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

Chapter 172 Superman and Self-Awakening!
In the world of consciousness.

Clark felt a sudden dizziness, and his body fell backward uncontrollably. He plunged into an endless starry sky, surrounded by twinkling stars and deep darkness.

Superman instinctively raised his hand, trying to grab something, only to find that his superpowers were meaningless here. He couldn't fly, couldn't control his descent, and could only watch helplessly as the white-clad woman who called herself "Paradox" gradually shrank in his vision, eventually disappearing into the distant starlight.

A mysterious, faint smile seemed to still linger on the corners of her mouth.

Meanwhile, the real world.

"Clark! Clark!"

Louise had no idea what had happened to Clark. She only saw Clark's body suddenly stiffen, his eyes roll back, and he fell backward like a puppet with its strings cut.

Fortunately, Superman's wife, Lois Lane, reacted quickly, catching Clark in time and dragging him to a corner, thus preventing Superman's unconsciousness from being discovered.

"Clark! Wake up! Clark!"

She kept shouting and slapping Superman's cheeks. A few seconds later, Clark jerked and opened his eyes—clearly, Lois's voice had pulled Superman back to reality.

He suddenly opened his eyes and found himself lying in his wife's arms, with a fluttering white gauze scarf still visible in his iris, as if it were the last trace left by that woman.

"That woman! Something's wrong with that woman!" Clark suddenly stood up, his eyes unfocused, his breathing rapid, and his forehead covered in cold sweat, but he couldn't care less about his own condition at the moment.

Upon waking, Superman immediately began to look around again, scanning every corner of the planet, but the woman in the white dress had already vanished without a trace.

No matter where his gaze moved on the earth, he could no longer find the woman in the white dress; it was as if she had vanished from the world into thin air.

What just happened to me?

Clark looked at his wife.

"You just passed out, and for about half an hour, I couldn't wake you up no matter what I did." Clark was incredibly surprised by Louise's statement.

He clearly only felt about five minutes pass.

"Time Lord..."

Clark recalled the woman's self-identification. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. It wasn't a hallucination, not a dream, but some extremely unusual experience. The other person had "exiled" his consciousness to the outer reaches of the universe with just a glance—something no ordinary being could do.

"Is it magic, or some other means?" The more Clark thought about it, the more frightened he became. Even though his super brain was activated, he still couldn't tell whether the mysterious woman was friend or foe.

If you consider the other person a bad guy, they did prevent a major chaos and disaster. But if you see them as a good guy, their smile and domineering manner make you feel inexplicably uneasy.

"Who could it be?"

Clark was deeply worried.

at this time.

"Woo-wu-wu-"

A piercing alarm suddenly went off.

"It's terrible! The underground base has fallen! All 186 nuclear missiles are gone!" The officer's shout came from underground, and Clark's face instantly turned serious.

Everyone knows how terrifying and important nuclear weapons are, and that's why he didn't have time to explain or think. In a flash, he disappeared from Louise's sight.

"Did that woman take the nuclear bomb too? What does she want to do with it?" Clark was filled with unease. The next second, he appeared at a nuclear weapons storage base thousands of meters underground.

This place should have been one of the most secure military facilities in the world, with walls made of anti-radiation alloy, 24-hour quantum monitoring, and any unauthorized approach would trigger a global alarm.

But at this moment—the nuclear weapons storage area in the center of the base is completely empty.

No, it's not "gone".

Instead, it is being moved away.

Dozens of soldiers, dressed in black exoskeleton armor, are loading nuclear warheads, along with the intercontinental ballistic missiles themselves, into specially designed transport containers and transporting them to unknown locations via covert passages.

And in front of the control room.

Sam Lane is having a heated argument with a creature dressed in the uniform of a five-star U.S. general. Yes, a creature, because the other party's gender is ambiguous and undefinable.

The general was neither human nor female. Although he was tall and strong, his makeup was very alluring, and his every move exuded a charm that could only be seen in the palace before the fall of the Qing Dynasty.

"Are you insane?! Damn it! Walker!" Sam Lane's voice was filled with suppressed rage. "If these weapons get out of control, the consequences will be unimaginable!"

He had always known about the military's flaws, and even considered himself one of them, but something as absurd as this was still hard for Sam Lane, the shortest of the shortest strands of that flaw, to imagine.

"Sam, don't be so rigid. With that woman taking the blame, who will suspect us?" The five-star general of the army just sneered in the face of the accusation.

The sounds are also very diverse.

It slowly and methodically adjusted its cuffs.
"Besides, the buyer offered a very good price. So, in a way, we're secretly supporting our ally." The five-star general hadn't learned many other skills, but he was extremely adept at affected mannerisms. His tone contained both the firmness a man should have and the gentleness a woman normally possesses.

“Revenue generation?!” Sam Lane practically roared. “That’s treason!”

“Treason?” The general scoffed. “In this era, loyalty is the cheapest thing. The buyer is very generous, paying in full upfront and settling in cryptocurrency.”

“If you don’t want this money, plenty of others do. As an old friend, I advise you to convince yourself that we’re just making a… reasonable deal.”

Its voice carried a threatening tone.

"Damn it! You...you guys are really insane!"

Sam Lane's expression kept changing, and his orders were not being given to the soldiers who were carrying the goods, which made him increasingly annoyed and ugly.

"No, this is precisely the proof of our rationality. You love reading history, so you can understand that there are no thousand-year-old empires in this world, but there are families that last for ten thousand years."

"We serve the country, and the country should naturally give us some nourishment in return." The five-star general's tone remained nonchalant as he watched the nuclear bomb being moved with a very calm expression.

Standing not far away, upon hearing the five-star general's speech, Superman's worldview began to crumble. He stared blankly at the busy soldiers carrying things.

Yes, the nuclear bombs haven't been stolen yet, but they are being stolen.

“These weapons should not be traded.” Clark’s pupils contracted slightly. Coming to his senses, he quickly stepped forward and stated his opinion in an extremely serious tone.

however.

"Oh? Superman is meddling in other people's business too?"

The general turned his head, saw Superman, and a hint of mockery flashed in his eyes.

"These nuclear bombs will trigger wars and kill countless civilians."

Clark warned in a deep voice.

"Civilians? Don't worry, no one will actually use nuclear weapons. We're not selling them to terrorist organizations." The general raised an eyebrow noncommittally.

Its smile looked rather indifferent.

"In reality, everything in this world has its price, including you, Superman. You are already grateful for our kindness and tolerance to be a hero in this country."

A five-star general, in his mortal form, mocked the gods of the human world.

Clark clenched his fist.

However, he ultimately did not wield it—he was no longer a passionate teenager or young man in his twenties, and many political and corruption problems could not be solved by superpowers.

The five-star admiral glanced at Superman's fist, his eyes filled with smug satisfaction at his power. Power was so alluring; even Superman feared him, so what did he have to fear?
“Go save those who have slipped and fallen and almost been hit by cars. Don’t meddle in things that aren’t your business.” With that, the five-star general, who had been dismissive of Clark, pulled out a completely black, encrypted phone.

He walked to a corner and spoke in a low voice.

"Sir, the goods have been packed and will be delivered in three hours... Don't worry, no one will get in the way." This blatant disregard for propriety clearly demonstrates the arrogance and confidence of a five-star general.

"Kacha~Kacha~Kacha~"

Clark stood still, his fists clenched.

He could shatter this base with a single punch and subdue all the soldiers in an instant.

But he knew it was meaningless.

Behind this lies an even larger network.

This "general" is not an individual.

It is a system.

A puppet network controlled by the deep state. Today there are "generals," tomorrow there can be "presidents," "judges," and "scientists."

This is America's greatest enemy.

however.

Even Superman is powerless to do anything about it.

He looked at Sam Lane, whose face was filled with frustration and anger.

“I tried my best,” Sam said softly, his voice filled with deep weariness, “but some people… have long forgotten what the bottom line is.”

Clark was silent for a moment, then finally took a deep breath.

"This is not the end." His gaze swept over the nuclear bombs being transported away, and his super hearing caught the conversation of the five-star general, who was indeed very arrogant.

"Yes, the goods are ready and will be delivered within 24 hours... Don't worry, no one can stop this deal, not even that cloak-wearing fool we all dislike."

"Of course, that's right. There's always been someone to take the blame."

The five-star general is still acting recklessly.

A flash of annoyance crossed Clark's eyes.

He took one last deep look at the inhuman creature, then disappeared into the base deep underground, the five-star general completely unconcerned.

"What a bunch of bastards!" Superman returned to the surface from the underground base with a grim face, his red boots crushing a piece of concrete marked with radiation on the scorched earth. Lois ran up to him, but was startled by her husband's rare expression of anger—his usually gentle blue eyes were now churning with a storm like a Kansas tornado.

"What happened? Was the nuclear bomb really stolen?"

Louise went to meet him and immediately noticed that something was wrong with her husband.

"They sold the nuclear bombs." Clark's voice, as if carved from a glacier, was cold and tinged with helplessness. "Openly and honestly, right before my eyes."

Louise dropped the recorder from her hand.

The night wind blew Louise's blonde hair, revealing her pale face.

"Oh my god. What if this gets reported?"

She didn't finish her sentence, just as she thought she could seize on a news story, but in reality, she knew that such a story could never be published.

“We can’t tell the public about this. The media is all under the control of America’s deep government, including the newspapers you and I work for.” Louise staggered a step, leaning against the dilapidated wall, rubbing her temples hard with her fingers, as if trying to crush this absurd reality.

"Yes."

Clark pulled open his collar.

Take a deep breath.

It felt as if the iconic "S" logo was burning his skin. Hearing this, Louise also felt somewhat powerless. She rubbed her temples and hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Perhaps we should inform our friend in Gotham.” Lois felt Superman should tell Bruce about this, as Bruce also had some influence within the Deep Government. Or rather, whether Bruce Wayne liked it or not, given his corporation and influence, he was essentially a member of the Deep Government.

"Until that God thing is resolved, Bruce will probably be out of contact for a while." Clark gave a wry smile, took out his phone, and pressed speed dial.

Bruce Wayne's carefully recorded voice immediately came through the speaker.

"Hello, this is Wayne Manor. Please leave a message if you need anything. However, the audacious Kent family should refrain from leaving messages, as Alfred will periodically delete any offensive language."

Clark stared at his phone. He dialed again, hung up, and dialed again, but no matter how many times he tried, it was always the same cold, recorded message. This was something Clark had already noticed.

"To avoid me having to look for him, he's living like a ghost now; I can't find him at all." Clark put his phone back in his pocket, utterly exasperated.

He had previously asked Wonder Woman to help him contact Bruce Wayne. Wonder Woman did manage to contact Bruce, but after explaining the situation, she ran into trouble.

Wonder Woman has also been blacklisted by Bruce Wayne.

In the wind over the ruins.

Clark was somewhat exhausted.

“Clark, I want to eat something…” Louise sighed, rubbing her sore eyes. Compared to Ian’s situation, she was actually more worried about the military’s actions.

It was said to be sold to qualified buyers.

They dare to sell even strategic deterrent weapons. Who knows how much truth these guys have in their mouths? Who knows, one day those hundred-plus nuclear bombs might become deadly weapons in the hands of terrorists.

"Okay, let's go somewhere else." Clark looked at his wife's worried and tired face and nodded with heartache. He knew that his wife wanted to drink some malt beverage.

“Although I can’t get drunk, right now, I really wish I could.” Clark had never envied someone who could get drunk so much. He carried his wife and soared into the sky, leaving the desolate ruins behind.

Even if it wasn't destroyed, it might still be a filthy place.

As the saying goes, out of sight, out of mind. Five minutes later, the two changed out of their battle uniforms and formal attire, put on ordinary casual clothes, and walked into a 24-hour fast food restaurant.

The fluorescent tubes buzzed above Clark's head.

The lighting was dim, and the air was filled with the aroma of French fries and coffee. Louise bought sixty cans of beer and ten bottles of strong ale. The clerk behind the counter was yawning as he filled their trays with fries, completely unaware that the man in the plaid shirt was the same person featured in the poster on the wall.

The two sat in a corner booth, silent, simply drinking. Louise drank one glass after another, while Clark sipped slowly, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings warily.

This was certainly not about checking on the situation inside the restaurant, but rather about keeping an eye on other parts of the Earth. He still hadn't given up searching for the woman who had previously caused him to fall into a coma.

"All media."

Louise downed her third glass of tequila, then slammed the glass down on the plastic table.

"We, including ourselves, are all lying."

She had clearly fallen into a drunken state again. Soon, she leaned back in her chair, her eyes glazed, and murmured, "Did we...do we do something wrong?"

"Why has the world become like this...?"

This is entering a mode of philosophical thinking.

Clark silently chewed on his hamburger, or perhaps it wasn't just the hamburger—Kryptonians have an equally invincible digestive system, so he could swallow the wrapper along with it without getting diarrhea.

Superman was clearly a little distracted, his mind racing with analysis.

"Our reporter brings you live coverage."

At that moment, CNN was broadcasting news of the Egyptian pyramid explosion on TV, but what really caught his attention was the strange little shrine at the bottom of the screen.

A tiny Superman statue was placed in front of fries and ketchup.

Like a kind of postmodern offering.

"What's going on?"

Clark pointed to the area below the television and asked a student he knew who was cleaning. The student had an Asian face, which was quite common in this country.

"Oh, you don't know? That's the guardian deity of the metropolis. You can't go wrong with believing in him a little." The waiter was a young man wearing glasses, busy wiping tables and sweeping up trash on the floor.

"Patronus?"

Clark was somewhat surprised.

He was unaware of when such worship had become popular in Metropolis, and Superman was not particularly happy about being worshipped by others.

"Yes! I bought it in Black Thunderbolt's live stream, it was 9.9 yuan with free shipping, and Walmart's Plastic Bag Superman delivered it personally. Do you know Black Thunderbolt and Walmart's Plastic Bag Superman?"

"Many lesser-known superheroes are selling these, as well as cushions and car keychains—all copyrighted, and blessed by Walmart's Plastic Bag Superman himself."

The waiter gave a warm introduction.

His words silenced Clark. When he asked the waiter, Clark had already realized something was wrong, but he hadn't realized it was this bad.

"Live streaming? Selling goods?"

Clark's eyelids, the corners of his mouth, and every part of his body with skin was twitching slightly as he heard from the other person about activities that superheroes had never done before.

Aren't you watching the live stream?

The waiter enthusiastically opened a certain app.

"This is the newly revamped [Superhero Popularity Center]! For ten dollars, you can watch superheroes fight bad guys in real life, and you can even tip the superheroes."

"Although only some obscure superheroes are reluctantly doing live streams right now, I think this is bound to be the future trend. Superheroes need to eat too."

"Just imagine, an ordinary person like me, actually being able to throw money at superheroes and have them call me family. That would be amazing." The waiter clearly had contributed a lot of Franklin to Ian's platform.

"..."

Clark took the bottle from Louise's hand.

Cheers!

Although he didn't speak, his silence spoke volumes; his emotions were all in the wine. Meanwhile, the waiter continued his incessant chatter, trying to persuade the out-of-touch middle-aged man to buy his drink.

"Oh, and there's Walmart Plastic Bag Superman and his slightly aloof Superman brother. They don't stream, but for just $100 you can get Walmart Plastic Bag Superman to let you touch his pectoral muscles!"

"For a thousand dollars, Walmart's Plastic Bag Superman can supposedly take you for a ride in the sky. Every Saturday and Sunday, Walmart's Plastic Bag Superman will be there on the other side of the bridge to pick up customers."

He scrolled to the top of the album.

"Look, this is the group photo we took yesterday!"

In the photo, a "Superman" dressed in a cheap cosplay outfit is seen hugging a waiter and making a V-sign. The "S" logo on his chest is crooked, as if it had been chewed by a dog. Even more shockingly, he has "Walmart Plastic Bag Superman" written on his face.

Only Clark, whose emotions were in turmoil, knew that it was clearly a "uniform" that Jordan had made himself from supermarket shopping bags, with a pre-sale advertisement for Ian's greatest technological product printed on the hood.

Jordan's clothes also had the words "Advertising space for rent" written on them.

That level of calligraphy skill.

It's definitely Ian's handwriting again; they even skipped the printed version and just used whatever ink they had at home—a powerful alliance of business geniuses.

"Crunch, crunch, crunch~"

Clark's fists clenched so tightly under the table they cracked, even more so than in the underground base. These days, for a middle-aged superhero, the greatest enemy might not be Doomsday.

Instead, they are the hidden dragon and the young phoenix in the family.

Clark stared at the group photo on the waiter's phone, his pupils trembling violently. In the photo, Jordan's smug face was covered by a cheap plastic bag hood, and the crooked "S" drawn on his chest with a marker looked like a twitching earthworm.

"You don't need to envy me."

The waiter misread Clark's expression and lowered his voice mysteriously, "What we should really envy is the lucky person who won the grand prize in yesterday's raffle after taking a photo with Walmart's Plastic Bag Superman—the grand prize is the original manuscript of 'My Superman Father,' which Pantyhose Superman found in the basement he rented before his death!"

The waiter sighed.

The words carried a name that Clark hadn't heard in several days, a name that had finally brought some peace to his ears. Upon hearing it again, Clark crushed the Coke can in his hand into an aluminum disc.

"I heard that the boy became an angel after he died, and even the Vatican venerates him." The waiter wiped the condiment bottles, his eyes filled with a pious reverence as if he were discussing a great being. Hearing this, Clark controlled his facial expression, his mind filled with images of Jordan and Ian's illicit affair, images that wouldn't leave his mind.

"You guys still believe this?" Clark tried his best to put on an expression of indifference, as if he were just a bystander, but his voice was still squeezed out from between his teeth.

"Why wouldn't you believe it? Anyone with eyes can see that Superman in stockings and Superman in Walmart plastic bags are Superman's children. They are the new era's correct-minded Supermen." The waiter said in a low voice while wiping the table, stating a fact that people not only in Metropolis, but also in other places could probably guess.

"..."

Superman glanced at Lois, who was fast asleep on the table, and felt a pang of sadness. Sadness stemmed from the fact that he had no normal family member to face this life with. At that moment, Clark truly wished he could develop Alzheimer's in his old age, so he could forget the trauma he had to confront in his youth. "That final manuscript... is it valuable?"

Clark asked mechanically.

He really was trying hard to pretend to be a complete stranger.

Upon hearing this, the waiter paused in wiping the cups. He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Speaking of valuable items, the truly valuable ones are definitely the things Walmart sold in its early days with its Plastic Bag Superman."

"Perhaps because of a lack of money, no one expected that such a thing would actually be circulating on the black market." The waiter's eyes drifted towards the "Superman Altar" behind the counter.

Clark's superhuman intuition suddenly went off, his temples throbbing. He could almost see the Daily Planet headline: "Shocking! Black Market for Superman's Son's Sperm Exposed!"

This is Clark's concern.

Superman is starting to regret that he focused too much attention on Ian, which prevented him from noticing some of Jordan's more serious symptoms than his youngest son's.

What did he sell?

Clark did some mental preparation before finally asking, choosing not to pry into others' thoughts. His voice was as dry as weathered desert rock. Fortunately, the waiter's answer brought him a partial relief—only a partial relief because he still needed the other half to stay alive.

The waiter looked around and then lowered his voice.

"Rumor has it that Walmart sold three pairs of Superman underwear in plastic bags. Who knows if Superman's DNA is still on them?" The male clerk said with a sigh.

He didn't know why, but the feeling of longing grew stronger and stronger, and his face turned a little red. So much so that even Superman's super vision couldn't look him in the eye.

Clark's super brain crashed on the spot.

Clark, his head buzzing, was completely speechless. He stiffly helped Louise up and stumbled toward the door, the waiter watching him with bewildered eyes.

When the automatic door opened with a "ding-dong," Clark had already caught his breath. Instead of taking his drunken wife to a hotel, he went to the outside of a convenience store.

The night wind is cold.

The wind blows through the neon lights above the city.

Superman, carrying a drunken Lois, finally landed on the top floor of an abandoned office building.

The night wind howled past the edge of the skyscraper. He gently placed his wife on a worn-out bench, while ten bottles of "water of life" he had bought from a convenience store were neatly arranged at his feet.

“Ian…Ian can definitely handle the nuclear issue…” Louise muttered, her eyes unfocused. “He may be smart, but he is certainly very righteous and bold in his actions.”

"Clark, go find Ian and tell him that if he solves the nuclear bomb problem, I'll get him on the front page!" Louise, wrapped in Clark's coat, kept shouting on the bench.

Her fingers unconsciously traced the interview outline in the air—alcohol convinced the Pulitzer Prize winner that she should go to the mold farm tomorrow to do a feature report on the "black market deal for nuclear bombs".

She also had to bring her orange cat, which always liked to type gibberish on the keyboard.

"Oh, right, where's my cat? I think I forgot to bring my cat back. A reporter and a cat, you can't do without the cat, the two of us together can conquer the world!"

Louise was indeed too drunk.

"You're very brave," Clark said with a forced smile, patting Louise on the head before pulling a sealed metal box from Louise's bag.

He turned and walked to the side of the building, sitting on the edge of the suspended roof. Superman's legs dangled three hundred meters in the air. The wind made his cape flutter loudly.

It felt as if they might fall into an abyss at any moment.

"Hey~"

Clark looked up into the distance; the lights stretched like a sea, yet they couldn't illuminate the gloom in his heart. Of course, the matter of his two sons was secondary; what truly worried him was the deal involving the US military.

"Violence can't stop them, so what can I do?" Clark was filled with confusion, a sense of helplessness that even a superhero faces when confronted with the nature of humanity.

He looked at the box in his hand.

He hesitated for a moment.

The lid was finally opened.

Inside was a piece of green kryptonite.

Kryptonite gleamed with an eerie green light under the moonlight, like an imprisoned aurora. It lay silently on the black velvet, utterly sinister, like a cursed eye from its home planet. Clark stared at the ore that could kill him, suddenly recalling Bruce's words, "safety pin," when they first met.

He was holding the safety pin in his left hand.

Holding the 96-degree water of life in his right hand, the Kryptonian had deliberately used Kryptonite. His body became somewhat weak and swayed, but ultimately he was not in danger of falling off the building.

"Cuckoo~"

Clark stared at it for a long time.

He picked up a bottle of "water of life," unscrewed the cap, and took a sip. The burning sensation went down his throat, and surprisingly, it stirred up a slight dizziness within him.

He took another sip and then held the kryptonite in his hand.

pain.

A sharp, familiar, and visceral pain instantly swept through his body. His muscles trembled, his breathing became rapid, and his supercells groaned under the corrosive effects of the toxins.

But under the combined influence of this pain and alcohol—he got what he wanted and got drunk.

Clark's pupils turned into a mesmerizing vortex.

His super-metabolic system prevented alcohol from truly numbing his senses, but the chemical reaction resulting from mixing with kryptonite radiation put his mind into a strange, overclocked state. The coordinates of the global nuclear arsenal unfolded in his mind like a 3D projection, each red dot pricking his moral conscience.

“Perhaps…” he murmured, “I shouldn’t wait any longer.”

"Perhaps I should take all the world's nuclear weapons to space and destroy them." His gaze pierced through the clouds, looking down at Earth. Under his superhuman vision, every nuclear weapons storage site was clearly visible—beneath the Siberian ice sheets, within the rock formations of the Rocky Mountains, inside submarines in the Indian Ocean…

He could see the position of every single warhead, and he could even calculate that he could clear them all out in less than sixty seconds with just one flight.

"Procedural justice?"

"When the system itself is rotten, what's the point of talking about programs?" Superman was drunk, and it seemed like he had unleashed his hidden personality. His evil version wanted to be a real thief for once.

Steal those dangerous nuclear weapons from Earth.

This may be Superman's most wicked moment yet. His sharp gaze sweeps across the globe, his super brain calculating how to sneak into every nuclear weapons storage site.

Just then—Superman's vision suddenly caught something unusual, instantly bringing him to his senses. On the edge of London, a box-shaped building had appeared in what should have been an abandoned factory.

The architecture itself is not just bizarre.

At that moment, a blue telephone booth-style box silently descended from its top. The door opened, and the woman in the white dress stepped out.

She still wore her veil, holding the ball of light in her hand, standing quietly on the rooftop, as if waiting for something. Almost instinctively, Clark's expression hardened.

"What is this woman trying to do now?"

He hoisted Louise onto his shoulder and charged out, the wind howling in his ears. He broke his previous limits and reached his target in the blink of an eye.

however.

When he arrived, there stood a modern art museum. Not a factory, not ruins, but a brightly lit, bustling cultural landmark.

"Damn it."

Clark rubbed his eyes, suspecting he was drunk, but the result was the same: the building he had seen earlier that was located here did not actually seem to be in this area.

He couldn't catch a glimpse of the mysterious woman again. Infrared, quantum, time remnants... Clark activated his full-frequency vision, but everything remained normal under his eyes.

That blue box.

That building that exists here.

There was also a woman in a white dress.

None of them exist.

"Did I see something that shouldn't be here?" he muttered to himself, the alcohol and the toxicity of the kryptonite bringing his mind into a strange clarity.

The other person might not be walking in reality!

"paradox……"

Clark always felt that the name was meaningful, and his super brain reached an unprecedented level after drinking—he knew that to solve the puzzle, he could not rely on strength or speed, but only on thinking.

Use all your strength to think.

Thinking of this.

next moment.

Superman vanished from the spot. The speed was no longer just simple flight; it was a teleportation on a purely spiritual level, utilizing the quantum entanglement effect of the material world.

……

Gotham City.

Superman landed precisely on the rooftop of a slum, his footsteps as light as a falling leaf.

Ahead was a seemingly abandoned three-story building with mottled exterior walls and fake windows that were more realistic than real ones. Several ventilation openings emitted a faint blue light.

This is the strange thing that Superman accurately detected.

The Bat Cave Secret Safe House.

inside the house.

Bruce Wayne took off the suit that could block Superman's vision, took a shower, took some sleeping pills, and prepared to sleep for ten minutes. He put on the sleep mask inlaid with Kryptonite halfway up.

Just then, the alarm system suddenly emitted a dying hum. He instinctively reached for the kryptonite spray in his belt, only to hear the concrete wall groan under its strain.

boom! ! !
The walls were torn apart like pieces of paper.

"Bruce!!!"

The blast wall crumbled like a biscuit.

Clark emerged from the dust and mist, carrying a drunken Louise. Yes, Superman needs to think with all his might, so he used all his strength to find his best thinking device.

"???????"

Bruce Wayne threw his blindfold to the ground and nearly crushed the spray bottle in his hand. The Gotham Monster stared wide-eyed at Clark, who was carrying Lois and swaggering into the safe house.

His gaze moved from the drunken Lois on Superman's shoulder to the violently dismantled blast wall, and finally settled on Clark's hand, which was tucking a blanket around his wife.

The Kent family may have ingrained the habit of "carrying people" into their family instincts.

At that moment, Batman finally understood the "quantum inheritance" behind Ian's outrageous behavior. Of course, this wasn't the most surprising thing for Bruce Wayne.

"How can it be!"

Bruce's voice trembled slightly, a rare occurrence.

"What? How is that possible?"

Clark smugly dusted off his hands.

"You think I won't find you just because you're hiding in a place like this?" He looked directly at his old friend and said in a deep voice, "Bruce, I'm smart too, no less so than you."

Superman finally got his chance to show off.

He was having a great time.

Clark was pleased that he had successfully located Bruce Wayne's hideout. He went into the room, gently placed Louise on Bruce's specially made bulletproof bed, and casually pulled over the blanket inlaid with Kryptonite gems to cover her, his movements so gentle that it was hard to believe he was a creature capable of punching a planet.

Bruce Wayne watched this scene unfold.

His eyes flickered, and he silently walked to the wall, bent down and picked up a piece of superalloy several meters thick—the outer wall of his safe house, which was made of superalloy.

Several meters thick.

Theoretically, it can withstand the impact of a nuclear explosion.

But now, it's torn apart like a piece of paper, with marks of violent damage on the edges. Superman could tear this thing apart as easily as tearing a small piece of butter.

“I’m not talking about how you found me,” Bruce’s voice was as soft as if he were sleepwalking. “I’m talking about how you were able to open a new door in my safe house.”

He slowly turned around and pointed to the kryptonite embedded in the wall.

This place was practically a Kryptonian "miracle house." The emerald green crystals glowed eerily under the emergency lights, something that should have caused any Kryptonian unbearable agony. Yet, Clark stood in the center of the area with the strongest radiation, even clutching a piece of Kryptonite in his hand, and was covering his drunken wife with a blanket as if nothing had happened.

"!!!!!"

Superman suddenly opened his palms.

The kryptonite he had previously used to weaken himself lay perfectly intact in his palm, radiating undeniably deadly radiation. He, who should have collapsed from exhaustion, was instead left to rot.

Aside from a slightly flushed face from the alcohol, I felt no discomfort.

He held it the whole time.

From the rooftop to flying, to tearing through the wall—he held kryptonite the entire time. Logically, he should have collapsed long ago, howling in agony, having lost all his power.

But he didn't.

Not only did he not fall, but he carried Louise, flew over a hundred miles, and tore open Gotham's most fortified stronghold.

“This…is impossible…” Clark regained his senses, looking even more terrified than Bruce Wayne. His super brain, fueled by the combined effects of alcohol and kryptonite, was racing to find an explanation.

only.

Aside from genuinely wanting to get drunk again and then go up and punch Bruce Wayne twice in the back of his mouth.

Got nothing.

"So, Kryptonite is a colossal lie you fabricated?" Bruce Wayne silently operated the nano-repair device, tiny swarms of mechanical insects busily working at the breach in the wall. The explosion-proof alloy flowed and reformed like liquid, and a few minutes later, the "new door" that Clark had violently broken open had vanished without a trace.

It's like it never existed.

“If you tell me it was really you who fooled everyone, I think I’d be glad you didn’t betray your own brain.” Bruce Wayne turned around, his grey-blue eyes looking directly at Clark.

Clark opened his mouth, speechless for a moment. He looked down at the kryptonite in his palm; the green crystal still emitted a faint glow, but the radiation that should have caused him unbearable pain was barely perceptible.

“No. I don’t know why, it suddenly became less effective—actually, it’s still effective. Look, the blood vessels in my palm are much clearer when I hold the kryptonite.” Clark explained somewhat flusteredly, turning his palm over to show the blood vessels under his skin that were clearer due to the radiation.

"..."

Bruce Wayne silently labeled Ian's file as "infectious disease," then added another question mark, possibly indicating a "genetic disease." Yes, all three Kent children were somewhat abnormal, making it difficult for Bruce Wayne to believe that the Kent couple were normal.

Now, Clark's "words of wisdom" are making Bruce Wayne suspect that Clark has stopped pretending, is finally showing his true colors, or has finally revealed his true nature after drinking.

The smell of alcohol in the air was enough to ignite it, and Bruce Wayne's bat-like nose certainly wouldn't miss it. His bat-like nose wasn't as good as Superman's, but it was far more sensitive than a dog's.

“Okay, so your body has evolved again.” Bruce looked Superman up and down, his expression subtly changing, and a hint of disappointment crept into his voice.

He had always wanted to see a real super brain.

Unfortunately.

Superman has failed to grant him his wish for many years.

"Judging from your reaction, you came to see me not because of your body's evolution. So, has your youngest son finally been taken by God and locked up in a dark room?" Bruce walked to the medicine cabinet in the corner, put back the bottle of sleeping pills he had taken out, and then took out a red pill and swallowed it.

Clark's gaze unconsciously drifted towards the Metropolis.

“No.” His voice and expression were clearly contradictory, but Bruce didn’t press for details, only raising one eyebrow.

"Let's get to the point."

Under Bruce's scrutinizing gaze, Clark finally revealed the story of the mysterious woman and the vanished building. As he spoke, Batman's brow furrowed deeper and deeper.

"Perhaps you didn't misread it."

Bruce suddenly said.

"What's the meaning?"

Clark's supercomputer went into energy-saving mode the moment it found the "external brain." Bruce didn't answer directly, but gestured for Clark to follow. They passed through a hidden passage in the safe house and arrived at an underground laboratory. The central device looked like some kind of modified cosmic massage machine.

The surface is covered with patterns of various alien technologies.

"Sit down."

Bruce activated the console, and countless holographic screens unfolded in the air.

As Clark stepped into the device, a strange fluctuation immediately enveloped him. His vision began to shift—Gotham's concrete walls gradually became transparent, replaced by countless overlapping dimensional shadows. And at the point where the light and shadow intertwined, the vanished, peculiar building reappeared in his field of vision.

The blue telephone booth also stands quietly on the rooftop.

"this"

Clark turned to Bruce in shock.

“Ever since I learned about the multiverse war, I’ve been building this machine.” Bruce’s eyes gleamed with the confidence and wisdom characteristic of a mad scientist.

“Yes, Clark, don’t look at me with that disgusting shocked face. Being drunk has given you a vision you don’t normally have, a gaze that can see through the multiverse and the gaps between dimensions.” Batman’s fingers tapped on the console, barely suppressing the urge to gouge out Clark’s eyeballs for research.

Of course, just as Superman refrained from hitting him, he also restrained his own inner impulse.

perhaps.

This is how close friends get along.

"What is that woman doing now?" Bruce Wayne asked the dumbfounded Clark, who was more accustomed to the Kryptonians' shameless behavior in evolution than the Kryptonians themselves were.

"She's knocking on the door, inside..."

Clark's gaze pierced through layers of dimensions, focusing on the white figure. The woman with the umbrella gracefully knocked on the door carved with countless symbols of life.

A light, cheerful humming sound came from inside the door.

Then came a cheerful female voice.

"Oh! Another one who wants to customize a mysterious past, to have an interesting soul that will make family and friends fantasize, and at least eight hundred mysterious people attend his funeral?" The doorknob turned automatically, and as the door opened a crack, Clark saw that it was a Victorian-style studio inside.

"Huh, it's actually the Time Lord. What an interesting soul."

The Goddess of Death—or rather, Miss Death—was floating in mid-air, with eight small, glowing mirrors suspended in front of her. Without turning her head, she spoke softly to the newcomer.

The woman stepped lightly into the house.

Her white dress rippled with a faint light in the dimensional gap. She saw Miss Death lying in front of a floating mirror, in which Ian's furtive figure was reflected.

"Time Lord, I haven't seen you for a long time. If it were any other day, I would definitely have a good chat with you and hear about the epic and adventurous life you have lived."

"However, I've found something even more interesting now."

"My mentor, who inspired my career's second spring and is also my dear believer, is doing something big, preparing to give God a surprise gift package of '88,000 babies in one birth'!"

“This is what a true warrior looks like. Lucifer has finally found the new lord of Hell he has been longing for.” Miss Death’s tone was filled with more than just emotion and amazement.

I also felt a bit of admiration.

(End of this chapter)