The night has grown dark.
Ian's pen continued to dance wildly across the paper. He worked diligently, drawing a
comic about the origins of the Sentinels. The awakening of his writer's career made the boy
feel that his drawing skills had become even more refined.
"As expected of me, and my accessory system too." Ian deeply understood the essence
of winning, knowing that all the credit should go to him. Because of the awakening of a
new profession, he felt his mind was exceptionally clear.
The unexpected joy of being a writer allowed Ian to recall the plot of stories more
clearly, and it seemed as if countless inspirations would flow when he picked up his pen.
However, Ian didn't dare to improvise in this comic. When drawing "The Black Robe,"
he couldn't control himself and added a lot of personal touches that he believed far
exceeded the original work.
"Sometimes being too talented can be a troublesome thing. This drawing skill, this
paneling, even Marvel would kneel down in admiration, saying it's all thanks to me."
Ian licked his lips and wiped the ink splattered on his face.
Dirty paper should of course be put in the trash can.
"I⋯⋯"
The box was opened and then closed. Before the demon head could say anything, it
already tasted the toilet paper—luckily, it only smelled of paint and not anything else.
Ian's hand speed is comparable to a human‑shaped printer.
Printing of living people.
The comics piled up page after page as if by magic.
Just when he felt he was getting into the swing of things.
"Ding Ding Ding ~"
The phone rang.
That gift from the Gotham Freak.
"Good evening, Mr. Batman." Ian answered the phone without waiting for the other
party to speak, and greeted the Gotham Freak politely.
What are you doing right now?
Batman's question was tinged with wariness, as if he were facing a formidable enemy.
"On a macro level, I'm drawing comics, but on a micro level, I'm also suspected of
providing voyeuristic material for pedophiles." Ian's voice remained light and cheerful,
maintaining his good upbringing.
His hands continued drawing, but he couldn't resist adding two tufts of hair sticking up
on the Sentry's chest—that damn hand still seemed to have too much of its own ideas! Ian
mentally blamed himself vehemently. To be honest, not adding two lumps of weight to the
male Sentry's chest was already a sign of respect for Marvel.
This needs to be spread.
He'll probably be cyberbullied to death by certain groups popular in Europe and
America.
"Huhuhu~"
Batman started panting heavily on the other end of the phone again.
Ian guessed that the old man might have taken too many drugs when he was young.
"Excuse me, Mr. Batman, could you share your Batcam's Wi‑Fi hotspot with me for a
bit? You know, my dad is reluctant to subscribe to super‑fast internet."
"The internet speed at home is too slow. I've almost killed off all the hundreds of
viruses living on my computer." Ian's heartfelt request did not receive a generous response
from Batman.
"You can't install a camera in your home."
Batman responded through gritted teeth. He might not have been lying. At this
moment, he wasn't emotionally stirred by Ian, but rather he was thinking about the
windfall he had made by Clark selling used cameras.
Putting aside the fact that the mortgage documents for this house are currently in his
name, just considering the down payment, the purchase of at least one room in this house
was funded by his contribution.
Damn Kansas boys have an excessive habit of thrift and recycling.
"Really no cameras? I don't believe it... You're definitely spying on me, my sixth sense
is very strong." Ian looked around, searching for places where cameras might be hidden.
"Turn around! Look out the window!"
Batman's voice came through the phone receiver again.
He seemed to be in a particularly bad mood late tonight.
"Oh my god!"
Ian turned his head. A chill ran down his spine.
There was nothing he could do; after all, he'd spotted a bat spirit hanging upside down
from the eaves, its eyes gleaming in the night. Who would have thought that the most
sophisticated gentleman was using the most low‑class method of peeping!
"This is slightly beyond my comprehension..." Ian quickly got up to draw the curtains, and
thoughtfully wiped the eyelids off Batman's eyes as he stared at him.
"It's really creepy outside."
Ian walked back while still on the phone.
"??????"
Batman outside the window was dumbfounded. He had seen a lot in his life and
encountered all kinds of people and things, but this was definitely the first time he had
ever seen this kind of ostrich.
"Kid, have you stopped taking your medication?"
Having been in contact with Ian's psychiatrist, Batman was aware of Ian's situation,
but strangely, he didn't seem to want to bring up Hannibal.
"Click~"
Accompanied by the sound of prying open a window, Batman's movement as he
climbed into the room was incredibly elegant; it would have been perfect if he hadn't
stepped on his own cape upon landing.
"I haven't stopped taking the medication, but I've run out. Since I no longer have
anxiety, Dr. Hannibal probably won't prescribe any more. So now I desperately hope that
some kind person can sponsor me two or three tons." Ian hasn't yet experienced the
wonder of his own body and really longs for Gaga to upgrade and learn to fly.
Simultaneously.
He also subtly mentioned Hannibal, but Batman didn't seem to react at all, and didn't
even seem to have any intention of generously sponsoring one of his pharmaceutical
factories.
The old man just stared at Ian as if he were thinking.
"What do you want from me?"
Seeing that he couldn't refuse Batman, Ian could only stop and turn around to
tentatively ask—he was afraid that Batman would come after him for damages to his
reputation.
Mr. Wayne probably doesn't care about a few measly coins.
But Batman, whom he once cameoed as, would certainly be happy to see him
penniless.
"I won't hold your past actions against you, so there's no need to test me."
Batman was a straightforward man; he removed his mask and disguised himself as
billionaire Bruce Wayne.
Ian didn't know whether he should pretend to be surprised.
and so.
His expression changed several times in a single second before finally returning to
normal, as if he had been startled, as if to show his attitude. This wave of reaction once
again silenced Bruce in his human form.
"..."
He sighed silently.
"I need your manuscript," Lord Wayne stated bluntly, revealing the purpose of his
nighttime raid on the bachelor's house. He hadn't come all the way from Gotham just to
cause trouble.
"Which one?"
Ian tilted his head, not feigning ignorance, but showing complete dedication to his
own work, without any favoritism, so he had no idea which masterpiece Batman had
become obsessed with.
"The craziest one."
Bruce's voice sounded like he'd swallowed shards of glass.
Inexplicable.
"I only write serious literature. Behind the seemingly absurd stories, there are
actually amazing truths, such as⋯" Ian was about to give a clear and logical rebuttal.
however.
Give me the manuscript!
Bruce suddenly raised his voice, interrupting him. He was a little overwhelmed tonight,
not because of Ian, but because of what had happened in Gotham.
Paper scraps rained down all over the streets.
Everyone in Gotham City read the story he predicted would only circulate in the
asylums—there really aren't many things in this universe that could break Lord Wayne's
defenses.
The Joker and Ian's so‑called talents really make for a truly explosive combination.