SUP Chapter 12: Battle of Ascension, Irate Driver

The sun hung high in the sky, the air thick with the mingled scents of cheap perfume, sweat, and secretly lit cigarettes, punctuated by the smacking sounds of couples kissing.

Somewhat impolite.

Never underestimate American students.

Though just a group of teenagers, the culture of early romance had long become their norm at this stage of life.

At the corner, three boys in sagging pants cornered a scrawny, bespectacled boy against the wall. The leader grabbed his collar, cursing loudly.

"Snitch to the teacher again, and I'll shove your glasses up your ass!" The bully's threat carried weight, and the glasses-wearing boy shrank back, lips trembling.

Ian passed by without a glance.

"Yo, Ian!" The bully suddenly looked up, flashing a grin. He released the boy's collar, swaggered over to Ian, and pulled a few crumpled bills from his pocket.

"Same deal as always. Next month, make sure my dad feels my grades are steadily improving." The bully handed the money to Ian.

Ian paused, took the cash, and deftly counted it with his fingertips.

"Ten bucks short."

He spoke calmly.

"Damn, your math's sharp." The bully, exasperated, dug out a few more bills and slapped them into Ian's open hand before turning back to the bespectacled boy.

Ian's departing figure was unremarkable. The bullied boy stared, eyes wide behind his glasses, clearly pained by the unfairness of their shared "nerd" status yet vastly different treatment at school.

Was it because the older student was handsome enough? The younger boy, two grades below Ian, didn't know that Ian's "charmed life" at school was hard-earned.

Once upon a time, Ian had faced bullying too. But in just half an hour, he had won over the bully's mother. Though nothing happened with the older woman, he still got the bully's parents sent to prison as felons on charges of "indecency with a minor" and "aiding indecency with a minor."

Someone bullied him?

He bullied their parents.

Reputation?

That didn't matter.

Even Clark hadn't suspected him.

Because Ian spoke the truth, just not the whole truth.

His tearful performance before the jury was his battle of ascension. Since then, even the school's toughest kids spoke to him politely, never daring to threaten him.

Especially as Ian grew more handsome, no one dared bet on their female relatives' loyalty. As a result, every classmate Ian encountered was friendly.

"I need to strengthen my body."

Leaving school, Ian didn't head home right away. Instead, he planned to visit the gym Jonathan often mentioned. Knowing only the gym's name, he reluctantly took a taxi.

"Where to?"

The driver, a burly middle-aged man with a scruffy beard, had sharp features and a hoarse voice that hinted at a life full of experiences.

Ian stowed his backpack and replied promptly, "Hi, I need to go to Muscle Titan Club. If I remember right, it’s just a few blocks away."

This was clearly to prevent the driver from taking a longer route. When it came to such tricks, Metropolis taxi drivers were second only to those in nearby Gotham.

"Hm."

The driver, a man of few words, didn't ask more. He silently started the meter and drove off. The ride was smooth, and Ian leaned against the window, fingers absentmindedly rubbing the pendant on his chest.

He was already feeling slight fatigue, wondering when he'd gain experience. As he pondered whether working out could earn him General Skill Points, a sound interrupted his thoughts.

"Ding ding ding~"

A phone rang from the driver, who was steadily driving. He pulled out his phone and answered while keeping his eyes on the road.

"Hey, I'm with a passenger."

"Now? Right this second?"

"What do you mean, if I don't come, you'll die?"

The driver's expression shifted, his calm demeanor vanishing. His steady driving style switched abruptly, and he floored the gas pedal, nearly burying it in the fuel tank.

"Vroom~"

The engine screamed.

The taxi shot forward like a cannonball.

On a curve, it practically drifted. Ian felt his brain rattling inside his skull. He usually stayed calm, but this situation was far from normal.

"This isn't Los Santos! Slow down!" Ian glanced at the dashboard, swallowing hard. The speedometer needle had surged past 180.

The driver ignored his plea, gripping the wheel with one hand while frantically redialing with the other.

"Pick up! Are you still alive?!"

No answer.

The driver switched to voicemail.

"Hold on! I'm coming!"

He shouted anxiously into the phone.

At that moment, Ian spoke up.

"I get you have an emergency, but please don't panic."

"What the—?!"

The driver noticed a small head suddenly next to him. Startled, he nearly crashed into a roadside diner.

Thankfully, his driving skills saved them, and he regained control of the car.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!"

The driver couldn't take his eyes off the road but wanted to glance back to see how Ian's head had gotten so close. Could he have encountered a ghost in broad daylight?

"Seriously, I can get out now. Just stop the car, it won't take long." Ian clung to the guardrail he had bent with both hands, speaking softly.

"Buddy, hit the brakes, please. Just slow down, and I can jump out myself." Ian was genuinely compromising.

No choice.

The speedometer was nearing 220.

Though he had no license, Ian knew that at this speed, even with his [Berserker] strength, becoming a neutrino was only a matter of the driver's crash probability. And with this relentless acceleration, a crash wasn’t a math problem—it was a matter of time.

"So, is that the handbrake?"

Ian’s question rang out again. He wasn’t actually going to pull it; he hoped to scare the driver into stopping.

"What? What are you trying to do?"

The driver, thoroughly spooked, struggled to watch the road while shielding the handbrake, glancing back repeatedly.

Ian was squeezing forward, bending the not-so-thin guardrail. His arms were deforming and bleeding, but the boy seemed unfazed.

His intense gaze locked onto the handbrake.

"!!!???"

The bizarre scene left the driver dumbfounded.

"Damn it! Something’s off!" The driver swallowed hard, his scalp tingling. He almost wished he’d hit a ghost in broad daylight.

Ghosts were scary, but lunatics were worse.

And worse than lunatics? A lunatic acting like a ghost.

[NEXT CHAPTER]