The golden sun bathed Kent Farm in a warm glow, stretching across the fields of corn and wheat swaying softly in the breeze. Inside the farmhouse, quiet murmurs of disbelief filled the living room.
"A fifty-thousand-dollar check?" Clark squinted at the piece of paper in Jonathan's hand, his tone somewhere between awe and suspicion.
Jonathan turned the check over a few times as if it might vanish. "The Metropolis University Press told me I could cash this at their partner bank," he said with a proud smile. He looked to his wife. "You know, Martha, I think Adrian's book must be doing really well. The publisher even paid him royalties in advance. That's a good sign. Maybe I should read it again one of these days."
"I don't think you've ever understood literature, Jonathan." Martha chuckled softly, taking the check from him with careful hands. "Still, this is wonderful. We should keep it safe for Adrian. Looks like we won't have to worry about the boys' university fees anymore."
Clark leaned against the doorway, a faint smirk on his lips. "I don't need Adrian's money to go to college. Baseball, basketball—take your pick. I could make more than that check in a week if I wanted."
Jonathan's expression hardened. "We've already talked about this, Clark. You can't use your abilities for that."
"And you also agreed," he added, pointing to Clark's hand, "that you wouldn't buy that ring."
Clark rubbed the crimson gem between his fingers, unbothered. "I thought…" He turned away, trying to sound detached. "I can make my own choices."
"That's because we trust you to make the right ones," Jonathan said evenly. "But that ring cost a lot of money, son."
Clark's calm mask cracked. He spun back around, eyes flashing with restrained fury. "You're lecturing me for spending three hundred and fifty dollars while holding a fifty-thousand-dollar check in your hand. Because that's Adrian's money, right? You and Mom act like I'm the problem, but you never hold him to the same standard. You'll excuse anything he does!" His voice rose, the air around him tensing. "I'm tired of being treated like I'm less. I won't live under your rules or anyone else's."
The silence that followed was thick and cold.
Martha's voice trembled as she tried to smooth things over. "Clark, go wash up and get ready for dinner."
"I'm not hungry," Clark muttered. "I've got chores."
Before either parent could respond, a rush of air filled the room—and Clark was gone, leaving only the sound of curtains fluttering in his wake.
Jonathan rubbed the bridge of his nose. "What… what was that about?"
Martha sighed, shaking her head. "Our son might still have a bit of a teenager's rebellion."
Jonathan frowned deeply. "That wasn't rebellion. He sounded angry—resentful. Like he's been holding that in for a while."
"Maybe he's just having a bad day," Martha suggested, her tone hopeful. "We all have them. Don't be too hard on him."
Jonathan didn't reply, though his eyes lingered on the check. A father's intuition told him this wasn't just a bad day.
---
The next morning, the ringing phone broke the farmhouse's peace. Jonathan answered, his expression darkening as he listened. When he hung up, Martha noticed the change instantly.
"What is it?" she asked, worry sharpening her tone.
"The bank," Jonathan said grimly. "They called about a large withdrawal from the account with Adrian's check."
Martha blinked in confusion. "But… the check was right here, with us."
"Exactly," Jonathan replied. "So how—"
Her eyes widened. "Clark?"
Before they could continue, the faint thumping of electronic music echoed from outside. It grew louder—metallic, rebellious, and very out of place on a Kansas farm.
They followed the noise to the barn.
Inside, the dim space had been transformed. Neon lights flashed across the rafters. A high-end sound system blasted aggressive rock music. There were lightning globes, strobe lights, and even a few police beacons flashing red and blue in chaotic rhythm.
Martha spotted a sleek jacket hanging over a chair. When she touched it, the soft fabric almost shimmered. "This must've cost at least a thousand dollars," she whispered.
Jonathan's jaw tightened as his gaze climbed to the loft above. Clark sat there, headphones around his neck, playing a video game as if nothing in the world could disturb him.
"Clark!" Jonathan's voice boomed through the barn. "What is all this?!"
Clark paused the game and looked down with a half-smile. "Eddie's in Metropolis was having a sale. Everything was cheap. Thought I'd upgrade my space a little."
"Clark Kent," Jonathan said through gritted teeth, "you used the money from Adrian's royalties. You stole it."
"So what?" Clark stood, unbothered. "I'll pay it back. It's not like Adrian's hurting for cash. He's practically swimming in it. If I'd found where he stashed the rest, I wouldn't have needed the check."
Jonathan slammed his hand down on a chair. "You don't take what isn't yours! And you don't go through your brother's things. Do you have any idea how serious this is? You're returning everything—now!"
A mocking grin spread across Clark's face. "Are you sure about that?"
Jonathan's glare hardened. "Absolutely. And after that, we're going to sit down and talk about this attitude—because right now, you're becoming someone I don't recognize."
"Then don't waste your time, Dad." Clark slipped into his new jacket, the leather gleaming in the light. "I've got places to be."
In a blur, he was gone. Outside, the roar of a motorcycle engine shattered the quiet. Jonathan and Martha reached the doorway just in time to see Clark speeding down the dirt road, the horizon swallowing him whole.
Martha pressed a trembling hand to her forehead, tears glinting in her eyes. "I don't understand, Jonathan… What's happening to him?"
Jonathan wrapped an arm around her shoulders, his voice low but firm. "Don't worry. I'll find him. He's my son. I'll get through to him."
As the sound of the motorcycle faded into the distance, the fields of Kent Farm swayed gently under the setting sun—peaceful on the surface, but a storm was clearly brewing within the Kent family.