SUP Chapter 17: Temporary Respite! Mysterious Gust!

The atmosphere in the ruined wooden house was peculiar.

Faced with the boy’s righteous lecture, Charles and Constantine were baffled.

"Who’s America’s sun?" Constantine was utterly confused. He understood each word, but together, they left him puzzled.

"General MacArthur, obviously," Ian replied without hesitation. Living in Metropolis for years, he knew Americans had their own "Lu Xun." When you wanted to speak from a moral high ground, attributing it to MacArthur was a safe bet. Few questioned whether he actually said it.

And so, Constantine and Charles, limited by their lack of book smarts, exchanged looks, none daring to challenge. They only felt a generational gap with today’s youth.

"Kids now idolize WWII heroes? Back in our day, it was all about long-legged pageant queens," Charles mused.

As the two were drawn into Ian’s words, a sound interrupted.

"Gulp~"

Ian looked at the thermos in his hand, estimating he could squeeze at least one more attribute point from the spirit. He swallowed in anticipation.

"Hiss!!!"

The spirit, unaware of Ian’s thoughts, sensed his "malice" and frantically pounded the thermos’s transparent lid.

"Constantine! Don’t abandon me! You have to take me!" it screamed. "I know hell’s secrets! I can save your soul! Quick, take me back!"

The spirit wailed desperately.

Constantine found the situation increasingly bizarre. He’d seen much, but never a hellish creature so terrified of a human.

It was hard to imagine.

What kind of mental state drove a spirit to beg an exorcist for rescue?

"Seriously! I can save your soul!" The spirit kept tempting Constantine, genuinely scared. Only those who’d been others’ nourishment knew how horrific it was to become prey.

"I’m serious too. You’re not escaping," Ian said, stuffing the thermos into his jacket. He eyed Constantine warily, but noticed the exorcist seemed to have given up on reclaiming it.

"Fine, it’s yours," Constantine said, unswayed by the spirit’s pleas, abandoning his claim after its desperate begging.

"Hm?" Ian was thrown by Constantine’s sudden shift.

Constantine gave him a deep look. "Charles, there’s a poor woman’s body upstairs. We need to bury her properly, just to be safe." He turned toward the stairs.

He raised his hand, still bearing burn marks from the pendant, realizing the boy must have an extraordinary background.

"Coming," Charles said, snapping out of it, ready to follow. But Ian glanced at the darkening sky outside and blocked his path.

"You need to drive me back," Ian said seriously. He wasn’t about to walk back to the city from this remote place.

"Wait a bit. I need to help my friend first," Charles replied, not refusing but wanting to settle things before taking this "special" passenger back.

"..."

Ian watched Charles sidestep him and climb the stairs. Checking his watch, he knew his parents would worry if he didn’t return soon.

Gazing at the scattered rubble, Ian grew thoughtful. As Constantine and Charles reached the second floor, preparing to enter a room with a gaping hole, a sound roared.

"Vroom!!"

The engine’s howl startled Charles. He fumbled in his pocket, keys still there, yet the unmistakable sound of his damaged car starting came from below.

"Damn it!" Charles’s heart leapt to his throat. He rushed to the corridor, peering over the railing. Sure enough, his "stubborn" taxi was alive.

Hot-wired.

No challenge for Ian.

The importance of mastering math and science.

"What are you doing? Stop! Stop!" Charles shouted as Ian floored the gas, reversing brutally, the car’s rear smashing through the already damaged house.

He was frantic, but knew even jumping the railing wouldn’t let his human legs catch a speeding car.

Thus, Charles and a late-arriving Constantine could only watch helplessly through the widened wall hole as the somewhat valuable taxi drove off.

"I can’t wait for you guys! Find your car near the bus station tomorrow!" Ian even waved goodbye, believing that giving them the car’s return location meant it wasn’t theft. He had to get back, or he’d face a grilling about where he’d been after school.

In such a remote place, he was grateful for the reliable, user-friendly automatic car, sturdy enough to make him think he could pass a driving test tomorrow.

"Driving’s not that hard," Ian muttered, focusing ahead, one foot on the brake, one on the gas, steering the battered taxi out of sight of the exorcist and his assistant.

"..."

"..."

Constantine and Charles stood speechless.

After a strange silence, Constantine, ever heartless, asked, "So, we’re walking back to the city today?" His focus clearly wasn’t on Charles’s loss.

It wasn’t his car.

"That was my only asset after the divorce..." Charles, already frustrated, felt worse.

"Talk less if you can’t talk right!" he snapped, glaring at Constantine, who just grinned carelessly. The exorcist flipped his hand, revealing a card.

"Relax, we’ll get your car back." Somehow, Constantine had pickpocketed Ian’s student ID without a sound.

Charles sighed in relief, eyeing the ID.

"Constantine, this kid’s weirdness is worth investigating," Charles said cautiously, definitely not just sore about his stolen car.

"Indeed, our little boy’s hiding some big secrets," Constantine mused, looking at the ID.

Suddenly, a gust swept through the empty house, unprompted and eerie. Constantine blinked, and before he could see anything, the ID vanished from his hand.

As if carried off by the wind.

Or snatched by someone.

[NEXT CHAPTER]