Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 978 Youth Issues (Second Update)

"So you locked your sister up in the manor?" Joan tilted her head back, her sunscreen-smoked skin reflecting the oil, and closed her eyes, enjoying the warm sunlight on her skin. "You're using the manor as a rehab center?"

"Yes, I gave her a month-long leave. It's essential to get her out of soft drugs to prevent her from getting into even bigger trouble," Salomon said drowsily, his eyes still closed. "Besides, the manor is much better than a white-collar prison—the kind where you can grow organic vegetables and learn textile skills as an economic criminal. There are a few bears, a few sheep, a cat with a fruit knife trying to commit murder, and a horse trying to gnaw the lawn clean. There's no better place in the world. I don't want her to ruin her life and end up in a nursing home, gathering friends to plan robberies. That would be too pathetic."

"Bayonetta is taking care of her." Jeanne still hadn't opened her eyes. She was wearing an extremely revealing pure white bikini and trying hard to get tanned. However, no matter how strong the sun was, her skin remained bright white, almost transparent under the sunlight, like a piece of white jade. "This is a new experience for her. She always says she wants to learn how to deal with rebellious teenagers to prepare for the future."

"Let me out!" Little Lorna clenched her fists and pounded on the door. "I don't want to drink organic milk!"

“But you still have to drink the medicine, girl,” Bayonetta said slowly, leaning against the doorframe. A black silk yukata with gold trim, embroidered with intricate flowers and cranes, draped loosely over her body, exposing the witch’s beautiful shoulders to the air, yet concealing them beneath her casually tied-up black hair. She exuded the scent of sunshine and sunscreen, but sadly, Bayonetta still hadn’t managed to get a bikini tan. In her hand, she held a long pipe. The pipe was filled with alchemical ointment, and a flickering flame hovered above it.

"Drink it, and I'll let you take a puff," she said. "Once you taste the alchemical ointment, you won't want those soft drugs anymore."

"I'm not a fucking addict!"

"Watch your language." Bayonetta knocked on the door with her pipe. "Take your medication, and then your work for today will be done."

"I don't want to operate the sewing machine! This isn't a prison!" Little Lorna said, wrinkling her nose. "I'd rather have sex with my brother than do this kind of prison work!"

"Girl, if you want to piss me off, this trick is too old-fashioned."

"Really? Well, wait until I'm in his bed tonight before you say that! Anyway, there's no better man in the world than him. All the boys at school are idiots, so he's the only one I can choose!"

"I'm sure Bayonetta and Lorna will get along very well," Salomon stretched, looking content. When he asked the private school principal for a long leave of absence for Lorna, the principal readily agreed, so much so that Salomon didn't even have time to deliver his prepared explanation. He wondered if this was because Lorna had a bad reputation at school. He even tried to get Lorna's past report cards—but that idiot principal said that all the children's grades were now confidential. And there were no specific scores, only grades, to avoid hurting their self-esteem and to protect the minority children.

This is simply the dumbest thing Salomon has heard all year.

In New York, a city where political correctness reigns supreme, many people mistake this behavior for respect, when in reality it is a deeper form of discrimination. Before the Civil War, a pseudoscience called phrenology was prevalent in the American South, with many believing that the three small indentations on the skulls of Black people were evidence that they were less intelligent than white people. Today, various scholarships in American universities—diversity scholarships, LGBTQIAPK scholarships, etc.—are all forms of discrimination disguised as respect. Instead of focusing on basic education in Black communities, city governments try to elevate the academically weaker Black students, placing them in the same classrooms as those who work hard; or they reduce police funding to reduce the number of Black criminals arrested (Blacks contribute 50% of all crime in the US), and then criticize police brutality against Black criminals—using unfair treatment of others to demonstrate fairness to minorities.

This is absolutely insane! Even those rusty redneck truck drivers think more normally than the white leftists and sanctimonious saints. Salomon's normal friends are all truck drivers. Although their income isn't as high as that of urban white-collar workers, their taste isn't great, their intelligence isn't high, and they believe in all sorts of conspiracy theories, at least they won't say stupid things like "pay attention to minority groups," "environmental protection," and "women's rights" while drinking, and try to put everyone in an adversarial position.

Although most media outlets portrayed this group as white trash and racists, they were, after all, a minority, far outnumbering even Black criminals. Salomon didn't notice this in his interactions with his ordinary friends—the nicknames they gave others were indeed harsh, but the truck drivers Salomon knew treated anyone from their class of blue-collar workers normally.

They even voted for the Democratic Party.

On the contrary, those media outlets that constantly proclaim "oppose racial discrimination" are actually the most racist, believing that anyone other than white people is subhuman, and they don't even dare to speak their minds.

It's really difficult to find a normal person in the US these days; it's as if the world has wronged them.

"Would you like some more sunscreen?"

"Of course. Untie my belt, I'm too lazy to do it myself." Joan of Arc rolled over on the chaise lounge. "Where else did you go that night?"

"What?"

"The night you caught Lorna," she said, "I remember you called the manor after you caught the drug dealer, but you didn't come back for several hours."

"First, I took Lorna to eat at the Chicago beef stall; the snack cart I've been eating from for years is still there. Then I took her to the Avengers headquarters." Salomon squeezed some cool sunscreen onto his hands and rubbed them together. He flicked his finger, and Jeanne's bikini strap untied itself. The white-haired witch needed sunscreen all over her body, so Salomon had to grab another bottle. "If I hadn't gotten Lorna Captain America's autograph, she wouldn't have been so easily fooled. She even tweeted a picture of herself with Captain America; I can imagine how popular she'll be at school."

When the sunscreen was applied to her skin, Joan of Arc didn't feel any coldness. It must be said, Salomon was quite considerate in certain details. "What are you doing going to the Avengers headquarters? Don't you hate that place?" she asked. "Are you going to see your female spy lover?"

“I just want to talk to Steve Rogers.” Salomon shook his head. “I value him highly, you know. He certainly has his flaws; he’s only human, after all, but his character is truly noble. He has the courage to sacrifice himself, and for years I’ve been persuading him to change his allegiance, and it’s starting to pay off. He now understands that he should fight for humanity and its future. Hey, Bayonetta, how’s it going with little Lorna? Did she drink the potion?”

"No!" Bayonetta untied her yukata, letting the expensive silk fall onto the lawn. She lay back down in her previous spot as if relieved. "Give me some sunscreen; I need a good night's sleep. Ugh… teenagers are so hard to deal with. We even had a debate about whether high school girls should remain virgins. I can't even imagine how we're going to raise our daughters."

Please vote for me!

(End of this chapter)