I, the younger brother of Superman, ended up with a Thanos template.

How did you know there were three of us?

Pete entered the house, puzzled.

“My eyes may be blind, but my ears are not deaf.” Cassandra’s answer, delivered in a weathered voice, did not completely dispel Pete’s doubts. Could a blind person really have such good hearing?

Cassandra took off her blindfold and accidentally dropped the book from her lap.

Pete, who was standing in front of the two, stepped forward to help pick it up, and accidentally touched the old lady's hand.

"What is your name, sir?"

The old lady calmly put the book down and asked a question.

"Peter Ross."

"Mr. Ross, your journey home today is going to be long. Take a look at your pockets."

Cassandra gave a mysterious smile.

Pete reached into his pocket and realized his car keys were missing; he had no idea where he'd lost them.

"I'll be going now. It seems I won't be able to do my volunteer work today. You two brothers take care of yourselves."

He glanced at the old woman in surprise, a look of utter despair flashing across his face, and said to the two of them.

After Pete left.

"Are you two brothers?"

Cassandra looked at the two of them, stood up from her chair, and, not at all like someone who was blind, precisely turned her face toward them with a kind smile.

"What are your names, gentlemen?"

The update is a bit late; I wrote an extra thousand words. Please continue reading.

29. From Chapter 29 onwards, live a quiet life, Luther.

Under bright sunlight.

Near the tranquil lake by the forest, the aftermath of last night's party left only a mess.

Bang!

A hand suddenly broke through the thick ice, like the zombie hand emerging from the lake in a terrifying legend.

His skin was ice-blue, like a corpse frozen to death by ice and snow.

A figure climbed out of the lake and staggered to the riverbank.

He was soaking wet and shivering, looking exactly like someone who had fallen into an icy lake and climbed out, except for the fact that he had been lying in the lake all night.

Sean sat on the ground, shivering, his eyebrows covered in ice crystals, and lit a campfire with an abandoned lighter.

He stretched out his frozen hands to warm them by the fire.

But the flames, containing astonishing heat, were absorbed remotely, and the newly lit firewood turned into a pile of ice.

The intense chill emanating from him dissipated, and the icy blue color of his skin faded.

As if he had come back to life, Sean looked at his hands in disbelief. His mind, which had been slightly frozen, began to work again, and it seemed as if something incredible had happened to him.

He clenched his fist, feeling better than ever before, frighteningly strong.

Having recovered his health, he prepared to go home, but as soon as he stepped out of the woods, that extreme cold swept over him again.

Ice crystals formed on his eyebrows as Sean trembled and waved to passing cars for help.

laugh.

"Child, what's wrong?"

The car stopped, and an older man got out. I helped him up with concern, but my body stiffened.

The next instant, his body heat was sucked away like a tide, and he turned into an ice sculpture, crashing straight onto the hard road and shattering into a pile of bloody ice shards.

Sean's cold condition improved, and at the same time, his strength increased. He reached out and easily lifted the car as if it were a plastic toy.

He instantly realized something, looked in a certain direction of the town, and, like a greedy gold prospector who had just found a piece of gold dust and then saw a mountain of gold, his eyes flashed with unprecedented excitement and fervor, and he couldn't help but swallow.

That place is a thermal power plant!

……

Beep.

The heavy wool curtains were drawn, blocking out the sunlight.

The flames burned quietly in the fireplace.

Luther took a sip of whiskey, his throat burning, but his face remained expressionless.

He browsed through old news articles and posts on forums by the townspeople on his computer, just like he did when he was working.

There were stacks of US dollars on the table next to him.

Click

The door was opened by the servant.

A middle-aged man in a trench coat walked in, his eyes flashing with shrewdness from time to time. He was slightly balding, giving him an impression of being intelligent and capable.

He held a brown paper file folder in his hand, slapping his thigh leisurely.

"Mr. Luther, have you prepared the money I asked for?"

“Roger Nixon, if I remember correctly.”

Luther slowly stood up, poured a glass of clear, brown liquid into it, handed it to him, and smiled.

"A reporter from the Metropolitan Inquirer? You said you had something you wanted to show me."

"This photo caused our sales to skyrocket."

Nixon took a newspaper out of the file folder.

The newspaper featured a prominent printed photo of Lex Luthor, holding a pistol, fleeing the bank after robbing it.

"That's all in the past."

Luther chuckled: "I don't think Mr. Nixon, as a journalist, is unaware of the latest developments in the bank robbery."

"That's how news is; it can easily become outdated."

It's very difficult to consistently get your articles to make headlines.

Nick shook his head.

"Mr. Luther, have you ever dug potatoes before?"

Before Luther could answer, he stared into Luther's eyes, as if he had the situation firmly under control, and smiled smugly.

"I imagine someone like you, born with a silver spoon in your mouth, probably doesn't realize that when you're digging potatoes, one potato can easily bring up a whole bunch."

Nixon waved the file folder in his hand and handed it over, seemingly with a sigh.

"It's so thick, almost like a stack of banknotes, all of which are your criminal records from when you were a minor. It's really surprising."

"It seems the reporter wasn't lying to me on the phone; he really does have some understanding of my wild youth."

After taking the file and flipping through it, Luther's voice was low, and a smile appeared on his face.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Nixon."

"Thanks?" Nixon asked, puzzled. What was he supposed to thank him for? Was he being blackmailed?

"This place is full of destroyed electronic records and sealed archives. How did you find it, sir?"

He walked back to his desk, sat down slowly, and began to ask questions.

"It's easy to imagine that your father must have spent a lot of money to cover up these files."

I'm not as rich as your father, but luckily bribing a guard in a dusty archive room doesn't cost much.

Nixon scoffed, thanking the vacant guard who had a penny to his name for bringing him this windfall.

"Think about what the effect would be if these things were published."

It has just been discovered that the wrongly accused heir to the Luther Group actually had a long history of misconduct in his youth, and robbing a bank was nothing out of the ordinary.

"In my experience as a journalist, people love plot twists and turns."

He put down his glass, shrugged, glanced furtively at the brand-new $100,000 bill still smelling of ink on the table, and began to speak eloquently.

"This will likely have some impact on Luther Group's stock price!"

“Mr. Nixon, this money is yours.”

Luther smiled calmly and took a black cloth bag from under the table.

"Mr. Luther, you're also responsible for providing the bags?"

Nixon was somewhat surprised and put the stacks of money on the table into his bag.

"You must be feeling great right now."