Kent Farm.
Clark stared at his father in disbelief. "Why not? I just want to join the football team. Why can't I?"
"We've talked about this, Clark."
Jonathan had just returned from the barn, his face damp from washing up. He looked tired but resolute as he answered. "The talent you possess isn't meant for football."
Clark's brows furrowed. "Why? I can control my strength. Dad, don't you trust me?"
"It's not a matter of trust," Jonathan said firmly. He hesitated, then added, "On the field, emotions run high. If you lose your temper, or even try to show off for a girl, someone could get seriously hurt. You weren't given these abilities just to chase touchdowns. Clark, you have a greater purpose than winning games."
Clark's shoulders stiffened, disappointment weighing down his voice. "Adrian's talent in painting is acknowledged by you, but mine in football isn't?"
"I'm tired of being punished for what I can do! You trust Adrian to handle his own path, but you won't trust me. You never trust me!"
Jonathan's tone hardened. "Clark, I won't sign the permission slip."
Clark's jaw set. "I don't need your permission. I'll join the football team, and you can't stop me."
The tension between father and son thickened, neither willing to back down. The standoff only ended when Adrian and Martha returned from town with bags of groceries.
Martha noticed the air in the room immediately, the silence sharper than broken glass. She leaned toward Adrian and asked in a low voice, "Do you know what happened between your father and Clark?"
Adrian, his sharp blue eyes catching everything, spoke with a detached calmness. "It's about the football team. I heard Coach Watt wants Clark on the roster."
"Oh, I see," Martha murmured, her worry deepening. She knew Jonathan's feelings toward the sport.
Adrian watched Clark from across the room, the corners of his mouth twitching almost imperceptibly. He knew exactly why Clark was suddenly so obsessed with joining the team. After Lana Lang's glowing praise of Adrian's paintings, Clark had been simmering with jealousy. If Clark wanted to impress Lana, the easiest way was through football—after all, she was captain of the cheer squad.
Adrian didn't bother to step in. His brother was in a rebellious phase, and nothing Jonathan or he said would make Clark listen. If Clark wanted to charge down that path, then so be it. He would learn.
Still, Adrian wasn't blind. Coach Watt wasn't normal. The man radiated something unstable—like a storm barely caged in human form. Adrian didn't know how Watt had gained such power, but he knew the coach was on the verge of losing control. And when that day came, Smallville would pay the price.
By lunchtime, the silence at the table was unbearable. Clark shoveled down his food and stormed out, his anger written all over him.
Jonathan shook his head, sighing. "I don't understand why he's so stubborn. Adrian joined the football team once, and he quit just as fast."
"That's different," Martha said gently, glancing at Adrian, who cut into his steak with quiet precision. "Adrian played when he was younger. At that age, football wasn't about honor or proving yourself."
Jonathan frowned. "When I was Clark's age, I wasn't like him either."
Martha smirked, her voice soft but pointed. "Really? You never ran away one summer to try out for the Metropolis Sharks?"
Jonathan coughed, embarrassed as Adrian arched an amused brow. "Whose side are you on, Martha?"
"Jonathan," Martha whispered, her hand brushing his, "Clark just wants your trust."
Jonathan's shoulders sagged. "His gifts come with responsibility. Trust isn't the issue—it's what he does with it."
Martha sighed, her eyes clouded with worry.
---
The only open-air café in Smallville overlooked the artificial lake, its quiet beauty making it a local gem.
Lex Luthor sat at a table by the water, savoring his coffee with the practiced elegance of a man born into wealth but molded by hardship.
Across from him, a middle-aged man leaned forward. "Lex, I still can't believe your father sent you here to manage a fertilizer plant."
Lex's lips curled in a wry smile. "Caesar sent his sons to the farthest frontiers of the empire to learn how the world truly works. My father sees himself as Caesar. Sending me to this quiet town is his version of exile. The only thing they have in common is ambition."
He set his cup down, his sharp gaze locking on the man. "Now, let's focus. What progress have you made with the investigation into the Smallville High dance incident?"
The man slid a manila envelope across the table. "The town government blamed it on an electrical fire. A cover-up. Not the first one, either—there have been other strange incidents buried the same way."
Lex opened the envelope, skimming the documents. "And Jerome, the suspect… eyewitnesses claim he could unleash lightning?"
The man nodded gravely. "The autopsy confirms it. But there's something stranger."
He pulled out several photographs and handed them to Lex. The images showed the northeast gymnasium, its walls torn apart, the basketball hoops twisted, and massive holes punched into the floor.
Lex narrowed his eyes at the destruction. "You're not telling me a person caused this?"
"As unbelievable as it sounds… yes," the man said quietly.
Before Lex could reply, a child's voice cut through the air. "Mommy, balloon!"
A little girl, no older than four, chased after a drifting red balloon, running straight into the road.
"Beep! Beep!"
A truck barreled toward her, its horn blaring. The driver swerved desperately, slamming the brakes and jerking the wheel. Tires screeched as the massive vehicle lost control, sliding directly toward Lex's table by the lake.
_____
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