Metropolis.
The sun was reasonably bright.
Inside a psychologist's consultation room.
A gentle breeze lightly billowed the curtains, and dappled light and shadow swayed across them. The young man sat on the not-so-comfortable sofa, looking up at the psychologist across from him.
"I don't have a mental illness."
Ian Kent spoke softly.
"Almost everyone who comes to me believes they aren't sick," the psychologist, sharply dressed in a suit like a gentleman, replied. His posture was elegant and upright, and in front of him lay an exquisite notebook and a fountain pen.
"That's just because my parents often find me waking up startled at night, so they think I need some psychological counseling," Ian said, adjusting his rear end on the sofa.
He seemed to be trying to find the most comfortable sitting position.
"What did you dream about?" the psychologist asked at the opportune moment, picking up the fountain pen. His magnetic voice carried a power that could induce people to confide.
However, Ian had no such urge.
"Teenagers always have some unrealistic fantasies they're ashamed to talk about, aren't they?" After a moment of thought, Ian chose an evasive answer.
The psychologist nodded, his expression unchanged after hearing this.
"I understand that you don't have much trust in me yet; we can discuss this question later," he said, scribbling notes in his notebook.
From Ian's position, he couldn't see what the psychologist was writing.
"Perhaps you could just prescribe me some medication."
Ian proactively offered a suggestion. Compared to talk therapy, he was more willing to coolly try some modern medicine and powerful stuff. There were things in his heart he didn't want anyone else prying into.
For example, he was a Transmigrator, and his father in this life was Superman, whose hearing was more sensitive than a sonar detector... And the world that appeared in his dreams every now and then.
Everything there seemed to be frozen; sharp, icy winds lashed down with the heavy snow. The shattered outlines of buildings flickered indistinctly in the gloom. Such an environment could make anyone walking through it feel increasingly oppressed.
It might be a nightmare.
It could also be something else.
Given that he was now living in a world where anything was possible, Ian couldn't quite determine what his dreams meant. All he knew was that he would wake up abruptly when he heard a clock chime.
Just as Ian was lost in his memories, the psychologist stopped writing. "A patient like you, who actively asks for medication, is not common in my professional career."
He sounded slightly surprised.
"Although I firmly believe I don't have a mental disorder, I still occasionally experience some symptoms of anxiety..." Ian paused, then offered a somewhat superfluous clarification, "It might be related to my heavy academic workload. I think taking some medication for that could help calm my mood."
The young man's voice sounded sincere and frank.
The psychologist subconsciously looked at the top of Ian's head, finding no signs of a pointy skull. "As far as I know, your grades are exceptionally outstanding."
He was clearly skeptical about the source of Ian's anxiety.
"Precisely because of that, to maintain a continuous lead among my peers, the pressure I bear must surely be far greater than others," Ian offered a seemingly sincere, yet insincere, reply.
"Hmm."
The psychologist nodded after hearing this, his deep gaze meeting Ian's for a long time.
"I don't believe you're being honest."
He directly stated his opinion and recorded it in his notebook again. Ian simply watched the psychologist's actions in silence.
The true source of his anxiety was indeed not his studies.
In fact, as a poor bastard who scored over 700 on the college entrance exam in his past life but was forced to "restart life" before entering university, the public school coursework here was not difficult for him.
What truly made Ian anxious was the System he had recently awakened—the so-called "Transmigrator's benefit" in the eyes of most people.
The moment a "Ding" sounded in his mind, he knew he was no longer the mortal he once was. However, the awakening of the System did not keep him happy for long.
This System was different from the Sign-In Systems, Punch-Card Systems, or even the Gigolo Systems that Ian had dreamed of. It was more like an unfinished game's character panel.
[Name: Ian Kent]
[Normal Profession: Student lv7 (12/640)]
[Supernatural Profession: None]
[World Recognition: Ordinary NPC]
[Strength: 0.7]
[Constitution: 1.5]
[Intelligence: 2.3]
[Spirit: 2.5]
[Talent Skills: None]
[General Skills: Learning (Elite)]
[General Skill Points: 7]
...
There were no quests, no store, no variety of flashy functions—just a panel and the ability to convert Ian's capabilities and status into digital data.
The [Learning] skill, perhaps a legacy from his previous life, was inherently of [Elite] quality, allowing Ian to acquire new knowledge much faster than most of his peers.
However, since Ian had never stepped into society in either his past or present life, and book knowledge hadn't manifested as skills, his skill column looked a bit empty.
And the real reason Ian felt anxious was the System panel's display of [World Recognition]. The glaring words Ordinary NPC were stabbing him so hard he wished his corneas would detach.
His liver, gallbladder, and kidneys all felt precarious.
Wasn't this the perfect setup to be sacrificed to inspire his family's potential and talent? Ian watched movies sometimes, so he naturally suspected this.
After all, American movies and comics loved this trope.
And wasn't he now living in a world of American Comics? Since the System's awakening, Ian had realized he wasn't the biological child of his parents in this life. What better sacrifice to spur Superman's fighting spirit and the latent potential of his 2 older brother's bloodline than an adopted son!
How to survive!
This was Ian's greatest anxiety after having died once. Although he was working hard to raise the level of the [Student] profession, apart from minor upgrades to his Intelligence and Spirit attributes, he had only gained seven General Skill Points. These were, at most, useful for learning and upgrading skills like [Cooking] or [Dancing].
Studying might not change your fate.
This phrase was literally concretized for Ian.
He even felt a sense of despair because of it, which was why he proactively suggested taking medication. As for this true cause of anxiety, Ian couldn't possibly tell the psychologist in front of him.
The reason wasn't just the secret that couldn't be told.
It was also because the name of the psychologist his parents found didn't sound like the name of a good person—Ian's gaze flickered to the nameplate on the doctor's desk.
[Hannibal Lecter]
Yes.
The moment he walked in.
Ian had noticed the extraordinary nature of the psychologist.
This damned prejudice.
He just hoped he truly had paranoid tendencies.