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SUP Chapter 106: New Class Obtained! Superman Awakens! (Part Two)
🕑 Added 2025-08-25 10:42:30 +0000 UTC"Where's the trash can?"
Castle quickly scanned the living room, looking for traces of the trash can. Just then, an orange cat seemed to wake up at this moment, crawling out from under the sofa and stretching on the carpet.
"Hey, little guy," Castle revealed a flattering smile, carefully using a fork to pick up a piece of "curry" and offering it to the orange cat, "Want to try some?"
He attempted to feed the dark cuisine to this family's little cat.
The orange cat lifted its head.
Those cat eyes flashed with an eerie red light, like warning lights on a midnight highway.
"Hiss..."
Castle was frightened and quickly stepped back several steps, his fingers trembling uncontrollably, the fork "clanging" as it fell to the ground, unable to believe what he had seen.
A cat.
Its eyes were glowing!
Just like Superman!
Just as Castle felt his spine go cold, and the cat's eyes became redder and redder, thud thud thud sounds came again, and with Ian coming downstairs, the red light in the orange cat's eyes quickly disappeared.
It acted as if nothing had happened, lying on the carpet and licking its paws. However, that scene just now still left Castle feeling shaken.
"Your family's cat? It..." Castle saw Ian return to the living room, he bit his knuckles, wanting to say something but hesitating, wanting to speak but feeling he'd be taken for mentally ill.
Who would believe a cat's eyes could glow?
"My cat is very well-behaved. I took out a loan from the cat mom to buy it, agreeing that it would come find me punctually for debt collection in its next life," Ian placed stacks of manuscripts on the table.
He hadn't seen the cat mom when he found the kitten, but he still hoped the cat mom could really reincarnate and come knocking. This way the Kent family could raise another cat without spending money.
It had to reincarnate first.
Otherwise an old cat's lifespan was too short.
Low returns.
"No, that's not what I meant," Castle rubbed his eyes hard. When he looked at the orange cat again, its eyes had returned to the warm amber color of ordinary house cats.
The red light from before seemed like just his illusion.
"These are my works. Although Mr. Wayne screwed me over, I won't blame it on you," Ian paid no attention to this older apprentice's reaction.
He spread the manuscripts in front of the other party, then smoothly used his foot to slide into the orange cat's belly, using skills that many soccer players didn't have to lift the orange cat directly onto his hands with his foot.
"..."
Seeing this, Castle could only suppress his suspicious and uncertain mood, forcibly attributing what he saw to having played too much with that girl he met at the hotel last night. After some psychological construction and convincing himself, he picked up the manuscript, adjusted his sitting position, and began reading seriously.
Toward writing, Castle had always been serious.
However, as his reading deepened, his expression became more and more strange. His right hand kept moving away from his mouth and then pinching it again, as if forcibly preventing himself from saying something inappropriate.
But he ultimately couldn't hold back.
"Who taught you to write like this?"
Castle used as normal a tone as possible.
"Self-taught, purely by talent."
Ian opened a bottle of Coke for himself and poured Castle another cup of old tea. The orange cat in his other arm was purring contentedly in his embrace.
Ian let the orange cat have a sip.
The orange cat drank happily. Ian let this pet have the rest of the Coke, since anyone who knew understood that people who drank Coke only drank the first sip.
"Self-taught?"
Castle's expression was quite spectacular. He stared at the manuscript in his hand, his mouth repeatedly opening and closing, his whole expression twisted like he had prematurely entered his fifties.
"Isn't it well written?"
Ian began to doubt the other party's level of appreciation. Rookie authors were all like this, thinking that masters' writing wasn't good, only believing that they themselves had platinum potential.
Such rookies were truly very difficult to mentor.
"Um..."
Castle started biting his fingers again, swallowing, "Actually it's not bad either. Your prose is quite good, it's just that this writing method is indeed somewhat... novel."
He was indeed a writer, his words were pleasant to hear. Ian regained his favorable impression of this older man with writing dreams, feeling that the other party might still have some prospects on the writing path.
"Being able to see my avant-garde literature, you're very talented," Ian walked forward and patted Castle's shoulder, like rewarding an excellent student.
"..."
After a moment of silence, Castle began organizing his language, "I can see that you're writing a story about Superman and his romance, but why, when you already have Superman as an absolute power, do you focus your writing on having the female lead learn... Ian Divine Arts, making her become a mage?"
"This is somewhat redundant, after all this is a romance story, the female lead doesn't need to gain power," It had to be said that in analyzing works, Castle was indeed professional enough.
He had done research.
He knew the boy in front of him was called Ian.
What that Ian Divine Cult inside was about was already obvious. Honestly speaking, in the section where the female lead entered the faith and began praising Ian, Castle felt he truly saw the talent of the boy in front of him. The richness and magnificence of the word usage there reached a level that made him feel deeply ashamed of himself.
How narcissistic did a person have to be.
To write so many different praise songs and praise words in English.
Castle was simply stunned.
"Heh."
Ian saw Castle's expression of admiration, knowing that the other party had already been conquered by his talent, so he also had some patience for such a devout apprentice.
"Because urban novels all have to be like this in the later stages, otherwise how would you make money? When we finish writing the romance story, then we have to start writing the protagonist's growth story."
"Like how I divided mages into nine levels, each level I can write a million words for. Finally when they upgrade to the point they can't upgrade anymore, we can introduce enemies from outer space."
"This upgrades our world view. Things like demon invasions, God descending, new cultivation levels can be brought out again. Smoothly transitioning from romance novels to fantasy novels."
"This writing method, if used in conjunction with long-term contracts with publishers, trust me, it's enough to feed you for a lifetime," Ian was indeed teaching everything he knew.
He wasn't afraid of competitors.
He was just afraid of having no appreciators.
Moreover, this kind of skill was like martial arts secrets, not everyone who practiced them would turn out the same.
"This..."
Castle's jaw nearly dropped to the floor.
He was greatly shocked.
His mouth was open wide enough to fit an orange.
"Did you learn it?"
Ian asked in a deep voice.
"Learned it... I suppose?" Castle subconsciously answered, although he completely wasn't sure what he had learned, this didn't prevent him from making a tonal shift at the end.
Defending his dignity as a traditional writer.
"Good that you learned it. Remember to tell Mr. Wayne to send money... Also, within three days, I want to see my shares, otherwise I'll go to Gotham and corrupt his son."
"Make his son addicted to puppy love, unable to extricate himself, and I know several people who are, you know, LGBT," Ian believed his threat would definitely carry more weight than the Joker's.
"I don't have his contact information," Castle was somewhat helpless. He was also deeply shocked by Ian's threat, the way this boy threatened people was simply unheard of but also terrifyingly effective.
"Do you have your phone with you?"
Ian packed up his manuscripts.
"Yes."
Castle took out his latest model phone.
"Then there's no problem."
Ian's response left Castle completely puzzled.
Before this bestselling author could figure out what this had to do with Ian asking him to pass along a message, he saw Ian check the time on the wall and began pushing him toward the door.
Could also be seen as chasing him out?
This kid was really strong.
"Time's getting late, I should go see the psychologist," Ian casually grabbed his jacket. Although his tolerance for hot and cold was already very strong, when going out, he still needed to make everyone think he was an ordinary person.
This was how superheroes hid themselves.
"What are you going to see a psychologist for?" Castle was pushed to the front door, then pushed outside the courtyard, unknowingly finding himself standing on the street.
"Being able to ask that question, I think you should also go see a psychologist," Ian closed the outermost wooden fence, making a very polite goodbye gesture to Castle.
"Study well, practice well, believe in yourself."
His encouragement carried a touch of gentleness.
"..."
Castle didn't know how to respond.
His head was buzzing.
Standing on the street.
This usually quite lively writer was somewhat silent. Due to his thinking being mysteriously contaminated, he didn't even notice the Hellcat driving out from the side iron gate.
"I probably don't know how to write books anymore," Castle was still struggling with writing techniques. He stared at the house ahead, his mind seeming to constantly echo with Ian's whispers.
At this moment, the street was very quiet.
"Bang~"
But perhaps it wasn't absolutely quiet either. The sound of something suddenly exploding rang out, startling Castle, finally bringing him back from his life-doubting thoughts.
"Did something explode?" His expression was suspicious and uncertain, looking like a startled large animal, but looking left and right he couldn't find the explosion source.
"Snap~"
Something dangled in front of Castle.
Along with bricks and wood chips.
"This family's roof exploded through!" Castle then discovered where the explosion had occurred, it was actually right in front of him in the house, a big hole had directly blasted through the roof.
"That's..."
Castle saw a pink object shoot up into the clouds, immediately followed by what seemed like someone from the damaged house also rushing into the sky at a dazzling speed.
It was a boy.
His hand was raised high.
His expression anxious.
As if he was trying to save that... toy that had already exploded into crispy sausage?
"What the hell! What's wrong with this family!?" Castle rubbed his eyes hard, confirming he wasn't crazy nor had he been secretly drugged with some hallucinogen by that bed partner last night.
"Ring ring ring~"
Suddenly, the ringing of his phone pulled Castle back to reality from his daze.
Caller ID.
Bruce Wayne.
Castle clearly had never stored this name's phone number, but it just displayed like that. However, Castle, who was already too shocked to be shocked anymore, had become numb to such things.
"Hello?"
He answered the phone.
"You need to forget what you just saw," A rather magnetic voice came from the other end of the phone, the distinctive voice that could often be heard on television.
"Are you really Bruce Wayne?"
Castle swallowed.
"I am."
The other party gave a brief affirmative response.
"Did you talk to that boy?"
Bruce asked the question he was most concerned about.
"I did, but right now I just want to know what's the deal with this family, and also... why did you choose me," Castle covered the phone and jogged away from this eerie neighborhood.
"Because you're the most convenient to use, and also, tell that boy that his father said he'd become bad if he had money, so I put his share in his trust fund!"
"Damn brat, he blocked me!"
Bruce's voice carried annoyance.
Castle didn't listen carefully.
Because he was melancholy that he wasn't the kind of man who was looked upon favorably, whom even the super rich considered very capable.
And just as this uncle who liked to fantasize like a little kid was feeling gloomy.
Immediately after, Bruce's voice rang out again, "You don't need to care about this family's situation, you just need to mind your own mouth. I know your new book hasn't written a single word yet. If you don't want to pay breach of contract fees, then complete the commission I gave you, if things go smoothly, I guarantee your net worth will double again."
Typical carrot and stick.
The threats and promises of those with money power both carried weight.
"I understand," Castle stopped walking and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, "But I still need to go back and think about it, properly sort through what I saw today."
His words aroused Bruce's vigilance.
"What do you need to sort through about the stuff he wrote?" Bruce's voice had no fluctuation, but that questioning feeling was still expressed very clearly.
"Um..."
Castle's expression became tangled, "Actually some of that boy's content is really not bad," For example, one plot was Superman holding up Metropolis with one hand, but he could still kiss the female lead and make domineering declarations. This kind of romance actually had quite an audience in certain markets.
He couldn't quite accept it but that didn't mean he couldn't distinguish the market.
Castle believed that a business giant like Bruce Wayne must also have discernment.
"I wanted you to look at a different book!"
Bruce's tone was calm, but he was actually grinding his teeth to pieces.
"Right, there's another one, the story about Batman. That book is indeed more absurd, but I think the plot where the Joker gets hit by a car and Batman threatens the doctor that if he can't save both the child and the Joker, he'll make all of Gotham pay with their lives should win quite a few fans in Gotham's specific market."
Castle's professional ability was incredibly strong.
Although he didn't know why Bruce had recently set his sights on the novel market, which wasn't very profitable, he felt that Bruce, as a capitalist, would definitely believe in publishing whatever made money.
Such market-core judgment.
Castle didn't receive Bruce Wayne's evaluation.
He only heard heavy breathing.
Then, the other end of the phone suddenly fell into deathly silence.
...
The Hellcat sped along the road, its wheels crushing a stone on the ground.
The vehicle shot past, and the stone fragments splashed up hit the outer wall of a church, then rolled into the church's main door.
Even in broad daylight, the dim candlelight still burned continuously inside the church.
It illuminated the tall cross and the solemn sacred images all around.
The afternoon sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows into the empty church, stretching Jonathan Kent's shadow very long. He sat quietly on the long bench, looking up at the suspended cross.
The Kent family's eldest son had maintained this posture for nearly six hours.
"The Lord watches over everyone."
The priest slowly walked from behind the altar, noticing Jonathan's presence, and asked softly, "Young man, is there something troubling you? I saw you sitting here almost all day today."
The priest's concern was very genuine. Jonathan didn't answer immediately, he seemed immersed in his own thoughts. After a moment, he raised his head, his gaze unfocused as he looked at the priest.
"I'm thinking about a question."
Jonathan's voice carried some hesitation.
"What question?"
The priest spoke gently.
Trying to understand this young man's inner struggle.
"God can save all of us, right?" Jonathan's voice carried a trace of uncertainty, yet was filled with a desire to receive a definitive answer.
The priest nodded slightly, giving an affirmative reply, "Yes, God's love is boundless, He is willing to accept every soul that truly repents."
Hearing this, a flash of joy passed through Jonathan's eyes.
"Mm, that's wonderful then." He made a move that surprised the priest, Jonathan stuffed the black diary in his hands into the church's donation box.
The book made a muffled "thunk" sound as it fell to the bottom of the box.
However, the priest seemed unable to see anything.
"It belongs to God now."
With that, under the priest's confused gaze.
Jonathan left without looking back.
"Ian is the smartest among us, thinking like him can't be wrong," the big boy murmured with certainty, his words echoing softly in the somewhat empty church.
"Does this boy have problems?"
The priest was puzzled.
In his invisible field of vision, a black angel silently appeared.
Constantine's acquaintance.
The angel Manny.
"What kind of thing is this."
The angel tilted his head slightly, golden eyes gazing toward that ordinary plastic donation box. Some indescribable sense of wrongness emanated from the box.
Like something that shouldn't exist but did exist there.
"Is this something from outside the universe?"
He extended his pure black hand.
Accurately grasping the edge of that black diary.
The next moment, hidden within the black notebook, that unknown deep evil essence seemed to find a more suitable host, silently attaching itself.
"Hmm?"
The angel's pure golden eyes began showing signs of being stained black.
However, he seemed completely unaware of this.
