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

Page 141

They parked directly in front of the office building where Dr. Hannibal Lecter worked. Most top-notch psychiatrists in the United States actually have their own clinics and, like Hannibal, rent an entire floor.

of course.

Not every psychologist can afford to rent a floor in a bustling commercial area of ​​a metropolis, as the rent is very expensive, and only doctors with truly strong financial resources can afford it.

Hannibal was indeed exceptionally talented.

"The city is teeming with people, and it's full of elites."

Ian felt that Dr. Hannibal had also mastered the trick of win-win, as there are many white-collar workers in the central area who are under great mental stress, and at the same time they can make money, they also have a wider variety of food choices.

For cannibals.

Is there any better hunting ground than this?

"No."

Ian answered for Hannibal by quickly jumping off the Hellcat.

"Go find a free parking spot yourself, okay?" After giving his ride a few instructions, Ian stepped into the building. When he entered the elevator, there was already a woman in a business suit inside.

She was holding the hand of a five- or six-year-old boy in one hand and a phone in the other.

“Listen, I’m going to my parents’ house for dinner tonight, yes, they’re sick,” the woman said to her husband on the phone. “So, I might need you to come pick up the kids.”

She gently finished her call with her husband, then dialed another number, her voice immediately becoming even sweeter: "Mr. Allen, I have the contract ready."

"Yes, I'll take you to see the house again later. As long as we have a good chat in your future new home, I believe you'll be able to feel the charm of that house."

The woman was clearly a real estate agent.

She is using special home-selling techniques.

"Oh, I brought popping candy."

"Could you perhaps prepare another iced cola for me?"

Women flirting.

Ian felt this wasn't a skill children should learn, so he secretly plugged the child's ears, then, remembering he was a child himself, he plugged his own ears as well.

Useless.

But he can pretend it works; the sense of ritual has already been maximized.

"Huh? What are you looking at?" Seeing that the child was staring at him, Ian glanced at the woman with her back to him and reached out to wipe the child's eyelids.

however.

Unexpectedly, even Superman's ineffective and ever-reliable tactics failed on the little kid. The child opened his eyes and stared at Ian again after Ian removed his hand.

"Ah."

Feeling challenged, Ian unleashed his true abilities.

"Ding~"

When the elevator door opens.

Ian walked out, and the woman who had just finished her call turned around and discovered that her child was wearing "glasses" made of shoelaces and eggshells.

It's absolutely hilarious.

However, the child who couldn't see anything really liked it.

He chuckled.

Meanwhile, Ian, who had kept his merits hidden, had already arrived at the information desk. At the desk, the young receptionist gave Ian a genuinely warm smile.

“Mr. Kent, your appointment with Dr. Hannibal is in twenty minutes. You may rest for a while while you wait.” The receptionist gestured for Ian to proceed.

"Ok."

This time, Ian offered no resistance. After all, as a wise man, his timing was impeccable. It was just as the saying goes: the wildflowers always smell sweeter than the garden flowers.

Men are all the same from childhood to adulthood.

Therefore, the most fun things will always be other people's toys.

Ian was still thinking about his unfinished project. However, when he stepped into the waiting area, he felt helpless. He didn't know which kid who came to see a doctor had destroyed the Gundam that he hadn't finished assembling last time.

"Hell is made for people like this." Ian thought to himself, annoyed. He could only pour out another box of Lego bricks and start a new round of building. This time, Ian wasn't going to build Gundam; he wanted to build Tiger King, the cartoon character who could climb out of the TV and whose special move was Storm Nebula Rift.

"I still love cats so much."

Just as Ian was concentrating on his work.

"Little friend, did you come alone?"

Suddenly, a gentle voice struck up a conversation beside him. Ian turned his head and saw the man who had been dozing next to him seem to have woken up, taking off his glasses and wiping their fogged-up state. The man had light brown curly hair and tired but gentle blue eyes, and was wearing a slightly wrinkled but clean plaid shirt.

“Will Graham?”

Ian tentatively asked.

His gaze fell on the book "Criminal Psychology" that the man had placed on his lap.

"Good observation skills."

The man was surprised for a moment, then looked down at the instructor's nameplate that he hadn't taken off his chest. He probably thought that Ian had seen it and read his name aloud.

"It really is you."

Ian was slightly surprised. He had watched the TV series and even the movie "Hannibal," and knew that Will was the person who had a love-hate relationship with Hannibal, the cannibal. This was a character with the ability of "empathy," able to put himself in the shoes of the deceased and recreate the scene of death. He wondered if this would be considered a superpower in today's world.

"Hmm? Have you heard of me?"

The man named Will was increasingly surprised.

He was a criminal profiler who occasionally taught criminal analysis to new FBI recruits. Logically, a little boy shouldn't be acting so familiar with him.

In this regard.

Ian did not respond.

"If I told you I came with my best friend, would you think I'm crazy?" He was simply answering the question Will had asked him at the beginning.

Will was taken aback for a moment.

He then smiled gently, as if he could empathize with such a thing, "No, because everyone has their own imaginary friends when they are young."

These words made Ian put down the Lego bricks he was holding.

Did you have imaginary friends when you were a child?

He seemed to suddenly become interested, staring intently at Will.

“Uh…” Will scratched his head.

"of course."

He gave an affirmative response.

This should have been an extremely heartwarming response.

however.

"Then it seems you really do have a mental illness." After a moment of contemplation, Ian delivered a decisive blow, causing Will, who was about to drink water, to choke.

Ian was still staring at him.

Sensing the awkward atmosphere, Will quickly changed the subject, "Actually, I just wanted to know how your parents treat you, because I smelled blood on you."

"I'm pretty sure it's not animal blood."

His nostrils twitched slightly.

It looks just like a police dog sniffing out evidence.

"What a dog's nose." Ian looked down at the dark red stain on his cuff, which was a drop of No. 666 fuel that had accidentally dripped from the demon's head when he was playing with it in his hands this morning.

Would you believe me if I told you I'm menstruating?

Ian posed another question in return.

"Huh? No way?"

Will's expression froze instantly. He couldn't help but scrutinize Ian's overly refined features, and he began to wonder if he had mistaken a girl for a boy.

Seeing Will's surprised and uncertain expression.

"Ah."

Ian simply chuckled.

"I have a mental illness, and you believe what I say? You must be seriously ill."

He knew, of course, that he wasn't mentally ill, but the phrase "I am mentally ill" was really useful in a moment like this, leaving Will speechless with just one sentence.

The air was somewhat silent.

Fortunately, the sweet voice of the receptionist saved Will from his utter speechlessness.

"Mr. Kent, Dr. Hannibal is ready to receive you." The receptionist tried to hold Ian's hand, but Ian didn't let her have her way with him.

"OK, thanks."

Ian remained polite.

He stood up and washed his hands with disinfectant.

"Oh, right."

Ian looked at Will again; he hadn't been making Will look so shocked with his mouth agape for no reason. "You have a curly hair stuck between your teeth."

“I’m also sure it’s not animal hair.” The boy grinned, revealing two rows of neat white teeth, and after leaving behind this chilling remark, he turned and walked toward Hannibal’s office.

"..."

Will sat in the chair.

His gaze flickered as he looked at Ian's retreating figure.

As the office door opened and closed, Ian entered the examination room. Dr. Hannibal's office was impeccably tidy, resembling a meticulously composed still life painting.

A dark brown solid wood bookshelf occupies an entire wall, neatly arranged with professional works featuring gilded spines. Two leather armchairs face each other, separated by a small coffee table upon which rests an exquisite tea set. Soft wall lamps illuminate the room with a warm, non-glaring light, and an antique phonograph sits in the corner.

It is currently playing an extremely peaceful piece of music.