The night had grown deep.
Ian's pen was still flying wildly across the page. He was working hard, drawing a comic about Sentry's origin. The newly awakened Writer class made the boy feel as though his art had improved by another level.
"No surprise there. That's just me. And my little accessory system."
Ian had thoroughly grasped the philosophy of always taking credit for himself. Thanks to awakening a new class, he felt unusually clear-headed.
The unexpected bonus of the ordinary Writer class allowed Ian to recall the structure of the story much more clearly, and whenever he picked up a pen, it felt like endless inspiration surged through him.
That said, he still didn't dare freestyle too much with this comic. Even when drawing The Boys, he had struggled to restrain himself, and plenty of what he considered details far superior to the original had slipped in.
"Sometimes being too talented really is a burden. This linework, these panels, Marvel would drop to its knees and thank me for the grace I've bestowed on it."
Ian licked his lips and casually wiped away the ink that had splattered onto his face.
Naturally, any dirty scrap paper got thrown into the trash can.
"I..."
The box opened, then shut again. The demon head didn't even have time to say anything before it found itself tasting paper.
Thankfully, it only tasted paint, not anything worse.
Ian's hand speed was on the level of a human printer.
A living printing press.
Page after page of comic art piled up as if by magic.
And just as he felt himself entering a perfect groove,
Ring ring ring.
His phone rang.
The little gift from that Gotham freak.
"Good evening, Mr. Batman."
Ian answered smoothly. There was no number displayed, so without waiting for the other person to speak, he politely greeted the Gotham oddball.
"What are you doing right now?"
Batman's question carried a trace of caution, as though he were facing a major enemy.
"Macroscopically, I'm drawing comics. Microscopically, I may also be providing voyeuristic material for a creepy pervert."
Ian maintained excellent manners, his tone light and cheerful.
His hand kept drawing anyway, and in the end he still couldn't resist adding two little ahoge tufts to Sentry's hair. This damn hand just had too many ideas of its own. Ian was already furiously blaming it in his head. Honestly, the fact that he hadn't added two huge chest weights to male Sentry was already a sign of great respect for Marvel.
If word of this ever got out,
he'd probably get cyberbullied to death by certain very active Western groups.
Huff... huff...
Batman started breathing heavily into the phone again.
Ian guessed that maybe this old man had abused too many performance enhancers back in his youth.
"By the way, Mr. Batman, could you maybe share the hotspot from your bat-camera network with me? You know my dad's too cheap to pay for high-speed internet."
"The speed at home is so bad the hundreds of viruses living in my computer are about to starve to death."
Ian's heartfelt request did not receive any generous response from Batman.
"You can't install cameras in your house."
Batman only replied through gritted teeth. He probably wasn't lying. At this moment he had likely remembered a certain profitable secondhand camera resale deal involving Clark.
Leaving aside the fact that the mortgage paperwork for this house was currently sitting in one of his banks, just talking about the down payment, at least one room in this house had effectively been bought with his contribution.
That damn Kansas farm boy really did have excessive habits when it came to thrift and resource recycling.
"Really no cameras? I don't believe it... you're definitely spying on me. My sixth sense is strong."
Ian looked around, searching for any place a camera might be hidden.
"Turn around. Outside the window."
Batman's voice came through the phone again.
His mood tonight, especially this late, seemed particularly bad.
"Mother of God!"
Ian turned his head.
His whole body shivered.
There was no helping it. Hanging upside down from the eaves, with bright eyes gleaming in the night, Batman really did look like some kind of bat demon. Who could have imagined that the highest-end rich guy would choose the lowest-end method of spying?
"That is slightly beyond the range of my wisdom to process..."
Ian hurried over and pulled the curtain shut, then thoughtfully pressed Batman's eyelids down over his eyes through the window.
"It's kind of creepy out there."
Still holding the phone call, Ian walked back.
"??????"
Batman outside the window was stunned.
He had seen a lot in his life. All kinds of people, all kinds of situations. But this was absolutely the first time he had ever encountered this particular species of ostrich.
"Kid, are you off your meds?"
Because he'd had contact with Ian's psychiatrist, Batman knew a bit about Ian's condition. Oddly enough, though, he didn't seem interested in bringing Hannibal up.
Click.
Along with the sound of the window being pried open, Batman climbed into the room with great elegance. It would have been perfect if he hadn't stepped on his own cape when he landed.
"I haven't stopped taking them, but I ran out. Since my anxiety's gone, Hannibal probably won't prescribe me more, so now I'm really hoping some kind soul can sponsor me with two or three tons."
Ian still hadn't experienced the full magic of his current body and was desperately eager to level up faster and learn how to fly.
At the same time,
he subtly mentioned Hannibal, but Batman showed no reaction at all. He didn't even look like he was about to wave a hand and sponsor Ian with an entire pharmaceutical company.
The old man just stared at Ian as if he were thinking.
"Did you need something from me?"
Since it was obvious Batman wasn't leaving, Ian had no choice but to stop drawing, turn around, and ask carefully.
He was worried Batman had come to demand compensation for reputational damages.
Bruce Wayne might not care about the money.
But Batman, after being impersonated by him, would definitely enjoy seeing him penniless.
"I'm not pursuing what you did before, so stop testing me like a maniac in front of me."
Batman was a straightforward man. He removed his mask and became billionaire Bruce Wayne again.
Ian wasn't sure whether he should pretend to be surprised.
So,
his expression shifted several times in the space of one second before returning to normal, as if he had been startled a little, purely as a gesture.
That once again sent Bruce's human form into silence.
...
He sighed, speechless.
"I need your manuscript."
Wayne got straight to the point and stated the purpose of his late-night raid on a young man's room. There was no way he'd come all the way from Gotham just to suffer.
"Which one?"
Ian tilted his head. It wasn't exactly a fake question either. He treated all of his works with equal devotion and never played favorites, so he truly didn't know which masterpiece Batman had fallen for.
"The most deranged one."
Bruce's voice sounded like he'd swallowed broken glass.
It was hard for him to even say it.
"I only write serious literature. Behind every story that seems absurd, there's actually a profound truth. For example..."
Ian was preparing a structured rebuttal.
However,
"Give me the manuscript!"
Bruce suddenly raised his voice and cut him off. His mental state tonight was clearly on the verge of collapse, though not because of Ian. It was because of what had happened in Gotham.
Paper everywhere.
A rain of pages across the whole city.
All of Gotham had read a story that, in Bruce's prediction, should have only circulated inside Arkham.
In this universe, there weren't many things capable of breaking Bruce Wayne.
Joker plus Ian's so-called talent was the real nuclear combination.
(End of Chapter)
[Check Out My P@treon For +20 Extra Chapters On All My Fanfics!!][[email protected]/euridome]
[+500 Power Stones = +1 Extra Chapter]
[Thank You For Your Support!]