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

Chapter 170 Genesis and Fatherlanders!
silence.

Still silent.

Ian never expected to hear such unjust words from his grandfather, who had always believed in "patriotism." Was this the same General America who said "America First" hundreds of times a day? Clearly, his grandfather Sam Lane's political ambitions were growing, and he wanted to put the crown on young Ian's head.

Just as Ian was reeling from the so-called New America, Sam Lane continued his tirade, his radical ideas making the bewildered Ian's expression grow increasingly strange.

Sam Lane is an elderly man who has experienced multiple economic cycles.

He has profound insights into the American economic system. At this moment, he is speaking to Ian in a calm and firm voice, explaining the current social problems and possible solutions.

“Ian, look at America now. Although the economic data looks good on the surface, if you look deeper, you will find that people are increasingly tired of life. The unemployment rate is not high, but the quality of employment is declining. Many people can only find low-paying and unstable jobs.”

"Working three jobs a day to support yourself is not the way of life that a developed country should have—our country is already on the verge of collapse."

"Let's start with the most critical issue—the debt. $36 trillion, that's $10.6 in debt for every American. The interest is higher than the military spending, and the government is currently robbing Peter to pay Paul. Yellen's 'critical point' is not an exaggeration. But what about those politicians in Washington? While they're calling for deficit reduction, they're frantically transferring benefits to specific companies."

"The money saved all went into the pockets of tycoons and politicians. Ian, we all know very well that our country's current economic system is like a magnificent building on the outside, but riddled with holes on the inside. The officials are always boasting about those impressive figures, but the people's feelings are what truly don't lie."

"Take daily necessities as an example. Data from the Bureau of Labor Statistics shows that grocery prices have risen by 24.6% compared to four years ago. Milk and eggs, which are essential items for every household every day, have more than doubled in price. People's income growth is far behind the rate of price increases!"

"About half of the adults in New York City don't even have enough income to cover basic living expenses."

Sam Lane was even able to produce actual data; his ideas were definitely not something he came up with on the spur of the moment. Even a super brain couldn't calculate these things in a short time!

"Um... this shouldn't concern you much, right?" Ian sensed his grandfather's passion, which seemed somewhat different from the casual chatter of ordinary people in front of a keyboard.

Sam Lane, Ian's grandfather, seemed genuinely eager to do something.

“Listen, kid. In America today, a gallon of milk in the supermarket can make a veteran curse, college tuition is so expensive that students would rather become mercenaries in Afghanistan to pay off their loans, and health insurance? Ha! A middle-class person can go bankrupt just by getting sick. A truly hopeful country shouldn't be like this!”

"Do you know what the average American is most afraid of right now? It's not alien invasion, it's superpowered people fighting—it's getting a hospital bill!" Sam's voice suddenly rose. "Last week, one of my privates had his leg blown off by terrorists, but he didn't cry. He just fainted when he saw the quote for a skin graft!"

"Because he couldn't prove that his leg was injured by a terrorist bomb, he had to pay for all subsequent medical care himself, except for emergency medical care!"

Sam Lane's tone was full of resentment at the situation his soldiers were in, but he really couldn't do anything about it, since the finances in this area were controlled by disgusting politicians.

“My family’s medical insurance has a reimbursement rate of 65%, which is pretty good.” Upon hearing this, Ian subconsciously touched his own medical insurance card.

Although Ian's treatment method usually involves cutting away the parts that are not right, he still cares a lot about his health insurance, as it is a rare symbol of prestige even among the natives of America. Despite the high rejection rate of insurance in America, the good news is that very few people in the country can afford proper health insurance.

"There's also the housing problem."

On the other end of the phone, the old general continued firing.

"Manhattan apartments are so expensive that even university professors are sleeping under bridges. What do West Coast tech elites think about this? They're now calling tents 'mobile micro-homes'!"

"How ironic!"

"This is not the fairness and freedom we fought for back then, so to eradicate these things, we have to overthrow everything and then build a new order from the ruins."

The sound of a glass slamming onto the table came through the phone. Ian guessed his grandfather must be drinking bourbon—because some powerful officials he had seen before loved it.

“The most amazing thing is the education system.” Sam’s sneer continued, “Our public schools produce children where half think ‘evolution’ is some kind of stock market term, and the other half think the earth is flat. Do you know where the 3,680 genders came from? You can see how many idiots we’ve raised by looking at our education system!”

"I bet that even if we just captured a Yuanmou Man, his knowledge would be far superior to that of all the teachers in our schools. With those teachers, how could we worry about not having enough idiots in our country?"

Sam Lane's commentary was incredibly insightful; he truly grasped every problem America faces today, but most of those who understand this certainly won't be able to change it.

no way.

This is reality; there will always be those with greater power who can drown out the voices of those with insight.

"Actually, there are 3,699 genders."

Ian quietly corrected his grandfather's outdated data.

"????"

Sam Lane was noticeably silent for a few seconds.

"Damn it! Nineteen more genders in one night! Even God couldn't have created the world this fast!" he said angrily, his voice filled with disgust for the military's five-star "mutant" general.

“Look at that country across the ocean. We should learn from them. There’s a right path to follow, so why don’t we take it?” Sam Lane’s voice was very red.

This allowed Ian to discern some of Sam Lane's political stance.

A New America?
The United States of America should become the Republic of America!
That scene was truly beautiful.

Ian dared not imagine it.

He was afraid he would fall for her.

“Well, Grandpa, you’ve misunderstood. My tech company actually has another purpose… for my Kryptonian magic.” Ian knew when and what name to give his magic.

however.

His explanation was not heeded by the hot-headed General Sam Lane—he may genuinely love his country, which is why he now hates it more and more.

"I thought your dad would be that hope, but what happened? He was a huge disappointment. Your dad is just a guy who plays superhero house in Metropolis!"

The old general's cold laugh was like a bullet being chambered. Ian's phone suddenly became hot to the touch, and he instinctively tried to turn down the volume, but this didn't seem to hinder Clark's super hearing, who was far away in Africa.

"I didn't hear anything!"

Ian figured Clark wouldn't dare hit his grandfather, but hitting him would definitely feel good. He wanted to hang up, but he was afraid Sam Lane would come knocking that night and try to persuade him to build a new America in front of his father. He could fully sense his grandfather's emotions and knew he wasn't joking.

"Combating criminal groups? Deterring thugs? Clark simply doesn't understand that the reason these scum are like cockroaches that can't be eradicated is because we are living on the eve of the fall of the Roman Empire!"

The sound of heavy books slamming onto the table came from the other end of the phone. Ian seemed to see his grandfather standing in front of a sand table of world history, poking at rotten dynastic specimens with the fingers of generals.

"With land being consolidated into Wall Street, the gap between rich and poor is steeper than the Mayan pyramids, the bureaucracy is more bloated than the Byzantine Empire, and the currency is depreciating faster than the Weimar Republic's Mark—we already have all the ills of the late stages of ancient dynasties on Earth, and this is the crux of why criminal groups and villains are emerging one after another!"

“This is the true end of the American dynasty. Your father is an alien who doesn’t know what it means to learn from history, so he can’t understand our current situation.”

“What we Americans need is a true chosen one, a savior, but what about your father? All he knows is hanging bank robbers on the Metropolitan Clock Tower!”

The old general's breathing became heavy, his voice sharp as a scalpel. Ian was terrified that he would hear his grandfather say things like Aquaman and Wonder Woman were slightly inferior in strategy, Superman and Green Lantern were somewhat short-sighted, and Batman, a genius of his generation, only knew how to shoot the Joker in Gotham.

Fortunately, Grandpa Sam Lane doesn't have Ian's talent for writing on Pinduoduo.

He was just shouting.

It's roaring.

"Only true heroes can create true peace. A true hero does not bandage wounds, but amputates limbs to give this country a new life!"

"When your power surpasses that of everyone else in the world, then a golden age of equality for all will arrive, second only to the emperor!" Sam Lane clearly saw the true nature of the world very clearly.

He was stating a cruel truth, a truth more profound than the law of universal gravitation.

Therefore.

Every word his grandfather spoke was like a scalpel cutting open America's skin, exposing the festering tissue beneath—and the most terrifying thing was that Ian found himself nodding.

His heart was agreeing with Sam Lane's views, a situation more terrifying than the seduction of the Lord of Hell, simply because Sam Lane was stating a correct point! Those analyses are damnably correct! America truly resembles a terminally ill giant, and Clark Clark is still busy applying band-aids to this giant.

"The 'one person' you mentioned, could it be referring to—" Ian, bewitched by his devilish grandfather, trembled with fear and cautiously probed.

as predicted.

Grandpa didn't hesitate for a second.

“Jonathan has no ambition, Jordan… let’s not talk about Jordan, so, of course, that leaves you.” Sam’s voice was deep and shrewd.

He may have been thinking about and planning this for a long time, so much so that some of Ian's actions caused him to misunderstand. The grandfather suddenly felt that Ian was the best grandson with his own spirit.

"Do you expect your father, who thinks 'world peace equals saving three or five people every day', to do that?" Sam Lane retorted, only to be met with Ian's feigned ignorance once again.

but.

This did not diminish the passionate enthusiasm of the good grandfather who wanted to become the Grand Marshal.

“Remember, Ian.”

The old general concluded, "Americans don't trust the government now, but they'll always believe in two things—free Wi-Fi and a savior who can reimburse their health insurance."

"Your discount supermarket is good, but not enough."

“So you not only need to provide people with affordable daily necessities, but you also need to focus on some key areas to benefit the people,” Sam suggested. “For example, in healthcare, you could consider launching some affordable healthcare service programs, or start a pharmaceutical company to lower drug prices so that more people can afford basic healthcare services.”

"For example, in education, scholarships or bursaries can be established to help talented students who lack financial support to complete their studies. Investments can also be made in vocational skills training to enhance the competitiveness of adult workers and enable them to occupy a favorable position in the future job market."

"In addition, there is something that can be done on the housing issue... Of course, as for the military, as I said before, if the current benefits are doubled, I can send you to the White House, and if they can be increased three to five times, and medical care, pensions, and daily meal allowances are guaranteed."

“Even if they’re not my men, they’ll help you blow up the White House.” Sam Lane seemed eager to try it out; he was like one of the most dangerous instigators in the world.

“When you show hope to those who are desperate, they will lift you up—you will become a true hero.” Ian swallowed hard at these words, which were full of social philosophy.

Ian's vision suddenly blurred, as if he saw himself being crowned—on the left were demons scattering flowers, and on the right was his grandfather leading an army of 100,000 in salute.

In the distance, Clark is sprinting forward, holding a sign that reads "Spanking in the street!"

hiss!
Ian immediately snapped out of his reverie, snapping out of his grandfather's fantasy. His kindness and simplicity shared a common anchor: the boy didn't want to be treated like a villain by his father.

"Hello? Grandpa? The signal's bad!" Ian suddenly held the phone away, shouting with exaggerated acting, "I can't hear you. Let's talk about these adult topics another day."

There must be a place for Grandpa in hell. The moment the phone call ended, the boy still felt a stirring in his heart. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and was quite emotional.

Even someone as audacious as Mr. Ian only wanted to use his influence to get his mother into the White House, but his usually serious and patriotic grandfather wanted to blow up the White House.

"I've become a radical ridiculed by conservatives!" Ian exclaimed, sweating profusely. The two demons beside him, with their keen ears, were momentarily unsure whether they should call him King Ian.

"..."

Dr. Hannibal remained silent. As a ghost, he had, of course, overheard Ian and Sam Lane's phone call, so he realized he had seriously underestimated the mental state of Ian's family.

The grandson is obsessed with New Heaven and New Justice League, while the grandfather longs for New America. Is it possible that everyone in this family, from the oldest to the youngest, has some kind of serious illness?
"I need to tell my mom!"

Ian pondered for a long time.

He ultimately proved his traditional talent as a top student.

at the same time.

In an office at a secret military base, General Sam Lane sat upright, staring at a portrait of Washington on the wall, a smile unconsciously creeping onto his lips.

"I've finally got my chance!"

The old general murmured to himself.

"So this is what they mean by the special bond between grandparents and grandchildren, isn't it?"

He remembered Ian sitting on his lap as a child, smashing all his trophies with marbles—now that he thought about it, that kid probably had the temperament of a disruptor from birth!

And now, this talent could finally be put to good use. Sam Lane, feeling pleased that he had seen through Ian's intentions, sipped his unsweetened black tea. Yes, he felt he had completely grasped Ian's ambitions—that so-called tech company was more than just wealth and power.

Rather, it's about reshaping the blueprint for the world.

He, Sam Lane, will become the key driving force behind this blueprint. He is no longer the old general bound by the system, but a prophet who will witness and participate in a great transformation.

"Things are getting better!" After realizing this, Sam Lane gave up bourbon. He no longer wanted to drink, after all, he wanted to keep his health up so he could witness Ian bring glory to his ancestors.

“I almost forgot, Louise asked me to do something.” Sam put down his teacup, then suddenly slapped his forehead as if remembering something, put on his uniform, and walked out of the office. In the corridor, whether high-ranking officers or ordinary soldiers, everyone who saw him immediately stood at attention and saluted, their faces full of respect.

"Hello, sir!"

"General Ryan!"

Sam smiled and nodded in acknowledgment.

With firm steps, he walked toward the most core restricted area of ​​this military region—the top-secret building. The officers passing by all felt that General Sam's steps were lighter than usual today.

Old Sam went through three security checks.

Finally, we stopped in front of a gray building without any signs.

"Retinal scan successful, General Sam Lane, clearance level: Alpha."

The mechanical female voice announced coldly.

Sam Lane used facial recognition to pass through three heavy blast doors and enter a brightly lit, futuristic underground laboratory, where the air was filled with the smell of ozone and unknown chemicals.

"General Ryan?"

The lab director, a middle-aged scientist with gold-rimmed glasses and an arrogant expression, looked up from in front of a pile of data screens. "What brings you here? A critical experiment is underway here. General, unauthorized visits are against the rules, and I think you should also abide by the rules you set."

Although the man spoke respectfully, he secretly looked down on high-ranking officials like Sam Lane, believing that these officials couldn't even understand the knowledge he had learned in his teens.

Scholars and writers seem to share similar personality traits.

"Give me that cat that my men captured with the kryptonite weapon." Sam Lane didn't care about the researchers' disdain for him.

He spoke in a serious tone and made his request.

"Orange cat?"

The supervisor frowned, then realized what was happening and looked troubled. “General, that’s not just a cat. It’s currently the only Earth creature that can reliably withstand Kryptonite radiation, and it’s an excellent specimen for studying the weaknesses of Kryptonian life! Like ‘that dog,’ its value is immeasurable! The research plan has already been submitted, and you can’t take it away.”

This manager's acting skills are quite impressive. Although he doesn't seem like he's offended Sam Lane, his tone leaves no room for negotiation.

“Listen, Major, someone I can’t afford to mess with is pressuring me, so if you don’t want me to pressure you, give me that damn cat.”

Sam's voice suddenly lowered, carrying an undeniable authority. He took a step forward, his imposing presence pressing down like a mountain, his eyes sharp as knives.

"Ok?"

The supervisor was taken aback by the sudden sense of oppression and involuntarily took a half step back. His mind raced—could the people Sam Lane was so wary of, even calling them "untouchable," be those truly powerful families hidden in America's shadow? Those who even the president had to treat with deference?
Thinking of this, the supervisor's Adam's apple bobbed.

Cold sweat broke out on his brow. He quickly waved his hand and ordered his men, "Quick! Bring that Kryptonian orange cat from the cage in Sector B7 to General Ryan! Hurry!"

Soon, an ordinary orange cat with dull fur was brought over in a specially made radiation cage. Through the kryptonite glass, a comatose orange cat could be seen curled up inside, its belly rising and falling weakly with its breathing. Without a word, Sam took the cage containing the comatose orange cat and turned to leave.

“Let me give you a heads-up, Major,” Sam stopped at the doorway. “You’re the one who truly enjoys breaking the rules. Although I haven’t caught you red-handed, I still advise you to stop conducting those illegal biological experiments.” He turned and gave the lab supervisor a deep look.

“This area is not under your jurisdiction, General Ryan. You’re just a general, aren’t you?” The supervising doctor smiled at Sam Ryan without any hesitation. He had powerful backers, so he was naturally unafraid of the other party’s warning, and even secretly warned Ian’s grandfather in return.

"Yes, I am just a general, no match for the politicians behind you who want to gain power. Believe me, I know this better than you think."

Sam slowly turned around.

His eyes were as cold as the Siberian permafrost.

The moment the door closed, the supervisor, who had felt a chill run down his spine from being stared at, finally withdrew his gaze. He quickly adjusted his breathing and strode towards the restricted area deep within the laboratory.

After passing through three airtight doors, the laboratory director stopped in front of a huge glass chamber. Inside, a soft light floated, as if it were a living light slowly "breathing".

"Once I figure out the secret I dug out of the missionary's body," the supervisor said, pressing his face against the cold glass, his eyes burning with fanatical ambition.

“No one can look at me like that anymore… They will worship me and treat me as their only god. If I ask them to do that, they will become that!” The supervisor’s breathing was exceptionally clear in the silent laboratory. He stared at the ball of light in the glass dome, his fingertips trembling slightly with excitement.

His glasses reflected an eerie light, and his shadow was cast on the specimen cabinet next to him—where many of the items this particular military institution had "harvested" from the outside were displayed.

Inside a bulletproof glass case, an alien embryo covered in slime is slowly wriggling; in a sealed sandbox, the mummy of an ancient Egyptian high priest, wrapped in ancient bandages, lies quietly.

However, his fingers seemed to twitch slightly.

No one noticed.

Perhaps it was the mummy's influence that caused the fluctuations in some kind of power that the laboratory equipment had not recorded. Suddenly, a piercing metallic twisting sound came from behind the supervisor. The triple-protected sealed iron box shattered as if crushed by an invisible giant hand, and the special steel broke into pieces like fragile tin foil.

Before the alarm could even sound, it was extinguished in the air by some ancient force.

The dust slowly settled.

The things that were sealed within were revealed.

"what happened?"

Knowing that this place contained "mysterious things," the supervisor was like a frightened bird, his face pale with fright. He subconsciously turned around, and the fear that arose after he realized what was happening made his pupils dilate suddenly.

no way.

Because the supervisor knew his laboratory very well, the statue reflected in his pupils made him freeze instantly, not daring to even blink.

In the center of the shattered container, a stone statue stands silently. It has an elegant female silhouette, long hair flowing down, hands covering its face, as if it is sobbing silently. Every detail of the carving is so perfect that it is chilling—the lines are not something a human could have carved, but rather a frozen moment of some kind of life being petrified in an instant.

And now, it is facing him, staring back at him.

When you look at it, it's just a stone, but once you look away, it might not be.

The image of the statue flashed through the trembling supervisor's mind. His eyes began to sting from not daring to blink, and cold sweat streamed down his spine.

The white coat was soaked through.

Just then, the overhead light suddenly started flickering.

Yi Ming.

It was dark.

In that moment of darkness, the supervisor swore he heard the sound of stones scraping together. When the lights came on again—the statue's arm had extended half an inch forward.

This is a mysterious entity temporarily named the "Crying Angel." It is an ancient and perfect being that is as old as the universe itself. Its ultimate defense mechanism is "quantum locking"—it will instantly petrify when any creature looks at it and cannot be killed. However, if the creature blinks or turns its head, the statue will move at supersonic speed to approach the target.

It will draw upon the life force of its target, as well as the essence of its existence.

"Damn it! Quick! Find a scapegoat!" The supervisor tried to shout at his subordinates, but no one answered—the alarm system in this extremely high-risk laboratory should have sounded immediately.

But when the supervisor's shouts echoed in the enclosed space, all that answered him was deathly silence—some ancient and eerie force had long since severed all connection between this place and the outside world.

"No! No! I can't die under the experimental subject I'm researching!" The supervisor's eyes were bloodshot from staring so wide open. He remembered what the British agent had said when he handed over the statue's file.

“You Americans always love to collect things you shouldn’t touch.” This statement resonated strongly with the supervisor at that moment. However, he hadn’t suddenly awakened; he simply knew he was going to die.

Do not blink. Absolutely do not blink.

The supervisor dared not look away from the stone statue in front of him for even a second.

But human instinct is ultimately cruel. In the instant his tears flowed, he caught a glimpse of an even more horrifying sight out of the corner of his eye—in the sandbox, the mummy labeled "licking it can enhance male virility" was slowly sitting up. The decaying bandages peeled away, revealing the dark, dry skin beneath.

It turned its head, its empty eye sockets facing the supervisor, and with the opening and closing of its jaw, it uttered obscure and difficult-to-understand ancient Egyptian. The field of linguistics had indeed touched upon the blind spot of the biology PhD.

"Help me! Help me!"

The supervisor's screams almost tore his throat apart.

He knew perfectly well that asking a mummy for help was utterly absurd, but compared to the moving, self-erasing statue in front of him, at least the mummified corpse seemed to have a brain and could communicate.

however.

The mummy did not respond to his cries for help.

It only let out a hoarse laugh, like the whistling of the wind blowing through the cracks of the pyramid. Then, the mummy slowly stepped out of the sandbox, its body made of lifeless sand making a "crackling" sound as its bones rubbed together, and slowly stood up, its tall figure casting a huge, distorted shadow in the dim light.

The mummy didn't look at the supervisor, nor at the approaching stone statue. Instead, its bandages dragged along the fine sand as it walked straight to the glass dome in the center of the warehouse, where the mysterious light core was stored.

Yes.

The glass enclosure contains the light that the supervisor stared at with a perverted look—perhaps, if someone knowledgeable were here, they would know its real name.

Unfortunately, there was no one knowledgeable about it.

No! That's my baby—

The supervisor's words came to an abrupt end.

The mummy's fist smashed the reinforced glass.

"boom!"

The glass dome shattered, and pale blue liquid poured out. The pulsating, gentle light within the liquid, seemingly containing the very essence of the universe, was freed from its constraints and floated in the air like a miniature star.

The ball of light did not escape.

It seemed curious, expectant, and eager to try, so it didn't resist, letting the bandages wrap around it. Then, the mummy opened its mouth.

That wasn't devouring, it was an invitation.

The ball of light immediately darted inside, as if in response, and was swallowed into the mummy's parched throat. Instantly, blinding light burst forth from the mummy's seven orifices.

In an instant, a strange change occurred!

The mummy's body began to swell and change. New skin covered the entire skull at an astonishing speed, becoming firm, smooth, and shimmering with an almost metallic, healthy sheen. The bandages tore apart inch by inch, revealing the new body beneath: strong muscles, smooth skin, and a shiny bald head.

The wrinkles, the marks of wind and sand, the signs of death on the mummy's face were all smoothed out. In their place was a young, handsome, and dignified face.

Imhotep

The supervisor collapsed to the ground, his eyes still glued to the weeping angel, yet he still fearfully uttered the name he had found in the ancient text that unearthed the mummy. The newly born bald man stretched his neck, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. He looked at the supervisor, still restrained by the statue, and greeted him in fluent English.

"Have a pleasant death. Oh, and just so you know, hell isn't exactly a cozy place." With that, he turned and headed for the door. As he walked, the entire warehouse seemed to be infused with a strange life force—the alien embryos in the incubators suddenly began to writhe faster, and Godzilla's heart in the freezer began to revive.

Inside a containment container labeled "Dangerous Life Form," a clump of slime began rhythmically pounding against the glass. The supervisor's despair reached its peak. He realized he had made a fatal mistake—the laboratory might never have been holding "specimens" at all, but rather a group of predators disguised as prisoners.

only.

By the time the supervisor realized this, it was clearly too late.

just now.

The cage was opened.

In a moment of distraction, the statue's finger moved an inch closer to his eyeball. Outside the laboratory, the bald man, seemingly unseen, broke through the heavy security.

He hummed an ancient Egyptian folk song as he stepped into the sunlight.

"I said, I want a carriage to take me away." As soon as he finished speaking, as if by magic, a carriage fell from the sky as if a cheat code had been entered in a game called Vice City.

The bald man sat down.

His shadow was cast on the ground, but it was not in the shape of a human.

……

Ian sneezed so hard he almost dropped his phone.

"Grandpa must be nagging me again," he muttered, rubbing his nose. He casually opened his contacts and dialed his mother's number without hesitation—when it comes to complaining, you have to be the first to act.

The call was connected faster than he expected.

"Mom! Grandpa—" Ian switched to a pitiful voice in an instant, "He actually encouraged me to be Napoleon! Knowing I'm still growing, isn't he deliberately trying to prevent me from growing to 1.8 meters tall?"

The sound of glasses clinking against ice came from the other end of the phone. Louise Lane was clearly using whiskey to cope with a family crisis: "Did your grandfather really say that?"

“He implied!” Ian added righteously, “that Clark’s fight against crime is child’s play, that America is like the late Roman Empire, and that I should be the Augustus of the new Rome.” He deliberately omitted the most crucial part about political subversion.

Then came another long, resounding sound of ice sloshing around.

"You should go home first."

Louise's voice had a strange quality to it.

"And then we'll publicly denounce your grandfather?"

She mentioned home.

Ian broke out in a cold sweat instantly.

The boy said cautiously, "That... house was bombed this morning. So... actually, I bought you a villa!"

He tried to make up for it with material things and salvage his image.

"The kind with a temperature-controlled wine cellar!"

These words did not achieve the desired effect.

Unexpected.

The mother burst into drunken merriment on the other end of the phone.

"Your friend has already helped us fix our new house."

Louise's voice suddenly brightened. "I must say, her taste is much better than yours—the whole house is Baroque style, the master bedroom ceiling is a starry dome, and even the kitchen has an anti-magic barrier. Yes, our house finally has a device to prevent mages from sneaking up on us, so we no longer have to worry about your old man not being sensitive to magical attacks."

Her tone was filled with emotion.

They were just playing on their own family's jokes.

"my friend?"

Ian suddenly had a bad feeling.

"Oh, right."

Louise seemed to have just remembered.

“He also brought his…very enthusiastic mother.” Her tone suddenly turned playful. “That lady kept asking me what color sheets I liked.”

Hear the words.

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

What is Louise saying? How could his super brain not understand?

"It's Lucifer and the Goddess of Creation!" The more Ian thought about it, the more likely it seemed. Given Lucifer's personality, after being seduced by the Goddess of Creation's maternal love, he might very well lead the way in drugging him.

"Um, no, you run, you run! That friend's mom is seriously ill!" Ian was about to continue arguing when he suddenly heard the sound of a door opening on the other end of the phone, followed by Louise's surprised shout: "Jonathan? You actually came back! This bouquet of roses is... Good heavens, you actually bought flowers?"

Ian's blood froze instantly. His older brother's home? With flowers? That Jonathan Kent who thought "romance is a capitalist trap"? There's definitely something fishy going on here!
Ian made a quick decision, hung up the phone, and called Jordan.

"Jordan! Run! Don't go home!"

Ian felt that he could save as many as he could.

However, all that came through the receiver was the cacophony of film set noise.

Interspersed with the director's excited shouts.

"Jordan! I knew this job was perfect for you. From the moment I spotted you at school, I knew it. Please do another Crescent Moon Rush! You acted so well! It didn't look like acting at all!" The other party was clearly an international director who had seized a business opportunity and made a wave of investments.

"Ian? What's wrong now? I'm filming, I'll call you back later." Jordan's voice was tinged with helplessness and a sense of being busy.

After hanging up the phone, Jordan went back to filming the Homelander character, who had come to his door. The comic's copyright, it's said, somehow ended up in Quinn Industries' hands.

It was this group's film and television company that suddenly came to Jordan's high school and, from among hundreds of high school students, wisely selected him and Jonathan.

However, Jonathan declined, so the opportunity to debut in Hollywood fell to Jordan. Actually, being a social anxiety sufferer, Jordan initially didn't want to be an actor.

However, the other party offered him far too much, showering him with compliments and claiming that he was the embodiment of the original Patriot. He couldn't even explain that the original comic was his younger brother's work and that the other party's prototype wasn't him. He was thus tricked into joining the film crew in a daze.

Upon joining the filming crew.

Jordan discovered that he seemed to have a natural talent for acting, and he didn't have any NGs in several consecutive shoots. So he took this opportunity that he had inexplicably obtained very seriously.

Just before Ian made the call, Jordan had already achieved financial freedom, having made a fortune from the preparation of merchandise for the series—it's quite normal to operate merchandise for movies and TV shows in advance.

After all, if production were to begin after the series became a hit, America's industrial capacity wouldn't be able to keep up, and Quinn Industries doesn't have any partner factories in Asia that produce special merchandise.

Yes, this is a unique piece of merchandise. Among Hollywood actors throughout history, Jordan created something truly one-of-a-kind – Homelander, a 1:1 golden ratio life-size mold, with a realistic feel, squeezing out the patriotic gene.

You, who long to be loved, deserve it!

(End of this chapter)