American comic book: My Father is Superman, am I just an NPC?

Chapter 169 Ian: Who put the crown on my head?

Ian accepted the teacup offered by the demon butler, leaving the opportunity to bestow favor upon Shiva to himself.

He gently stroked the rim of the cup with his fingertips, and steam rose up, carrying a hint of sulfur in the aroma of the tea—tea specially supplied to the underworld that ordinary people could not drink.

Only those of high caliber who owe Ian a favor have the opportunity to taste it.

What's wrong with your third eye?

Ian didn't offer tea immediately; he simply held the teacup, letting the down-on-his-luck god watch. This is a classic example of the application of psychological knowledge.

After all, tea that is too easily obtained will not be appreciated by uninvited guests.

"My eyes? Oh, right, my eyes of destruction." Shiva subconsciously touched his swollen third eye socket, his lips twitched and he began to sob even more.

"Your father hit you!"

Shiva is filing a complaint.

"Oh?"

Ian raised an eyebrow.

The steam from the tea rose before his eyes, making his gaze appear even more astonished.

"Do you see why I only have two hands? If I hadn't cut off my hands to survive, I wouldn't have been able to escape at all. He almost used this avatar to find my real body!"

"Damn super vision! I knew there were alien monsters!" Shiva's expression still carried a hint of lingering fear, and his voice was filled with resentment.

“My dad wouldn’t hit people under normal circumstances.” Ian knew perfectly well which side he should take; the Indian deity in front of him was not even a casual acquaintance.

Hear the words.

Shiva grew increasingly indignant.

"He said I disturbed the wild elephants he was interviewing! And he wouldn't listen to my explanation at all! I said I am a legitimate god, and he said he was beating up a self-proclaimed legitimate god!"

Shiva's face was filled with grief and indignation. It was not surprising that he was beaten, after all, Clark was not in a good mood when he learned that he was going to interview African elephants that morning.

"So you didn't fight back?"

Ian blinked.

He tried his best to keep his laughter only echoing in his throat.

"Fight back? I did fight back! Didn't I tell you? I left two hands behind before I ran away." Shiva's expression instantly fell, as if a sore spot had been hit.

He actually had a special plan to fight back.

As expected of an ancient god.

"If it weren't for that disaster caused by alien monsters back then, which crippled all of us and greatly reduced our strength, my eye wouldn't have swelled up if your father had punched me." Shiva's tone was full of frustration. He firmly believed that with his strength at his peak, he could have withstood at least several thousand punches from Superman.

"You're really amazing."

Ian nodded sincerely, giving a thumbs-up. Shiva straightened his back, displaying a confidence characteristic of creatures from the Indian side.

"Of course, I am the most powerful god on Earth." As the saying goes, you don't need to think before you speak, and if the lower beam is not straight, the upper beam will definitely be crooked. Shiva clearly has a strong belief in his own judgment.

“I’m really not surprised to hear this… Okay, let’s talk about my brother Jonathan. You mean my brother borrowed too much power, which is why you’re completely drained every day?” Ian had a general understanding of the situation. He had just summarized the cause, process, and result from Shiva’s 50,000-word lament.

Ultimately, it's because the free will given by God went too far.

"Is that borrowing? That's stealing!" Shiva's voice rose several octaves. He finally got the tea that Ian offered, but he didn't realize what karmic debt he would incur by drinking a cup of Ian's tea.

The god, who symbolizes reproduction and creation and holds the power of destruction and rebirth, became increasingly aggrieved as he spoke, drinking tea to calm his nerves while continuing to lament to Ian in yet another round of tears.

Ian already understood the content very well. Basically, God gave Jonah a belt, and his older brother could transform into an armored warrior. However, Jonah thought it was the protection of the gods, but in reality, he was just forcibly borrowing power from the god he "believed" in—free will can be interpreted in many ways.

The will to borrow power is also a form of free will. Since the one who bestows the blessing is a being whose word is law, Shiva has no way to change it even if he is unwilling.

"Could you go back and talk to him? After all, I wasn't the one who stole your brother's curry rice last night." Shiva looked down at Ian with a wronged expression.

The air was suddenly quiet.

Hannibal's ghost drifted away silently, pretending not to exist. The same was true for Beria the Chihuahua and Baal the Demon; intelligent people know to play dead when discussing matters related to God and Ian.

"Cough cough."

Ian coughed twice, trying to change the subject.

"It does not matter."

He spoke seriously, feeling somewhat guilty.

Ian didn't think it was his fault. Everyone knows that staying up late makes you hungry, so it wasn't unreasonable for him to eat two bowls of his family's curry rice after saving the Marvel Universe.

"How can this not be important!"

Shiva jumped up in a panic, leaping from the sofa, his withered fingers trembling as he pointed into the air.

"Whoever ate his curry rice should borrow his power! Anyway, it wasn't me who ate it!" This ancient god was indeed trembling with anger and coldness, looking extremely aggrieved and evil.

Ian blinked.

He astutely grasped the key information—it was clear that Shiva didn't actually know who had stolen the curry rice.

“It’s different.” Ian realized that the other party was bluffing, and immediately became righteous and indignant. He shook his head slightly, lowered his voice and whispered in a serious tone, “That god who steals curry rice has too many followers and is petty. I can’t let my brother believe in Him.”

It's not that I think having faith would lower my status.

Ian was mainly worried that Jonathan would complain to his parents. Besides, even bunny girls don't date the nerdy guys in their neighborhoods, so he certainly couldn't recruit his family as his followers.

Otherwise, family bonds can easily deteriorate.

"Many believers? Petty?" Shiva gasped, as if he had instantly grasped some universal truth. "Hiss... So it was the curry rice He stole!"

He deflated like a punctured balloon, slumped to the ground, his eyes glazed over, clearly thinking of the most unapproachable being in the world.

"Yes, it's Him, it's definitely Him."

Ian nodded emphatically, his expression serious. He realized that Shiva might have thought it was a wonderful misunderstanding, so he immediately used the strategy of going with the flow from the 3,600 strategies.

Outstanding effect.

Shiva didn't suspect a thing. The two tacitly avoided mentioning the name. Ian, in particular, was extra cautious, not as direct as he usually was when shifting blame.

After all, petty people understand petty people better.

At this moment, Ian also realized a problem once again: the Goddess of Creation was clearly in love with him because God was similar to him in more than just loving to write.

Even in terms of personality, they're probably about the same.

in a certain sense.

God could even be called "Little Ian".

Although this made Ian feel somewhat wronged, he still showed his magnanimity and decided not to dwell on it. Just as he was immersed in his own magnanimity, Shiva suddenly sat up, charged forward, and slid to his knees, lunging forward to hug his leg.

This guy immediately burst into tears.

"You have to help me! Ian Kent! You have to! If you help me, I'll give you as many Indians as you want!" He seemed to be living in the last century, unaware that traditional slavery no longer existed in the 21st century. Besides, even in the last century, Indians wouldn't fetch a good price!

"..."

Ian rarely has such moments of speechlessness.

“Who would want Indians? What would I do with Indians?” He couldn’t help but sigh and rub his forehead. “I don’t have a farm that needs scarecrows planted in the ground to fertilize my crops from time to time.”

Ian didn't dream of becoming an agricultural tycoon; he knew he only wanted to be a tech giant. Looking at the effects of those home appliances and furniture, a surge of inspiration began to flood Ian's mind.

This is far more efficient than planting crops, spreading famine, and then coming out to save the world, and Ian's conscience, which has a surface area of ​​about five square centimeters, is much more comfortable.

Seeing that Shiva was clinging to his leg and wouldn't let go, Ian could only try to persuade him with all his heart: "Asian Dance King, my brother is lending you some strength in order to do good deeds."

"You deserve at least a tenth of the merit, no, about half a tenth. So, you can't be too petty as a god. Haven't you heard MacArthur say that the peak breeds fake users, and the twilight witnesses devout believers? These days, faith is lost, and it's rare to see a believer as devout as my brother."

Ian looked down at the creator of the Cosmic Dance, the master of destruction and rebirth. He was truly considering the other's feelings. The other only gave up divine power, but Jonathan had his faith taken away!

"Who is MacArthur? I don't know him, he's talking complete nonsense!" Shiva's face turned blue, his teeth grinding together, and he finally managed to squeeze out the words through gritted teeth.

"It's not that your brother can transform by borrowing power... but after he transforms, he's indiscriminate in his desires! Whatever outrageous wishes people make, he'll say, 'Shiva will answer you!'"

"Do you think I don't know whether I want to respond or not?!" Shiva became more and more agitated, his voice almost choked with tears: "He answered the prayer on my behalf, and my divine power just kept flowing out..."

He burst into tears again, his tears mingling with ashes, leaving ridiculous muddy marks on his face.

This is truly a case of being wronged.

Jonathan's free will has taken on a universal quality reminiscent of America's beacon of light. The victim has absolutely no say in the matter, yet he can still act as Shiva's substitute in responding to prayers. Of course, Jonathan himself is certainly unaware of this; it can only be said that his free will is indeed as free as it gets.

"well……"

Ian took a deep breath, trying to make his voice sound as gentle as if he were comforting a heartbroken friend in a coffee shop, "I'll think of something for you later, you...you let go of my leg first, okay?"

This is Ian's gentleness.

Of course, it's also related to his deep understanding of the nature of people who cling to others' legs at the slightest provocation—you can't provoke such people, otherwise who knows what body part they'll cling to next.

As an expert who frequently curries favor with others, Ian is well-qualified to speak on this matter.

"Really?" Shiva looked up, his eyes blurry with tears. His iconic ashes-covered body now seemed to be covered in mud, and his three eyes were filled with tears of grievance.

"Really, I promise."

Ian made a firm promise, then did something that completely baffled Shiva—he extended his little finger and hooked it with Shiva's little finger.

"??????????" Shiva stared blankly at the two's pinky clasped fingers, not yet realizing whether this kind of contract between human children was effective for gods.

"So... what do I need to give in return?" Shiva finally calmed down, his divine reason returned, and he tentatively asked Ian with a hint of trepidation and wariness.

Ian looked Shiva up and down.

From the third eye on Shiva's forehead, to the venomous snake wrapped around his arm, and then to the tiger skin skirt around his waist.

"I heard you're a good dancer?"

The boy suddenly broke into a bright smile.

"Dance?"

Shiva nodded blankly.

He then instinctively straightened his chest, and all three of his eyes lit up.

"The dance of the universe originated from me. The dance of destruction, the dance of rebirth, the dance of balance... I am the dance itself." It's clear that Shiva truly loves to dance.

He also loves to boast.

"awesome!"

Ian beamed with joy.

“I have a group of live streamers who need a dance teacher. I believe you can definitely train them well!” He didn’t care whether the other party was exaggerating their abilities or not.

Ian was primarily attracted to the other person's dancing skills.

Ian was unaware of Michael's self-awakening, so he wanted to mold Michael into a good older brother who had been training for two and a half years.

Shiva breathed a sigh of relief. Dancing? That was easy for him, even a display of glory.

He wiped his face, ashes and tears mingling together: "This kind of thing... of course, no problem. Ian Kent, you really are the helpful and kind person the rumors say you are."

"Thank you for your help." Fearing that Ian might change his mind, he quickly stood up and bowed. Then he took the address Ian handed him and looked back at Ian several times, giving him instructions with his eyes.

"You must help me..." Shiva's eyebrows seemed to dance, expressing his inner prayer. He truly deserved the title of Asian Dance King. Ian was even more convinced that he could definitely teach those angels well.

"Don't worry, I keep my word! If you don't leave right now, I'll call the immigration office to arrest you. You definitely don't have the noble American citizenship! I mean, nationality!"

Ian waved goodbye.

When Shiva's figure completely disappeared.

A gasp came from the corner.

"Oh, the Emperor of All Laws, Ian, actually has a brother favored by God! Indeed! Following you! The future is limitless!" The Chihuahua-like "King of Lies" trembled all over.

It seemed to see a bright future for itself.

“Poor fellow… He probably doesn’t even know who he’s going to teach to dance. Michael doesn’t just like to smash people’s eyes; he might even gouge out Shiva’s third eye.”

Ian hung Baal's head beside the fireplace, savoring his feelings of pity and pride in being different from other demons.

Just then, Ian turned around, his gaze sweeping over the King of Lies in the corner and Baal on the fireplace.

“Now, we should think about how to help Shiva.” Ian didn’t want to betray his family’s interests, so he decided to use his external demonic wisdom.

Beria immediately raised his tail.

"Woof! I can weave a colossal lie for you to fool him for a lifetime!" The King of Lies puffed out his little chest, his words brimming with confidence in his abilities.

As for Baal, it hesitated for a moment.

“God Ian, we can find Shiva’s true form and make a living statue for your brother—that way he will never have a moving mouth to worry about losing divine power again!” It must be said that perhaps the demon Baal’s actual age is not that old, but he is definitely a person with a very bright future in the path of demons.

Two demons, a newcomer and an old man, offered drastically different "help" solutions.

High judgment.

“Sigh, this isn’t the kind of help I wanted to offer.” Ian simply sighed softly, shook his head, and placed one hand on the bone piano with a hint of melancholy.

The elderly believer, Baal, immediately and skillfully responded.

“God Ian, this sin is on my head.”

Baal's head spoke with a tone of devotion, caution, and unwavering resolve that made it difficult to refuse.

Ian didn't say anything, but silently took out a few small snacks made from demon corpses that he had obtained in Hell and stuffed them into Baal's already burning mouth like snacks.

“Shiva has a good personality, and after all, he is the god my elder brother worships, so… we should be kind to him. I think that as long as he feels my kindness, he will definitely choose to become Jonathan’s source of power one day.” Lord Ian reprimanded the demon’s wickedness while showing his benevolence.

He genuinely felt that Baal was too ruthless and did not align with his values ​​as a teenager, and that Shiva himself could have developed into a valuable broadcaster.

How can such a high-quality Paru be turned into a statue so easily? Ian is a compassionate person with a warm heart, so he's not actually that cold-blooded.

The reward I just gave to Baal was merely to encourage him to try and figure out what I was thinking.

"Make that guy feel God Ian's kindness? Okay, I understand!" The demon Baal didn't know what he understood. He had indeed mastered the art of understanding "Ian's heart" to an unparalleled level. In fact, even Ian was now a little unaware of what thoughts the other party had figured out that he himself didn't know.

"..."

Hannibal, who had been watching silently, had his ghost hovering on the ceiling. It opened its mouth, but before it could utter a word, Ian pulled it down. After seeing Shiva off, Ian turned around and clung to Hannibal's ghost again, continuing to enthusiastically promote his "assembled corpse" service.

"Doctor! Look at these sutures, how neat they are!"

He turned the pieced-together corpse around like he was showing off a limited-edition figurine.

"Honestly, if there's anything you're not satisfied with, I know people in several morgues in Gotham, Metropolis, and Central City. Whatever style of body you want, I can get it for you!"

Ian’s tone was full of pride, reflecting his extensive online connections.

however.

"Actually, I have OCD." Hannibal's ghost had not easily broken free from Ian's tangible little hand, his face pale, and he drifted away a tiny distance in mid-air.

They practically crawled into the fireplace.

"A germaphobe?"

Ian suddenly realized.

He remembered that Hannibal did indeed have obsessive-compulsive disorder related to cleanliness.

"This is no big problem. I can soak it in disinfectant, or even let the disinfectant flow through your new body's veins, and it won't be a big deal!"

Ian clearly misunderstood the other person's obsession with cleanliness.

Hannibal's expression was as if he had seen someone making tea with formaldehyde.

"Oh, that's not the reason."

He sighed heavily, not wanting to dampen Ian's enthusiasm too much.

"what?"

Ian clapped his hands again.

"You like freshly made corpses, right?" He pulled out his phone, once again showing off his connections. "I know several Grim Reapers. I'll go ask around now which hospital has freshly made, still-warm corpses!"

He had just spoken.

"Ian!"

Hannibal was initially surprised by how many strange beings Ian knew.

He then spoke in a heavy tone.

“Perhaps the dead shouldn’t have returned to the human world.” A rare weariness appeared on his ghostly face as he began to reflect, not just because he felt that the body Ian had chosen didn’t suit his taste.

“Hmm? Nonsense. Jesus didn’t think so.” Ian spoke righteously, citing scriptures, which naturally left Hannibal speechless and unable to refute.

Just as the atmosphere became awkward.

Ian's phone suddenly started ringing with a cheerful Christmas carol.

"Dear Grandpa!"

Ian switched to obedient mode in an instant.

"Are you here to ask me what Christmas present I want?" he asked, his tone slightly puzzled. Sam Lane didn't usually contact his family much except during holidays.

The other party did indeed have something to say when they called. On the other end of the line, Sam Lane's voice was so serious it could freeze lava: "Ian, has your father been neglecting you lately?"

"I'm here to ask you why you're acquiring enough chemical raw materials to submerge a small country." This is indeed an exaggeration, after all, the chemical raw materials Ian acquired only accounted for one-third of those in North Korea.

"Perhaps it's because I love to drink, and I like to drink a lot. My Kryptonian genes make me stronger by drinking water," Ian answered honestly, at least it was a belief he firmly held.

"Nonsense! Utter nonsense!"

The old general's roar made the phone vibrate, "The 'health product patent' you applied for is clearly a formula for some kind of serum that can create super soldiers!"

"The raw materials you've purchased are enough to arm a real army!" Grandpa's tone was serious, his judgment decisive. He held considerable power and was clearly paying close attention to the Kent family's movements.

"I just wanted to reward myself, and then reward those who are ambitious as well," Ian blinked, feeling a little guilty that his little secret had been exposed.

He definitely needs a team of exceptional security guards, cleaners, and support staff—Ian of the New Justice League has always been attentive to this, so he needs exceptional support personnel for stability. After all, if the New Justice League headquarters were to be blown up by the jealous bats, the severance pay for ordinary employees would certainly not be a small sum.

"Ambitious individuals?"

Sam's voice suddenly turned dangerous.

"Do you know how many secret meetings those old guys in Congress held overnight after seeing this procurement list? The Pentagon has already marked your file as a 'potential national threat'!" Grandfather Sam Lane warned Ian in an unusually stern tone, inadvertently revealing a wave of top-secret information.

"Isn't there you here?"

Ian walked to the window.

He gazed at the demon maids in the manor who were grooming the hellhounds.

He lowered his voice.

They started praising their grandfather excessively.

There was silence on the other end of the phone for three seconds.

"I am just a general, not a marshal."

Sam's voice suddenly became subtle.

"I can't protect you now."

His voice was still unusually stern.

However, Ian keenly caught the sour smell of vinegar.

"Grandpa, why do you seem to have a problem with me?"

Ian tentatively asked the question.

"Of course I have an opinion!"

At this moment, the old general finally erupted, "You want to use religion as a stepping stone to do something big, and you didn't even consult your grandfather? Do you not trust me, or do you think I can't help you?"

Hear the words.

Ian was becoming increasingly guilty.

He believed that his plan to implant the "Ian God" faith had been exposed.

"Um, Grandpa, is there anything you can do to help me?"

he asked cautiously.

The sound of papers turning over came from the other end of the phone, followed by Sam's extremely low voice.

“Listen, kid. As long as you’re willing to pay—increase the basic military allowances, compensation for casualties, and improve the food standards—I can bring you a hundred thousand troops to help you in no time.”

The old general's voice was very soft, as if he were whispering something to Ian.

"Huh? What's going on?" Just as Ian was wondering what he was doing with an army of 100,000, since he wasn't a war god and didn't have a daughter who had been sold into a brothel.

"Stop pretending! Ian, your grandfather has been a soldier all his life, and I've seen through all your tricks. I'm fully capable of providing you with some assistance."

"To be honest, although it's not the right time yet, your company's strategy of using seemingly outrageous but inexpensive daily necessities to attract the poor is quite good."

"Moreover, you can subtly influence users' thoughts—it has to be said that with the increasingly intense conflict between the rich and poor, you have found a real breakthrough."

"Believe me, our current system won't last more than a few years before it collapses. When that happens, the economic debt will bring a real winter, and that will be your opportunity to rise. I will have my intelligence agencies go around stirring up conflicts on every continent, and then you can take advantage of the situation to rise up—yes, a new America will be just around the corner."

Sam Lane spoke clearly and forcefully, and his line of thinking was undeniably insightful. It was not that America lacked officials who could clearly see the situation.

only.

"Paji~"

Ian's phone fell to the ground with a thud.

His super brain has always been very useful, but it hasn't been this useful yet. God knows why Sam Lane could associate the role of Ian's Greatest Technology with this!

Swallowed.

Ian noticed it too.

His maternal grandfather is only a general now, but he definitely wants to be a marshal!

(End of this chapter)