Chapter 58 Third Eye!
White mist flowed between the two of them.
At a time like this, one cannot afford to rush.
Arlie tried hard to keep a straight face.
When you see someone on a forum posting a thread titled "I have a friend who recently encountered a little confusion and hopes everyone can help."
No matter how clearly you know in your heart that this friend is the poster himself, you have to hold back from leaving that sentence on the second floor: "Is the friend you mentioned yourself, OP?" Otherwise, the OP will chicken out, and the thread will end up unfinished.
You will never get to see the subsequent melodramatic plot.
Silence obviously also knew how unnatural her previous sentence was.
Ice-blue specks of light flickered slightly in the mist.
"... My friend."
She repeated it once more.
"Mhm, your friend."
Arlie nodded very cooperatively, "Go on."
Silence took a deep breath.
"My friend has been having some dreams recently, the repetitive kind. In her dreams, her brother... had a conflict with a certain person."
"How did the fight go?" Arlie asked.
"That person's strength was ridiculously immense. My friend rushed up and couldn't block it at all, and her brother was pinned to the ground and beaten from start to finish. In the end..."
"What happened in the end?" Arlie asked calmly.
"Beaten to death alive."
"Around here, we generally don't call a one-hit kill a spar."
"An overwhelming defeat," Silence gritted her teeth, "I admit, it's that kind of crushing defeat where we're completely not on the same level."
"So you're saying..."
"You've recently repeatedly dreamed of your brother being beaten to death with one punch by someone?"
"My friend's brother," Silence corrected.
"Your friend's brother," Arlie repeated.
"Mhm."
"Alright, your friend's brother."
Arlie sat up straight with a solemn expression.
At this moment, he was like a psychotherapist listening to a patient describe symptoms.
"What about your friend herself? What did she do in the dream?"
"She... also rushed up."
"And then?"
"She couldn't beat them either."
"Then your friend was also one-shot." Arlie summarized.
"No!" Silence became anxious, a layer of unwilling white frost burning in her ice-blue eyes, "She lasted at least longer than her brother!"
"Oh, so she was killed a second later."
"Can you stop mocking me on purpose?!"
Silence's roar resounded.
Even Moge outside pricked up its ears.
Arlie leaned back against the back of his chair and stroked his chin.
Silence also had a precognitive dream.
Judging from her description, that existence appearing in the dream which could simultaneously crush both her and her friend's brother—
Its power level was quite high.
Arlie narrowed his eyes slightly.
How great Silence's power was, he had experienced firsthand.
And her brother...
If his guess was correct, he should be on the same product line as her, and his combat power wouldn't be much lower than hers, or might even be slightly higher.
After all, Vought International spent so many years of R&D funding and resources; surely they wouldn't make their flagship product inferior even to Soldier Boy, right?
Then the question arises.
Who?
What thing could grind Vought's current two trump cards into slag?
Arlie's gaze nonchalantly fell upon Silence.
Black Noir, Homelander.
Vought International's twin experimental subjects.
In Arlie's memories from his past life, there was more or less some information regarding these two characters, although the timeline and details didn't match any version he knew.
He also didn't know whether Homelander in this worldwas the Getsuga Tensho one from the TV show, or whether Black Noir in this world was the psychopathic one from the comics...
He cast a nonchalant glance at Silence.
Actually...
Arlie felt that this fellow was already very close to being a psychopath.
There was no help for it; after all, ever since the day he transmigrated, this world no longer belonged to any single comic book.
But the general product framework could still be pieced together.
Super strength, flight capability, Heat Vision, extremely high physical resistance.
Uncle Ben's genes? Or some donor further upstream?
Arlie silently kept a tally in his heart. He couldn't pursue this matter here because Silence might not necessarily know the answer, and even if she did, before the persona of "my friend" collapsed, she couldn't possibly flip her origin and background completely upside down right in front of him.
What Arlie cared about even more was if that person who could instantly kill the twin experimental subjects...
Could they also be a product of Vought? Following the classic routine, perhaps a runaway product or something.
Arlie shook his head, temporarily suppressing this line of thought to the bottom of his mind.
"The person who defeated your friend," he asked, "does your friend know them?"
"Doesn't know them," Silence shook her head, "Faces are unclear in the dream, only the feeling of the power is very real."
"Mhm."
Arlie thought for a moment, then asked a seemingly casual question: "Speaking of which, how is your friend's relationship with your friend's brother?"
Silence's ice-blue eyes turned elsewhere.
"So-so."
"Alright," Arlie nodded, "How do you want me to help you?"
"Let's meet in reality," she said.
Arlie couldn't help laughing wryly.
"What is wrong with you guys?" he said helplessly, "Mogetold everyone on the first day to pay attention to protecting their respective true identities. Look at you lot instead: Nightwalker invited me over to his house right off the bat, and now you're also asking me out for coffee."
"Next up, is Diana gonna invite me to tour her women-only kingdom too?"
"I don't drink coffee," Silence sneered coldly.
"Otherwise what? How do you want to meet?"
"Just meeting, no need for all those fancy things. You come, and we'll talk business directly."
"Alright, alright," Arlie waved his hand, "Then where are we meeting?"
"That amusement park from last time."
Arlie raised an eyebrow.
The amusement park from last time?
That theme park where there was a gorilla cameo, Clarkwore shameful merchandise to act as a theme park superhero once, and he himself threw Silence out like a bowling ball in the woods?
Fine, at least it was a location they both knew.
"When?"
"Today is Sunday, then next week... planet Three, four in the afternoon."
"How do I find you after I arrive?" Arlie asked.
"Let's meet under the roller coaster, you hold up three ice creams in your hand as a distinguishing feature."
The white mist dispersed.
When Arlie and Silence walked out of the private chat space.
However...
This time, the first thing that came into view was a new blurry outline.
The Dream Stone faithfully performed its duty.
Silver-gray light enveloped that figure standing in the center of the grand hall.
Turning everything into a flowing sea of silver mist.
A pair of eyes peered through the mist.
Azure blue.
Lighter than Diana's ocean blue, warmer than Silence's ice blue, a bit brighter than some bat's grayish-blue, a color between the sky and the deep sea.
Diana was already standing on one side of the newcomer, her ocean-blue eyes carrying a curious scrutiny.
"Another one came?" Arlie stepped forward.
"Traveler!"
Moge darted out from beside Nightwalker's feet, "The fifth candidate has arrived! This is the fifth!"
"The fifth." Arlie murmured and repeated.
The fifth among the six.
He looked toward those azure-blue eyes, just about to say something...
But the red moon sank below the horizon.
The world began to fade in color.
Nightwalker's outline became transparent first, Dianaslightly nodded, the ocean-blue light melted into the paleness of the White Hall, Silence's body was also fading, and her ice-blue eyes took one last look at Arlie.
"Remember, this week."
Finally was the newcomer.
The azure-blue eyes lingered in the silver mist for a split second.
They didn't even have time to exchange a single word before they were all carried away by the setting of the red moon.
Moge curled up on the throne and yawned, its golden round eyes squinting into slits.
"You always come so late, Traveler."
The cat mumbled, "The newcomer hasn't even made up a name yet... Can you go to sleep earlier next time..."
Arlie stood in the center of the empty White Hall.
The hourglass continued to flow backward beneath the dome, its golden grains of sand climbing upwards one particle after another.
"Good night, Traveler." The cat closed its eyes.
"... Good night, Moge."
The light of the White Hall shrank in concentric circles.
Arlie closed his eyes.
The world shed its colors.
"Ha!"
Silence abruptly sat up, exhaling a breath.
She kicked the quilt to the foot of the bed. On the metal stand beside the bed, the heavy black armor quietly waited for her in the dim light.
"Click!"
The black helmet descended over her.
A dark shadow was reflected in the bedside mirror.
This was Black Noir.
Vought International's black-armored enforcer, serial number A-3, the third product listed on the catalog behind Homelander.
She pushed open the door and walked out, then let out a furious laugh.
The blonde young man stood in the middle of the corridor.
"You're awake," he said cautiously.
"How long have you been standing here?" A deep voice processed through a voice modulator came from behind the faceplate.
"Not long."
"... Just how long is your 'not long'?"
John was stunned for a moment.
"Forty... minutes?"
"Did you have another nightmare?" John continued to ask.
"Have you eaten?" John asked again.
Fixed lines, Mr. Homelander's greeting routine.
Just like an NPC.
You're awake, you had another nightmare, have you eaten?
The order never changed, the phrasing never varied.
"I warmed up some milk for you," John said as he magically produced a white mug from behind his back, the Vought Group's eagle logo printed on the side of the cup, "The temperature should be just right."
"Can't your life have some other color?"
"Do you want chocolate flavor?" John said sincerely, "I seem to have cocoa powder in my room..."
"Shut the fuck up! You giant baby who only knows how to drink milk."
"Alright."
The corridor fell silent.
John gently placed that cup of milk, which no one would drink, onto the window sill of the corridor.
"Stillwell says there's another formal public appearance opportunity next month," John leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, trying his best to sound relaxed, "He says he's serious this time, unlike that amusement park last time..."
"Don't mention that amusement park."
Silence's voice grew cold.
"Oh. Okay."
John wisely shut his mouth, but perhaps because the corridor was truly too quiet, "However, Stillwell says we can go out for free activities these few days. That way we can build up hype beforehand, and then during the official appearance give..."
"Shut up! Is Stillwell the only thing in your brain? Is he your dad?"
"I won't mention him, I won't mention him," John chuckled awkwardly, "But speaking of which, that guy who called himself White John that day... don't you think his name was chosen way too casually? White John? Really? What kind of aesthetic is that? What if another guy called Black Johncomes along? What if another Pink John comes along? The name John..."
"John."
The young man shut his mouth, preparing himself to be severely scolded.
But...
"Become stronger," Black Noir said.
And then she walked past him.
The sound of footsteps was muffled, walking step by step toward the end of the corridor.
John stood frozen in place.
What was this supposed to be? Concern?
John slowly turned his head.
"Black Noir."
He opened his mouth, his Adam's apple rolling up and down.
"About what happened back then... I'm very sorry."
"But I... you... know, we couldn't escape, I..."
The woman did not look back.
The security door at the end of the corridor automatically opened to both sides, and then automatically closed again after the black shadow passed through.
John stood silently in the empty corridor.
There was nothing around him, only the white walls, the white ceiling, the white floor, and that cup of white milk on the window sill.
He raised his hand to cover his eyes, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling emitting endless white light.
He thought that as long as he was with his younger sister, as long as the two of them were locked up together, it wouldn't count as being lonely.
He didn't want to be lonely, so he betrayed her.
Yet in the end, the one who remained lonely was still him alone.
"F— F— the whole world!"
"Bang!"
"F**** Vought!!"
The ceiling was blown apart by Heat Vision!
This corridor, which had flickered with decades of white light, for the very first time...
Grew dark.
Kansas, Smallville.
Early morning.
Waking up was never a worthwhile, anticipated experience for Arlie.
If possible, he would rather sleep sixteen hours a day like Moge, and allocate the remaining eight hours to eating small dried fish, spacing out, and figuring out how to dupe the chosen children so effortlessly.
"Hiss—"
Today's waking-up experience was exceptionally terrible.
Arlie sighed and walked toward the bathroom.
His ears twitched slightly.
Joanna's bedroom door was tightly shut, and there wasn't much movement over on Clark's side either.
Faint sounds of Martha starting to prepare breakfast drifted up from downstairs.
Today was Monday. The fixed Monday menu was fried eggs, bacon, and toast; if Mom was in a good mood, there would also be a pot of freshly squeezed apple juice.
Arlie pulled the lamp cord.
The light lit up.
Turning on the faucet, Arlie cupped a handful of cold water with both hands and splashed it onto his face.
Exhaling with a refreshing sigh, Arlie shook the water off his hands twice and looked into the mirror with satisfaction.
A handsome blonde young man.
Truly the Golden Lion of Smallville.
The face was still that same face.
One mouth, one nose, two nostrils, two ears, three eyes...
Arlie fell silent.
Right in the dead center of his brow, an eye was staring right at him.
Crimson pupils were slowly rotating.
Three eyes?
Hyperion?!
He ransacked all versions of Hyperion in his memories from his past life.
Main world, Squadron Supreme, multiverse...
In no version's settings had a third eye ever appeared.
Would Hyperion grow a third eye?
The answer was no.
Then only one possibility remained.
Arlie's gaze sank.
To actually use such a despicable method...
Trigon! I despise you!
PS1: It was said that the time setting needed to be changed to make him an adult. Therefore, the eight years that flashed by before now have to be changed to ten years, but it doesn't affect the subsequent reading experience anyway, since there were plans to slowly accelerate the time of two or three events to two or three years later. Skipping it directly now can also reduce some fluff regarding time acceleration plots.
PS2: What does everyone think of the update schedule? One chapter in the morning and one in the evening, or two chapters updated at the same time in the morning or evening. If in the morning, around 12 o'clock; if in the evening, it should be around 8 o'clock.
Chapter 59: Clark: Could I really be Superman?!
Smallville High School.
Philosophy class.
Taught by history teacher Adam Black, who was also Captain Comet.
However, Arlie thought having an elective philosophy class right after lunch...
Nietzsche: God is dead.
Student: Does God suffer from carb crashes too?
The period right after lunch was always like this; everyone was drowsy, and the classroom was dead and lifeless.
Nietzsche taught you to be a Superman bursting with vitality, yet everyone in class collectively dozed off and became Last Men—this was simply the ultimate desecration of Nietzsche's spirit!
Of course...
That didn't stop the future Superman from actually listening attentively.
Honestly...
Ever since Black came to Smallville High School as a substitute teacher for the humanities elective, there had consistently been only two students who could manage not to zone out from start to finish.
Clark Kent, and Arlie Kent, who wanted to see what kind of tricks Comet Superman was going to pull for him and his brother.
"God is dead."
Black casually wrote on the blackboard with a piece of chalk.
He turned around, his eyes sweeping over the crowd.
"Friedrich Nietzsche wrote these words."
Someone in the back row slammed their head onto the desk with a thud.
"The systems that once provided moral standards for human society are failing in the modern world," Black muttered to himself. "God used to tell humanity what was right and what was wrong, giving a lofty explanation for all our suffering."
"But if one day this ceiling is gone, man must discover the meaning of the earth beneath his feet on his own."
His gaze swept over the only two energetic people in the room.
Perhaps they were also the only two he truly wanted to impart knowledge to.
[Writing up to this point, I hope readers note our domain name: Massive collection of good books at 101 Reading Network, 101kks.com awaits your reading]
Arlie lowered his head and pretended to take notes in his notebook, casually adding a crooked crown to the uncle Captain America he had just drawn.
The corners of Black's mouth twitched, so he simply turned around and wrote a German word on the blackboard.
"Superman."
Arlie raised his head.
"Nietzsche believed that man is a bridge."
Black casually said, "He said that man is something that should be surpassed. In an era where God no longer provides ready-made answers for humanity, mankind needs a new ideal image to replace the judge declared dead in heaven."
"Such an existence is the Superman."
"The Superman does not rely on external authority or supernatural power to tell himself what is right and what is wrong. He starts from within himself, establishing a completely new value system. He does not follow old rules; he actively creates new rules."
When Black said this, he glanced at Arlie.
Just a glance, natural in action.
Leaving Arlie speechless as he drew another chibi Darkseid next to Benjamin.
"The Superman is the ocean; he accommodates all filthy rivers flowing backward into him without being tainted himself."
"All the ugliness, suffering, and contradiction in the worldflow into his bosom, yet he remains crystal clear."
"The Superman is lightning."
"He will descend like lightning."
"Descending among the Last Men who are content with mediocrity and refuse to grow, shocking them awake from their slumber."
"Lightning is never meant for destruction; it is only meant to illuminate the world, even if only for a split second."
Several people in the classroom involuntarily nodded.
Evidently, their sleepiness had been driven away by Black's impassioned tone.
"Then the question is, what happens when certain people try to create the Superman...?"
Arlie raised his eyelids.
"Robespierre and his Jacobins believed they were creating a new humanity for France, so within ten months, over sixteen thousand heads were sent into baskets by the guillotine's blade."
"Even Robespierre himself became one of those heads ten months later."
"There are even more examples in the twentieth century; the Third Reich even wanted to cultivate Aryan Supermen, and Red Cotton wanted to establish a new society and new humanity."
"Yet in the end, these experiments often evolved into massacres, into massacres of the old humanity by the new humanity."
"...So should the 'Superman' exist?" Clark raised his hand to ask.
"Before talking about whether the Superman is realistic," Black smiled, "we can look at an old man who was more than two thousand four hundred years earlier than Nietzsche, and his train of thought."
He picked up the chalk and wrote two Chinese characters.
"Wuwei."
Arlie's eyebrows twitched.
"Taoist governance through non-action."
Black read it out in fluent Chinese, "Nietzsche discusses what humanity should surpass and do, while Laozi discusses what rulers should restrain and not do. One goes upward, the other retreats downward."
Clark raised his hand once more.
"Please speak, Clark." Black nodded.
"Mr. Black."
Clark straightened his body. "If a ruler does nothing at all? What about those people waiting for help? If the system itself already has problems, and the people who made the system choose to stand by and watch, doesn't that mean everyone can only fend for themselves?"
Good question.
As expected of Mayor Clark, who could write 'I want to protect everyone' on an exam paper, he was genuinely pondering why God never descended personally to serve the people.
"Wuwei does not mean doing nothing at all, but rather not acting recklessly," Black explained. "A ruler should not forcefully intervene against the objective laws of nature and society. He once made an analogy."
"Governing a large country is like cooking small fish."
"If a small fish is flipped with a spatula every ten seconds, what you end up with is a pot of broken residue."
"True governance is controlling your restless hands and letting the small fish slowly fry until cooked on its own."
"The core is doing the appropriate things, establishing a reasonable system, and then letting the common people develop naturally within it."
"Strike when it's time to strike; when it's not time to strike, the greatest wisdom is restraint."
Clark scratched his head.
"But Nietzsche's Superman is not the kind of person who is content to wait," Black said again. "If faced with a rotting system, what should the Superman's choice be?"
Clark hesitated somewhat.
Arlie could tell that his big dummy of a brother wanted to say that of course he should stand up, but Clark's Super Brain was sharp enough to perceive that some kind of trap was buried in this question, only he hadn't figured out where the trap was yet.
Just as Clark was preparing to speak for the second time...
"But what if the people given the new values and new system refuse to accept them?" A voice came from his left.
Black and Clark shifted their gaze.
The blonde youth leaned against the back of his chair with a lazy expression.
"The Superman creates new values that he believes are correct according to his own beliefs, and then hands them to the whole world." Arlie glanced at Black. "Then should we respect the choice of those being given?"
"Or do we determine that they just haven't understood their own interests yet? As long as we educate them a little more, sooner or later they will gratefully accept it?"
Clark turned his head to look at his younger brother, some confusion in his blue eyes.
"Very good, everyone." However, Black was the first to laugh out loud heartily, "Mr. Arlie has raised a core dilemma."
"When you are convinced that the values in your hands are correct, and the objects you want to give them to do not appreciate it, do you choose to back down or persist?"
"Backing down seems to respect free will, but it may mean letting errors continue to spread, allowing more people to suffer in the wrong system. Persisting seems to be for the greater good, but one careless move and you might slide into the abyss we just talked about..."
"These two questions."
He lifted his textbook and waved it in the air.
"Will be everyone's homework after class today."
An almost imperceptible wail came from the back row.
The big guys on the football team evidently thought that philosophy class actually assigning written homework was a serious violation of Nietzsche!
"Class dismissed."
Arlie shoved his books into his backpack and walked side by side with Clark through the classroom door.
"It's rare for you to ask questions today." Clark turned his head to look. "Do you also think Mr. Black's lectures are very interesting?"
Arlie retorted, "The whole class probably only you likes the history teacher's philosophy class. It's just that this old fogey kept looking at me when talking about Nietzsche; I suspect he lacks basic respect for living people too."
Clark scratched his head.
"I thought I was the only one who noticed," he said, quietly lowering his voice. "Actually, every time Mr. Black talks about the Superman, his eyeballs would drift in your direction."
"Maybe it's because I'm sitting in the spot where the sunlight shines the brightest," Clark offered a well-intentioned explanation.
"Maybe it's because I look a bit more Nietzschean."
Arlie perfunctorily brushed it off.
"What does Nietzsche look like?"
"Big beard, bald, went crazy later on."
Clark earnestly looked Arlie up and down.
As if seriously evaluating whether his younger brother would go crazy.
"There is indeed a little bit," Clark worried, "Arlie, actually sometimes I'm very afraid..."
"Shut up, Clark, I really thank you for your concern." Arlieinterrupted speechlessly.
4
The atmosphere quieted down.
The two walked down the corridor.
Clark suddenly slowed his pace in the sunlight.
"Arlie."
"Hmm?"
"About that fire hydrant last time," Clark asked in a low voice, "what do you think?"
Fire hydrant.
The fire hydrant that rusted to the point of spewing mud and a piece of Kryptonite when the Weil warehouse caught fire, the proposal passed unanimously by the residents under Jonathan, yet whose budget somehow got swallowed up somewhere along the line.
"Are you trying to ask why it broke?" Arlie retorted.
"No."
Clark shook his head, "What I want to ask is, how could a plan voted on by all the residents turn into an iron pipe that only spits mud within four years."
"The vote passed, the money was allocated, the contractor won the bid, and the acceptance report was signed."
"Every step looked fine on paper, but when it was truly needed to pour water and save lives, what it spat out was mud."
Arlie glanced at him.
Reassuring.
Clark, the ace reporter of the Daily Planet, was awakening.
His questioning level was clearly evolving at a considerable speed.
"The answer is not complicated."
Arlie said indifferently, "Someone tampered with the execution phase of the system. Maybe the contractor cut corners and used the cheapest pipes, maybe the inspection phase was just a formality and the person who signed didn't even go to the site to take a look, or maybe the allocated renovation funds were intercepted at some intermediate layer."
"You expect them to repair a qualified fire hydrant for you with pocket change? Unless he's Superman, I can't think of any other way."
"The design of the system itself has no problem, Old Man Jonathan's proposal has no problem, and the voting result has no problem."
"The problem lies with the people executing it."
"No matter how beautifully designed a system is, if the people executing it treat it as a tool for profit, then this system becomes nothing more than a pretty mirror hanging on the wall, reflecting only what the people controlling it want you to see."
Clark listened quietly.
His profile in the sunlight was filled with the youthful air cultivated on the farm, but the other, shadowed side had grown a lot sharper.
"That warehouse almost burned Chloe to death," the Smallville youth said wistfully, "That time it was you who came, Arlie."
"But what about next time?"
"If there is a next time, what do those who unfortunately perish count as?"
In the youth's eyes.
At this moment, they were filled with an emotion Arlierarely saw.
It was sorrow.
"Arlie, ever since the warehouse fire, the amusement park, and the storm last time, if I hadn't gone to save Dad..."
"I clearly had the power, I clearly could have done it, but if I chose to do nothing out of caution, out of not acting rashly, and out of waiting for the system to correct itself..."
"Those people who died while waiting... are they paying the price for our caution? I feel..."
"Perhaps we shouldn't let them continue to bear the cost of our meticulousness."
40
"Sorry, Arlie," Clark said apologetically, "Did I say a lot of things you didn't li—?"
"There are many superheroes in this world, and you, my brother," Arlie patted his shoulder with satisfaction, interrupting his words, "Now, you are Superman."
Clark froze in place.
He wasn't sure if the Superman Arlie spoke of was the philosophical concept from Blake's class or something else.
But when those two words came out of his younger brother's mouth...
He felt his heartbeat accelerate quite a bit.
"What does that mean, Arlie?"
"Literal meaning."
The blond youth waved his hand and began walking toward the stairs.
"Where are you going?" Clark trotted to catch up.
"To find Teacher Desiree to make up on biology."
"And then?"
"Then go buy supplies with Joanna," Arlie replied without looking back, "She made a list over the weekend, and Mom asked us to buy the things needed before the farm's autumn harvest in advance. Do you want to come too? The list is quite comprehensive, including dish soap, livestock feed, and motor oil for the tractor."
66
Just a moment ago he said I was Superman, and now he's making me go buy dish soap and motor oil.
Stopping in his tracks, Clark watched Arlie's figure disappear.
However...
His own younger brother called him Superman.
Clark savored the tactile sensation of those two words falling on his shoulder.
He, a high school student raised in the country, could be reduced to a weakling by a thumb-sized piece of green stone, and his most glorious heroic deed so far was wearing a pumpkin mask and a vest printed with 'no regrets for slaying children' to beat up a slightly sub-par intelligence gorilla at the Metropolis theme park...
This is called Superman?
That's not right.
That's not what Arlie meant.
What Arlie said was...
Clark's Super Brain operated for about a minute, and then let out a...
Quack! Stop spinning already!
"Even a Super Brain has its stupid moments," Clarkmuttered to himself.
"What Super Brain?"
Clark blinked and looked back.
He saw Chloe Sullivan standing behind him, with Pete Ross standing next to her, holding a bulging canvas bag for Chloe.
"When did you guys come over?" Clark asked somewhat guardedly.
"Just now," Chloe said righteously, "You were talking to yourself in the empty corridor for a long time. I wanted to remind you, but Pietro told me to wait."
"It is very impolite to interrupt someone who is engaged in deep thought," Pietro added earnestly, "And when you were talking to yourself, I felt like you were arguing with something in your head."
"Left and right brain sparring?" Chloe touched her chin, "Perhaps this is also worth further development?"
Clark:
"By the way, Clark," Chloe continued, "What are your plans for later?"
"Football practice," Clark answered instinctively.
"Is that so?" Chloe guiltily twirled her hair, "Actually, I wanted to tell you something..."
"The fire hydrant matter from before—the Kansas State Fire Safety Inspection Office knows about it."
"What did you do?" Clark was slightly startled.
"Reported it."
Chloe said apologetically, "Attached with the fire hydrant number, installation date, last maintenance record, and a copy of the contractor's contract."
"...How did you get your hands on these things?" Clark was shocked.
Was this also part of the intelligence network?
"Don't ask," Chloe said without changing her expression.
"She climbed through the window again," Pietro calmly betrayed his partner.
"Chloe."
Clark frowned slightly.
"Sorry... but this occupational disease really can't be changed," Chloe stuck out her tongue, "And after the report letter was sent out, the effect was much greater than I expected."
"The state sent people down to check, and the entire Smallville's fire infrastructure was turned upside down."
"All the fire hydrants have problems."
"It's that serious?" Clark asked in a low voice.
"They are going to borrow the school auditorium this afternoon to hold a media briefing session, considered a response to public questioning."
"Are you... going?"
Chloe asked cautiously.
She was prepared to be rejected and blamed by Clark.
After all, the conflict surrounding journalist-style justice from last time was still stuck between them.
In order to track clues, Chloe rushed into the warehouse despite discouragement and almost lost her life in the fire. Afterwards, although Clark didn't get angry, he strongly disapproved of her and Pietro's actions, giving the two of them the cold shoulder for three or four days.
However...
As a true journalist, the option of backing down never existed in her dictionary.
"Going."
"It doesn't matter if you don't go, I know you have practice," Chloe said with some disappointment, "I'll later..."
"Wait?"
"Did you say go?"
"I'm going," Clark repeated.
Chloe and Pietro looked at each other in dismay.
"Don't you have football practice?"
Pietro confirmed cautiously.
"Chloe, Pietro."
Clark took a deep breath.
"It's time for me to quit the football team."
...?
The level of shock from Clark Kent quitting the football team...
Two lower-classmen who happened to pass by the hallway turned to look, then exchanged a look of big news and walked away quickly.
This matter was practically comparable to Principal Waddington announcing the cancellation of Smallville High School cafeteria's crazy fried chicken on Friday!
This was Clark Kent at the age of eighteen.
The Captain of Smallville High's senior football team, a strong contender for Homecoming King. After leading the Smallville football team through hard-fought battles to win countless crowns over the past three years, as a graduating football team Captain, this kind of existence was practically the executive vice-emperor of Smallville High School besides the principal. Even Principal Waddington would turn a blind eye to his out-of-line behavior given his hard work and great contributions to the football team, yet a man like this...
He actually on the eve of starting to enjoy campus dominance...
Retiring?!
"What did you say?" Chloe asked blankly.
"With the last half year before high school graduation, I plan to quit the football team," Clark said more firmly.
Pietro said cautiously.
"You haven't been possessed by something weird, have you? Could it be..."
"No one is controlling me, Pietro," Clark couldn't help smiling, "I just changed my mind."
"How did you change it?" Chloe pursued, "You were running quite happily on the training field just yesterday."
Clark looked up at the sky outside the window.
Today's clouds were very low.
Rolling and stacking into a vague face.
He seemed to see Uncle Ben in the sky.
"With great power comes great responsibility," Clark said softly.
"What?"
"I just feel that in my life, some things might be even more important than football."
"For example... becoming a journalist?"
Chloe didn't know what kind of calculations Clark's brain had just performed, but her journalistic intuition told her.
No matter what the catalyst was, Clark Kent was finally ready to stand on her side.
She didn't press for the reason.
A good journalist knows when to pursue relentlessly and when to shut up and let silence work for you.
"That's perfect."
Chloe forcefully suppressed the elation in her heart.
"Because I've made another major discovery recently," she pulled a folder out of the canvas bag and opened it, "That accident at the Harvest Festival warehouse last time was definitely not an accident."
"What do you mean?" Clark frowned.
"Plain Safety Engineering."
"This company has problems not just in Smallville."
"They have contracted fire renovation projects in at least seventeen towns in Kansas, seventeen, Clark."
"Last year there were several community fire accidents in Kansas."
"Fire-extinguishing equipment failed many times, but in the end, it was all suppressed..."
"And their fire contractor..."
"Are all Plain Safety Engineering."
Clark remembered what Arlie said in the hallway ten minutes ago.
No matter how beautifully a system is designed, if the people executing it treat it as a tool for profit, then this system becomes a pretty mirror hanging on the wall.
What do the people who died in the flawed system count as?
"Chloe," Clark spoke.
"Hmm?"
"What time does the briefing start?"
"Two-thirty," Chloe said with a smile of finally waiting for reinforcements, the corners of her mouth curling up.
"That means..."
"We should hurry!" Pietro urged from ahead.
"Coming."
Clark started walking.
Superman.
Actually, he didn't fully understand the full meaning when Arlie spoke those two words.
His younger brother often said weird things to tease him.
But...
"You are Superman"
This sentence was the most sincere words Clark had ever heard from his younger brother's mouth.
Chapter 60 Our God is a consuming fire.
Achoo."
"What's wrong with you?"
"It's probably because the sun is so bright today." Arlie bit into a fry, tilted his head to look at the girl walking beside him in the shade, and asked, "What do you plan to wear to the dance the day after tomorrow?"
"Not planning to."
Joanna took a few more steps into the shade.
Ever since Arlie told her last time that sunbathing absorbs ultraviolet rays and makes skin darker, the girl seemed to have become extra mindful of it.
"You promised me before, you know."
Arlie casually brought it up as if by accident.
"And I also told Elaine that you'll be sparkling, and Elainewas very pleasantly surprised when she heard it."
"I'll help you change your canvas shoes to that pair from last time in advance then."
"What?"
"The pair from Metropolis."
Joanna didn't make a sound.
After all, that pair of silver high heels was currently packed in an old shoebox and shoved into the innermost corner of the wardrobe.
An autumn breeze blew a withered parasol tree leaf from the roadside to their feet, and the girl subconsciously kicked it away.
"...Can you not tell Elaine everything?"
She spoke in a low voice.
"I didn't say anything much." Arlie couldn't help laughing.
"What are you laughing at?" Joanna frowned.
"I can't believe you care what Elaine thinks of you." Arlieshrugged. "I remember back then you weren't even willing to remember her name."
Joanna was stunned.
It seemed as if she had only just realized something.
"Shall we go to the grocery store now?" Arlie couldn't help smiling and changed the subject. "To the left is Mrs. Evelyn's territory, and to the right is the town center square."
"Let's go to the grocery store." Joanna recovered her wits. "We haven't bought the butter and tin foil Aunt wants yet."
"Then let's go, Lord Purchasing Officer."
Arlie picked up the snack bag and kept up with her pace.
Sunlight streamed down from overhead, stretching their shadows very, very long, swaying one after another on the old flagstone road of Smallville.
If one were to ignore the fact that the owner of one shadow could melt steel with their eyes, and the owner of the other shadow had an eye from hell hidden on their forehead...
It still looked quite a bit like a pair of normal siblings strolling around in autumn.
Mrs. Evelyn's grocery store remained unchanged for a hundred years.
The dim store interior and crooked shelves.
"You're here?"
Mrs. Evelyn poked her head out from behind the shelves. Today, a plastic sunflower hair clip was pinned to her graying hair, which was even more comical than the butterfly clip from last time.
"Strange, how come it's always the two of you coming? Where's Clark? How long has this brat not been here."
"He's busy training right now," Arlie answered casually.
"Training for what?"
"Training on how to be a better corn cob."
Mrs. Evelyn clutched her stomach and let out a series of seal-like laughs, laughing with a quacking sound, "Arlie, you're so humorous."
"It's just that your humor threshold is too low." Pointing to the girl beside him, Arlie said helplessly, "Look at Joanna, she can't even laugh."
"Sometimes, a person's inner thoughts can't be judged by their expression." Mrs. Evelyn blinked, then quickly resumed her professional attitude. "The butter is in the freezer, and the tin foil is on the fifth aisle."
"By the way, that bag of yeast powder your parents mentioned last time has arrived. Do you want to take it with you?"
"Mn."
Joanna responded briefly, then walked toward the freezer.
Watching the girl's cold back, Mrs. Evelyn couldn't help chuckling.
"This child is still the same."
"She has improved a lot already, Mrs. Evelyn." Arlie said while reaching for the tin foil from the high shelf. "At least she can still communicate with you now."
"That's true."
The old lady beamed happily.
"She's really getting prettier and prettier." Mrs. Evelynsighed sincerely. "The Kent Family's girl looks better than the boys."
Not knowing how to respond to this, Arlie could only smile politely, while seriously suspecting that this old lady was secretly mocking a certain old farmer.
After all, it was well-known in the town that both Arlie and Clark were adopted children of the Kent Family.
"Oh right, what about the homecoming dance the day after tomorrow?"
"Of course."
Arlie acknowledged, "Of course we'll go."
"You and Joanna together?"
"Mn."
"That's wonderful!" Mrs. Evelyn nodded with satisfaction. "I thought that child Joanna wouldn't go. How great it is that you're going! A handsome young man taking a pretty girl to the dance, that's how it should be!"
After paying the bill and carrying the things, they walked out of the grocery store.
"Mrs. Evelyn is such a chatterbox," Joanna commented.
"She's the living fossil of Smallville, and nagging is her superpower." Arlie carried the bag. "And she's telling the truth. The fact that you're going to the dance is indeed worth broadcasting to the whole town."
"Say that again and I won't go."
"Okay, okay, I'll shut up."
Arlie sensibly raised his hands in surrender.
But in his heart, he was calculating how to make the girl willingly wear that pair of silver high heels hidden in the wardrobe without triggering Joanna's hissing.
Forget it.
We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.
There are still three days until the dance.
This matter can be taken slowly, no need to rush.
If he rushed it, this lady would directly use Heat Vision to melt the high heels into a lump of silver, and then his money would really go down the drain...
"Joanna!!"
Arlie was taken aback.
What kind of monster is this? How dare they call Ms. Joanna by her full name directly?
Fortunately, his Super Vision quickly spotted the bouncing twin tails approaching in the distance.
Smallville's only, or perhaps one of the two, Angel.
Elaine Belloc.
Angel Miss's running posture was full of vitality as always.
The twin tails she somehow took an interest in styling today swayed behind her.
Behind her, Mona was holding a folder, her expression as calm and unruffled as the stone statues at the entrance of the Smallville Public Library, just quietly following Elaine.
"You guys are actually over here too! What a coincidence, right? Mona and I just came out of the police station, guess what? Old William actually dared to secretly throw our case report into the trash can!"
"Mn," Joanna responded.
"Just this? Just this reaction?" Elaine gasped heavily for breath, then said indignantly, "I'm reporting for work to you here, our detective agency is already being discriminated against!"
"You could have walked over."
Joanna said expressionlessly, "No one asked you to run."
"What kind of thing to say is that? You are the CEO of our detective agency. When you see the executive officer, of course you have to report at the first time! This is professional literacy!"
"Our detective agency doesn't have an executive officer."
"I appoint you right now!"
Arlie smiled and looked at this scene that probably played out in every corner of Smallville every day.
Come to think of it, it's really strange...
How on earth did Joanna make friends with Elaine?
"Hello, Arlie."
Mona walked over to his side and greeted him softly.
Oh right...
There was also Mona.
"Hi, Mona." Arlie fished out a pack of Mrs. Evelyn's small cookies from the paper bag and handed them over. "Want some?"
"Thank you."
Mona took the cookies, watching Elaine ahead gesticulating and explaining the ins and outs of their investigation report being returned by the police station to Joanna.
"Elaine is very unhappy today," Mona spoke up. "However, Joanna looks pretty happy."
"You can tell that?" Arlie was somewhat surprised.
"Elaine uses long and difficult sentences when she's angry," Mona said calmly. "Joanna quietly listens to Elainekeep talking when she's happy."
Arlie was stunned.
This girl with almost zero presence actually possessed such strong analytical ability.
Could it be that the real detective in this trio of detectives is actually Mona?
"Anyway! Old William is totally just brushing us off!" Elaine finally finished telling the grievances and entanglements between her and the police station, sat down heavily on the edge of the roadside flower bed, pulled a bottle of water out of her shoulder bag, and gulped down two mouthfuls. "Alright, now let's move on to the next topic."
"That's enough of you, Arlie and I are heading back." Joanna frowned, her expression cold.
"Then does Arlie not want me to continue?" Elaine swayed her twin tails, looking pitifully at the smiling blond youth.
"Let her speak, Joanna." Arlie held back a smile. "Otherwise Elaine will just bother you again next time."
"See, Arlie said so." Angel Miss stood up, nudged Joannawith her elbow, and winked. "You surely wouldn't disobey Arlie, right?"
"Hurry up and speak." Sparks flickered in Joanna's eyes.
She was angry.
"Then I'll say it..." Elaine muttered softly, "The barn of the McGrady family on the east side of town caught fire again."
"Again?" Arlie raised an eyebrow.
"This is the fourth time this month." Elaine hurriedly added, "The first time was Mr. Weil's climate security fund warehouse, the one on the night of the Harvest Festival, Clark even rushed in to save people, right? The second time was last week, old Green's woodshed on the north side of town, and whose place burned after that I forgot, anyway, last night the McGrady family's place burned too."
"What did Old William say?" Arlie asked.
"Old William said worn-out wiring." Elaine rolled her eyes. "And fires caused by lightning."
"So you mean someone committed arson?"
Joanna's brows knitted slightly.
"I didn't say arson," Elaine corrected rigorously. "I'm just saying Old William's conclusion doesn't hold water."
"After all, how can there be so many coincidences, and before every fire, someone says they heard thunder."
"But last week you suspected Mrs. Evelyn's cat was an alien spy," Mona reminded quietly. "The week before last, you suspected Smallville had aliens, and the week before that, you even suspected everyone was a fake human."
Elaine fell silent.
"Then let's talk about another matter instead." The girl smiled awkwardly and pulled the topic back on track. "Do you guys know about Mr. Weil's weather map?"
"I know a little." Arlie said casually. "Mr. Zod mentioned it to me last time, saying his predictions are very accurate."
"I've even met him once, he's a scientist with great integrity."
"But his weather map is really accurate." Elaine hesitated for a moment, lowering her voice, "My intuition tells me that Mr. Weil is either one of the greatest meteorologists of our era, or he has some means we don't know about."
"Everything you said is nonsense," Joanna said coldly. "And his weather map has indeed helped many farmers."
"I'm not saying he's a bad person!"
Elaine waved her hands quickly. "It's just that as a detective agency, we have an obligation to remain curious about abnormal phenomena."
Joanna ignored Elaine and instead dropped her gaze onto Arlie.
Ten years of getting along had given her a unique recognition system for Arlie's behavioral patterns.
When the corners of his mouth turned up slightly but his eyes had no smile, it meant he was concealing what he was thinking about.
Just like now.
What could he be thinking about?
"Arlie?"
"Quite interesting." Arlie snapped out of it, smiled, and looked at Elaine. "However, Mr. Weil runs a climate security business, and accurate predictions are his foundation. As you said, maybe his technology is just good."
"You're lying," Joanna suddenly spoke up.
Elaine and Mona looked at Arlie at the same time.
Arlie's eyelid twitched.
Well, Joanna hit the nail on the head.
Actually, after listening to the amateur detective's analysis, he was somewhat listlessly pondering which direction the bright future of the Kent Family's cubs was headed.
Clark might become an unreliable reporter in the future, then...
Could Joanna become a great detective in the future?
"Arlie, you must be thinking of something bad," Joannasaid with a frown.
"I..."
Arlie was organizing his words.
But "You even know what he's thinking?" Elaine's eyeballs rolled, and a meaningful smile slowly surfaced at the corner of her mouth.
Great Detective Elaine found a blind spot.
"What he thinks has nothing to do with me," Joannasnorted coldly.
"I didn't say it had anything to do with you," Elaine cackled and laughed. "Clearly you jumped out to explain yourself."
Mona quietly put the cookies back into her pocket and took a step back.
To prevent herself from being accidentally injured when Elaine gets beaten up later, fortunately...
"Let's go."
Joanna turned and left.
"Joanna, where are you going!" Elaine shouted from behind. "We haven't finished discussing the detective agency's activities yet! Remember to come to Mona's family's warehouse tonight, you haven't participated in detective activities for a long time."
"I'm going home."
"But..."
"No buts."
The blond girl's back walked further and further away in the afternoon sunlight.
Arlie blinked, and he turned to look at Mona.
"What is her mood right now?"
"A little shy, a little happy?" The girl said uncertainly.
Mona, as expected, you are the real great detective.
Smallville.
The highest white tower.
Built in 1972, it once belonged to a node of the U.S. National Weather Service in Kansas.
It was shut down in the late 1980s due to budget cuts, and afterwards passed through several different private hands, finally falling into the hands of August Weil, a meteorologist who aspired to benefit humanity and stand on equal footing with Einstein.
After acquiring its new Master, the display equipment in this room took on a completely new look, completely different from how old and dilapidated it looked from the outside.
Anemometer? Barometer?
None of them.
These old equipments had long been dismantled and taken away.
Replaced instead by an entire wall of screens.
Countless pieces of data densely bounced across them.
And their source was...
Mr. Weil, sitting in the control room on the top floor of the white tower.
His brain.
The middle-aged man sat on the swivel chair in front of the screen, his hands trembling as they rested on his knees, and on his head was a helmet plugged with countless tubes.
The data streams on the screen fluctuated with his trembling, as if he were using his last bit of strength to maintain their growth.
He was seeing.
The meteor shower had given him this pair of eyes.
Perception of atmospheric conditions.
These perceptions were initially chaos, maddening noise.
He spent ten years learning how to turn noise into data, and another three years learning how to turn data into a weather map, and now he was undergoing how to give this perception to...
"Mr. Weil."
"When on earth will your weather model be ready?" A woman's cold voice came from behind him. "Madam doesn't give us much time left."
Weil's lips quivered slightly.
"You can't do this."
"Then you better think it through, Mr. Lex Luthor's little life is in your hands."
Weil closed his eyes.
To this day, he could not forget those emerald-green eyes.
Back then when he was begging for investment with no way out, it was that man... no, at that time, he was still a boy, it was that boy named Lex who brought in the first investment for him.
He said: Since you want to benefit humanity, LexCorp is more than happy to support you.
"Let Lex go," Weil trembled. "I beg you."
The woman crossed her arms over her chest and snorted coldly.
She was around thirty-something, her facial features appeared angular in the shadow, her dark brown short hair was neatly tucked behind her ears, and she wore a black narrow-collared coat with the neckline tied very tightly.
"Then cooperate with us properly."
"Haven't you always been doing very well?"
The woman smiled.
Electric arcs flickered between her palms, making a sizzling, cracking sound.
"What we are doing is the same, and what we are doing is also very good."
"Allowing humanity to enter a new world, allowing the new humanity to be born."
"What's wrong with this?"
The electric light spread across her entire right arm, finally converging in her palm and condensing into a ball lightning.
"August Weil, you should know."
"Our God is a consuming fire, He is like lightning, and He shall return."
"And if we are the new people, He certainly will not fail to distinguish right from wrong, destroying the new and the old people together."