What's wrong with Superman's son wanting to be Superman?

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"Wow, your 'modern English' is so fluent! You mean to 'overthrow' those outdated religious rituals? Like burning incense, kneeling, and chanting scriptures? That's great, modern people should indeed simplify their faith process. You're advocating 'spiritual worship' of God, not just loving God verbally, right?"

Ian pretended that the other person's words automatically took on a different meaning in his ears.

“No!” Madison was still enthusiastic, and she even poked Ian’s throbbing temple, as if she thought something magical was about to pop into Ian’s head.

"I mean physically overthrow it! Blow it up! Burn it down! Turn the old church into ruins!" This delinquent girl should probably go to Gotham City and learn a thing or two from Harley Quinn in college.

She's sure to become Harley Quinn's prized student.

"Oh, turning into ruins? Isn't that the prototype of 'ruin worship'? A kind of postmodern religious art? You are guiding people to find the true meaning of faith in God in ruins."

“It’s very insightful, but I still think that using concrete from No. 56 for pasta and steel bars produced by Wayne Industries as toppings better reflects our pursuit of food.”

Unable to think of anything on the spot, Ian started rambling incoherently.

“Look at the totem pole I designed. The top is you stepping on God.” Madison pushed his sketchbook to Ian, who immediately ate it with his mineral water.

"Yes, yes, yes! Turn the top of the church gutter into a dove shape! It's so retro and beautiful. In the Bible, the dove symbolizes the Holy Spirit!" Ian wanted to grab Madison by the neck, but there were many classmates playing around, so he was still mindful of his image as a good student at school.

I said god, not gutter.

Madison looked at Ian with surprise, who seemed to be acting strangely for some reason.

“Yes, yes, yes! God bless you!” Ian clasped his hands together in a prayerful gesture, his superhuman intellect already at its peak. “You suggested distributing blessing cards at the church!”

Some of the yellow robes were truly something no one dared to even think about wearing. Ian now felt a deep empathy for Liu Xie, Liu Kan, Shi Hong, Wanyan Chenglin, Zhao Huan, Louis XVII, Nero, and Charles I. He truly realized who the person in this classroom most eager to improve was. He had heard of a mother gaining status through her son, but this was the first time he had heard his deskmate want to gain status through Ian.

“I can really find a reliable stonemason.”

"You want to have a tea party with the angels? That's good."

"I meant blowing up the Vatican!"

"A charity sale of French fries!?"

"Where are the fries? No, wait... We need to get down to business. Think about it, believers kneel in worship! They offer sacrifices! They sing hymns for you, how impressive! If all else fails, we can assassinate them—"

"Embroidery! Embroider some new vestments for the hardworking priests! Okay, I'm willing to pay!"

"Ian, we are going to hold a coronation ceremony for you."

“Ah! Coronation? You mean ‘coronation ceremony’? Isn’t that a symbol of ‘taking on responsibility’? You’re reminding me that as the son of Superman, I should take on more social responsibility and crown justice, right? That also aligns with the core values ​​of Catholicism, and I should be a moral role model.”

……

Clouds drifted past the window. The two were having a nonsensical conversation, mostly hers, but it didn't affect Ian's understanding. He always managed to translate Madison's audacious words into something like "respecting God" or "erecting an image of God," using the excuse of "modern English."

Madison is still holding on.

Because of the upcoming final exams, she had recently read some history books and learned that these excuses and refusal processes are all necessary procedures.

Madison felt that he and Ian worked together very well.

however.

Little did they know that Ian's brain CPU was already severely overloaded with the task of saving the day, and was about to burst into flames. Just then, the shrill school bell rang, which saved Ian.

The history teacher walked into the classroom with his lesson plan in his hand.

The moment he pushed open the door, the whispers that filled the classroom seemed to be paused. Madison sullenly stuffed the note that read "Step-by-step instructions for blowing up the Vatican" back into his pencil case. Ian took the opportunity to swallow the three notes he had in his mouth—which made him let out an ink-smelling burp.

In the middle school years of normal students, teachers still have authority.

"classmates."

The history teacher, dressed in a gray suit and wearing gold-rimmed glasses, cleared his throat and spoke in a deep, magnetic voice, "Today we're going to talk about the origins of World War II."

The classroom was quiet.

Only the sound of the first stroke of chalk on the blackboard could be heard.

The chalk screeched as it scratched across the blackboard, writing in large letters, "Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, 1939." Ian stared at the photograph in his textbook of Stalin and Hitler shaking hands.

His brows furrowed unconsciously.

The textbook devotes two full paragraphs to describing how this treaty "disrupted the strategic balance in Europe," but only mentions the specific date of Germany's blitzkrieg against Poland in a footnote.

I have to say, this is really America.

"On August 23, 1939, the Soviet Union and Nazi Germany signed the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact..." The history teacher wrote as he explained, following the textbook.

"On December 7, 1941, the attack on Pearl Harbor occurred, and the United States officially entered the war, injecting powerful strength into the anti-fascist alliance. It can be said that without the United States' participation, the outcome of the war might have been completely different."

"In fact, the righteous United States did not want to go to war, however..."

During class, Madison tried to pass notes to Ian, but Ian didn't even look at them and just ate them all. He was so skilled at it that it was almost heartbreaking.

The history teacher strolled to the center of the classroom, his leather shoes tapping out a hypnotic rhythm on the floor.

"As President Roosevelt said, good America was forced into the war." His shadow stretched longer and longer in the sunlight, and as he reached the back row, chalk dust fell from his suit. Suddenly, as he passed the large Christmas sign at the back, his once upright figure transformed.

He turned into an old man with white hair.

The wrinkles on the old man's face appeared like the marks of time.

at the same time.

Time seemed to stand still in the classroom, like an oil painting. Madison's ballpoint pen tip hovered three millimeters above the paper, the black dots formed by the ink droplets remaining suspended in mid-air.

A sparrow outside the window paused at the moment it took flight, every feather on its outstretched wings clearly visible. Ian could even see the dandruff falling from the hair of the student in the row in front of him.

Like snowflakes paused on time. Chalk dust floated in the air, unfallen dust particles solidified in the light, and students running on the playground outside the classroom, where the PE teacher wasn't sick, were frozen in the moment of taking their first step.

"Her drawing is quite good."

When the aged voice rang in my ears, it was as gentle as an autumn breeze.

However, Ian's spine stiffened inch by inch. The old man who had suddenly appeared in the classroom was standing between him and Madison, his wrinkled fingers lightly tapping on the "new church design" on Madison's desk—a smiley face of Ian was drawn next to the Vatican bombing site circled in red pen.

"..."

Ian’s neck made a clicking sound like rusty gears as he slowly turned toward the source of the sound, his movements as stiff as a robot that had just learned to mimic human expressions.

He had never been so reserved.

Even when facing the King of Hell, the King of Lies, or the Goddess of Creation, he could still talk and laugh with ease. But now, facing this seemingly ordinary old man, he could no longer remain calm.

Yes, the old man looked unremarkable. He wore a faded linen robe, and his silvery-white beard reached his chest, each hair shimmering with stardust-like light. He looked like an ordinary old country pastor, if one ignored his deep-set eyes.

However, in the old man's gray-blue pupils, Ian seemed to see the beginning and end of the universe, and of course, the beginning or end of his own life.

"..."

Ian looked at the old man with terrified eyes. He tried to speak, but his throat seemed to have a mind of its own, and the entire classroom remained silent.

"You don't need to be so nervous."

The old man chuckled softly, picked up Madison's notebook, and flipped through it, the pages rustling softly under his fingers. "In your heart, am I really that petty?"

This is probably the real life-or-death question.

“No, of course not!” Ian’s voice suddenly returned, accompanied by a suspicious swallowing sound. “I’m crying tears of joy, these are tears of excitement.”

He wiped his "tears streaming down" face, the sweat he flicked away freezing into tiny crystals in the air, while the old man just watched his performance with a half-smile.

"Here's the thing, I was completely dragged into this passively—" Ian, who had realized who he was facing, was more reserved and guilty than ever before.

He launched into a frantic explanation mode.

However, the other party raised his hand to interrupt him.

"You should really rest assured, I won't hold a grudge against you. It's all my fault; I messed things up," the old man said in a gentle voice.

Ian dared not believe it.

“You are so busy with work, and your family may not understand your good intentions, but I completely understand—” Ian quickly flattered, glad that he knew how to flatter.

However, before he could finish speaking, the old man interrupted him again.

"Are you trying to play the 'green tea' card? Pretending to be understanding and then talking to me about how we can have a 'family' bond?" the old man suddenly asked, his tone as if discussing the weather. He probably really knew Ian and had already anticipated Ian's prediction, stopping him before things even happened.

Ian chuckled awkwardly.

There's a feeling of guilt, like I've been exposed.

“No, no, I just want you to know that I am just a helpful Ian. I am not like Napoleon, the French philosopher Sartre, or Zeus.”

After much deliberation, Ian still didn't use the brave young delinquent to shield him from the attack. The public relations skills he learned from the entertainment industry ultimately proved useless because of his conscience.

“Of course I’m willing to pretend to believe you.” The old man chuckled, and the temperature in the classroom rose a few degrees. The ink droplets suspended in mid-air began to slowly fall.

But time remained eerily still.

"Oh, by the way, is that book any good?" His gaze swept over the half-open copy of "Parenting Handbook" sticking out of Ian's pocket, the words "Guide to Dealing with Rebellious Children" on the cover particularly eye-catching.

“It’s quite useful.”

Ian gave a dry reply.

"Then I'll go out and buy one too."

The old man seemed to be chatting with Ian about everyday matters.

So Ian cautiously tested the waters.

"So, are we alright now?"

He kept a close eye on the old man's expression as he spoke, and the old man gave him a deep look in return, a look that made Ian feel as if his soul was being X-rayed.

“If you’re referring to my capricious wife, I still hope that you’re not just ‘nothing’ between us.” The old man made no attempt to hide his intentions, but there was still a hint of ambiguity in his words.

Of course, given that this was a critical moment for the animal, Ian, with his super brain working at full speed, immediately understood what he meant. He nodded his head like a chick pecking at rice, frantically expressing his feelings, "I understand, I understand! My relationship with my goddess aunt is the purest doctor-patient relationship! It will never change!"

He really doesn't like older women.

Not to mention a genuine "Mafia" wife. If we're talking about who can be the most ruthless with dirty tricks, no life form in the universe can compare to this one.

"Then there's nothing between us."

The old man still didn't hide what he cared about, but there was something wrong with their kind of existence; after speaking, he would ask Ian a question even though he already knew the answer.

Do you think I'm petty?

This sudden question was bound to be a death trap, but fortunately Ian was more skilled and immediately realized the seriousness of the problem, shaking his head like a rattle drum.

“How could I misunderstand you? Everything has its own deeper meaning! Just like… just like…” He glanced at the World War II chapter in the history textbook and used a perhaps more appropriate description.

"Just like Churchill said he wanted to fight on the beach, but in reality he was secretly preparing for the Normandy landings!" This was truly a stroke of genius, and the super brain did not betray Ian's trust.