"Does it matter, Clark?"
Adrian's voice was calm, his expression unreadable. "It's over. Don't waste time on details that won't change anything. Dwelling on them won't bring you peace or serve any purpose."
Clark frowned. "No matter what Jerome did, Adrian, he should have been handed over to the law. Everyone deserves judgment."
"Theoretically, sure. But reality isn't theory, Clark." Adrian leaned back in his chair, his tone edged with disdain. "Anatole France once said: 'The law, in its majestic equality, forbids rich and poor alike to sleep under bridges, to beg in the streets, and to steal bread.' The world loves to talk about justice, but what we live in is a theater of hypocrisy. Don't fool yourself."
Clark opened his mouth to argue, but Adrian continued smoothly, cutting him off.
"Besides, if I hadn't intervened, Lana would've been hurt. Tell me, Clark, what would you have done?"
The mention of Lana made Clark stiffen. His memory flicked to her words earlier — her gratitude toward Adrian. Was that why she thanked him?
For the first time, Clark felt a flicker of doubt. Maybe Adrian wasn't as cold-blooded as he seemed. He had hinted Jerome was the culprit. He had saved Lana. Perhaps Clark had misunderstood his brother.
"You can ask Lana yourself. I'm sure you two share everything," Adrian said flatly, already turning away. He gestured toward the stack of papers and books covering his desk. "Now, I have work. If that's all, Clark, you can leave."
Clark rubbed the bridge of his nose, uneasy. He wanted to say more, but Adrian had already turned his back, pen in hand. His brother's dismissal left him standing awkwardly in the room.
Before leaving, his eyes strayed to the painting on the wall. Lana had called it artistic. To him, it looked like meaningless chaos. Why couldn't he see what she saw? Did he lack the imagination? A wave of insecurity settled in his chest.
"Wait, Clark."
Clark paused mid-step, turning back.
Adrian reached into his drawer and pulled out a small lead box, extending it toward him. "This thing is useless to me. Maybe you'll find more value in it. Take it."
Clark blinked in confusion but accepted the box. "What is it?"
"Open it."
Clark flipped the lid without suspicion. A dazzling green glow spilled out, stabbing into his senses like knives. Pain lanced through his body, weakening him instantly.
His eyes widened. "This is… Lana's necklace!"
The memory hit him hard — Whitney had used this very necklace against him, pinning him to the cross like a trophy. Clark had assumed Adrian had discarded it after saving him, yet here it was, carefully preserved.
"But why?" His voice cracked. "Why give this to me now?"
Adrian's expression remained cold, his tone dismissive. "Watching you stumble through your so-called love life is unbearable. I can't stand being surrounded by foolishness — it's contagious. So I'm giving it to you. Consider it… pest control."
Clark stared at him, caught between annoyance and gratitude. A younger version of himself would have bristled at Adrian's words, but this time he just smiled faintly. Closing the lead box, he felt warmth in his chest despite the sting.
"Even if that's your reason… thank you, Adrian."
He left with lighter steps, heart unexpectedly lifted.
Adrian set his pen aside and stood by the window, staring out at the fields. His reasoning had little to do with Clark's happiness. The necklace was a liability, especially with Lana's growing curiosity. Women like her were dangerous when they started asking questions. Whether curiosity became affection or not, it was a complication he didn't need. Better to redirect her path toward Clark.
Women. Complicated, messy creatures. A headache he had no interest in entertaining.
…
Thursday.
Four days after the chaos of the Homecoming Dance, Smallville High finally returned to its usual rhythm.
"So, Clark," Pete slung an arm over his shoulder, his grin wide. "Are you gonna explain why Adrian's eyes shoot lasers? 'Cause I saw a comic once where a dude had wrist lasers, but eyes? Way cooler."
Chloe sipped from her coffee cup with a smirk. "Arthur Parks. Laser Man. That's who you're thinking of, Pete."
Pete raised an eyebrow. "Didn't think you were into comics, Chloe."
"I'm not. Especially not the spandex kind. I just stumbled on him while researching. And honestly? People in costumes blasting lasers around town — ridiculous."
"Hey, that's offensive!" Pete groaned.
Chloe just rolled her eyes, but before Pete could fire back, a voice cut across the hall.
"Clark Kent!"
The three turned to see Coach Watt, stocky, stern, and radiating authority. His temper was notorious on the field, though outside of football he kept himself in check, earning respect from the students.
"Coach," Clark greeted nervously.
The coach's expression was sharp, frustration evident. Clark already guessed why — the Homecoming Dance had left the football team battered, and Watt wasn't one to tolerate weakness.
"I hear Adrian says your arm strength is even better than his. I saw your tryout video myself. Technique needs work, but that arm? Impressive. Clark, with you on the team, we'd be unstoppable."
Clark hesitated. "I… I have responsibilities at the farm. I don't think I'd have time."
"Your father would rather see you on the field than chained to a tractor. I knew Jonathan Kent — the best player I ever coached. You've inherited his gift, Clark. Don't waste it." Watt clapped him on the shoulder, voice insistent.
Clark's resolve wavered. He wanted to say no. His father's warnings echoed in his mind. But then Lana's words replayed in his memory — the way she had admired Adrian's talent.
If Clark joined the football team, if he became someone on the field, maybe Lana would finally look at him the way she looked at Adrian. She was captain of the cheer squad. She'd be right there, watching.
His decision crystallized.
"I'll join, Coach."
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