SUP Chapter 89: We Agreed Not to Blow Up Earth

Paper rain was everywhere, all over Gotham, fluttering through the streets. According to reliable sources, another batch of papers was being sent to other cities. The story of going to hell was about to spread throughout America.

How could Bruce not break down?

Usually when going out for vigilante activities at night, Bruce would mostly only encounter villains who hated him and victims who were slightly less hostile toward him.

However, after that damned manuscript was somehow stolen, everything changed. Not only were victims asking him about it, but even the villains were asking when he beat them half to death and sent them to prison or the asylum.

All the bad guys and really bad guys he encountered tonight had unexpectedly consistent final wishes, all desperately begging Batman to let them see those robust twenty-four abs.

Not only that, "A man who lost to twenty-four abs! I! Don't regret it! After all these years, all these fights, being caught by you so many times, I feel everything makes sense now."

"Batman! I know your secret! You're a space-time bat monster who reincarnated as human for love. I heard when you weren't human, you used to fight Godzilla for no reason?"

"Batman, do you really have a two-thousand-meter-long bed at home? Did you really build a farm on Mars and eat alien chicken and alien beef and mutton?"

"I texted the Joker about it. The Joker said it's true, all true, everything is recorded in history."

...

What it meant to spend a night like a year.

Tonight's Batman truly experienced it deeply. Although Bruce wasn't without assumptions about such things possibly happening, he still overestimated his ability to handle such incidents.

No helping it, who would have thought similar situations had never occurred before? This was undoubtedly another form of first-sight kill, causing even a man accustomed to staying calm to involuntarily take two extra anti-anxiety pills.

"While I still don't want to hit kids, quickly give me that damn manuscript!" Seeing Ian still lost in thought, Batman immediately raised his voice several notches again.

He was truly anxious.

Ian didn't dare delay any further.

"The manuscripts for both books are here. Actually, I haven't written much more. I've been busy drawing comics these past few days." Seeing the situation, Ian didn't dare test him blatantly anymore.

Of course, he still couldn't suppress his curiosity.

"Have my works already gone on sale?"

The young man mainly hoped to hear the editorial department praise his talent.

Bruce just glanced at him sideways, then expressionlessly gave an honest answer, "Yes, they went on sale in the most widely distributed form possible."

This was getting resources!

At least that's how Ian understood it.

"Great, great, great! I knew it would become a bestseller!" Ian hurriedly handed all the manuscripts to Bruce, but Bruce hesitated for a moment before returning half the manuscripts to him.

"Tomorrow, mail them, no, have your father personally fly to Gotham to escort this part to me." Bruce didn't dare open the manuscripts to look. He just solemnly stared at Ian.

"I understand, I understand."

Ian had once heard that Coca-Cola's formula was transported under heavy guard, and the value of manuscripts requiring Earth's strongest combat power for escort now needed no words.

Obviously, his manuscripts were worth far more than Coca-Cola's formula.

"What do you understand?"

Bruce was somewhat surprised.

"I'm going to make a fortune?"

Ian cautiously tested.

"..."

Bruce remained silent.

Ian took this respectable boss's silence as acknowledgment.

"This is so great! When I become a billionaire too, I'll directly establish a football team for Jonathan and buy Jordan the best otaku happiness cups."

"And Mom, I'll buy her ten wineries so she'll have endless wine to drink for life. Dad doesn't lack anything, so I'll buy his newspaper and send him on business trips to alien planets every day."

"The universe is so big, there's always strange news to photograph. He'll definitely become an even better ace reporter than Mom." Ian's heart was full of his family. He also knew Master Wayne was emotionally cold, so he kept it brief without saying too much. This was a display of high emotional and intellectual intelligence.

Anyway, the other party definitely couldn't empathize with him.

"You just don't want your dad watching you all the time, right?" Bruce ruthlessly exposed Ian's little scheme. He didn't want to tell Ian he was going to use this manuscript to lure the Joker.

Mainly because he wasn't one hundred percent certain yet and was afraid of losing face. As for the royalties Ian fantasized about, it was just money. Liking money was actually a good thing in Bruce's view.

Of course, a correct view of money was also important.

"Yesterday during the day, six or seven rich people died in Gotham all at once. All the property in their safes was looted, worth about fifteen million total."

"I think someone urgently needs money?" Bruce's gaze fixed on the young man in front of him. He certainly knew it wasn't the young man who did it, but he also knew where the money ended up.

Ian felt quite guilty about this.

But he didn't avoid eye contact.

"Such a thing actually happened? It must be someone who hates the rich. What did America's wealthy people do wrong?" Ian pretended to be heartbroken and performed.

The Madison acting method was practiced again.

Definitely useless but it couldn't not be used.

"They did many wrong things. The few who died were all wealthy bastards who committed every evil." Bruce might have been cursing himself in passing, but it was somewhat impossible for him to curse himself.

In any case, he avoided Ian, who wanted to beat his chest in grief.

Bruce was still that prediction king.

"Ah? All who died were wealthy bastards who committed every evil, not even Gotham's ordinary kind of wealthy bastards? That's quite ironic for Gotham City." Ian couldn't hammer Batman's chest muscles and didn't want to hammer his own, since his fists were now comparable to hammers.

He was truly stunned.

Although everyone knew Gotham's rich weren't good people, and if ten died, eleven wouldn't be wronged, he really hadn't expected the famous Uncle Ugly to be so particular?

This obviously involved careful selection.

All the money given was legitimate merit money that could be used with peace of mind? Uncle Ugly really... Ian was extremely moved. He felt he should forgive the other party for withholding his remaining five million tip.

"Who do you think would do such a thing?"

Bruce asked Ian a difficult question.

To this, Ian answered without hesitation.

"Isn't that simple? It must be Two-Face! Penguin! Riddler! Scarecrow! Poison Ivy! Mr. Freeze! Clayface! Mad Hatter! Professor Pyg... one of them!" He rattled off the names of all the supervillains who had been active in Gotham over the years, only not betraying his most generous fan.

How was this not a perfect answer?

A win-win situation.

Ian could always strive for a triple win.

"Very good, very honest." Bruce looked deeply at Ian, seemingly quite satisfied with his answer. He turned and walked toward Ian's desk.

"Don't let me know you're making up absurd stories about superheroes again." Obviously, Master Wayne didn't plan to investigate this matter further. He just wanted to properly guard against Ian's pen and ink attacks.

"I've completed the ultimate evolution, becoming a more qualified writer. I'm no longer yesterday's me. It's like gaining epic-level enhancement but without any signs of balding." Ian confidently displayed his manuscript, speaking with conviction while raising his hand to touch his hair for confirmation.

"What is this?"

Bruce's gaze, which was originally going to look at the manuscript, was attracted by another object on the desk. He picked up the metal ring that emitted a faint luster, and his eyes suddenly focused.

"Nuclear reactor?"

Ian answered honestly.

He knew this kind of thing couldn't fool a tech mogul.

"Mm, I can see that too."

Bruce was unusually calm, holding up the reactor to check it against the light while smoothly taking out his phone with his other hand, quickly pressing a series of numbers.

"Clark."

He avoided Ian who suddenly lunged forward.

"We agreed not to let your son blow up Earth. This should also include Metropolis..." After pausing, the master, whose brain was rapidly calculating, seemed to make some judgment.

"And all of America, right?"

His emotions were much more stable than before.

His voice was still so low and hoarse.

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