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

Chapter 68 Another day of obeying the law

Just as Constantine was feeling a chill run down his spine from the personal pronouns he used for the angels, on the other hand, Ian, who was deeply terrified by him, finally arrived at the gym he had been thinking about for the past two days.

The afterglow of the setting sun shone on the neon sign of "Big Muscle Fitness Gym," and the pink and purple lights looked particularly ambiguous in the evening mist. Perhaps it shouldn't be located in a metropolis but in England.

His hometown before he traveled back in time.

Even a corrupt country like this lacks gyms.

"The color scheme is so suggestive, it's easy to misunderstand why Jonathan likes to come to places like this." Ian stood at the door with his hands in his pockets, looking up at the gym's sign.

He wasn't planning to go in and use his superhuman physical abilities to show off in front of everyone. Some people don't have to pretend to be cool; mature coolness comes from a sense of accomplishment.

Where are the drug dealers hiding?

Although Ian already has a deadly chemistry teacher, he still wants to see the legendary dragon as soon as possible. After all, even if the deadly chemistry teacher can create a dragon, he still needs to get the raw materials.

The law-abiding model students of the metropolis didn't have such connections. Ian was wondering if he should ask someone when he saw a black man in a hoodie walking towards him.

"Hey bro, I can tell you need help. How about a quick fitness secret?" The black guy flashed a pair of pearly white teeth that looked like they could be a spokesperson for Darlie toothpaste.

"Swimming and personal training sessions? Sorry, I don't need them." Ian thought he had encountered a salesperson trying to sell him personal training sessions; these kinds of NPCs always seem to spawn at the entrance of gyms.

“Brother, I’m not a coach, I’m a chemist.” The young man looked around and lowered his voice. “Latest formula, effective in three weeks. Technology can give you a strong body.”

"Believe me, with that muscular physique, girls won't be able to resist you." The young Black man's tone was full of seduction; he truly understood what teenagers were after.

However, Ian wasn't buying it.

"You mean this kind of muscular build?" He lifted the shirt under his school uniform, revealing perfect abs, and then pointed to his still somewhat immature face.

"What I need is not for girls to be unable to resist me, but for me to be able to protect myself when I'm around girls." His words were extremely serious, and even the young Black man felt that they made some sense.

“Okay, I admit it, you do have a damn Hollywood look.” The young black man spoke the truth, and then showed Ian his Nike backpack.

"Maybe I misjudged you. You're not a fitness newbie, but, bro, you definitely haven't used my products before. They have no side effects and the results are excellent."

"You can grow even bigger. Believe in yourself and the power of technology." He was trying his best to exploit the greed of fitness enthusiasts to promote his technological drugs.

Have you ever used it yourself?

Ian asked a question that most beginners would ask.

The Black youth also replied instantly.

"I don't need to use technology; my muscles are purely a natural talent... I only use a little technology occasionally." His answer was very decisive, with an air of unwavering certainty.

"Yes, I can tell, it's Arnold from Metropolis."

Ian nodded.

"You mean I look like Arnold Schwarzenegger? You have great taste!" The young black man immediately perked up. "Just for your good eye, I'll give you a 10% discount today."

"It's $300 a bottle. I suggest you get ten bottles to try it out first. With a 10% discount, that's $2600." He did the calculations carefully, and the result was quite reasonable.

Right or wrong is secondary.

Ultimately, it aligns with America's average level of education among Black people.

"I'm still a minor, is this really okay?" Ian pulled out his student ID, which he had lost and found again, probably thanks to his father's efforts, and which had reappeared in the drawer.

The Black youth didn't go.

"That's why we need to not lose at the starting line, right? You know Superman, right? I think everyone knows Superman. He used my family's ancestral technology from a young age."

Boasting without thinking is actually a traditional skill among Black people.

"Is that so?"

Ian pretended to believe him.

"Then give me one case, no, two cases."

After considering for a moment, he also speculated on the other party's possible inventory. When he spoke, the black man subconsciously shuddered.

"you sure?"

The black man looked Ian up and down.

“If you have enough money, of course there’s no problem—I’m just a businessman.” His implication was clear: he was distancing himself from any connection to whether Ian would ascend to Happy Planet.

"Ah."

Ian nodded.

So the black man led him to a deserted alleyway typical of the metropolis, where a dilapidated Ford was parked. He used a primitive key to open the trunk, which was bound with more than ten chains.

More than ten keys.

Areas without surveillance cameras.

The Black men knew exactly who they should trust, but it certainly wasn't their other brothers on the street.

"A box costs eight thousand, but I'll give you a 10% discount, so it's six thousand nine." His math skills remained consistently excellent, perhaps because the number "69" looked very close to a 10% discount.

In this regard.

Ian didn't care.

Anyway, he's a superhero, it's time for him to take on his duties intermittently.

"Look at the sky! Wonder Woman! She's not wearing any clothes!"

This trick works especially well on Black people.

While the Black man subconsciously turned his head to look at the sky.

"Don't sell contraband to minors, you bastard, you've let this city down!" Ian muttered, before the black man could even react, he threw a punch.

It hit right on the head.

Although it wasn't a deliberate punch, Ian's strength was enough to take on ten Ip Mans in one blow, so the strong and muscular Black man simply rolled his eyes and collapsed to the ground unconscious.

"Another day of saving innocent minors in the metropolis." Ian took out his half-finished Coke and poured the flat drink into the trash can.

"Human! You've gone too far!"

The trash can's complaints were only temporary.

Ian took the empty bottle and poured in bottle after bottle of medicine. Whether it was contaminated with bacteria or not was not important; this was just a kind of buff enhancement.

Three boxes of technology medicine.

It filled a Coke bottle perfectly. He took a small sip, and it tasted pretty good, so he decided to use the trash can as a test subject to see the effects of intramuscular injection.

Even demons have muscles.

"Where's your phone?"

Ian used the black man's chains to tie him to a street lamp, and then, without any instruction, skillfully searched for the black man's phone.

"Hello, is this Officer Kate Beckett?"

He called the policewoman who had driven him home during the convenience store incident. "I'm Ian Kent, an innocent bystander. You're the Ian who gave me your private number last time, saying I was a jerk and that I'd get into trouble whenever I went out."

"No, I wasn't stabbed or killed. My corpse hasn't learned to call the police yet."

"I just ran into criminals again. Luckily, I was saved by Meatball Superman, who didn't want to reveal his name and had a deep hatred for contraband. He was going to take it to be disposed of harmlessly."

Ian sometimes needs to make his presence felt.

Independent NPCs are most afraid of having no users.

They're also afraid of being too popular.

The choice between moderation and balance is a matter of degree.

"No, not the superheroine in stockings, but a new member of the Superman family. He said he's only been practicing for two and a half days—his appearance? I don't know why I can't see his face at all."

"I'm telling the truth. I don't like to lie, but I do tell little lies occasionally—wow, they work really fast. It's nothing, I'm just drinking a brand new version of Coca-Cola."

After reporting the incident to the police, Ian turned to look at the young black man under the streetlight.

“One hundred, two hundred, three hundred.” Ian counted out three hundred dollars, then checked the time on his phone, counted out three cents, and stuffed them into the unconscious black man’s pocket.

It's all about honest transactions.

It was agreed that it would cost three hundred US dollars per bottle.

Ian will certainly respect market prices—after all, he is a law-abiding citizen of America and doesn't even like to try to take advantage of small things like discounts.

Such noble character.

You probably can't find many like that in the metropolis.

(End of this chapter)