The bedroom was brightly lit by a desk lamp.
Ian was still deep in thought after hanging up the phone.
"Experimental physicist⋯ I need to figure out a way to scam him and his friends, no,
to lure them into becoming my Paru." Ian reached into his pants pocket.
He retrieved a miniature reactor, about the size of a thumb. This device, which had
once powered the assembled homeland, would likely have a wide range of applications in
many fields.
"I'll have to ask the all‑knowing Tony again next time to print out some complete
design drawings of these inventions for me. I hope he'll like Jordan's treasured magazine."
Ian also understood the concept of reciprocity. He maintained his network of
connections, and his second brother enjoyed better physical and mental health—wasn't
that a win‑win situation?
"Dong Dong Dong~"
Sometimes people just can't stand being nagged.
"Ian."
Jordan's voice came from outside the door, along with a knock.
"The door is unlocked."
Ian responded.
then.
The sound of the door opening was heard.
only.
Jordan still failed to get into the room.
"What's going on with this cabinet? I know you might have found some new toys, but
you don't have to be so careful..." Jordan said, trying to put himself in Jordan's shoes as he
moved the cabinet away.
"It, along with the lock on the gate, was a huge gamble for me. Obviously, I won, but
not completely." Ian turned the not‑so‑heavy miniature reactor in his hands.
"What is all this nonsense?"
Jordan didn't understand Ian's explanation and was completely confused.
"Let's not talk about that. Anyway, I won. You came to see me so late, you're not after
my toys, are you?" Ian looked at his second brother with a wary expression.
"..."
Jordan looked somewhat embarrassed and annoyed.
"of course not!"
He hesitated for a long time before finally stammering, "Could you lend me some
money? I have some... embarrassing trouble that I might need to see a doctor."
The words are not surprising and die endlessly.
Ian's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.
"You bought a second‑hand treasure?"
He really couldn't imagine that such items were still circulating in the secondhand
market.
"What? No! Of course not!"
Jordan's entire face turned red.
"My eyes just feel uncomfortable!" he began to try to defend himself. "What I was
doing in the dorm just now... it's not really that important."
"The important thing is that there might be something wrong with my eyes.
Sometimes they get red, like just ten minutes ago when I was busy and I saw my eyes were
red again in the mirror."
Jordan's attempt to cover up his mistake was truly pathetic.
"Ok?"
Ian sensed something was wrong.
Jordan Zahn was still worried, his voice filled with apocalyptic despair, "I've looked it
up online, and my symptoms are definitely at least a combination of cancer and zombie
mutation."
His voice was trembling with sobs, and he didn't seem to be acting. Perhaps because
he didn't know how to tell his parents what had happened, this high school boy chose to
seek help from the wealthiest man in his family.
"..."
This wave really silenced Ian.
The room was completely quiet.
All one could feel was the sorrowful reluctance to leave the human world after the
Kryptonian's flight from his bedroom, during his post‑coital period. Ian simply couldn't
bear his second brother's pitiful gaze.
"Click~"
He opened his drawer and pulled out an iron box with the dragon Smaug painted on it.
It made sense that a dragon would protect wealth, and inside were all the fruits of Ian's
labor.
"One, two, three, four, five..." Ian counted out a thousand dollars and handed it to his
second brother, who was still in despair. "No need to pay it back. This is my advance
payment for your filming."
The boy's tone was firm.
"Payment?"
Jordan, the second brother, was quite confused.
"My comic is definitely going to be adapted into a movie, and if you don't play the
lead role, I definitely won't sell the rights." Ian genuinely admired his second brother. If
he had the time, he would definitely write a book called "The Story of My Teenage
Kryptonian Brother Who Can't Get a Superpower Diagnosis."
"Huh? Acting?"
Jordan's expression grew increasingly bewildered.
"I haven't studied it. Besides, aren't you just writing novels?" His understanding
of Ian was clearly outdated, but Ian didn't intend to blame him.
"You need to keep up with the times, bro."
Ian slammed the thousand dollars into his second brother's hand.
Money has a temperature.
"Thanks, Ian, you really have always been our family's superhero." Jordan was deeply
moved, and he even quoted Ian's catchphrase. "Yes, yes, yes! That's it, you're playing
yourself, I believe you can do it!" Ian had even more faith in his brother, and he finally
understood why he could draw Homelander so easily.
"Forehead⋯⋯"
Jordan was still puzzled, but he didn't press the matter. He just scratched his head and
said solemnly, "If I die from this illness, all the treasures in my room will be yours."
It looked exactly like someone was making their final arrangements, their eyes filled
with reluctance to leave this world.
"Don't worry, after you die, I promise I'll put all your treasures and information
online." Ian patted his chest, making a solemn promise to Jordan.
"?????"
Jordan froze instantly.
"Didn't you promise not to post me online?"
He suspected that he had heard wrongly.
however.
"Of course I'll put it online. We're brothers. Even at the very end, I'll gamble that
you might come back to life because of it." Ian still remembered that his father had
"come back to life" when he was young.
As long as the situation is urgent enough.
Kryptonians might just come back to life.
However, such rigorous logic didn't seem to be understood by Jordan. This teenage
Kryptonian was somewhat moved by Ian's words, yet also somewhat hesitant to act.
"Um... Anyway, thank you. If I'm lucky enough to survive and recover, I'll definitely go
out and wash cars to earn money to pay you back." Jordan solemnly made his promise.
"Payment! This is the payment I'm giving you!"
Ian, however, did not want his second brother to return Franklin to him.
He doesn't lack that.
of course.
As Jordan walked toward the door, Ian felt he should be on guard. "By the way,
Jordan, you can't use this money for illegal sponsorship activities."
"Our family only spreads positive energy, not Mei energy or Ai energy. I will ask Miss
Susan, Aunt Mary, Aunt Lisa, and Grandma Grace."
Ian pointed out four new unlicensed workers who had recently appeared near his
home.
"?????"
Upon hearing this, Jordan stumbled and nearly crashed into the door frame.
"No, you... even the police don't know as much as you do, do they?" He turned to look
at his youngest brother, his face full of the kind of brotherly suspicion that you only see in
prime‑time TV dramas.
Obviously.
He's judging others by his own standards again.
Ian would never do something so illegal.
"Come on, we live in the metropolis. The police only have to worry about whether the
compensation is high enough, but we ordinary citizens have so many more things to
consider."
Ian spoke with righteous indignation and conviction, his tone filled with emotion: "If
you don't even know the situation around your home, you won't know how to escape
when a major event happens."
"Don't even mention how quickly you'll die." There wasn't a time when Ian slept as
soundly as he does now; this habit was definitely a basic guarantee of his sense of security.
"..."
Jordan didn't know how to respond.
"May God bless you, my brother..." He could only pray in his heart that Ian's mental
illness would be cured soon. He left, looking back every few steps, filled with reluctance
and worry.
The door is closed.
"My foolish brother! God is too busy. Father God's blessing is the truly cost‑effective
choice of faith. When I become successful, I will definitely establish a real superhuman
cult."
"But I won't be the Pope, let Jordan be the Pope, he owes me." Ian put the reactor
he was playing with aside and briefly recalled the origins of the Sentinels.
then.
He then began writing furiously again.
This time he was serious; he probably still remembered the origins of the Sentinel's
story. Ian, whose mind was completely focused on the Sentinel's abilities, looked destined
to stay up all night.
"Comfort is for the dead! Let's open the liver!"
Ian was drawing with great enthusiasm.
After all, being able to freely express one's talent is a wonderful thing.
Time passes minute by minute.
Sometimes, hard work really does seem to bring unexpected rewards.
[Author level 1 [1/10]]
There are no prerequisite tasks.
There was no warning.
A new profession silently appeared on Ian's panel. The image of the Sentinel leaped off
the page, as if a faint light was quietly creeping onto the next blank page.
perhaps.
At this point, the young man himself could not have foreseen that the history that had
been destroyed and forgotten would one day be quietly revived through the ink of his pen.
Fresh and vibrant.