Deathrider's Thrall?
Staring at the status name on his panel, Ian's first thought was the Horseman of Death from the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, though for the moment he could not quite pin down what kind of character this was supposed to be.
Death angels he still remembered.
As for death riders... well, his transmigration had happened more than ten years ago by now. Even though Ian regularly worked to reinforce his memories, it was still hard to retain all those side details.
Not to mention, he did not know every last thing about the world he was now living in either. He was a man who had scored over seven hundred on the college entrance exam. Naturally, the books he had read the most were textbooks.
As for movies and comics?
Those had only ever been leisure reading.
If he had known in advance that he would transmigrate into the DC Universe, Ian would absolutely have dropped out and stayed home to become a full-time comics addict.
"No matter how you look at it, the pendant Madison gave me definitely isn't simple."
Ian could tell that whatever existence had branded the back of his hand was definitely a big shot.
He just did not know how big or how strong that big shot really was.
Of course, the fact that his system could identify such mysterious status information so precisely also made Ian think a little more highly of it.
"Maybe I really do have a shot at getting rid of this Ordinary NPC identity."
Ian lowered his head and looked at the brand on the back of his hand. The lines of the pattern were smooth, but at the same time they carried a strange, mysterious charm.
Its only flaw was that it did not come with any negative effect at all.
That left him feeling a little disappointed.
No matter who the big shot behind this special status really was, Ian felt that they did not understand his needs at all. It had the feeling of a careless kind of attention, like they were not truly invested in him.
What a letdown.
That was only something Ian dared mutter in his heart. Even that already counted as fairly bold. In the end, he rubbed the brand a few more times, then took out the homework assigned by school.
Yes, that's right.
Even American public schools actually had homework.
It was just that the amount was small, and most of the time it could be finished quickly.
If you were fast, it took a little over ten minutes. If you were slow, half an hour.
For Ian, though, it took two whole hours.
Not because he was bad at it, but because he completed twenty homework assignments at a time.
As a true academic monster, Ian had long been providing tailor-made solutions for his classmates. He had a detailed grasp of the level every student ought to show, and this entire business had never once been discovered by any teacher.
"You'd only find this many kids who hate studying in public school."
Ian sighed faintly. In truth, with his parents' means, not just he but also his two brothers had more than enough to attend private school. But their father was the union of divinity and humanity, the Superman of the DC Universe, a man close to sainthood.
Blending in with ordinary people mattered.
That was Superman's belief, and it was also his parenting style. At the same time, in Ian's view, choosing public school for the children probably also reflected a desire to keep them from having their values warped by upper-class society.
Smoking and drinking?
Those bad habits would barely count as anything in American private schools. When rich kids in those schools went bad, they became the kind of bad that public-school bullies could not even dream of reaching.
"All done. Finished."
Ian wrapped up his little side business.
Then he started writing again on The Overbearing Superman Is in Love With Me.
He had run into writer's block, so he decided to introduce a new element: Superman would get hit by a spaceship, be blasted several hundred light-years away, and lose his memory, forgetting the heroine entirely.
In the next stage of the story, Superman would even forget that he was Superman, after which a scheming villainess would take him in. Forced into action, the forty-year-old heroine would have no choice but to return to her old trade and infiltrate the villainess's company as a cleaning lady.
"The heroine also has to discover that the company's unspeakable secret is a plan to poison and control women all over the world through sanitary pads, and the only reason she isn't affected is because she's been through menopause for years!"
"Oh, right, and the heroine has nine kids. I can send them off one by one like the Calabash Brothers. I really am a genius at stitching things together."
Ian was extremely satisfied with his plot design.
He picked up his pen again and began writing with all his heart and soul.
Honestly, whether it got published or made money did not matter that much to him anymore. He felt that writing was something that mattered most when it pleased the writer himself.
Of course,
if it made money too, that would be an even bigger win.
Ian would win twice.
"What an exhilarating storm of inspiration!"
Ian only set down his pen when he reached a point where he himself was getting bored. After thinking for a moment, he decided to send the manuscript to the publisher he had already picked out.
Wayne Enterprises held an absolute controlling share.
Surely there had to be some editor there with enough good judgment to recognize genius.
Ian had faith in Batman's business investment standards.
"I'll mail it tomorrow."
Full of anticipation, Ian organized the first volume of his manuscript, carefully polished a few details, and only then left his room to wash up. When he came back, the clock on his desk was already pointing at that special time.
[11:59]
...
Ian hurried to his bed.
[12:00]
...
At the final moment, Ian managed to pull the blanket over himself. Lying flat on the bed with both hands folded over his abdomen, he looked like a corpse prepared for burial.
Then, as one day crossed cleanly into the next, he entered that strange and bizarre world right on schedule. The fierce wind brushed across his face without causing any harm. Ian slowly opened his eyes. The familiar lead-gray sky weighed down on his vision, and goose-feather snow drifted silently through the air.
"My spawn point this time is really far away."
Ian breathed into his hands and looked around. After finding the bridge he used as a reference point, he quickly figured out where he was.
"Homelander! Homelander!"
Now that he had entered this world again, Ian's mind was completely filled with the goal of getting closer to family. Wiping away the snow and checking a road sign, he immediately broke into a mad sprint toward the north.
With Strength and Constitution several times greater than those of an ordinary person, he ran like a nimble cheetah, a human vehicle barreling down one silent street after another.
The snow still kept falling.
This city was simply too large.
Even at Ian's speed, he was left panting and exhausted. It took him several full hours of running to finally reach the familiar place, though part of that had to do with the fact that he had briefly gotten lost in the middle.
Ian felt it was not entirely fair to blame his terrible sense of direction. Mostly, once he had realized this world was connected to the Marvel Universe, he had started scanning the area as he ran, searching for the corpses of other possible superheroes.
However,
he found absolutely nothing.
Fortunately, he eventually reached the street where the Hulk and Homelander's bodies lay. The Hulk was already being buried by the snow, though the accumulation was not too deep yet.
Standing in the street,
Ian hesitated slightly.
He looked at his now dramatically increased Strength and Constitution stats. In the end, he decided to rely on his own hands to climb instead of searching around for some tool he could use.
Humanity had invented and learned to use tools because of diligence.
As for him,
he was a little lazy.
"I'm coming, Homelander!"
Ian backed up a few steps first.
Then, with a fierce burst forward, he launched himself upward and scrambled along the Hulk's arm like a firework monkey shot into the sky.
The facts proved it.
Boys who liked relying on themselves usually had decent luck.
Ian succeeded.
He had won the gamble. Whether that made him ridiculously lucky or simply a born gambler, he didn't know, but right now he felt unstoppable. Clinging to the Hulk's thumb, Ian reached his hand toward Homelander's head.
Completely dried blood.
It came into contact with Ian's still somewhat youthful hand.
(End of Chapter)
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