The full moon hung high in the sky.
Its pale light bathed the backroads outside Smallville in a ghostly white glow.
The Harley roared through the quiet night.
The biting Smallville wind tore at the blonde young man, as if desperate to sweep away the lingering grime of Gotham's chaos.
"Phew~"
Dio exhaled a heavy breath, his tense nerves easing just a bit.
But…
The road had other plans.
It was nearly midnight, and yet…
Three black SUVs were blocking the way.
In the distance, shadowy figures were scurrying around in a cornfield, moving suspiciously.
Under the moonlight, it looked like they were…
Digging?
"Tch."
Dio's eyes narrowed in annoyance, his instincts kicking in.
A faint, hulking silhouette flickered into existence under the moonlight. The World's telescope ability let him just make out the outlines of their movements at this distance and light.
That was enough. Unlike Star Platinum, The World's specialty was…
Dio's face darkened.
He suddenly realized that even in long-range recon, The World seemed to come up short against Star Platinum.
"What a pain…"
He muttered a curse, his patience for poking around completely gone. All he wanted was to ditch this Harley at Sebastian's shop and crash into bed until the world stopped spinning.
But fate, as usual, had it out for him.
Just as Dio twisted the throttle to zip past the SUVs, a stretch Lincoln pulled right across the narrow road, completely blocking his path.
"Screech—!"
Dio slammed on the brakes, the Harley's tires shrieking against the gravelly road, coming to a steady stop.
"…"
His face was so dark it could've dripped ink. His long fingers impatiently blared the horn twice.
The sound cut through the empty countryside like a knife.
Those guys better get the hint and clear out fast.
His patience was officially at zero.
"Sorry, sorry."
The group reacted quickly.
A man in a tailored black suit emerged from the cornfield.
His demeanor was oddly polite, almost unnervingly so. He jogged over to the bike, giving a slight bow. "Apologies for the inconvenience. I'll move the car right away."
Dio raised an eyebrow.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
Shouldn't a couple of burly thugs be storming out, snarling at him to take a hike?
He sized the guy up.
High-quality suit, a faint glimpse of an earpiece wire, crisp, precise movements—everything about him screamed highly trained bodyguard.
"Make it quick," Dio said coldly, his sharp gaze catching a glimpse of a badge on the man's collar.
That design…
Looked kind of familiar?
The suit didn't waste a second, turning back to the Lincoln, starting the engine, and smoothly pulling it to the side, clearing just enough space.
He even hopped out, using a flashlight to highlight a few potholes in the road, his posture deferential.
"Road's rough. Drive safe, sir. Have a good one."
Vroom!
Dio wasn't in the mood for chit-chat either. He revved the throttle, the Harley letting out a sharp roar.
With a quick burst, he sped through the cleared path.
The night wind whipped past again.
The endless cornfields on either side rustled loudly, swaying under the moonlight like a golden ocean.
But…
In the gaps between the swaying cornstalks—
Dio's sharp peripheral vision caught the bodyguard, who'd just been all polite and proper, now turning toward a figure standing deeper in the field, bowing low and reporting something.
The moonlight happened to catch the back of that figure.
A very noticeable…
Bald head.
"Who's that bald guy?" Dio muttered, a faint, scornful smirk tugging at his lips.
He didn't care, nor did he have the energy to care what these shady types were up to.
Oh, right.
Speaking of…
He hadn't seen his own bald friend in a while.
---
The moonlight poured over the cornfield like liquid silver, painting the swaying stalks in cold, pale hues.
In the middle of the field, a ragged, dirt-covered middle-aged man knelt, his face smeared with mud and dried blood, hands bound behind his back.
Nearby, six black-clad bodyguards worked like silent machines, shoveling dirt with mechanical efficiency.
The soil piled up, forming a deep pit big enough for a person.
At the center of this grim scene, Lex Luthor seemed completely detached, almost relaxed.
He lounged in a portable rocking chair, fingers lightly tapping the armrest, like a gentleman vacationing in the countryside, savoring the quiet night.
"Young master," the suit who'd moved the car hurried back, bowing low to report. "Just a passing motorcyclist."
"Clearing the way is fine," Luthor said casually, his tone carrying a hint of instruction. "I've told you before—always leave room. Even when blocking a road."
"Don't corner people."
"Like over there." He tilted his head slightly toward the deepening pit, then shifted his gaze to the kneeling man, his voice calm. "See, Mr. Riley Vick? I've left you a way out too."
"So, let's hear it."
"Who, exactly, told you I'd be heading to the Kent farm alone that afternoon? And who had the means to work with you to swap out the brake system's hydraulic line?"
"L-Luthor, sir…"
Vick trembled violently, his teeth chattering loud enough to pierce the quiet night.
"I… I swear, I don't know what you're talking about… I don't know anything!"
"Oh?" Luthor raised an eyebrow.
The next second—
Thud!
Without warning, a bodyguard kicked Vick hard, sending him tumbling into the freshly dug pit.
Luthor waved a hand dismissively, like he was brushing off a speck of dust.
The bodyguards got the signal and started shoveling dirt back into the pit without hesitation.
"Might as well jog your memory down there," Luthor said coolly.
"?!"
Dirt rained down on Vick, his face going white as a sheet.
He thrashed wildly at the bottom of the pit, scrambling upward, only to be shoved back down by a bodyguard's boot.
"I don't know!" Vick sobbed, his wails tearing through the night. "I didn't know those guys! They… they just gave me a key, told me to swap a part in your manor's garage… All our contact was through pickup tickets at the town café!"
Keyword caught.
Luthor's eyebrow twitched, and he raised a hand.
A bodyguard immediately yanked Vick out of the pit, roughly digging through his shirt pocket to pull out a crumpled, sweat-soaked café receipt and handing it to Luthor.
[7:23, manor empty.]
"Interesting," Luthor mused, studying the receipt before waving to the guards. "Untie him."
Vick collapsed, barely believing he was free.
He scrambled to his feet, stumbling toward the depths of the cornfield—
"Wait."
Luthor's voice, soft but commanding, froze him like an invisible chain.
"If you can still reach them," he said, his tone steady and icy, "pass a message to your employers."
"Nobody takes what's mine."
Rustle, rustle.
Vick's figure staggered off, vanishing into the whispering cornfield, swallowed by the endless dark.
Under the moonlight, only the unfilled pit and the silent group remained.
The suit stepped forward, worry etched on his face. He lowered his voice cautiously. "Young master, if they're still tracking us even out here in a backwater like Smallville… their reach is deeper than we thought."
"Why not just head back to Metropolis?"
"At least with the boss there, they wouldn't dare be so bold…"
Luthor raised a hand, cutting him off.
"Pointless."
His voice carried unshakable certainty.
The suit blinked, lips parting, clearly not following the logic.
Luthor tilted his head, his gaze piercing through the endless cornfield, as if seeing something far beyond.
"They fear my father like rats fear an old cat in the barn," he said flatly. "But that fear just makes them hide deeper, their methods sneakier."
"They won't disappear. They'll just wait—wait for the old cat to nap, to slip, or to show the slightest crack."
"Yeah…" The suit sighed deeply, his worry growing. "That's exactly why it's too dangerous out here, young master. You can dodge an open shot, but a hidden arrow's another story."
"Dangerous?" Luthor echoed, letting out a faint, almost mocking chuckle, as if the idea was childish.
"Dangerous or not," he paused, "it's better than hiding forever in the old cat's shadow, content to eat the scraps those trembling rats offer up."
"…"
The suit didn't fully get it, but Luthor's unyielding expression shut down any questions. He nodded, swallowing his doubts, and stepped back quietly.
Luthor said nothing more, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes, as if genuinely enjoying the countryside breeze.
In simpler terms…
Here in the seemingly dangerous Smallville, he felt a twisted kind of…
Peace.
A thrill of independence, of a young cat, eager to prove itself, finally facing the storm and learning to hunt on its own.
But clearly…
This excitement, born of freedom and danger, was something no one here could understand.
Maybe his father would…
Get it?
The thought made Luthor's closed eyelids twitch slightly.
His mind churned like the tides under the moonlight, inevitably drifting to the man he both relied on and desperately wanted to surpass.
For five years, he'd been fed nutrient paste, watching his father weave a vast web of profit and fear that kept everyone at arm's length—including his only son.
That man called those cold, effective methods—
Truth.
Yeah.
His father must've been craving it too, right?
Craving an heir who could truly grasp his "truth," surpass him, and prove its worth.
Why else would he hand over those icy "truths" like weapons to his son?
Luthor's memory of that moment was crystal clear—
"Lex," the man had said. "I know you want to visit Lock and the others, chasing that… pointless ease."
"But I have to remind you. Emotions are the deadliest rust on a precise lever. They'll sap your strength at the critical moment, lead you to wrong choices."
"Stop messing around. Stay by my side and learn what I'm teaching you. That's the path you're meant for."
"Remember, this empire is destined to be yours."
"Don't let useless emotions slow you down. Those old, worthless friends—let them fade into history's dust."
"Don't make my years of work go to waste, Lex."
"…"
Blossoms bloom and fall, clouds part to reveal the sky.
From that moment!
From that very instant!
A lost Lex Luthor understood his purpose, saw the role he'd been molded for.
He existed to validate that "truth," to surpass, even replace, the untouchable "creator" who'd shaped him!
A cold, sharp smirk crept across his young face, jarring against its youth.
All these years, Father…
You've used every resource, every trick in Luthor Corp's arsenal.
And still, you couldn't root out those vermin hiding in the gutters.
Heck, if it weren't for Uncle Lock spotting that fatal flaw in your agricultural state strategy back then…
Luthor Corp's empire might've already crumbled under some unseen pressure.
And now, even with…
Game-changing alien tech in your hands…
You still can't dominate completely.
Why?
Has time dulled your once-lightning decisions? Or has the empire's size made you too cautious, blunting your sharpest claws?
My foolish, powerful father.
I'll do as you wish.
I'll walk the path you've paved, lined with your "truth."
Right now…
A mix of disdain, disappointment, and a blazing, almost uncontrollable ambition swelled in Luthor's chest, burning hot.
Replace? Surpass?
It was no longer a vague, assigned goal.
It was a clear, chosen…
Inevitable.