑known.
"Clark is my father."
Ian chose a different way of answering.
The Minotaur Demon remained silent for a moment.
"You want to learn magic?"
It also remembered the conversations between Ian and Raven Rachel.
"To be precise, what I want to learn is the art of summoning demon gods." Ian wants
to summon demon gods and then sacrifice them. With the development of the times, it's
time for a production line for the mystical side to be born.
"I can teach you."
The Minotaur Demon seemed unsurprised and responded in silence.
"The devil's seduction? That's all?"
Ian, however, suspected that the other party was trying to set him up.
If it's a creature from hell.
You can't trust a single punctuation mark.
"I really can teach you. Although I am not powerful, I have inherited the bloodline of
my ancestors and have extensive magical knowledge." The minotaur demon's attitude
seemed very sincere.
But Ian remained unmoved.
This guy's attitude changed so drastically; there must be something fishy about it. As
for what that something was, Ian didn't want to think about it, mainly because he was
afraid of insulting his intelligence by not being able to figure it out