Metropolis was bright with late-morning sun. Inside a psychiatrist's office, the curtains stirred in a light breeze.
A light breeze gently stirred the curtains, and mottled shadows swayed across them. A boy sat on an uncomfortable sofa and looked up at the psychiatrist across from him.
"I'm not mentally ill."
Ian Kent spoke softly.
"Most people who come here think they're perfectly fine."
The psychiatrist was impeccably dressed and sat with perfect posture, a notebook and fountain pen laid neatly in front of him. In front of him lay a refined notebook and a fountain pen.
"It's just that my parents often notice me waking up in the middle of the night, so they think I need some counseling."
Ian shifted on the sofa.
He seemed to be trying to find the most comfortable position possible.
What did you dream about?' the psychiatrist asked, picking up his fountain pen. His voice was deep and reassuring, the kind that made people want to open up.
Ian, however, had no such need.
"Teenage boys always have some unrealistic fantasies they're too embarrassed to talk about, don't they?"
After a moment of thought, Ian chose to answer vaguely.
The psychiatrist's expression did not change. He simply nodded.
"I understand that you don't trust me very much yet. We can come back to that question later."
As he spoke, he began writing in the notebook.
From where Ian sat, he could not see what the psychiatrist was writing.
"Maybe you could just prescribe me something."
Ian offered the suggestion himself. Compared to talking his way through treatment, he would much rather swallow some modern medicine and be done with it. There were things about himself he did not want anyone else knowing.
Like the fact that he was a transmigrator.
Or the fact that his father in this life was Superman, whose hearing was basically better than surveillance equipment.
And then there was that world that kept appearing in his dreams every few days.
Everything there seemed frozen solid. Endless snow swept through the air with razor-sharp winds, while the outlines of ruined buildings appeared and vanished in the haze. It was the kind of place that made every step feel heavier.
Maybe it was a nightmare.
Or maybe it was something else entirely.
After all, he was living in a world where anything was possible. Ian could not really be sure what his dreams meant. He only knew that every time the bells rang, he woke up instantly.
By the time Ian emerged from his memories, the psychiatrist had already stopped writing.
"In my entire career, I haven't seen many patients in your situation who actively ask for medication."
He seemed a little surprised.
"Even though I firmly believe I don't have any mental illness, I do sometimes feel some symptoms of anxiety..."
Ian paused, then added in a somewhat transparent attempt to cover things up,
"It might have something to do with how much pressure I put on myself at school. I thought something for anxiety might help take the edge off."
The boy sounded calm and sincere.
The psychiatrist studied him for a moment.
"As far as I know, your grades are exceptional."
He was clearly questioning whether academics were really the source of Ian's anxiety.
"That's exactly why. If I want to stay ahead of my peers, then the pressure's obviously higher if I'm trying to stay ahead of everyone else."
Ian gave what looked like an earnest answer, even though it went completely against his real thoughts.
"Mm."
The psychiatrist nodded first, then held Ian's gaze for quite a while with those deep-set eyes.
"I don't think you're telling the truth."
He said it bluntly and made another note in his notebook. Ian only watched him in silence.
The source of his anxiety really was not school.
In truth, before transmigrating, he had been the kind of unlucky bastard who aced the biggest exam of his life, only to die before college even started, only to die before even making it to university and get forced into starting over. Compared to that, the workload at this life's public school was honestly not difficult for him at all.
What really had Ian anxious was his newly awakened cheat ability, the so-called perk every transmigrator in fiction was supposed to get.
The moment that familiar ding rang out in his mind, he had known he was no longer the ordinary person he once was.
Yet the awakening of the system did not make him happy for long.
It wasn't one of those overpowered wish-fulfillment systems, either. No daily rewards, no broken shop, no absurd jackpot mechanic. Just a bare-bones status screen like some unfinished game.
[Name: Ian Kent]
[Normal Class: Student Lv.7 (12/640)]
[Extraordinary Class: None]
[World Recognition: Ordinary NPC]
[Strength: 0.7]
[Constitution: 1.5]
[Intelligence: 2.3]
[Spirit: 2.5]
[Talent Skills: None]
[General Skill: Learning (Elite)]
[General Skill Points: 7]
...
There were no quests, no shop, none of the flashy features you would expect. There was only a panel and a function that quantified and digitized Ian's abilities and overall state.
The skill [Learning] was probably a legacy from his previous life. It had naturally appeared at the (Elite) rank, allowing Ian to learn new knowledge faster than most of his peers.
But since he had never truly entered society in either his previous life or this one, and textbook knowledge had not manifested as actual skills, his skill list looked rather empty.
The real source of Ian's anxiety was the [World Recognition] displayed on the panel. The glaring words Ordinary NPC hit him like a personal insult.
Every organ in his body felt like it was under threat.
Wasn't this exactly how disposable tragedy bait got set up? The kind who gets killed off to traumatize the family and push everyone else to level up. Ian watched movies too, so of course he had his suspicions.
That was exactly the sort of thing these stories loved.
And now, wasn't he living in a comic book world himself? Ever since awakening the system, Ian had realized that he was not the biological child of his parents in this life. And what could be a better sacrifice to ignite Superman's fighting spirit, as well as the bloodline potential of his two brothers, than an adopted son?
How was he supposed to stay alive?
That was the greatest source of anxiety for Ian, someone who had already died once.
He had been working hard to raise the level of his [Student] class, but aside from gaining a bit more Intelligence and Spirit, all he had received were seven general skill points. At best, those could be used to learn and upgrade skills like [Cooking] or [Dancing].
Maybe good grades really weren't going to save him.
Ian was living proof of that in the most literal sense.
He had even started to feel a little hopeless because of it, which was why he had taken the initiative to ask for medication. And there was no way he could tell the psychiatrist in front of him the true reason for his anxiety.
It was not just because the truth involved secrets he could never reveal.
It was also because no good psychiatrist should be named Hannibal Lecter.
Ian's gaze drifted to the nameplate on the doctor's desk.
[Hannibal Lecter]
That's right.
The moment he stepped through the door, Ian had noticed there was something extraordinary about this psychiatrist.
Okay, maybe that was unfair.
He could only hope he really was being paranoid.
(End of Chapter)
[Check Out My P@treon For +20 Extra Chapters On All My Fanfics!!][[email protected]/euridome]
[+500 Power Stones = +1 Extra Chapter]
[Thank You For Your Support!]