"…"
Metropolis—currently flipped upside down by the reversed Big Dipper Formation—cut off all communication on their end.
Salaphiel looked a little deflated.
Meanwhile, Clark and Lana were talking more and more animatedly, laughing nonstop.
They were completely immersed in their own little world.
Even someone as usually obedient and well-behaved as Salaphiel couldn't help puffing up his cheeks a little while being left hanging on the side, his small face full of quiet, neglected grievance.
But the next second, he suddenly felt his body lift—his view instantly rising—
A warm, steady hand picked him up and set him securely onto a broad, solid shoulder.
It was Clark.
"Hey, little guy."
Clark's amused voice floated up from below. He tilted his head, looking at the boy perched on his shoulder.
"You're the one who called us out here, and now you're sulking? What's that supposed to mean?"
Being suddenly lifted startled Salaphiel at first. He instinctively grabbed Clark's head to steady himself.
But hearing his brother's question, he sheepishly mumbled:
"I wasn't sulking… I just didn't want to interrupt you two."
"…"
Walking beside them, Lana heard that line.
She lowered her head a bit, pretending to look at the stalls on the roadside, but the faint upward curve on her lips completely betrayed her mood.
Clark, helpless at his little brother's reply, gently patted the boy's leg.
"You sneaky little rascal. So tell me—why did you call me out here? It can't be just so I can act as your bodyguard and chauffeur, right?"
"…"
Salaphiel froze.
He glanced at Lana—who was clearly paying attention but trying her best to pretend otherwise—and suddenly felt that Dio was sometimes very right:
Clark, in some areas, was an absolute idiot.
If I don't bring you along, how am I supposed to know which stones work for you?!
He sighed internally.
But when he raised his head, his face was the picture of innocence. His big clear eyes blinked as he delivered the excuse he had prepared long ago:
"To help me pay."
"?"
Clark stopped walking. A question mark practically popped up over his head. He almost thought he misheard.
"Salaphiel, you…"
He looked incredulous.
"Did you run out of allowance again? You need me to pay for something small like this?"
"Two weeks from now!"
Salaphiel instantly raised his voice and held up two fingers, looking very serious.
"That's Dad's birthday! He's turning forty—it's a big one! I want to get something special."
His voice quieted, a little embarrassed, but his eyes were clear and earnest as he looked straight at Clark.
"Brother, help me out. Just for Dad, okay?"
That look—so full of affection and expectation—hit Clark right in the chest.
His heart melted on the spot. His nose almost stung.
"Salaphiel…"
His voice softened noticeably. He lifted a hand to ruffle his brother's hair, but he could only reach his knee from this angle.
"No surprise there. You're always so thoughtful, I—"
But halfway through the sentence, he suddenly paused, a flicker of awkwardness crossing his face.
"You…"
Catching that tiny slip instantly, Salaphiel raised a brow.
"Don't tell me… you completely forgot to prepare a birthday gift for Dad?"
"Cough!"
Clark coughed sharply and forced an awkward smile.
"W-why would I forget?!"
"O-of course I've got something prepared!"
"But…" He recovered quickly, doubling his enthusiasm to cover up the hesitation. "Since this is your idea, let me pay! We brothers will pick out the best thing for Uncle together!"
Salaphiel shot him a look, about ready to expose him—
But Lana gently cut in.
Her voice was soft, her head tilted slightly, the long chestnut braid sliding off her shoulder.
"Two weeks… is that Mr. Locke's birthday?"
"Yeah." Clark nodded. He answered naturally, even turning to Lana as if the invitation came out of pure instinct.
"Do you want to come? It's usually pretty quiet… would be nice to have more people around."
He said it tactfully, but the meaning was obvious:
My uncle… doesn't really have friends.
Lana didn't know the context, though, so the sudden, almost family-level invitation made her cheeks flush a deeper pink and her heartbeat pick up.
She lowered her head, fingers twisting her chestnut curls, not sure what to say.
"?"
Seeing Lana silently blushing, Clark frowned with concern.
"Lana, are you not feeling well? Your face is pretty red."
"No—no!" Lana shook her head immediately, flustered.
Then she abruptly pointed forward, speaking faster:
"I—it's right there! That old gentleman's booth! He sells little trinkets and stones—very delicate stuff."
"There are lots of types, let's go take a look!"
She practically jogged toward the stall, moving like a startled fawn.
Watching her, Clark still looked puzzled, but followed while steadying Salaphiel on his shoulder.
From up high, Salaphiel stared at the two awkward, clueless teens beneath him.
He sighed and shook his head.
His big brother's brain was impossible to understand sometimes.
—
The three approached the cramped little antique stall.
The table was crowded with a mishmash of old objects.
Behind it sat an elderly man in round reading glasses, eyes narrowed to thin lines.
He was lounging on a small folding stool.
Seeing Lana, his face lit up with a familiar, kind smile.
"Back again, young lady? Looking for treasures this year?"
Lana smiled warmly, stepping aside so Clark and Salaphiel could see. Her chestnut hair glowed softly in the sun.
"Clark, Salaphiel—this is Mr. Zhou. The green bracelet I wore last year? I bought it from him."
"Zhou?"
Clark tried to mimic her pronunciation, but it came out stiff and awkward.
Perched on his shoulder, Salaphiel blinked and repeated clearly:
"Zhou?"
The pronunciation was oddly perfect.
But both brothers found the name unfamiliar.
"He's…"
Lana started to explain—
But the old man chuckled and smoothly switched to English.
"That's my family name."
He pushed his glasses up, his gaze drifting casually to Clark—then slowly lowering.
And then it landed on Salaphiel, who Clark had just set down on the ground.
A flicker of surprise crossed his aged face.
Followed by a meaningful little smile.
"Young man," he said to Salaphiel, "your pronunciation… has flavor."
"Maybe you're naturally suited for learning Chinese. First try and you're that accurate—not bad at all."
"Chinese? Mr. Zhou, are you…" Clark asked curiously.
"Yes."
The elderly man introduced himself calmly.
"My name is Zhou. I'm from the Far East. I run a small antique shop in Metropolis."
"Every now and then, I come to Smallville to set up a stall. Earn a little pocket money, enjoy a different view."
"Ohhh—"
Clark and Salaphiel nodded in unison, eyes sparkling with curiosity about the "Far East."
Then, perfectly synchronized, they asked with shining expectation:
"So does that mean you cook really well?!"
"…"
Mr. Zhou's smile froze.
Then collapsed into helpless exasperation.
"You silly Americans. Stereotypes!"
He muttered something in Chinese, then switched back to English.
"Buy whatever you want. Look around."
"Three dollars each, ten dollars for three."
The pricing felt… suspicious.
But Clark didn't think too hard about it. He just nodded and tapped Salaphiel's shoulder.
"See anything Dad might like?"
"…"
Salaphiel didn't answer right away.
He first glanced at Clark—who was wandering around the stall like an excited oversized kid, poking and examining everything with genuine curiosity.
Since his brother didn't react at all…
Then Lana's bracelet last year really was just an accident.
He let out a sigh of relief—but mixed with faint disappointment.
He had mentally prepared himself…
If he spotted any of those green stones, he was ready to secretly have the Dragon Souls snatch them into the internal space.
But now, nothing.
How was he supposed to show off to Dad later?!
He shrugged in resignation and began pretending to search the display seriously.
He shook a copper bell, squinted at a painted little pot, touched this and that.
After a while, he lifted his head and used the perfect amount of regret in his tone:
"Hm… doesn't look like what I want is here…"
Lana immediately felt guilty.
She thought she gave the kid the wrong lead and let him down.
"Mr. Zhou." She offered an apologetic smile. "The green stone bracelet I bought last year… you really don't have anything similar? Even in other colors?"
"That stone…"
Mr. Zhou stroked his white beard and slowly shook his head.
"Not common, young lady."
He seemed to reminisce, eyes drifting off.
"I found it years back, near the farmland outside town."
"Just a tiny piece—bright green, very pretty. I brought it back and polished it three days and nights before turning it into that bracelet."
"Never found another. Someone must've collected them already."
OF COURSE.
We have a whole box of them at home.
Salaphiel grumbled internally—but outwardly, he stayed in character and looked disappointed.
However…
Something flickered in the old man's eyes at the kid's reaction.
A cunning glint.
"That stone is gone."
"But that doesn't mean there's a problem."
He dragged out the suspense deliberately.
Then—like performing a magic trick—he tugged a worn wooden box from behind him.
"I've still got other things."
With a twist of his wrist, he flipped it—
CLATTER!
A cascade of colorful gems and trinkets spilled out, glittering all over the table.
Under the sun, the light dazzled.
Red like fire, pink like dawn, black like night, orange warm as sunset, gold like—
Well, a chunk of gold.
Every color imaginable burst forth. The trio was instantly mesmerized.
"Brother…"
Even Metropolis muttered quietly in Salaphiel's mind:
"We should… rob the old man, right?"
"So many stones… shiny…"
"…"
Salaphiel ignored him, scanning quickly through the items.
Bracelets, necklaces, rings, earrings…
All different materials and workmanship.
But nothing he truly wanted.
No trace of the stone Dad warned them about.
He wasn't interested—but his big brother definitely was.
Clark crouched down, picking up a ring with a red stone, turning it toward the sun.
"Sir… these…"
"Really ten dollars for any three?"
Clark looked genuinely doubtful. It was insanely cheap.
"I don't deceive elders or children," Mr. Zhou said seriously.
"Ohhh—!"
Clark nodded with admiration.
Honestly…
This guy talked exactly like Uncle Locke.
Ancient sayings, wise tone…
This must be some shared trait among wise old men.
Someone like this couldn't possibly be cheating him!
"Then I'll take these three!"
Clark grabbed three rings—red, pink, and black.
He reached into his pocket—
And froze.
Oh no.
Where's my wallet?!
Cold dread hit him.
He suddenly remembered—
He left it in yesterday's jeans when he changed clothes this morning.
His pockets now held only a handful of sad coins.
"Salaphiel, I…"
Embarrassment washed over Clark instantly.
He turned toward his brother helplessly—
But before he could finish, Lana—who had been watching closely—covered her mouth in a soft laugh.
She opened her woven handbag gracefully, took out a few bills, and said gently:
"Clark, let me pay this time."
"That's not right—" Clark instinctively refused.
"It's fine." She handed nine dollars to the unimpressed Mr. Zhou, then looked back at Clark with a playful smile.
"You saved me at the river that day, remember? I still haven't properly thanked you."
"Think of this as… paying back a little of that debt."
She winked. "Next time, I'll treat you to a real meal to repay the rest."
"…"
With Lana's warm gaze on him and his pockets painfully empty, Clark had no way to refuse.
His face heated up as he sighed and accepted the kindness.
"…Thanks, Lana."