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

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"That was a good flattery."

The old man stroked his beard and smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

“Actually, what I’m worried about isn’t just that she wants to get revenge on me; many times, I don’t really understand what she’s thinking.” He sighed, his voice dimming the light in the classroom.

Hear the words.

Ian was stunned.

He never expected to hear such a mortal-like confusion from the Creator.

The old man reached out and brushed across the still tabletop, and the inverted cross emblem that Madison had drawn halfway suddenly turned into a fairly formal design drawing of Ian Cathedral.

“That’s just how women are, they’re hard to understand,” Ian said quickly, his fingers unconsciously curling the edge of his textbook, the paper making a soft rustling sound.

This is because they were too nervous.

"Then it seems that when I created women, I really did a good job of recreating them." The old man revealed the real reason why human women are so difficult to deal with; his seemingly joking remarks seemed to unveil a shocking truth.

All the strange traits of human women are derived from the imitation of the creator goddess.

This can be seen.

What kind of personality did the Goddess of Creation have? Thinking this, Ian looked at the old man with more sympathy. He had to admit, when it came to patience, the inventor of patience was the strongest. The old man paid no attention to Ian's inner musings; after a lighthearted remark, he too fell into nostalgia.

"I actually still remember the first time I saw her." Sunlight streamed through the window, casting a slanting glow on the old man's silver beard, each hair reflecting a different luster.

Ian's super brain immediately went into high-speed mode. He quietly took out his notebook and quickly scribbled something on the table, clearly already in the state of Dr. Ian.

The old man is still reminiscing.

"At that time there was nothing, only endless emptiness. Then she appeared... Not long after, we created and lit up our first universe."

"Those were truly wonderful times, but happy times are always short-lived. When she created the first galaxy, she added too much pink to it, saying it didn't conform to celestial aesthetics, so she directly created a supernova explosion, turning the planets into a kind of fireworks display."

The old man seemed to be talking to himself, or perhaps he had finally found a strong man to listen to his troubles. Ian's lips twitched, but he tried to maintain a serious expression.

He now understood how the concept of "marriage is the tomb of love" came about. It all originated from metaphysics, from those mundane things of the Creator's family.

"Later we had several children, and our favorite was of course Samael, well, Lucifer." The old man's gaze pierced through the wall, looking towards a distant dimension.

"She said the morning star should shine, so she gave the child six glowing wings." The old man shook his head helplessly. "And what was the result? He went through a rebellious adolescence for a full three trillion years."

Ian really didn't want to hear these things, but the old man's words gave him a strong sense of déjà vu; it sounded like his father, Clark, always complaining to Ian about how he used his heat vision to burn the Christmas turkey when he was a kid. Indeed, just based on that nagging tone, Superman's dad truly had the air of a god!

“You sound like you need some family counseling,” Ian blurted out, almost without thinking. He immediately regretted not biting his tongue off.

Unexpectedly, the old man simply nodded slightly.

"what are you writing?"

He was definitely asking a question he already knew the answer to.

"Uh, solutions to your family conflicts!" Ian slammed his notebook shut, then quickly added, "I mean, actually, solutions to the crisis I'm currently facing!"

"Oh? Your crisis?"

A hint of amusement flashed in the old man's eyes.

“No,” Ian quickly corrected, “it’s our crisis.”

The old man chuckled softly upon hearing this.

God watched Ian with great interest, but his silence was tantamount to a response.

He seemed curious.

This was actually a subtle hint for Ian to continue speaking.

"My solution, of course, is to get you two back together! She loves you, and you love her! Now all you need is a trigger, and even without Mixue Ice Cream, you should still be sweet together!"

Ian swallowed hard, hesitated for a moment, and then continued, "Now all we need is a trigger, and... for you to lower your head slightly."

This was an absolutely audacious statement in the eyes of all believers. The old man neither affirmed nor denied it, but simply tapped the podium lightly with his fingertips, each tap causing a subtle shift in the atomic vibration frequency within the classroom. Ian knew this was a signal of tacit approval, and he quickly organized his thoughts as if interpreting Batman's silence.

“Of course, we all know that you will always win, you are the true founder of the Winning Sect,” Ian said, glancing at the old man’s expression to make sure there were no signs of thunderclouds gathering.

"So we can take some small precautions."

Ian continued to pause, waiting for a response, but the old man, being the most genuine riddle-maker, certainly wouldn't speak; only the clouds outside the window began to form question mark shapes.

Only then did Ian dare to continue speaking.

“First of all, you must still have feelings for your wife, you just can’t quite let go of your pride…” As Ian spoke, he kicked Madison’s “pen of sin” that had fallen to the ground under the table even further away. It must have been that pen that brought God to his door early. Ian didn’t stop talking while he was secretly shifting the blame in his mind.

"So, to avoid losing face, we can arrange for you to 'lose' your belt," Ian continued writing and drawing in his notebook with his kind pen.

"belt?"

The old man was slightly taken aback.

"Correct!"

Ian grew more and more excited as he spoke, as if some switch had been flipped. God, being a fellow writer, listened attentively, not interrupting Ian's train of thought, but simply allowing him to express himself freely.

"You just need to pretend you didn't notice it was missing. It's not absurd, since even the Supreme Lord Laozi's house in the east was empty and he didn't notice, so of course you can't notice your belt is missing either."

"This belt fell to earth, and then a mortal found it—like any forty-year-old man, but definitely not a little devil like me."

"Next, this mortal will be influenced by God's will, becoming gentle and affectionate. He will dance with the goddess aunt, reminiscing about the past. The 'first meeting' line you just mentioned should also be added... However, don't say anything about the supernova explosion or anything like that later."

Not only the script, Ian even drew storyboards in the notebook. Many writers actually dream of becoming directors, regardless of whether they are 1.5 meters tall or not.

The light in the classroom flickered as he described it.

“You can express your apology for ignoring her a little more at the ball,” Ian said, his words flowing like the Declaration of Independence. “If my goddess aunt accepts, all the better, and the mortal is your embodiment; if she doesn’t, then the person who found the belt is just a mortal influenced by divine power.”

Ian's considerations were quite thorough.

Do you understand what I mean?

He looked at the old man standing next to his desk.

The old man remained silent for a moment after hearing this.

"If I'm not so old that I'm senile, I won't be mistaken—I must have invented logic." What an authoritative statement!

The old man's response was impeccable; he even pointed to the portrait of Einstein on the wall behind him, perhaps implying that Einstein was also one of his inventors.

God's voice is always incredibly gentle.

However, his way of speaking always required others to understand the underlying meaning. Ian didn't like playing with this kind of riddle-maker, but he still had to pretend to be enthusiastic and ask questions.

"So what do you think of my plan?"

Ian maintained the enthusiasm of a professional matchmaker, knowing that if this deal went through, he would undoubtedly become the strongest psychologist in the field.

"Oh, a big director from DC?"

God looked down at his linen robe, where there was indeed a belt. "Like your example," he said, "I could probably pretend I didn't realize my belt was missing."

It was another response that required decoding. Ian's temples throbbed, but he immediately replied, "Then it's settled! Give me some time to prepare!"

“Let’s end this farce!” He extended his hand to the old man, wanting to make a deal, but then immediately withdrew it after thinking of something.

"Are you worried I'll squeeze you to pieces during our handshake, then squeeze you back to your original shape?" The old man didn't even need eyes to see through Ian. Of course, the main reason was that Ian genuinely couldn't keep things to himself; everything was written all over his face.

"Do you really think I'm such a coward?"

Ian, whose thoughts had been exposed, tried to remain calm.

"What? You said you want to turn into a rat?" The old man suddenly mimicked Ian's hard of hearing, raising his finger, which startled Ian so much that he quickly used several classmates he wasn't very familiar with to shield himself.

"See, do I need to say anything more?"

The old man didn't actually make a move; he now looked more like a mischievous old man who had succeeded in playing a prank. After giving Ian his undisguised opinion, he also headed towards the classroom door.

Just as he was about to disappear into the doorway, the old man suddenly turned around and glanced at Ian. Then, he raised his hand, his gaze sweeping over Madison, who was still frozen in time.

"That interesting girl wasn't lying to you; she really does know a tight-lipped old stonemason." Just as Ian was about to "shed tears" with his entire body, God chuckled and disappeared through the doorway. By the time Ian finished wiping his sweat and tried to explain, the old man had vanished into the halo of light outside the doorframe.

"Classmates, let's continue our discussion of World War II."

Time resumes its flow.

The history teacher's voice suddenly rang out again, as if the conversation had never happened. Ian paused for a second, then noticed a line of gold-embossed text in his notebook.

I left your belt in your school locker.

Just as Ian was staring at the handwriting, secretly relieved that he had finally gotten through a difficult time, Madison, who had also returned to normal, suddenly snapped back to reality.

She looked on in bewilderment as her half-finished explosion drawing turned into a church architectural design.

"Huh? When did I sign up for an architecture design class?" Perhaps Madison was similar to Kogoro Mouri; she actually felt that the blueprints were the result of her own talent emerging from its slumber.

"Forget about your architectural plans, let's talk about something else."

Ian silently stuffed the notebook with the script into the innermost part of his backpack, suddenly missing the days when he only had to deal with aliens—at least back then he didn't have to be the marriage counselor of the creator god.

"Huh? Why do you seem cheerful again?" Madison chewed on her pen cap as she looked at Ian. She could always detect changes in Ian's mood immediately.

“I’m always cheerful!” Ian suddenly straightened his back, his voice rising an octave, clearly entering his defiant mode. “I’m cheerful every day, Ian!”

He flashed an exaggerated smile, his mouth stretching almost to his ears.

“Secretary Wheat, let’s skip class this afternoon! Let’s skip class and go teach the angels. You can skip class and go find the old stonemason who promised you.”

Ian changed his mind.

Upon hearing this, Madison's blue eyes instantly shone like real gemstones.

"You finally figured it out? I knew the history book hadn't lied to me!" She lowered her voice excitedly, tilting her head, her golden ponytail sweeping across another draft paper covered with explosion plans.

"What made you suddenly change your mind?" Madison felt that Ian seemed completely different from before after that sudden change.

Ian's gaze drifted unconsciously toward the classroom door—where a sliver of the setting sun still lingered.

"It was a true DC director who made me change my mind."

He spoke softly.

"Huh?" Madison looked bewildered, but quickly became excited again. Ian's words puzzled Madison, but she was used to this kind of bewilderment.

"So how do you fool the angels? You'd better come up with three hundred solutions." Madison had always trusted Ian's wisdom; she thought he could come up with three thousand solutions if needed.

“Clever Ian has a brilliant plan. I just need to tell the truth, and the angels will believe me.” Ian remembered that God had just personally crowned him the second DC director.

Round it up.