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

Chapter 196 The Technological God and the Mysterious God

Rick Sanchez.

The punk girl's words reached Ian's ears.

He was truly struck as if by a thunderbolt from the heavens.

Ian knew that an extraterrestrial invasion would bring many things that didn't exist in the DC universe, but he never imagined that he would one day hear that name in his own DC universe.

"No, is this correct?"

Ian Kent froze instantly. All his assumptions about God, Heaven, Seraphim, the Throne of Ordinance... collapsed in that instant.

Instead, something far more chaotic, dangerous, and uncontrollable has emerged. Madison's neighbor is named Rick Sanchez?!
He certainly knew who that name represented.

That's Rick from Rick and Morty, a mad scientist who wears a dirty white lab coat and whose pockets are always stuffed with some unknown liquid.

It is also one of the most dangerous and intelligent beings in the universe.

How dangerous is it?

This scientist was an incurable alcoholic who almost always carried his signature transparent flask containing his own concoction of "the strongest alcohol in the universe."

It is said to be a recipe obtained from a destroyed civilization.

As for how this civilization was destroyed, most people don't dare to ask too much. Anyway, it's the kind of thing where those who know, know. If you ask ten thousand people, they will all believe from the bottom of their hearts that Rick destroyed it.

This can be seen.

Just how dangerous is Rick?

He was an extreme mix of genius and scoundrel, with an unbelievably high IQ, capable of easily solving problems that most scientists couldn't solve in their entire lives.

Rick's abilities are virtually all-encompassing. He is one of the most advanced scientists in the multiverse, proficient in physics, chemistry, biology, engineering, and countless other disciplines.

It can be said that he can define reality at will, and the only enemy who can defeat him is himself. He is a kind of technological version of God.

Having ability is not scary.

Human beings possess both ability and the seven emotions and six desires.

That would be truly terrifying.

Rick's ability to cause chaos that could destroy an entire universe over something as trivial as playing a prank on his grandson is something that leaves Ian scratching his head in disbelief.

Ian remembered that Rick had invented a love potion, which caused an entire universe to be filled with people of the opposite sex. Thinking of this, he couldn't help but ask a question that he absolutely had to ask.

Is this universe still habitable?
Ian finally recovered from the huge shock of hearing the name "Rick Sanchez".

He swallowed hard, clinging to the last glimmer of hope, and looked at Madison; "Hey girl, could you... describe the old stonemason's physical characteristics in detail?"

"Like hair? Eyes?"

Ian still clung to a sliver of hope, hoping it might just be a case of the same name. He even buryed his head in the sand once again, trying to elicit some characteristics that weren't so "Ricky."

however.

"You know my language skills aren't very good. I can manage to describe someone as handsome or ugly, but as for an ordinary old man... I can't explain it."

Madison scratched her messy hair. Just as Ian breathed a slight sigh of relief, thinking that the description of "just an ordinary old man" might still hold some sway.

Suddenly, Madison slapped his forehead.

“But I have a better way to describe it!” she said, pulling out a brand-new mobile phone studded with rhinestones from her latest Chanel handbag.

The young delinquent girl swished her manicured nails a few times on it.

"Look! This is a photo we took a few days ago when I was helping him move stones!" The phone's 50-megapixel camera took great pictures, and she shoved it right in front of Ian's face.

Ian blinked.

He then raised his hand and pushed the young delinquent's hand outward twice.

Only then was he able to see the whole picture.

The background of the photo is a cluttered yard filled with all sorts of oddly shaped stones and scrap metal. Madison is grinning and making a peace sign on the left. Next to her is a tall, thin old man with frizzy, lightning-struck hair, unfocused eyes as if he hadn't slept, and a clear, glistening trail of drool at the corner of his mouth!

The other person was wearing a dirty white coat stained with various colors, and was even holding a half-empty wine bottle in his other hand. He had a smile on his face as if he was using some kind of medical device, a chest expander, to pry open his mouth.

This image, this demeanor, this signature drool... all I can say is that at this moment, the last shred of hope in Ian's heart completely collapsed and was shattered by reality.

Rick Sanchez! He really is that technological creator who can destroy the universe, reboot reality, and make a complete mess of everything—a utterly chaotic and neutral entity.

Ian's face was starting to turn rainbow-colored.

Fortunately, it was ultimately set in white.

It's whiter than if someone ate ten pounds of bleach.

He had even begun to rapidly plan in his super brain how to trick his father, Clark, into moving his several homes to another parallel universe in his classic pose.

Or perhaps you could apply for refuge in Batman's mental hospital at Kepler 186F?
That's not safe enough.

“Ian? What’s wrong?” Madison asked, puzzled, looking at his suddenly changed expression. “Have you caught some strange illness? Your face looks as white as if you’ve taken melatonin.”

obviously.

This is the level of common sense that a typical American blonde girl possesses.

Melatonin helps you sleep, it doesn't bleach your skin—most people know that, but blonde bombshells don't, and Ian is too preoccupied to correct Madison's absurd understanding of drugs.

“Hey little punk, this isn’t just any ordinary old stonemason. He’s terrifying. Yes, don’t look at me like that. I’m much, much more innocent than him.”

"This is a true devil incarnate."

Ian sighed.

Madison frowned in dissatisfaction upon hearing this.

"A devil incarnate? Impossible! If he were a devil incarnate, why would he be banging on stones at home every night? Shouldn't a devil incarnate be causing destruction?"

Madison's understanding of these terms has a very stereotypical flavor.

“Maybe he wasn’t hammering rocks late at night, but tinkering with some technology that could turn us into putty,” Ian explained listlessly.

Before the troubles of God's family were over, another new American horror story appeared that made him feel uncomfortable. This really made Ian wonder if he should burn some incense for his future self.

"Although he does always wear that dirty white lab coat and looks like a failed mad scientist, but!" Madison remained convinced of his judgment.

"He genuinely accepted my order for the stone tablet! And he delivered it on time! Isn't that enough to prove that he's a very skilled old stonemason?"

"The logic is so sound."

Madison was very impressed with his own logic, which had such a perfect closed loop.

“Is it possible that he just finds it fun…” Ian looked at Madison’s confident “I have perfect logic” look, and then felt the ridiculously high-tech stone chair under his buttocks, which seemed to be the same as the one in heaven. He felt like he was sitting on pins and needles, as if he was sitting on a singularity bomb that could explode at any moment.

"Oh?"

Madison seemed to be deep in thought.

"If you put it that way, it's actually quite possible. You don't know, when I mentioned to him that I wanted to carve a stone tablet that read 'God is dead, Ian shall rise,' intending to use it to fool—no, to enlighten those angels—the old stonemason was overjoyed! He praised me for being clever and having ideas, saying I was an interesting soul!"

Like Ian, Madison had mastered the art of language that could even fool himself, though he wasn't very skilled at it, but fortunately he corrected himself in time.

She was radiant and spoke eloquently.

"He also said he'd disliked that old bastard God for a long time! The new God, he'll vote for you just like me. See how good the old stonemason is!"

As soon as these words came out.

Ian's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

"No, how did he know about me???" He felt like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, as if his soul was about to float out of his head.

Madison was completely oblivious to Ian's state of preparing for an astral projection and reincarnation. She grew increasingly excited as she spoke, as if she could already envision Ian's coronation as the new God.

“You taught me! You said, ‘The masses are the foundation, and we can’t lose the high ground of public opinion!’ That’s why I have such strong execution skills!” Madison lifted Ian’s hand and patted his shoulder hard.

She finally went mad and surpassed her teacher.

The young delinquent counted her "achievements" on her fingers: "Not only did I promote the project to the old stonemason, but I also printed tons and tons of flyers! They were so well-designed, with your handsome photo printed on them. I photoshopped it, added some special effects, and there was that catchy slogan—'God is dead, Ian shall rise!'"

"Oh, right, and my own idea: Believe in Ian, and you'll gain eternal life, and after death, you'll be directly registered as a VIP in Heaven. Hmm, I remember you said you had to pay to get SVIP."

Madison was truly a pragmatist.

Ian's eyelids twitched violently, and his blood pressure soared. Madison, meanwhile, continued to boast, "I figured the Metropolis was your base, so we had to start there! That's why I gave the first box of flyers to your... well, that effeminate guy who always looks gloomy but charges very reasonable prices, and told him to go and distribute them first!"

"My second brother?! Jordan?" Ian was stunned. He hadn't expected his family to be involved, and that he, as the person involved, had been kept in the dark the whole time.

What kind of part-time jobs has Jordan been taking on behind his back?
"..." Ian dared not imagine the tragic scene of the second-generation Superman being surrounded and chased by reporters and police on the streets of Metropolis, clutching a stack of shocking rebellious leaflets.

"Jordan? Maybe that's his name? Anyway, it doesn't matter." Madison waved her hand dismissively, her brain clearly filtering out all the details she deemed unimportant. "My brain isn't very good enough, so I basically don't remember unimportant names. Anyway, he took the money and promised to help distribute them!" "Once the metropolitan area is covered, we'll march into Gotham! Then the whole of America! The whole world! Let everyone know that a new era has arrived!" The young delinquent was already envisioning the future.

Ian has become the "King of Confusion".

His brain couldn't process the massive amount of information about his suicidal tendencies. Looking at Madison's excited expression, as if he'd done His Majesty a great service, only one thought occupied his mind.

The Middle Ages are gone.

But this girl really looks like she wants to be burned at the stake!

No... Damn it, I should go to the stake with one too!
Religion is a dangerous thing; nobody in their right mind would get involved. When it gets going, it's incredibly disruptive. It's hard to imagine how God's followers would react to those leaflets.

As the one who was "become God," Ian would definitely have to join Madison and Jordan in making kebabs! Although it was heartwarming, Ian still remembered that he needed a simple life.

Just like the ordinary life that every superhero longs for.

of course.

Ian's main goal is to fulfill his self-imposed three-year deadline and the premise of the Dragon King's return. He can't go, and he can't follow; he's the most rational of this generation of superheroes.

"Da da da da~"

The sound of typing on the phone's keyboard filled the air. Ian frantically pulled out his phone, his fingers almost blurring out a blur, and frantically sent messages to his second brother, Jordan.

[Jordan! I don't care what Madison gave you! Immediately! Burn it! Burn it all! Not a single one is allowed! If anyone asks, say it was performance art! It was satire! It was fake! Okay, just say you were controlled by an alien's cerebellum! In short, absolutely, absolutely no more distribution!!!]

While texting Jordan, Ian also told Madison to stop doing that.

"You can't believe it, you dare? There really is a God in this world!" Ian grabbed Madison's head, who was still dreaming about his global publicity plan, and shook him vigorously a few times.

He longed to shake all the water out of it.

however.

It doesn't seem to be very effective.

Seeing his anxious expression, Madison gave him an "I understand" look and nodded vigorously: "I know there is a God in this world! But you are the one everyone hopes for, aren't you?"

"When all the angels believe this, won't you become the true God? Then the original one will be a false God, right? This is what we call... uh... a strategic raid!"

Madison spoke eloquently, displaying the air of a wise man strategizing for the world.

What a brilliant raid!
Stealing God's house!
As Ian's facial muscles gradually stiffened, to the point where he felt like he was about to develop lividity, he saw how "firm" and logically consistent Madison was, and he knew that reasoning with the delinquent girl was useless.

The most urgent thing is to change the subject; this is a family secret technique.

Ian forced a stiff smile, trying to steer the conversation back to the more dangerous source that might give her a sliver of doubt.

"Hey little punk, take this flyer for example. Any reasonably normal person who sees your flyer would immediately think you're crazy, or that it's some kind of prank, right?"

Ian tried to make his voice sound persuasive.

Madison thought for a moment, then nodded, seemingly agreeing.

Ian quickly pressed his advantage: "But! That old geezer... no, I mean Mr. Rick Sanchez, not only didn't think you were crazy, he actually supported you and even wanted to vote for you... don't you think that's... strange? Would a normal person do that?"

He tried to guide Madison to discover Rick's abnormality on his own.

Madison fell into deep thought again. Ian held his breath, hoping she would have an epiphany.

A few seconds later, Madison slammed his fist in his hand, his eyes lighting up as he drew a conclusion.

“I understand now. So the old stonemason was an Antichrist. That’s great. No wonder he was so excited when he heard you were going to carve a stone tablet and even gave you a massage chair.”

“I believe there are many people like the old stonemason in this world, certainly more than 51 percent.” Madison seemed to interpret this as some kind of public opinion.

Ian was completely helpless.

He and Madison are simply not on the same wavelength.

Explaining Rick Sanchez's danger to Madison is like talking to a brick wall; the brick wall might even think your music is disturbing its grazing.

no way.

Ian could only console himself.

At least... at least Madison saved Rick's wife? Does that mean Rick still has family, that there's still a tiny, possibly existing anchor of "humanity"? As long as he doesn't actively provoke that madman and stays far away from his house, maybe... perhaps... maybe... he can still barely get by?
Ian prepared himself mentally.

Just then, the school bell rang again.

This is a history class.

The history teacher was a middle-aged man named Mr. Wilson, who wore gold-rimmed glasses and had his hair neatly combed. He walked in carrying his lesson plan, his gaze habitually sweeping around the classroom. When he saw the stone chair under Ian's bottom and Madison, he paused noticeably, his lips twitching slightly, but he quickly regained his serious and stern expression.

"Students, turn to page 78 of your textbooks." Mr. Wilson's voice was calm and even. "Today we continue with the chapter 'The Colonization and Expansion of the Americas,' focusing on how the thirteen colonies of North America, through courage, wisdom, and a yearning for freedom, ultimately broke free from British colonial rule and laid the foundation for a great nation in what was once a wild and untamed land..."

He began to recite from the script, recounting carefully selected and embellished historical accounts—such as the friendly and equal trade between early immigrants and local indigenous peoples, which brought advanced agricultural techniques and civilization.

Upon hearing this, countless images of ceiling blankets, treacherous treaties, and bloody massacres flashed through Ian's super brain. He knew that such truths were little known in America.

"The War of Independence was a just and great struggle for democracy and freedom, and all participants were noble patriots. The westward expansion embodied the American nation's spirit of exploration and pioneering, and was an inevitable trend in national development." The history teacher's eloquent speech was essentially "correcting" history with the abilities of an ordinary person.

"Furthermore, everyone should remember that we played a crucial role as the 'arsenal of democracy' during World War II, making an indelible contribution to saving world peace."

Mr. Wilson spoke passionately, attempting to instill a singular, glorious national narrative into the students' minds. The students' reactions varied. Most were drowsy or secretly playing on their phones under their desks. A few "good students" diligently took notes, treating the teacher's words as gospel.

"What exactly are Ian and that bitch talking about?"

As Emily took notes, she stole mournful glances at Ian, as if she were recording a tragic story about her future husband being forced to live with a villain.

"I'm a ruthless test-taking machine; I just need to remember the answers." Ian listened to these highly embellished historical accounts, but remained unmoved by the reality of exam-oriented education.

While listening to the lecture, he pondered what level of Rick he was in and why he had merged into the DC universe.

History lessons proceeded slowly and methodically in this atmosphere of interwoven reality and absurdity, truth and lies, and a sense of unease about the universe.

……

In a secluded bleachers stand at another high school in the metropolitan area, Jordan Kent sat alone. He didn't join the noisy clubs or chat with his classmates; he simply found a quiet corner, as if only there could he find a sense of security.

He wore noise-canceling headphones, but no music was playing. He used this equipment merely to justify his reluctance to communicate. His gaze was fixed on the distance, across the city, precisely on the energetic figure running on the distant football field—his older brother, Jonathan Kent.

Jonathan was giving it his all on the court, every collision and every pass brimming with power, drawing cheers from the stands. Jordan watched quietly, a hint of envy in his eyes, but more than anything, a habitual pride in his brother.

Just then, the phone in his pocket vibrated.

Jordan frowned slightly and reluctantly pulled out his phone. He didn't like being disturbed, especially when he was engrossed in his own world. The screen showed the sender as—Ian.

"Ian?" Jordan was a little surprised. His quirky and unpredictable younger brother rarely contacted him unless he got into some serious trouble that required his older brothers to clean up his mess.

He nervously opened the text message, bracing himself for either a mental or emergency call for help.

However, the content of the text message was completely unexpected:

[My dearest second brother, Jordan:]

[When you see this message, I may be working towards some distant and grand goals. But no matter what, I have never forgotten that my family is my strongest support. Thank you for your constant silent support and understanding; your kindness and thoughtfulness are the gentlest treasures of this family.]

Please believe that everything I do is ultimately for the sake of making this family better and brighter. Please continue to believe in me, just as I believe in you.

[Your loving brother, Ian.]

Jordan: "...?"

He was stunned and read the text message three times.

There were no pranks, no strange requests, no vague ramblings. There was only… sincere gratitude, warm recognition, and even a touch of poetic sentiment?

This... this really came from Ian?
Jordan felt as if something had gently bumped into his heart. A warm current, accompanied by surprise and emotion, slowly flowed through his body.

He knew they were talking about handing out flyers. He realized how much his brother cared about this! His seemingly insignificant help was so important in his brother's grand plan!
An unprecedented sense of responsibility and passion surged up Jordan's head in an instant!

Her cheeks were slightly flushed with excitement.

Family! For family!
Ian is working hard to make this family "better and brighter"! He's even willing to challenge...that supreme being? And how can he, simply handing out flyers, do that? Too superficial! Too lacking in skill! He must do more! Better! To be worthy of his brother's weighty trust and recognition!

"Money! I'm not in it for the money!"

Jordan gripped his phone tightly, his eyes hardening with determination. He immediately opened his phone's notes app and began typing furiously, his mind racing as he tried to fuel Madison's flyer campaign.

Ian has a talent for writing.

They were all raised in the same family.

How could he not have it?
"Stocking Superman in Heaven: A Magnificent Comeback from a Lowly Angel to a Supreme God." With Jordan's confirmation, the flyer's contents became even more abundant.

Beginning: The Fall of a Superhero.

Perhaps drawing inspiration from Ian Smith's unpublished work, Jordan's first storyline is a royal flush.

(End of this chapter)