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

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"Thank you."

The woman quickly thanked her.

Ian turned and left.

He continued clearing away the twisted tree spirits scattered throughout the city center. Not far away, the gay couple who had been enjoying their time together in the dream world of "Couple Island" also woke up.

"I knew it was you! Cameron! You were flirting with that muscular guy!"

"You were the one who stared at that surf instructor first! Mitchell, don't think I didn't notice!"

The two were arguing fiercely.

but.

When they saw Ian passing by burning down the strange trees with heat rays, they immediately stopped arguing and exclaimed in unison, "How cool!"

"Get out of the way, get out of the way, don't interfere with my repairing my city."

Ian continued burning the mutated plants without looking back. He respected diversity, but that didn't mean he approved of it. His ancestors could criticize those who were watching them if they wanted to.

"Keep staring at me, and I'll let you experience the sun's heat too."

Ian's threat was forceful, and the glint in his eyes was terrifying. The two men were terrified and immediately turned to run away, clearly terrified by Ian's threat.

As the sirens grew louder, Ian knew the real show was about to begin. He quickly pulled a spare stocking from his pocket and put it over his head, ready to face the arrival of the first police cars.

"I have already done my best."

Military helicopters, police, and numerous hindsight experts arrived. This was the moment Ian had been waiting for. He faced the camera and admitted that the whole thing was his doing.

He thwarted the evil witch's plot.

He vividly described the writer's ability to embellish facts. His talent is no longer limited to novels; he has also found a way to utilize it in real life.

“It was a stormy night,” Ian began in a deep, magnetic voice, despite the bright sunshine. “No, it was a twilight where dreams and reality intertwined! The Supreme Witch—an eight-hundred-year-old hag—tried to taint our pure dreams with her wrinkled fingers!”

"Could I agree? Of course not! Superman might give in, but I, the Pantyhose Superman, the Superman of the new era, will absolutely not allow any evil forces to lay a foothold in Metropolis!"

"She tried to bewitch me, promising to make me the president of the new world. However, I firmly told her that I, Pantyhose Superman, would never collude with any evil elements!"

……

A powerful and resounding speech.

It was Ian's embellishment of reality during an interview.

He could spout fantastical descriptions like sending someone flying 50,000 meters with a single punch, or how his punch would unleash thunder from the heavens, causing birds to fall and plants to droop within a thousand miles.

"When my punch landed, the heavens and earth trembled, spatial rifts appeared, and it seemed as if ancient gods and demons were whispering." The reporters had never heard of such a thing before, and they were all dumbfounded and speechless.

They don't quite understand.

But I genuinely think it's amazing.

far away.

General Ryan stood with his hands on his hips, already exhausted. He didn't know how many waves of forces he had intercepted trying to detain people. He felt like a ruthless machine that stopped people.

"That's right, I did it all! I mean, I took care of it all! I single-handedly dealt with that mad witch who possessed terrifying power and almost plunged the entire world into utter ruin." Ian even knew how to flatter his opponent, placing the Scarlet Witch template on the old, useless Queen of Sorcerers.

"Please follow [Superhero Popularity Center] and give me a like." Ian's enthusiastic promotion was not without reason; he could feel his somewhat ethereal magic power increasing.

perhaps.

Is this what dimensional demons are like?

He has figured out a way to cultivate magic power on his own. After all, he still hasn't found a second qualified Palu for the [Leader LV1 [1/10]] profession.

The young delinquent girl is pretty good.

But he threw both the delinquent girl and Morpheus into the Hellcat—after the Witch Supreme died, the delinquent girl fell into a coma and her body was burning hot as if she was evolving.

As for Morpheus.

That was the man Ian found in the ruins, following the flow of the power of the Dream Realm. It must be Morpheus; the scent on him was as alluring as that of Miss Death.

"Damn it, [Entropy Lord], is it making me awaken something strange while I'm starving?" Ian cursed inwardly, but outwardly he remained sunny and positive during the interview.

His smile looked slightly frightening against the backdrop of the stockings and hood.

"Boom~"

suddenly.

There was a sound of something landing behind me.

The reporters gasped in surprise.

Pretending not to hear their exclamations, Ian only felt a shadow looming over him.

He didn't look back.

It shot straight into the sky, trying to escape.

but.

No matter how clever the kid is, he can't outrun his father—Ian was grabbed by the ankle by Superman, pulled down from mid-air, and made to stand on the ground as punishment.

"The Sky Tyrant of Hammers".

Ian was completely fooled by the system.

He looked at Superman, who stood before him with a serious expression.

The brain is racing.

"Where's that guy? The one in green." Fortunately, Superman didn't pull out Seven Wolves in front of him; he just asked Ian, his tone suggesting that he didn't want to ask directly.

"Over there, he flew over there."

Ian obediently pointed in the direction of one of Luther's factories. He didn't actually see where Zombie Superman ended up, but that didn't affect his honesty.

Anyway, if you check ten or eleven of Luther's factories, they're likely to have problems.

"You have to tell me everything you did here when you get back."

Superman gave Ian a deep look, then soared into the sky once more. Before Ian could even blink, his figure had completely disappeared from Ian's sight.

"Strange, can't he hear the fake Superman's movements?" Ian wondered, but facing the camera, he composed himself and smiled again.

"As you can see, Superman has been driven away by me. Let's continue." His statement once again stunned the reporters, who felt that Ian was treating them like they were deaf.

Some reporters roughly guessed what was going on.

but.

They remained silent. The reporters, who had retreated dozens of steps due to Superman's appearance, exchanged glances for a moment before quickly gathering around again to continue their interviews.

News about America.

The truth doesn't matter.

After all, in this information age, who would turn down traffic? Journalists can't tell the truth; news prioritizes ratings, while bosses only care about profits.

Journalists who chase the truth don't make a living—except for the lucky Kent who always manages to stumble upon big news and hasn't been killed yet, and his wife.

……

Unexpectedly, the "Savage Tyrant" title didn't bring the ability to level up by gaining attention. Instead, it was the identity of the "Dimensional Demon God" that allowed Ian to enjoy the power increase that comes with being worshipped.

Magic is also part of his power.

He just doesn't know how to use it yet.

The time soon came to evening.

Ian can handle it, but the reporters' cameras and their flesh and blood bodies seem to be struggling to keep up, so today's magic training will probably have to end here.

"thanks for your support!"

He also gave each reporter a $500 tip, showing he really understands human relationships. The reporters, who were initially quite resentful, immediately beamed with joy after receiving the red envelopes.

My mental image of "Stocking Superman" was gradually taking shape. After interviewing superheroes for so many years, who has ever seen a superhero who just casually hands out money?!

Isn't that bragging?

Then who else should we brag about?

Ian and the reporter left satisfied.

“What a fulfilling day.” Ian climbed into the Hellcat’s driver’s seat and tossed his empty wallet into the cabin. Madison, in the passenger seat, was burning hot, her skin an unnatural flush, magical energy surging through her like a flood. Ian reached out and poked her cheek—it was scalding.

"I need to go buy an egg and try it."

Ian, having confirmed Madison's survival, turned to look at the back row, where Morpheus, the Sandman, was sprawled in his leather seat like a drunkard. The Lord of Dreams was utterly devoid of any authority at this moment.

His pale skin had a sickly gray tinge, his long black hair was messily stuck to his forehead, and his slender limbs were twisted in a strange way—he looked like a life-sized doll that had been played with and ruined by a naughty child.

“Actually, it was the old witch who ruined it.” Ian didn’t know how to wake Morpheus, and he was wondering whether he should send a prayer to Miss Death.

Suddenly.

"Pfft~"

A farting sound was heard.

It was the sound of a genuine leather seat cushion being squeezed.

I saw.

Morpheus suddenly sprang up as if he had risen from the dead.

"That diary...they...they sent a diary over..." The Sleep Demon murmured dreamily, his voice hoarse like sandpaper.

"I was ambushed."

He seemed to be in great pain, clutching his head tightly, but he didn't unleash any terrifying power to blast Metropolis and Ian into space.

"Boss! Wake up! You're alright now!" Ian quickly stuffed a can of mustard into Morpheus's mouth, trying to use the bitterness to help Morpheus regain his senses.

This move is most likely useless against supreme beings.

but.

There are also times when low-probability events occur.

Just like now.