Kansas.
Smallville.
The autumn breeze was crisp, the sunlight warm.
Golden light washed over every corner of the little town, adding an extra touch of warmth to this joyous harvest celebration.
The annual and grandest Harvest Festival had officially begun!
The main street of the town had already been decorated from top to bottom.
Both sides of the road were lined with wreaths woven from corn, pumpkins, sunflowers, and colorful ribbons.
The air carried a delightful mix of roasted peppers, caramel apples, and the earthy smell of fresh hay.
In the center square, a temporary stage had been set up where a small local country band was enthusiastically playing cheerful tunes, earning bursts of applause and cheers.
Young men and women in traditional outfits twirled into square dance—skirts fluttering, laughter crisp and lively.
"This (chew chew)… is (chew chew)… pretty (chew chew)… good."
While the crowd celebrated in full swing—
A figure leaned casually against a lamppost at the edge of the square, nibbling on a glossy bright red candied hawthorn stick.
"Who invented this thing?" she murmured between bites.
Finishing the second-to-last sugar-coated berry, the woman—dressed in an elegant black magician's tuxedo with a deep-purple velvet cloak—licked a bit of syrup from the corner of her lips.
"Maybe next time I should hand these out to the kids during the magic show."
A magic show?
Yes.
She was a magician.
Zatanna Zatara.
After completing a long tour across America, visiting city after city and finally wrapping everything up in Metropolis yesterday, she decided to take a bus to Smallville—a quiet, peaceful little town she hadn't visited in years.
Once here, she simply wanted to take a look around.
Her gaze drifted past the hot-air balloons carrying massive promotional banners—
"LuthorTech — Building a Better Future"
"LuthorTech — A New Era of Energy"
Zatanna clicked her tongue.
Corporate tentacles… everywhere. She'd thought Metropolis had already reached the peak of tech-ad saturation, yet even this tranquil small town hadn't escaped the shadow of the Luthor Group.
She couldn't help wondering—
How was the Kent family doing now?
That farmer with the strange power… and the kid wrapped in that shocking magical aura…
Right as she drifted off in thought, she took a few steps forward—only to be startled by a booming, excited voice from the stage:
"Ladies and gentlemen! Up next—it's time for the most anticipated part of this year's Pumpkin Championship Grand Finals!"
"And now, let us welcome—representing our pride of Smallville, from the Kent Farm—"
"—Mr. Locke Kent! And his brother—Jonathan Kent!"
Zatanna's teeth had just sunk into another hawthorn berry when she froze solid, nearly dropping the entire candy stick.
What… the odds?!
No—actually, not that strange.
After all, Mr. Locke's public identity was just a normal farmer. Joining an agricultural festival wasn't unusual at all.
Curiosity fully triggered, Zatanna polished off the remaining berries in three quick bites, flicked the wooden skewer with a graceful twist of her wrist—sending it in a perfect arc straight into a distant trash can—
Then slipped through the crowd with stylish agility until she reached the front row.
And there he was.
The same familiar figure.
Five years had passed, and time barely left a mark. He was still tall, still sharp-eyed.
Except—
Right now, his expression wasn't that relaxed, easygoing composure she remembered.
Instead he looked dead serious. Tense, even.
As if he were about to face something of utmost importance.
Zatanna subconsciously straightened up as well.
Back then, when facing those hounds, Locke hadn't looked this serious!
So… what big thing was happening?
Her eyes followed Locke's line of sight—
A pumpkin.
She blinked.
And then it hit her.
Right. This was the finals of the Pumpkin Championship.
"Mr. Locke Kent!"
The host, swept away by the atmosphere, shouted even louder:
"Mr. Locke, Mr. Jonathan — please present the final trump card you've prepared to determine the winner!"
"…"
Locke's mouth twitched slightly.
How much did Lex pay you… to hype up a pumpkin competition like it's life and death?
He cleared his throat, collected himself in seconds, then spun toward Jonathan with alarming seriousness.
"Jonathan!"
The older farmer jolted. "What is it, Locke?"
"It's time."
Locke's gaze turned razor sharp, strange lines gathering on his face like he was about to trigger some ancestral battle technique.
"We'll use… that."
"WHAT?!"
Jonathan looked like he'd just been told to sacrifice the family cow to Satan.
His expression exploded with shock and disbelief—so dramatic that half the audience held their breath.
"Oh dear Lord… Locke—are you really going to use THAT here?!"
"This is just a darn pumpkin contest! Do you really have to go that far?! That's our family heirloom!"
"It's fine, Jonathan."
Locke inhaled deeply, his voice not loud but heavy with stubborn conviction—booming across the now-silent square:
"No matter how big or small the competition is— we give it everything we've got. That's the Kent family creed. And we never slack."
"And besides—we're doing this for the charity fund for the town!"
That line alone fired up murmurs of admiration across the audience.
So the warm, generous Kent family had such deep family tradition?
What noble spirit!
But on the opposite side of the stage—
A mocking laugh blasted out like a cannon.
"Hahahahahaha! Ridiculous!"
An elderly man in an expensive suit stood proudly behind a massive ornately carved pumpkin statue.
"Give it up, Locke! Stop the theatrics!"
He tapped the art-sculpted pumpkin like it was some priceless artifact.
"Look at this—this 'Goddess of Harvest' carved by a master sculptor! And look at yours! The winner this year will DEFINITELY be me—Anthony! Hahahahaha!"
Zatanna nearly burst out laughing.
All this over a pumpkin contest… Why did everyone look like they were reenacting Hamlet?
Then she overheard some amused whispers beside her:
"That Anthony guy has lost six years in a row."
An old man in bifocals clicked his tongue in delight.
"The first five years he lost to Martha's apple pie and Jonathan's carpentry. This year he thought the Kent family wouldn't have anything new so he blew big money on a carved pumpkin—and ended up running into the supposedly 'ordinary' Locke."
"Poor guy's cooked."
"And to be fair," a woman with a child added, "this is a charity pumpkin championship. The winner decides how the $30,000 charity fund is used."
"The Kents want to use the money to fix the town's badly damaged main road. But Anthony wants it to repave the private road connecting to his villa."
"So this isn't just a contest—this is a war over roads."
Zatanna sighed.
No wonder Anthony looked like a gambler about to bet his soul.
But—
What exactly was Locke going to reveal?
Just when the excitement peaked…
Everyone froze.
Even the host's voice stuttered out of pure shock:
"Is… is that… a crane?! Jonathan Kent, what—what are you doing?!"
Yes.
Jonathan was driving a small mobile crane onto the competition grounds.
The crane lowered its hook and latched onto something massive covered by a huge black tarp.
Moments later—
The tarp dropped.
Revealing—
A golden-orange pumpkin the size of a small car.
The entire square detonated.
"OH MY GOD!!!"
"What kind of pumpkin is that?! That's not a pumpkin—that's a monster pumpkin!"
"That thing is so big—my inner farm soul is RUMBLING!!"
"That's the power of the legendary Kent family! Fearsome! Worthy of the Farm Kings of Smallville!"
On the other side of the stage—
Anthony's finger trembled as he pointed, pale as paper.
"L-L-Locke?! Where did you get that thing?!"
Locke folded his arms, wearing the smug grin of a man who already knew this moment would happen.
He even mimicked some mysterious dramatic accent:
"Anthony, your next line will be—'Locke, you cheated! You definitely used hormones!'"
And just like that—
Anthony roared on reflex:
"LOCKE, YOU CHEATED! YOU DEFINITELY USED HORMONES!!"
Then froze—realizing he'd been perfectly predicted.
His soul collapsed.
"So many years—and you just—won't let me win ONCE…?"
"Let you win?"
Jonathan jumped down from the crane and scoffed.
"You're a grain broker! The only one who benefits if you win is YOU and your precious private road! You don't care whether the town's main road is falling apart!"
"And—!"
He raised his voice:
"And who told you we used hormones?! We're the Kent family! We don't use that garbage!"
Then he looked toward the audience, proud:
"So we prepared proof! Lex—show him!"
"Lex?"
A murmur ran through the crowd.
Then a sharply dressed young man walked forward under the sun, holding a document…
Lex Luthor.
Yes—that Luthor.
The one who shut down the hazardous chemical plant.
The one who gave severance bonuses to laid-off workers.
The one the whole town had been praising lately.
Lex handed the report to the stunned host.
"This is the lab analysis of the Kent pumpkin. Conducted by LuthorTech's certified independent testing center."
"No hormones. No additives. Fully organic."
"The pumpkin's extraordinary size can only be attributed to the Kents' unmatched farming technique and—"
"A touch of Kansas miracle."
Anthony turned ghost-white → paper-white → chalk-white → transparent.
Locke, you bastard…
You and Lex have clearly been in cahoots from the start…
Smallville's sky… has gone dark. Completely blocked by the Kent family…
Another year of losing.
Another year of his private road going unfixed.
Lex raised the report again to offer transparency—
But the crowd cut him off with thunderous cheering:
"No need to explain, Mr. Luthor!"
"We know what kind of man you are—and what kind of men the Kents are!"
"We trust you! We trust the Kent family!"
Shouting erupted:
"You crooked broker! You shorted me a hundred bucks last corn season!"
"He charged me a 'service fee' on wheat! Highway robbery!"
"Support Mr. Locke! The Kents deserve the win!"
Anthony shrank to the size of a pebble.
Lex kept smiling politely—clearly expecting this public approval.
Beside him, the host jolted back to life and returned to his script before he passed out from panic.
"A-ahem! Since everyone agrees on the pumpkin's authenticity—let us welcome the three official judges of this year's competition!"
"First, arriving a little late from sunny Florida—"
"Smallville's old friend, agricultural appraisal expert—Old Bob!"
Huge cheers.
A tanned old man in a Hawaiian shirt walked up, looking like he'd been living on the beach for months.
"Second! Our very own town shepherd—Mr. Henry Sullivan!"
More cheers.
Henry waved kindly at everyone.
"And lastly—"
The host hesitated.
"Director Chris… from the Smallville Internal Revenue Office."
Dead silence.
Every resident stared with judgmental eyes as the tax director walked awkwardly onstage in a flawless suit.
Damn lottery draw… Why did it have to pick the IRS this year?!
But he forced on a big fake smile.
Because there was no reality worse than:
→ offending the Kent family
→ offending Lex Luthor
→ and losing his job
So, in full view of the entire town—
The notoriously greedy and despicable IRS director sprinted straight to the giant pumpkin.
And delivered a world-class performance:
"A MIRACLE! A true MIRACLE in agricultural history!"
"The color! The scale! The fullness! This belongs in the Guinness World Records! No doubt—the largest and most PERFECT pumpkin in the world!"
"Mr. Locke Kent is not only the pride of Smallville—he is the role model of Kansas—no—of ALL American farmers!"
"This perfectly demonstrates the tremendous agricultural potential created under our brilliant tax policy—"
Locke blushed so hard he wished the pumpkin would swallow him whole.
This man…
No wonder he climbed his way to a director's position in only five years.
His boot-licking talents were truly S-tier.
And—
Locke noticed old Bob and old Henry smiling and nodding approvingly.
He exchanged a suspicious glance with Jonathan.
Translation of that look:
Did you and Lex rig the judges too?!
"Did NOT."
Jonathan whispered back, equally baffled.
"The judges are drawn randomly every year from three professions. The fact we got THESE three this year is just—crazy luck…"
"…"
Old Bob leaned in with a deadpan face:
"You suspect me of corruption?"
"If I were that kind of man, why would I have rescued you from Gotham all those years—"
Locke instantly choked in panic.
"Cough—cough—COUGH COUGH COUGH!"
Bob nearly let slip a huge secret.
Henry quickly stepped in to smooth things over.
"Alright now, Bob. Since everyone's so passionate this year, for absolute fairness—"
"How about we let the whole—"