Steam from the hot shower was still condensing on the bathroom mirror, trickling slowly down the glass.
After bathing the two boys, Locke walked into the bedroom toweling his damp hair. He tossed the towel onto the back of a chair, then lay down on the bed, the mattress creaking softly beneath him. His left hand absentmindedly rubbed the little blue beetle on his chest.
Outside the window, the full moon hung above the wheat fields. Its cold light streamed through the curtains, casting mottled shadows on the floor.
It was the only thing Giorno had left behind.
The chill of the metal brought back memories of tonight's strange battle, of that man who called himself Wolverine, claiming to come from another world.
"Mutants…"
Locke whispered the word.
At least Logan's appearance confirmed one thing—
The urban legends about mutants in this world weren't just rumors.
What Locke hadn't expected was that these X-gene carriers were actually uninvited guests, tossed here from other worlds.
"Does this count as tearing through the dimensional barrier?"
His gaze lingered on a crack in the ceiling, thoughts rippling like the wheat swaying outside.
Logan hadn't spelled it out, but anyone could guess.
Once you ruled out that chatterbox who spent all day in a red bodysuit, the only one who could have such power was…
A god?
Locke turned over, the bedsprings groaning in protest.
Giorno's fragmented words echoed again in his mind.
Professor Charles.
The Anti-Injustice Social Republican Party.
Clearly—
Professor X had also been dragged into this cross-world farce, even becoming the spiritual leader of a resistance movement in the future.
But what unsettled Locke most was the contradiction in the timeline.
He had been certain Giorno came from a parallel universe—after all, the system had promised it would deliver him multiple children to raise.
But that Kryptonite monster tonight…
Locke drew a deep breath, his fingers unconsciously clutching the sheets.
The timing and location of that metal killing machine's appearance were far too precise.
If he hadn't discovered it in time, in the normal course of events—as he knew the Kent couple—
Martha's blueberry pie would have just come out of the oven, still steaming.
She would've wrapped the iron pan in that sunflower-embroidered napkin. Jonathan, grumbling about "late-night sweets," would've happily started up the tractor.
And then, at some bend in the road—
A giant metallic shadow would've loomed under the moonlight.
Martha's scream swallowed by the rain. Jonathan throwing himself in vain in front of his wife.
Until Wolverine finally arrived too late, ending it all.
"Damn it!"
Locke shot upright, sweat soaking the curls at his forehead.
The projection had felt too real, as if he'd witnessed it himself.
Now he finally understood what Giorno had meant by 'a grandmother Martha he'd never met'.
In that original timeline—
the Kents really had died tonight.
And if something had happened to them—
then Dio and Clark…
He remembered what the system had said eight years ago:
[Ding~]
[Adoption successful.]
[Current adopted character: Dio Brando]
[Please assist in his physical, mental, intellectual, and moral growth, and help him forge a great destiny.]
If Dio had grown twisted—what would he have become?
Would that still count as the "healthy growth" his cheat system had demanded?
Could that be why the system crashed?
The night wind picked up suddenly, rattling the windowpanes.
Locke's fingers touched the beetle pendant again. Its cold, lifeless metal calmed him down.
No matter what, history had already changed.
That unknown being Giorno spoke of had failed.
Martha's blueberry pie was still safe in the kitchen.
Jonathan would still grumble about his back in the morning.
From the next room came Dio and Clark's hushed bickering—snippets of "ice cream flavors" and "how to trick Aunt Martha into buying us a game console" floated through the wall.
"Huuuh~"
Locke let out a breath.
This kind of ordinary noise was enough to ease his taut nerves a little.
...
Next door, in the bedroom.
Dio sat cross-legged on his bed, golden hair glimmering faintly in the moonlight.
Arms folded arrogantly, his red eyes locked onto Clark, who was lying across from him:
"Hey, Clark, you didn't do anything tonight. Tomorrow you're doing my share of the chores too, got it?"
"Mm."
Clark rubbed his still-dizzy head. His blue eyes shone especially bright in the dark.
"Okay."
The simple answer made Dio choke.
Was this really Clark?
He narrowed his eyes, tacking on another demand:
"And tomorrow, Aunt Martha's pancakes—your share goes to me."
"No problem," Clark said with a smile.
Dio's eyebrow twitched.
He threw off the blanket and jumped down, his bare feet thudding against the wooden floor:
"Then from now on, I get to read all your comic books first! If I don't wanna go to class, you're sneaking off to excuse me! And—"
"Anything's fine, Dio."
Clark's voice was soft, but it froze Dio where he stood.
Moonlight filtered through the curtains, catching on the Kryptonian boy's slightly reddened eyes.
"F—"
Dio raked his hair violently.
"Clark! Are you my servant or something?!"
The room went quiet for a few seconds.
In the moonlight, Clark's face showed he was genuinely thinking it over. He hesitated before answering:
"...It wouldn't be impossible?"
"Hey—"
Dio almost laughed in disbelief. Gritting his teeth, he lunged onto Clark's bed, seizing his collar:
"Listen! I'm not dying anymore! I'm still alive! You don't have to keep clinging to what that future guy said—"
His voice caught suddenly.
In the moonlight, he saw Clark pressing his lips together, his gaze full of reluctance.
"..."
Dio let go, plopping down heavily on the bed.
The night wind lifted the curtains. The whisper of wheat fields drifted in.
Clark quietly wiped his eyes, then murmured:
"Dio… do you remember last winter…?"
"Shut up."
Dio cut him off harshly.
"If you dare bring up me falling in that frozen pond again, I'll tell every kid in town where your secret base is."
That was terrifying!
The thought of his base being destroyed made Clark clap his hands over his mouth, muffling the sound of his sniffles.
Moonlight spilled through the curtains, scattering across his trembling eyelashes.
He hesitated a long, long time—long enough that Dio thought the subject had been dropped—before finally speaking again:
"Dio, do you know what I thought back then?"
His voice was so quiet it seemed afraid to disturb the night.
"The teacher said we had to be careful around ponds outside… said people could drown." Clark slowly lowered his hand.
"I didn't really understand why people drown… but maybe I know what death means."
"Dio, that squirrel we saw in the spring…"
"Do you remember?"
"At the time…"
Clark's voice trembled.
"We built it such a warm little nest, and filled it with so many nuts—"
Staring at the trembling shaft of moonlight on the floor, Dio remembered that snowy morning.
The squirrel had frozen to death, and Clark had knelt in the snow crying for a whole hour.
"Idiot." Dio's voice unconsciously softened.
"I'm not a squirrel."