What's wrong with Superman's son wanting to be Superman?

Page 142

“Welcome back, Ian.” Hannibal sat in a leather office chair, legs crossed, a notebook in his hand, his expression composed yet exuding an aristocratic elegance.

He raised his head.

He revealed a smile.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Lecter." Ian glanced back at the door. He was not calm at all. He wanted to mention Will but didn't know how to start.

A straight shot?

That was what Ian thought at first, but now he's a little unsure.

Just as Ian was weighing the consequences of his mistake in "fighting crime".

"Want something to drink?"

Hannibal stood up and walked towards the refrigerator.

"Cola will do."

As Ian spoke, he also took out his gift, a delicate little box containing a peeled egg. He had bought a new gift after losing the donuts.

"Is it for me?"

Hannibal returned with a normal expression, carrying a bottle of cola and a cup.

"That's right, I actually prepared donuts at first, but I used them to save a relationship." Ian began to tell the little bit of truth he had left for the day.

"That's nice."

Hannibal poured the cola into a glass with ice and handed it to Ian.

"And what about the eggshell? Did that also constitute a good deed?" he asked Ian while casually placing the remaining Coke bottle on the table.

"No, I just used it to benefit myself."

After taking the Coke, Ian sat down on the sofa opposite Hannibal. He temporarily revised his original statement, after all, he wanted to be a great leader that neither men nor women could figure out.

[Leader LV1 [1/10]]

The system panel proves that Ian has the qualifications.

“You can take off your colored contact lenses.” Hannibal sat back down in his chair, picked up his pen, and turned to Ian’s page in the notebook he used to record patient information.

"Can't get it off."

Ian sighed helplessly.

He also missed his own deep blue eyes, but it was clear that he could never go back to them.

"Ah."

Hannibal didn't press further; he simply began jotting down information in his notebook, the scratching of his pen on the paper blending wonderfully with the music from the phonograph.

“I’ve been in contact with your parents,” he suddenly continued. “Your mother thinks you’ve become much more cheerful, while Clark thinks you need more treatment.”

talking.

Hannibal raised his head.

"I'm curious, what changes have occurred in your body since the last treatment?" His tone was tinged with curiosity, as if Ian's situation had caught him somewhat off guard.

"I've become a sunny and cheerful young man, a complete transformation." Ian kept in mind that he needed to be honest with his therapist, so he even started to anticipate tomorrow's dose of truth.

“I feel completely cured, and I have no more symptoms of anxiety.” Ian was telling the truth, but Hannibal just stared at him with a deep gaze.

“You’re telling what you believe to be the truth, but it’s not true.” Hannibal’s eyes were as sharp as a scalpel, and his diagnostic process was as direct as ever.

Hear the words.

Ian quickly took a sip of cola to calm his nerves.

“Okay, I admit it, I think I’m hopeless. You know what? My aunt gave me Penguin Cola, which is Gotham wastewater, so I’m definitely infected with the Joker virus.”

If there's anything else that could cause anxiety, Ian could only think of this one thing after racking his brains, even though he had already confirmed that he was not infected with the clown virus.

But who can really say for sure about this thing?

“Clown virus? Interesting term.” Hannibal casually turned the Coke can on the coffee table around, obscuring the “Penguin Cola” label.

This was to prevent Ian from experiencing increased anxiety.

Penguin Cola.

Hannibal also drank occasionally.

He didn't believe any viruses had been added to it.

[Persecution complex.]

The pen moves across the paper.

Hannibal circled again the symptoms that Ian had shown before.

“I don’t find it funny, unless, of course, you enjoy building your happiness on my suffering.” Ian was secretly observing Hannibal’s expression.

He then gulped down a few more mouthfuls of the iced cola in his hand.

“I’m not saying this to mock you, but something came to mind,” Hannibal said in a deep, resonant voice. “An elder of yours came to see me not long ago.”

Ian was taken aback by his words.

"Perhaps because of my professional skills, your elder asked me to help him analyze a recording... and I heard similar statements in it."

Hannibal lowered his voice.

"Bruce Wayne?"

This was the name Ian settled on after some thought.

“Yes, that wealthy man, I didn’t expect your family to have this kind of connection.” Hannibal nodded, confirming Ian’s guess, but this only made Ian more confused.

The boy's eyes darted around.

It's strange enough that Superman didn't notice Hannibal's problem.

Now even Batman has let this cannibal go?

This is so unreasonable.

Even Ian's own twisted logic couldn't explain it.

"What are you thinking?"

Hannibal stared at Ian and asked a question.

Can I listen to the recording?

Ian merely made a request, without revealing his true thoughts. His words caused Hannibal's lips to curl into a smile, clearly indicating that he had anticipated Ian's request.

“I wouldn’t do that in principle, but… sometimes rules need to be broken.” Hannibal got up and walked to the back, rummaging through the filing cabinet.

"After all, although your elder seems quite ill to me, he is not my patient, and he did not ask me to keep this recording of unknown origin confidential."

Hannibal returned carrying a tape recorder.

He emphasized that he still strictly adheres to the confidentiality agreement in the doctor-patient relationship.

It seems a bit unnecessary.

Because Ian doesn't care about keeping secrets at all.

“Yes, he’s the real psychopath. You’re a really great psychiatrist.” Ian couldn’t help but praise Hannibal, whose words resonated strongly with him.

Bruce Wayne deserves to be severely criticized.

The news I received at noon today made Ian increasingly angry. He wasn't even ready to start from scratch, and Batman had already shattered his dream of getting rich.

Anyone would have cursed Bruce Wayne to death if they were in his shoes.

"It seems you have a lot of issues with your elder." Hannibal said thoughtfully, turning on the tape recorder in his hand, which emitted a slight hum.

As Hannibal pressed the play button.

The magnetic tape started spinning.

He only played a small portion of the recording, but even that small portion was enough to leave Ian speechless.

The recording contains an anxious man's voice: "Oh, doctor, save me, you must save me, you have to save me, I feel like I've been sick lately."

"A very serious illness! I'm going to die!"

The man's voice was filled with despair.

immediately.

The psychologist's voice rang out.

What illness do you think you have?

The female doctor's voice sounded very gentle.

"Huhuhu~"

The sound of a patient sniffling could be heard.

"I already told you, I'm infected with a virus, a very scary virus. Yes, the Ian virus. You may not have heard of it, but that doesn't diminish how terrifying it is."

"The Ian virus has completely infected me, making me absent-minded almost every night lately... I want to kill people whenever I can't see 'Batman's Tragic Love Story'."

The man's helpless voice trembled.

"Have you read this book? No? Then I'll burn it for you to see. 'The Tragic Love Story of Batman' brings me peace, and perhaps it can bring you peace too."

Sudden.

The roar of the chainsaw was deafening.

"Damn it! Where did this chainsaw come from! No! You can't do this! I can give you money! I have a lot of money!" the psychiatrist screamed hysterically in terror.

"Don't be afraid, doctor, I'm just proving to you that I'm not lying to you." The man's voice suddenly became calm, followed by a series of chilling screams.

soon.

The screams turned into silence.

"Where did you put your anesthetic? Why aren't you talking? If you don't talk, I'll assume you're cured... Next patient, please..." It sounded like someone had put on a doctor's coat.

He spoke in a deliberately low voice.