Marcus stood by the library window, watching Bruce and Selena completely absorbed in their studies. They'd been at it for hours, surrounded by towering stacks of books on physics, engineering, chemistry, and combat theory. Their dedication was admirable, but it was also starting to make Marcus feel restless.
"The two little guys are really getting stronger through their studies," he mused to himself, a mixture of pride and mild boredom in his voice.
When he'd first encouraged them to pursue academic knowledge, he'd expected them to balance their learning with continued field work. Instead, they'd thrown themselves into their studies with the same intensity they'd once brought to their nightly patrols. While this was ultimately beneficial for their development, it meant that Marcus's life had become considerably quieter.
He'd been curious to see what kind of changes the two would bring to Gotham once they combined their enhanced abilities with deeper knowledge. Bruce's analytical mind and Selena's intuitive understanding of human nature, both sharpened by serious study, had the potential to transform their approach to crime fighting. But for now, they were completely immersed in their books, with no time to spare for other activities.
Even their volunteer police work—the community outreach programs they'd established to build positive relationships with Gotham's citizens—had been temporarily suspended while they focused on their studies.
Marcus glanced at the calendar on the wall. It had been weeks since either of them had ventured out for anything more exciting than a trip to the library. Their dedication was commendable, but it was making Wayne Manor feel rather dull.
"Maybe it's time for a change of scenery," Marcus decided. He'd been thinking about old friends lately, and there was someone he hadn't seen in far too long.
He made his way to his room and began packing a small travel bag. The sound of movement caught Alfred's attention, and the butler appeared in the doorway with a slightly concerned expression.
"Mr. Marcus, are you preparing to leave?" Alfred asked, his tone carefully neutral but clearly curious.
Marcus looked up from his packing, offering a reassuring smile. "Just going out for a walk, Alfred. I'll be back in a few days." He gestured toward the library where the sound of turning pages and quiet discussion could be heard. "Looking at those two, I don't think there'll be any problems in the short term. It's the perfect time for me to go visit an old friend."
Alfred nodded with understanding, though Marcus could see a flicker of concern in the butler's eyes. After all, Marcus had become not just Bruce's teacher but something of a father figure to the young man. His presence in the manor had provided stability and guidance during a crucial period of Bruce's development.
"I understand, sir," Alfred replied professionally. "Shall I prepare anything for your journey?"
"No need, Alfred. This will be a simple trip." Marcus finished packing and slung the bag over his shoulder. "Keep an eye on those two. Make sure they remember to eat and sleep occasionally. Sometimes dedicated students forget about basic human needs."
"Of course, sir. I'll ensure they maintain proper schedules."
Marcus headed for the door, then paused and turned back. "Oh, and Alfred? If they ask where I've gone, just tell them I'm visiting family."
"Very good, sir."
With a casual wave, Marcus left Wayne Manor, stepping out into the crisp morning air. As he walked down the long driveway, his thoughts turned to his destination. He hadn't seen Clark in far too long, and he was curious about how the boy was developing.
The last time he'd visited the Kent farm, Clark had been just a small child, barely old enough to understand basic fighting techniques. Now, several years had passed, and Marcus wondered how much the young Kryptonian had grown—both physically and in terms of his abilities.
As he reached the end of the driveway and stepped onto the main road, Marcus's body began to shimmer and fade. Like smoke dispersing in the wind, he became transparent and vanished completely, leaving only the faint scent of ozone in the air.
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away in Smallville, Kansas, the Kent farm was experiencing a much more domestic scene. Jonathan Kent stood in the front yard, tending to a charcoal grill that was sending aromatic smoke drifting across the property. Beside him, young Clark Kent sat cross-legged on the grass, watching the meat sizzle with obvious anticipation.
"It's strange," Jonathan muttered, poking at the beef with a pair of tongs. "It's been so many years, but I still can't grill meat the way Marcus used to."
He'd been trying to recreate that perfect barbecue flavor for years now, ever since Marcus had last visited the farm. The memory of that perfectly seasoned, incredibly tender meat still haunted his culinary efforts. Despite considerable improvement in his grilling skills over the years, he couldn't replicate whatever special technique Marcus had used.
"Dad, is the meat ready yet?" Clark asked, wiping a small trail of drool from the corner of his mouth. His stomach had been growling for the past twenty minutes, and the smoky aroma was making him increasingly impatient.
Jonathan chuckled at his son's obvious hunger, reaching over to ruffle Clark's dark hair. "Almost there, son. Just a few more minutes."
This was their little secret—a father-son bonding activity that they only indulged in when Martha was away visiting her sister. She had strong opinions about too much barbecued meat in their diet, preferring more balanced, home-cooked meals. But occasionally, when she was out of town, Jonathan and Clark would fire up the grill and enjoy some quality time together.
"The fat needs to render just a bit more," Jonathan explained, mostly to himself. "Then we'll add the final seasoning and—"
"Well, this barbecue smells fantastic!"
Both Jonathan and Clark spun around at the unexpected voice. A familiar figure was approaching the grill, reaching out with practiced ease to snag a piece of the sizzling meat directly from the cooking surface.
"Marcus!" Jonathan exclaimed, his surprise quickly giving way to delight. "We weren't expecting—wait, don't grab that with your bare hands, it's—"
But Marcus was already tasting the meat, chewing thoughtfully as if the intense heat didn't affect him at all. "Mmm, this is excellent, Jonathan. The fat and meat are perfectly balanced. You can taste the quality of the beef, and the seasoning is spot-on."
Jonathan's scolding died in his throat, replaced by pleasure at the compliment. "You really think so? I've been working on my technique, but I could never get it to taste like yours."
"Don't worry about that," Marcus said, picking up Clark who had been staring at him with wide-eyed fascination. "Sometimes the secret ingredient is just having the right company."
Jonathan suddenly realized the implications of Marcus's unannounced arrival. "Oh no, if Martha comes back and finds out we've been eating barbecue again, we'll both be in trouble. She specifically said no more than once a month."
Marcus waved dismissively. "Don't worry about it. If she asks, just tell her I insisted on grilling. I'll take full responsibility."
He settled Clark on his lap, studying the boy's face carefully. Clark had grown considerably since their last meeting—his features were more defined, his body more sturdy, and there was an alertness in his eyes that suggested developing intelligence and curiosity.
"Little Clark," Marcus said gently, "do you remember who I am?"
Clark tilted his head, examining Marcus's face with the serious concentration that children bring to important questions. After a long moment, he spoke quietly.
"You seem very familiar. I think... I think I know you from somewhere."
Marcus wasn't surprised by the response. The last time he'd visited the farm, Clark had been barely four years old. While he'd spent time teaching the boy basic fighting stances and techniques, those early memories often became blurred as children grew older.
"It seems our Clark has forgotten his godfather," Marcus said to Jonathan with exaggerated sadness.
Jonathan laughed. "Don't worry, Marcus. He remembers you better than you think. Clark practices those moves you taught him every single day." He turned to his son. "Don't you want to show your godfather how much you've improved? Now that he's back, you can demonstrate all that hard work."
At Jonathan's words, Clark's eyes lit up with recognition and excitement. The blurred memories suddenly snapped into focus—this was the man who had taught him to fight, who had shown him how to channel his growing strength into disciplined techniques.
"Godfather!" Clark exclaimed, struggling to jump down from Marcus's arms. "I'm so much stronger now! I caught a wild boar all by myself just a few days ago!"
Before Marcus could respond, Clark grabbed his hand and began pulling him toward the barn. "Come on, come on! I want to show you my trophy!"
The barn was neat and well-organized, with farming equipment carefully arranged along the walls. But Clark led Marcus straight to a cabinet in the back corner, where a impressive set of curved tusks was displayed like a prize.
"These are from the wild boar," Clark announced proudly. "It's my trophy!"
As he spoke, Clark began demonstrating the techniques Marcus had taught him years ago. His movements were more fluid now, more confident, and Marcus could see that the boy had indeed been practicing diligently. The Crushing Punch technique, in particular, had become quite polished.
"Tell me how you caught it," Marcus said, crouching down to Clark's eye level.
Clark's chest puffed out with pride. "This wild boar was really fast, faster than any of the farmhands could handle. Dad and the cowboys tried to catch it for weeks, but it always got away." His voice grew more animated as he relived the memory. "But I'm faster than it is! No matter where it ran, I could catch up. Through the corn fields, around the barn, even when it tried to hide in the thick brush by the creek."
Clark's expression grew more serious as he continued. "The wild boar's hide was really tough—thick and bristly. But I used the Crushing Punch technique you taught me, and I was able to knock it down without hurting it too badly."
Marcus noticed that Clark's enthusiasm seemed to fade slightly at the end of his story. The boy's shoulders slumped, and he looked down at his hands with what appeared to be disappointment.
"What's wrong, Clark? You should be proud of that accomplishment."
Clark shook his head slightly. "I'm not unhappy, exactly. It's just..." He paused, searching for the right words. "I remember when you used the Crushing Punch, there was wind and power that you could see. But when I do it, nothing special happens. It just looks like a regular punch."
"So that's what you mean!"
Marcus suddenly realized that Clark was distressed because he didn't cause the vision.
But this was normal. After all, Clark's physical fitness had not reached that level yet, so it was normal that he couldn't release a strong wind.
After all, Clark was not an earthling, let alone an adult Kryptonian. His body was gradually adapting to the earth, so the improvement of his physical fitness would not be achieved overnight like an adult Kryptonian.
He would continue to get stronger over time, and this time would take more than ten years.