Chapter 1776: Summer in Fool

"John, you'd better take a look at this."

At the entrance of the Forgotten Bookstore branch on the corner of Cat Getan's central commercial street, Zatanna pushed open the glass door with some effort.

Constantine was standing in front of a newly moved-in bookshelf, unwrapping bundles of new books and placing them on the shelves. Ever since all the diseases of his body and mind had been purged, he looked more than ten years younger.

At this moment, he was wearing a white casual shirt and cropped suit trousers, a cigarette he hadn't lit bitten between his teeth. His originally messy platinum hair had been left to grow long, and it hung in strands on both sides of his cheeks, giving him a bit of a British yuppie vibe.

Seeing Zatanna push the door open, Constantine walked over quickly, diligently pulling the door open for her, and said, "What's wrong? Why are you looking at the newspaper?"

Zatanna had tied her long hair into a high ponytail at the back. She wore a deep purple fishbone camisole on her upper body, wide-leg silk trousers on her lower body, and flip-flops on her feet. Her figure carried a rare, girlish plumpness, and wearing casual clothes made her look especially vibrant.

Zatanna leaned slightly toward Constantine and pointed to the headline on the front page of the newspaper: "Look at this. Someone is accusing Bruce Wei En of mental manipulation of women, using his money and status to mentally abuse his female companions, and even drugging them into unconsciousness during dates. My god!"

Constantine opened his eyes slightly. He reached out a hand to rake the long hair blocking half his face behind his head, focusing intently on reading the words in the newspaper.

At this moment, Zatanna looked up at him. Constantine's hand was still resting on the glass door, and Zatanna was standing right in front of his chest. The height difference allowed Zatanna to see Constantine's sharp jawline when she looked up.

His image was still unkempt, with stubble on his chin that hadn't been shaved clean, and fine golden fuzz extending all the way to his ears.

But as the saying goes, the bed is the best beauty salon. When one's spirit is decadent from lack of sleep, this image looks sloppy. But if one is free from the trouble of nightmares, goes to bed early and wakes up early every day, and has no bad habits, the mental state is extremely full—this image becomes wild, dashing, and masculine.

Constantine subconsciously touched his chin and said, "I'm curious who has the guts to stand up and accuse him. It couldn't possibly be those socialites, could it?"

Zatanna was a bit dazed, and it wasn't until Constantine's gaze landed on her face that she reacted, then said, "Wait, are you saying you believe he did it?"

"Hasn't he always been doing it?" Constantine put his hand down, walked back to the front of the bookshelf, and squatted down. While stuffing books into the bottom shelf, he said, "He even managed to graduate with honors from Schiller's; did you expect him not to know this routine?"

"I mean, even if he learned the techniques, he doesn't necessarily have to use them. He's not this kind of... wait, he isn't, is he?"

"How long has it been since you last saw him?"

"About a month or so..."

"I mean spending time with him long-term."

Zatanna stood where she was, one hand on her hip and the other fanning herself with the newspaper, looking up and recalling, "That was years ago. He was my first love."

"You might not necessarily be his."

Zatanna suddenly realized something was wrong. She hugged her arms and laughed, shook her head at Constantine, and said, "You wouldn't happen to be jealous, would you, John?"

Zatanna stepped to the side of the squatting Constantine, nudged his ribs with her knee, then squatted down and leaned on his back, placing her chin on his neck, and said, "You don't mean to tell me you don't know your old nickname was 'Debauched John', do you?"

Constantine squatted where he was, hummed twice, and then said, "That was the best nickname I ever had. Alright, seriously, do you believe Bruce didn't do it?"

Zatanna thought for a moment and said, "I don't think he did it subjectively and intentionally. Although when I knew him, he was indeed a bit gloomy and didn't look very normal, he was truly a person with extremely high moral standards and kindness, wasn't he?"

Constantine sat slowly on the ground, rested both hands on his knees, and said, "I also think he wouldn't actively abuse others. But he drugged this accuser... I feel something is wrong."

"How so?"

"Let's not talk about moral standards. Do you think the stuff that comes out of Bruce's hands would be that simple? If he really wanted to drug someone, how could a regular hospital possibly detect drug residue?"

Zatanna leaned against him, rested her chin on his shoulder, and nodded, saying, "Makes sense. So someone is trying to frame him. Should we help him?"

Constantine lowered his head again, letting his long hair block half his face, and stared at Zatanna with a rather hurt look through the gaps in his hair. Zatanna slapped his back hard and said, "Don't play that game with me. How many people have you tricked into bed with that pathetic stray dog expression?"

Constantine was about to continue acting, but Zatanna snorted coldly and said, "That includes Bruce Wei En, right? That face of his is your ideal type."

Constantine broke character immediately. He laughed, pushed Zatanna away, stood up, and said, "Are you jealous?"

"Jealous that you tried your hardest and still couldn't get him into bed, while I succeeded?" Zatanna rolled her eyes and stood up too.

Constantine reached out to pull her in, but the magician pushed the man away and said, "Don't stick to me, it's hot as hell. I'm going to the second floor to measure the air conditioning duct. Don't even think about touching a single finger of mine until the AC is installed."

Zatanna had just turned around when she heard Constantine behind her let out an "Uh." She turned her head to see Constantine clutching his chest and falling to the side. The magician instinctively wanted to use counter-spell magic, but before her arm could reach out, Constantine stumbled, stabilized his center of gravity, and knelt on one knee on the ground.

"What the hell!" Zatanna thought he was playing a prank. She squatted down and reached out to pull his arm, but Constantine twitched again, took a deep breath, and when he looked up, the hair on his forehead was dampened by sweat and stuck to his brow.

Zatanna hurriedly squatted down and asked with concern, "What's wrong with you? Where does it hurt?"

Constantine seemed to know something. He swallowed, shook his head, and said, "Nothing, just a sudden palpitation."

After saying this, he slowly stood up straight, but Zatanna's expression turned serious in an instant. She pushed Constantine, who was in front of her, aside and stared at the space behind him, saying, "Who?"

Constantine turned his head. The first thing to appear was a pair of pitch-black wings. Azazel's face emerged from the flames of hell.

This Hell Lord froze for a moment the instant he saw Constantine.

But Constantine couldn't help but burst into laughter, laughing until he was bent over, continuously slapping the bookshelf next to him.

Constantine laughed until he was out of breath. Zatanna was full of confusion. After Constantine finished laughing, he said to Zatanna, "Someone posed for half a day, only to realize they dialed the wrong number."

Azazel's expression darkened immediately. He stared at Constantine and said, "So you're the one playing tricks, Constantine. Do you want to rejoin the demon's deal again?"

"Think again, Azazel." Constantine wasn't afraid at all. He leaned in, draped an arm over Azazel's shoulder, and said, "No matter how convinced you are that you can get justice from him after suffering losses, you'd better think carefully."

"Don't give me that crap. Where is Schiller? Why did I find you here when I was tracking his soul's aura?"

"Have you heard of call forwarding?" Constantine picked up the new phone he had just bought and shook it at Azazel.

Azazel furrowed his brows deeply. His fingers flicked lightly, and a cluster of flames ignited in front of Constantine's forehead, burning his hair directly.

Constantine scrambled to put out the flames. Zatanna pointed at his forehead and said, "Extinguish!"

Constantine looked up, saw a wisp of black smoke rising from his forehead, hugged his arms, and stared at Azazel, saying, "A dignified Hell Lord playing such petty tricks? Didn't you eat?"

Azazel snapped his fingers again, and a larger cluster of flames flashed in front of Constantine's feet. Constantine jumped back in shock, then glared at Azazel and said, "You can't touch me. Killing a target without a contract will send their soul to another place. Do you want to send me to Heaven?"

"Then I feel deeply sorry for Heaven." Azazel looked at Constantine with a gloomy expression.

"Alright, what the hell is going on?" Zatanna raised her voice, interrupting the conversation between the two. Azazel glanced at Zatanna, seemingly wary of her abilities, and then said, "Take me to him, Constantine."

"You don't want to go." Constantine shook his head while retreating. He looked at Azazel and said, "You don't understand one thing: the Schiller you know wouldn't touch things in Hell for no reason. If he touched them, you shouldn't go."

A hint of annoyance flashed across Azazel's brow. He said in a low voice, "My demon general, Reyiz, has gone missing. His guards said Schiller appeared in the palace."

"Is a demon general worth all this trouble for you?"

"It's sixteen in one month!"

"I told you, he's not the Schiller you know." Constantine narrowed his eyes. One of his hands was still pressed against his chest, covering his heart.

Azazel had never heard such a serious tone from Constantine's mouth.

All demons knew that Constantine was someone who could laugh and shout curses to the very end even if his soul were thrown into the deepest abyss of Hell to be scorched. He was the true practitioner of the Dionysian spirit.

Such a person was naturally incompatible with seriousness. If he had viewed this world with even a hint of tragic temperament, he would have gone mad long ago.

Suddenly, Constantine relaxed his arm, sighed, looked at Azazel, and said, "I warned you. If you insist on going, we'd better change the method."

"What method?"

"I'll drive."

Two minutes later, Azazel, sitting in the back seat, struggled to fold his wings. Constantine rested one hand on the steering wheel, leaned over Zatanna in the passenger seat, and poked his head from the gap between the front seats to the back, saying, "You really should learn from your old boss. Lucifer can buckle his seatbelt even while sitting in a car with his wings spread."

Azazel's expression darkened further. After a long while, he spat out, "Don't mention him to me."

Constantine raised an eyebrow with interest but said nothing, turning his head back to focus on driving. Suddenly, Azazel, sitting in the back seat, spoke up: "What is that?"

Constantine looked back at him, followed his gaze, and found Azazel looking at a construction site blocked off by a wall. He answered as if it were normal: "Oh, that's a new subway line under construction. You know what a subway is, right?"

"The last time I came to the human world was two years ago, not twenty thousand years ago." Azazel answered expressionlessly. He furrowed his brows, his gaze never leaving the construction site, and said as if suppressing anger, "Don't play games with me. Do you humans need to use such powerful dark energy to build a subway?"

"What doesn't get used? Humans have always valued money over their lives, Gothamites especially so." Constantine turned the steering wheel and said, "What? Demons are blocked outside the Earth by Green Lantern energy, and you're just angry out of shame?"

"John Constantine..." Azazel's tone hit rock bottom.

Constantine, however, acted as if he hadn't heard anything and naturally changed the subject: "Has your demon general contacted you since he disappeared?"

"No." Azazel answered expressionlessly, "And that is exactly the problem."

In the back garden of the Rodriguez Manor, Barry, sweaty from playing, rushed to Pamela's side, gulping down the ice water Schiller handed him.

After finishing the large glass of ice water in one breath, Barry sighed with satisfaction. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and was just about to run forward to chase Harley when he was tripped by something under his feet.

Barry lowered his head, bent down, picked up the thing that had almost tripped him, turned it over in his hand, and looked at it, saying:

"Is this what a moose's hoof actually looks like?" ===== CHAPTER 1777 =====