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

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Whether as a person or as a doctor, he knew Hannibal was a top performer.

"Hmm? I think... you must have joined a mental health support group?" Hannibal became interested, put down his knife, and began to focus on questioning and thinking.

after all.

He always believed that Ian was the patient with the most complicated condition he had ever seen. If even Ian thought the illness was serious, then either the patient was perfectly normal or the patient was a true god of mental illness.

"More or less."

The sound of a window closing came from inside.

"I just want to help them."

Ian's voice was very sincere.

"That's kind of you. Could you describe their symptoms?" Hannibal also took out his notebook, ready to take notes, but the other end only played a few audio clips.

"Please wait."

Ian pulled out the black box and played the heartbeats, pulses, and breathing sounds of four people for Hannibal to hear—Thor wasn't among them, but he figured Nick Fury was probably quite ill too.

"Can you hear me? If you can't hear me clearly, do you want me to send you the audio file? I also have video, so don't worry about saving me data, I have free unlimited data."

After playing the audio, Ian also asked a question.

“I heard you clearly, but the topic we should be discussing now is your friend’s mental state, and what seems abnormal to you, right?”

Hannibal subtly indicated that he didn't need these things.

At least for now, it's not necessary.

"Aren't most mental illnesses related to organic lesions?" Ian's question was tinged with the seriousness of an academic discussion; he had indeed read some books about mental illness.

No bragging.

“That’s true.” Hannibal narrowed his eyes and added, “But there are also many illnesses that stem from psychological trauma, especially in Western countries where psychological causes are the most common.”

He is more professional than Ian, after all.

Ian did not refute this.

After all, a true master must always have the heart of an apprentice.

He understands very well.

"Would giving them more medicine solve the problem?"

Ian tentatively opened his mouth, the silver knife bending into a question mark shape in Hannibal's hand. He recalled one of his patients who took anti-anxiety pills like candy.

That man should have turned into a boy by now.

Let's calculate when we'll die.

He's probably five or six years old now.

Hannibal remained silent for a longer time this time.

"Medicine is not a panacea."

He finally spoke up patiently, saying, "If the conditions are right, I would like to meet your friend. I won't charge you; I just want to learn more about the cases."

I can tell.

Hannibal was genuinely curious about the mentally ill person who could be Ian's friend.

however.

The sound of fabric rubbing came from the other end of the phone.

It looked like Ian was shaking his head.

"It's possible that no one but me will ever see them."

The boy is sighing.

Dr. Hannibal had begun to have doubts.

"Are those people your imaginary friends?" He didn't follow the usual patient-pleasing approach; instead, he preferred to be direct and asked without hesitation.

"Of course not, I'm not mentally ill, where would I get imaginary friends?" Ian's retort left Hannibal speechless as he wiped his forehead.

“They are superheroes, so it’s inconvenient for them to meet other people. I know a lot of superheroes, and they are all very filial to me,” the boy added.

Due to unspeakable difficulties.

He was already thinking to himself whether he should install two cameras on his head the next time he returned to Marvel, so he could record the words and actions of those superheroes anytime, anywhere.

Perhaps bringing Dr. Hannibal Lecter to Marvel would be a good idea?

but.

Packing up one's own therapist should be considered a serious crime.

Ian is, after all, a law-abiding citizen.

He rarely committed crimes.

"Is it like this."

Dr. Hannibal seemed oblivious, and his tone betrayed no sign of belief. Just as he was about to steer the conversation, a flurry of activity suddenly came through the receiver.

Then came Ian's exclamation.

"Wait a minute! My body is glowing!"

His voice sounded very surprised when he spoke.

Hannibal was completely stunned.

Did you take any illegal drugs?

The psychologist felt that things were not so simple.

American teenagers are not uncommon to be exposed to high-energy products.

"No, I didn't pick mushrooms to eat by the roadside. I don't need to eat wild mushrooms when I'm writing. Oh, I do have a wild toad, but I keep it in my pet's throat."

Ian's response only fueled Hannibal's suspicions.

He was just about to speak and test the waters.

All that was heard was a gasp of surprise.

"Mom! Dad! Where are you! Ian blew up our new house again!" It sounded like an older boy, his voice terrified, a hysterical scream.

"Oh, doctor, wait a few minutes... I think I'm really going to get a beating this time. Well, that makes sense, since I've won the lottery. According to relativity, I'm definitely going to get a beating."

Ian's voice stopped abruptly at that moment.

The call was hung up.

Hannibal held the overheated phone.

He hesitated whether to call the Kents.

after all.

It seems like there's more than one kid in the Kent family who's gone crazy right now.

Just now.

"Boom~"

Accompanied by a loud bang.

Dr. Hannibal ran to the window.

next moment.

His expression froze on his face.

I saw.

Outside the window.

Although it's only midnight... the sky is already bright, even brighter than daytime.

Chapter 135 Batman's Request! New Home Barbecue!

It's like a cosmic wonder.

The night in the metropolis was brighter than the day. Half of Odin's divine power was infused into Ian, and Ian felt his head brimming with magic.

He floated silently in mid-air.

Her whole body radiated a dazzling golden light, like a human-shaped light bulb.

His hair stood on end.

Liquid-like magic flowed beneath every inch of his skin—most strikingly, his head shone like a miniature sun.

The skull was almost translucent, like glass.

Not many people know exactly how many years Odin lived.

However, the extent of his divine power is known to all in the Nine Realms. Especially when this Asgardian god-king was in his twilight years, his immense divine power made him a being that the other heavenly fathers dared not provoke.

after all.

Anyone with a discerning eye knows this.

Odin was burdened by divine power.

But he still possesses the power to sacrifice his life, a truly sublime and powerful "explosion." That is an attack that no Heavenly Father could withstand, a deterrent force of mutual destruction at the Heavenly Father level.

Even Thanos, a pseudo-Celestial, understood this perfectly. In his twilight years, Odin indeed dared not act rashly, but if he did, who knew if he could simply trade one for one with a Celestial?

It was precisely this divine power that served as a deterrent.

Although Odin often needs to enter Odin's Sleep, few forces in the universe dare to invade Asgard. Now, half of this divine power has been directly paid to Ian.

After a brief intercosmic delay.

Ian received the penalty payment immediately.

How could he possibly control himself?