SUP Chapter 103: Strange Marvel! Origin Power! (Part One)

The piercing sound of a truck horn slapped Ian's eardrums like a blow to the face.

"Damn it! Great Fortune Celestial!" He instinctively jumped backward, his back slamming into the fire hydrant at the street corner with a "bang," the cold metal transmitting the sound of unbearable denting through his thin T-shirt.

Fortunately, the fire hydrant wasn't damaged enough to start spraying water.

"Looking for death, you bastard! Don't you know you're blocking the road?" The truck driver leaned half his body out of the window and roared angrily, the Santa Claus toy hanging from his rearview mirror swaying along.

"First, the position I'm standing in is a pedestrian crosswalk, and second... I hope you really remembered to buy insurance." Ian stepped forward and kicked the stopped truck hard twice.

He directly sent two of the truck's wheels flying on the spot.

Before the driver could react, Ian had already torn off and dismantled the truck's fuel tank with his bare hands, then casually tossed it into the bed of a pickup truck, the passing driver probably already realizing he had encountered nature's gift.

"Vroom~"

He floored the accelerator and sped off with his full bounty, disappearing around the street corner in the blink of an eye, though his escape speed was far slower than Ian's running speed.

"Hello! Is this 911? I've been robbed by a little kid! Yes... he stole my fuel tank, and he had accomplices to help him, it's definitely a premeditated crime!"

"He didn't use any tools, just ripped off my fuel tank with his hands, and kicked away my six truck wheels, so now I can only replace them with my spare tires."

"What? You're saying I'm joking? I'm not joking!"

"What do you mean provide my identification information first? Damn it! Don't think I don't know you're trying to discriminate against me! You white people only protect your own race!"

"My seven aunts and eight grandmothers finally smuggled over from curry country, but you won't give them legal status, this is a failure of freedom and democracy!"

"It's moral decay... hello? Hello?"

The chattering driver raged impotently at the already disconnected phone.

Police respond to every call?

That doesn't exist, real reports and fake reports need to be distinguished.

The operators at American police stations have considerable discretion in this area.

...

Ian, who had run two blocks, finally stopped, not because he was too tired, but because his shoes had already burst open from the strain, and he didn't want to continue performing barefoot running for passersby.

"Wait, this world can affect me again? Is this a good thing or a bad thing?" Ian was somewhat puzzled, no one knew what the so-called Creator really meant.

The Creator didn't give Ian a special [Merit Saint] title that would be suspended above his head, visible to everyone wherever he went and equipped with various privileges.

This damn Creator, actually encouraged the universe's will to use the Great Fortune Celestial to frighten little boys!

This really was something his uncle could tolerate, his aunt could tolerate, but Ian... Ian weighed the pros and cons and chose to also endure it for a while, after all, thirty years east of the river, thirty years west of the river.

He still needed to develop.

Living on someone else's territory, he inevitably needed to suffer a little bit of grievance.

"Damn it! Why isn't this new Marvel world one where trucks were never invented!" Ian wasn't really afraid of the Great Fortune Celestial.

No matter how many trucks and planes were thrown at him, his heart would remain unmoved, he was just slightly apprehensive about the Great Fortune Celestial with four wheels on the ground and signs of movement.

No one could explain the reason.

Perhaps post-transmigration trauma was just that hard to erase.

"I feel malice from the Creator." Ian stared at the completely delaminated worn shoe on his left foot, the toe gaping open as if mocking his feat of "flying kick at a truck."

"If I'd known it could already affect me, I would have used my fist." Ian muttered while rubbing his hands, glancing at a warm yellow tent set up across the street.

[Winter Distribution, Free Shoes and Clothing, Everyone Gets a Share.]

This was another scenic line of America.

Rich people or churches often provided charitable aid due to votes and other interests. As the saying goes, don't take what's free for nothing, so Ian immediately went forward to thank the wealthy for their generosity.

"Merry Christmas! May you have a warm winter!"

The volunteer sister handed over a pair of sturdy work boots.

"I'm not very merry, but... thank you." Ian took the brand-new boots, squeezed the soles, felt the quality was good, so he quickly grabbed another pair from the shoe pile.

The volunteer sister didn't stop his behavior because Ian had shown her a smile. Being handsome was just like that, even homeless people would have more advantages.

"Are your eyes contact lenses? They're beautiful."

She even showed Ian a lovestruck expression.

"Thank you."

Ian thanked her again and politely left. He first put on the new shoes, then connected the other pair with shoelaces and hung them around his neck like sausages.

On the street, crowds were congested.

Cars flowed endlessly.

There was a vitality that Ian had never felt in that previously frozen world.

He looked around and suddenly felt his sleeve being tugged.

"Sir, would you like to buy some? Help a poor little boy have enough money to buy a PSP." There was actually a child selling cookies on the roadside.

And he had latched onto Ian.

"Only five dollars, and I'll pray to Jesus for you." The little boy in a wool hat held up a tin box with several rather abstract-shaped cookies lying inside.

"Then you talk to him more, have him send you a game console." Ian didn't fall for it, he felt the little boy's craftsmanship didn't deserve a PSP that even he didn't have.

"Help me, help the child."

The little boy's eyes reddened, looking pitiful.

"Who isn't a child? If you keep pestering me, I'll go tell your mom and your grandma that they conspired to sexually harass me, trust me, I'll win." Ian's low tone intimidated the little boy in front of him.

"..."

This boy could only put away the routine Ian had already played out, timidly and fearfully watching Ian gradually disappear around the street corner. His small heart might have received a big shock today.

"Having to start socializing from scratch in this world again, how annoying." Ian felt slightly melancholy, walking aimlessly on the street, the dazzling array of shops making his eyes blur.

It started snowing.

The weather change was somewhat unpredictable.

Cold wind carried snowflakes drilling into Ian's collar, making him shrink his neck. This did have a few hints of apocalyptic winter, though the temperature was far from that cold.

[Greenwich Village Blake Street]

Ian passed the street sign. On both sides of the street, Christmas decorations flashed with glaring light, pedestrians wrapped their coats tightly and hurried past, their exhaled white breath briefly lingering in the air before dispersing.

In front of a three-story Victorian brownstone townhouse.

A small table covered with purple velvet was quite conspicuous.

On it were placed a crystal ball, tarot cards, and a crooked sign.

[Tarot Readings]

Behind the small table sat a horse-faced man in a cheap red cloak, his beard trimmed fairly neatly, but the hairstyle on his head looked like it had been ravaged by a tornado.

"Young man! I see worry on your face, clearly you've been encountering bad things recently, this is a sign of dim fortune stars, would you like to try tarot card divination?" He had originally been shuffling tarot cards with exaggerated movements, but seeing Ian pass by, immediately revealed a mysterious smile.

Just like a fraudster.

"No need, thank you."

Ian didn't stop, maintaining basic politeness, politely declining the other party before continuing forward. The fortune teller behind him sighed regretfully and lamented about the poor market.

Ian didn't hear this, his attention had already been attracted by the window TV of a roadside electronics store.

"What the hell!"

Ian's golden eyes contracted violently.

His decadent temperament completely vanished.

Replaced by a trembling astonishment throughout his body. On the screen, a figure wearing a familiar uniform walked onto the stage, then the audience seats, like a talent show scene, erupted in intense cheers.

"Ladies! Gentlemen!" The host's extremely passionate voice shook the entire street through surround sound, "Let us welcome tonight's headlining superstar, Spider! Whirl! Wind!"

As soon as these words came out.

They immediately attracted many people on the street to crowd around the window TV.

"It's Spider Whirlwind!"

"Oh my God! I love him the most!"

"His whirlwind spray is still a classic that others can't surpass!"

...

The onlookers around him were all whispering to each other.

Ian couldn't listen at all.

He rubbed his eyes and confirmed again that the person on the talent show stage was wearing the same outfit as the superhero costume in his memory, but now that young boy was standing on the stage.

[Peter Parker]

Subtitles on the TV displayed the boy's name.

"Damn it!"

Ian couldn't help but step back several paces.

Spider-Man Peter Parker, this superhero was actually wearing a sequin-modified costume, with the mask cut open to show a toothy smile, doing splits on stage followed by backflips!

"Gentlemen! Ladies! Here comes the New York boy! Where are the applause and screams?" Peter Parker grabbed a rope on the stage and spun himself into a human top. His red and blue tight suit was studded with glowing LED beads, and the spider logo on his back had been changed to exaggerated fluorescent polka dots.

Music.

Rhythm.

Spinning.

Dancing.

"!!!!"

Ian was completely stunned.

What had he seen!

He saw Spider-Man frantically dancing on stage!

The background music was deafening.

The people crowding around the TV, like the audience in the TV, were all cheering.

"It's coming! It's coming!"

"Whirlwind spray!"

Two children seemed exceptionally excited.

Then, "Let's get wild!"

Peter shouted into the microphone, then slid on his knees, supported himself with both hands, and suddenly lifted his buttocks, at this moment, the dazed Ian finally understood what whirlwind spray meant.

"Pfft!"

Spider-Man's butt was shooting webs!

A large mass of white spider silk sprayed out in a fan shape, accurately hitting the faces of the front row judges! At this instant, the audience in front of the TV and the audience inside the TV both erupted in enthusiastic screams.

The atmosphere seemed very boiling.

A young man with a mohawk waving a "Spider Boy I Love You" glow stick directly fainted, and even several girls by the TV looked like they might collapse at any moment.

"????????"

Ian's face really hadn't shown question marks in a long time.

His eyes widened like kettlebells, not even bells.

"My eyes! My new eyes are going blind!" Ian closed his eyes and vigorously rubbed his open jaw, confirming that his jaw hadn't fallen directly onto the snowy ground.

Too horrifying!

Was this real?

It was scarier than the horror stories Jonathan liked to read!

"It must be an impersonation show! Or a fake!" Ian didn't want to believe what he saw, he had a bad premonition, somewhat dazedly backing up continuously to stand in the middle of the street again.

"Creator, are you there? If you are, squeak..."

To prevent the Great Fortune Celestial from appearing again, Ian lowered his voice when looking up, "If you are, drop a few hundred head-sized golden apples on top of my head?"

Even with such careful and tentative probing.

Ian still didn't get any response.

"Isn't this reasonable? Is this correct? This..." Ian's heartfelt astonishment hadn't finished expressing when his voice abruptly stopped, because he turned his head and saw the clothing store on the street.

That man from the Marvel universe who always believed he wasn't cheating, was holding his iconic shield, standing upright in front of the glass window inside the clothing store.

Not a mannequin because Ian's excellent vision caught the subtle movement of the other party secretly moving his neck.

The boy's breathing stopped again.

Perhaps sensing Ian's gaze, the living model in the window, wearing only tiny shorts and exposing his upper body with perfect muscles, showed Ian a smile with gleaming white teeth.

Yes.

The famous Captain America, the original leader of the Marvel universe, was actually posing in various bodybuilding positions in front of the display window, the olive oil smeared on his abs even glittering somewhat under the spotlights!

"Knock knock knock!"

Ian rushed forward quickly.

He pressed his face directly against the cold window glass, the white breath he exhaled condensing into mist on the surface. The model suddenly came to life, gesturing to him not to knock on the glass.

"I must have been caught in Tony's Kyoka Suigetsu!" Ian's gaze was fixed on the shield in the model's hand, that iconic shield was again being held by the model like a dumbbell in mid-air.

"Are you really Steve Rogers?"

Ian didn't believe it and pulled open the door, rushing into the store. The door chime made a cheerful "ding-dong" sound. Cold wind rolled with snow flakes chased behind him, leaving some traces on the antique-style wooden floor.

"That's right, it's me, your beloved Captain America." The model showed a standard smile with eight teeth, his abs rising and falling with his breathing, his muscles indeed looking full of technological flavor.

"Child, I know what you want to do."

Steve posed to show off his biceps, "Want to touch? Classic that modern technology cannot forge, just one dollar for a full minute of touching."

Good heavens.

This even had a fee-based mode.

"..."

Ian suffered a silent critical hit.

"Why are you doing this here?" He held it in for a while, finally couldn't help but ask, his heart full of a magical creature called [Grass Mud Horse] galloping past.

"Uh."

Steve was stunned first upon hearing this.

"Sigh, no choice, after all, I need to eat. Those politicians are just bastards who've fallen into money pits. Can you believe they're paying me retirement according to WWII standards?"

He put away his exaggerated display, his expression also looking somewhat dejected, cursing in his mouth, "Retirement pay according to 1945 standards? What kind of person could think of such a move to deal with me, fuck! I never had such nightmares even when sleeping in ice for decades!"

Perhaps because Ian was a child, Steve's profanity was used very restrainedly, almost equivalent to tone words like "damn it."

"..."

Ian's silence was just like his current heart.

"Sorry... but this really has nothing to do with me. It's Tony, it must be him. His mental state is abnormal, he doesn't see a doctor himself but wants to stuff doctors on me."

Ian's expression was quite complex. If he still couldn't see that something was wrong with this reopened world, he would be too unworthy of his super brain.

"What are you talking about?"

Steve was stunned and didn't understand Ian's meaning. He looked at Ian's clothing, then suddenly pulled out a small card from his ultra-short pants.

"You look like a rich kid. Tonight at eight, YouTube live stream, I'll continue leading everyone in [American Butt Training Plan], remember to subscribe on time."

"To have a butt like mine, you must start training from childhood." Ian didn't dare take Captain America's card. This man still maintained his business-like smile.

"When you're as handsome as me, you actually don't need a butt anymore, but rather those butts outside need me." Ian picked up a nearby clothing rod while speaking.

He helped Steve adjust his somewhat exposed super shorts.

"Subscribe to my channel and you can become even more handsome." Steve still didn't give up trying to sell, but seeing the clothing store owner walking over from the inner room, he quickly resumed his pose.

"Remember to subscribe."

Steve made a final reminder in a mosquito-like voice, then his whole person returned to statue-like stillness, as if afraid of being docked pay for moving around.

"Sir, is there anything I can help you with?"

The clothing store owner approached Ian.

"Help me pray that none of this is real, thank you." Ian knocked over a row of clothes hangers as he turned, the mannequins' wigs rolling to the ground like colorful mushrooms.

You could see how much impact the little boy's heart had received.

"Sorry."

Ian pushed open the clothing store door and rushed out. It wasn't that he was fleeing in panic, but he suddenly realized a problem and returned to the area he had passed earlier.

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