"Yes, Jonathan, I understand. I've already called the police and the fire department. Adrian is sitting right next to me. Alright, talk to you later."
In the stands, Martha Kent ended the call and turned to Adrian, who sat quietly beside her. "Your father and Clark took Chloe to the hospital. Thankfully, she's going to be fine."
Adrian gave a short nod, his gaze fixed on the football game unfolding below.
After Coach Watt was consumed by Adrian's Heat Vision earlier, the wild flames turned back on their creator. Within moments, the man was reduced to ash. Kryptonite might have strengthened his body, but it wasn't enough to withstand fire.
"Push through! Push through!"
The assistant coach barked from the sidelines as the Ravens' quarterback tore forward like a runaway tank, smashing through defenders before diving into the end zone for a touchdown.
The referee's whistle blared.
The game was over.
The Ravens had defeated the Mustangs, 53 to 41.
"Although the Ravens won, Coach Watt won't ever see it," Martha said softly, watching the players cheer in triumph. Jonathan had already explained to her what Watt had tried to do. She was furious at the man's actions, but seeing the team celebrating so joyfully filled her with conflicting emotions.
"His 200th win," Adrian remarked flatly. "The man who tried the hardest to taste victory is the only one who couldn't witness it. That's irony for you."
---
Kent Farm – Dinner Time
Jonathan Kent sat at the table, staring down at his plate of spaghetti. After a few bites, he pushed it away with a frown.
"I don't understand why people call spaghetti 'empty calories,'" Jonathan muttered. "Just look at this plate—sauce, carrots, onions, parsley, ground beef, cheese, tomatoes. How can anyone say it's basically nothing?"
Martha chuckled. "Jonathan, you're not Italian. I'm not sure your opinion on pasta holds much weight."
"Hmm," Jonathan countered, raising a brow. "So a non-Brit can't critique fish and chips? A non-Greek can't critique gyros? You've made an unfair distinction between food and the people who enjoy it."
While Jonathan debated spaghetti, Adrian ignored them, savoring the roast beef in front of him with quiet amusement.
Eventually, the dinner conversation shifted. Jonathan turned his attention to his eldest son. "Clark," he began seriously, "I'm sorry you didn't get to play today."
Clark sat stiffly, still wrestling with the emotions from Adrian's punch earlier that day. Guilt, disappointment, resentment—he couldn't even tell which feeling weighed heaviest.
Looking up at his father, he spoke quietly. "I thought you came to make sure I wouldn't hurt anyone."
"No, son, of course not."
Jonathan placed a firm hand on Clark's shoulder. "I went to the field because I wanted to support you. Your mother says I can be stubborn, even unfair, but the truth is—I trust you, Clark. I've always trusted you. I just have my fears. Every parent does."
Clark's chest warmed at his father's words. The bitterness from earlier melted away, replaced with a smile. "I've said things I shouldn't have before, Dad. I'm sorry."
Martha watched them with quiet relief, her face glowing with pride at the sight of reconciliation.
---
Luthor Mansion – Late Night
Lex Luthor sat on a leather sofa, flipping through a book bound in strange packaging. His companion, Victoria, entered with a sharp look.
"Lex, did you hear about what happened at Smallville High?" she asked.
"Of course," Lex replied smoothly, closing the book. "Do you think I spend all my time drinking champagne and playing polo? I make it my business to know how the world turns."
"Charity galas too?" Victoria teased. "I thought the Luthor family always sneered at those."
"My father does," Lex said coldly. "He thinks great wealth is divine power, and helping the poor interferes with God's will. Typical social Darwinism. I don't agree. Society changes, and if you refuse to adapt, you get crushed by it. It's that simple."
Victoria arched a brow. "So that's your critique of your father?"
Lex smirked. "Not just him. The entire rotting class he represents. I've always enjoyed stirring conflict."
Pouring himself a glass of champagne, he continued. "There was a fire at Smallville High. Deaths are suspected. But this town—well, it's always had its share of strange incidents."
Victoria eyed the book he'd left on the table. "'The Cthulhu Mythos,' written by… Adrian Kent? One of Kent's brothers?"
Lex's smile grew faint. "Strictly speaking, this book hasn't been published yet. I acquired it through special channels. As for the Kents—Clark is a friend, at least somewhat. His parents think I'm dangerous. They may be right. Adrian, though…" Lex tapped the cover lightly. "He's something else. He wrote, 'The most merciful thing in the world is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents.' His writing hints at a reality beyond human thought. And it resonates with me."
"Sometimes curiosity isn't a good thing," Victoria warned.
"Perhaps," Lex admitted with a shrug. Then his phone rang. His expression shifted the moment he answered.
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