"Pat?"
"I'm here."
Pat walked over to Courtney's bedside. "Courtney, it's all right, everything is fine."
Despite his tight expression, he forced a reassuring smile for his step-daughter.
"I'm sorry, I messed everything up."
Courtney's voice was low and defeated. She looked away for a moment before returning her gaze to him.
"I even got Hourman killed."
As though she had found someone she could finally depend on, Courtney clung to Pat's arm, voice choking. "I didn't want this to happen. At first I asked Doctor Midnight and Wildcat to return the equipment, but they refused — they insisted on going."
"If I'd been able to convince them, maybe Hourman wouldn't have died."
"There's something I need to tell you."
Pat hesitated, then said softly, "Actually, Hourman isn't dead. The hourglass on his chest saved him, but…"
Before Courtney could feel relief, Pat added, "He's gravely injured and remains in critical condition. And that hourglass is broken."
"The hourglass?"
Courtney's face fell. "That hourglass means everything to Hourman. It was left by his father. He used it to power himself and to hunt his father's killer."
"There's something else you must accept, Courtney. You must learn to live with things you don't want. Many times in our lives, we face what we detest — and we cannot avoid it."
"So, Pat, you're trying to tell me even more tragic news?"
Tears glimmered in Courtney's eyes. She forced a brittle smile, attempting to appear strong.
"Yes. You and your friends — Hourman, Wildcat, Midnight Doctor — you've all been expelled from the Justice Society of America."
"What?!"
Courtney stared at him in utter shock.
"You said there was no one left in the Justice Society — that only I remained. Now you're telling me I and my friends have been expelled? Did you expel us?!"
"You can't do that, Pat!"
Her voice cracked under the weight of disbelief and hurt.
"You can punish me however you like, but you cannot strip me of my honor. That's always been my goal and my guiding light. My father is Starman, and I've been proud of him. I… I cannot accept this!"
"I wouldn't do that." Pat exhaled slowly, steadying himself. "By the way, your father isn't Starman. Haven't we discussed this many times?"
Courtney blinked. He stroked her hair gently.
"Adrian Kent — the one who took your Star Scepter — has taken control of the Justice Society. The naming rights, the branding, the relics of those heroes — they're all under him now. Of course, he didn't take your friends' gear — Midnight Doctor, Hourman, Wildcat — but he controls the organisation itself."
"You… you can't do that, Pat!"
Her expression crumbled with fresh grief and indignation. "That was built by your comrades, who gave their lives for it! How could you just hand it over so easily?"
"Then what should I have done?"
Pat's voice was weary. "Tell me, Courtney, what is more valuable: the equipment, the name, the legacy — or your lives?"
"I…"
Courtney's head dropped. She shook it slowly, the struggle obvious in her eyes. "I don't know. But I do know this: We shouldn't have done that. That's betrayal, Pat, not just by you, I… I betrayed what I stood for."
"At least this one thing," Pat said quietly, "Adrian now holds the Justice Society. Which means he'll deal with the Injustice Society on our behalf, right?"
He stroked her hair. "When I was Starman's comrade — your father's — he once told me: 'True gold fears no fire. Those who've endured the heat, the sorrow, carry a faith no disillusionment can shake. They know from the start that the path of faith and the path of happiness diverge — and they cannot pick both. They must walk the one, because every other route is a dead end.'"
Pat paused, then added, "That's also why I opposed you becoming a superhero. Because you're just fifteen or sixteen. You haven't borne the sorrow yet, you haven't shed the tears."
"I know."
Courtney reached out, clasping Pat's hand. "Now I have a belief. The only reason I'm alive is because I was lucky. So please train me. I will use my strength to reclaim the Star Scepter and the Justice Society. And I will use my strength to confront the Injustice Society."
"By the way."
Courtney offered a small, rueful smile. "That quote probably wasn't said by Starman — it was by Romain Rolland."
Pat cleared his throat and shifted the discussion. "Right. Let's talk about your training."
---
Metropolis.
Adrian sat alone in the empty Justice Society Hall. The dim light cast a faint yellow glow through the large windows in the night.
He sat at the central round table, hand supporting his chin, surveying the furnishings. After a mixture of persuasion and leverage, he had acquired ownership of the Justice Society operations from Pat. He cared little for the title itself — what drew him was the massive property in Metropolis: private, prestigious, and money couldn't simply buy it.
Beyond the real-estate value, his interest lay in the equipment inside. He rose and walked to a corner shelf, eyed the owl perched there and stroked its feathers. The grey-black owl's eyes rolled quietly; it offered no resistance to its new keeper.
Next he approached a golden helmet and cloak lying on a storage box — relics of Doctor Fate. Once the helmet was worn, the wearer often came under the control of Nabu's consciousness, a non-human entity devoid of human emotion. The body became host—and vulnerable. Adrian shook his head, deciding against it. Prestige wasn't worth that risk.
Putting down the helmet, his gaze landed on an item placed nearby: a dusty, tattered uniform of The Flash. A lightning bolt on the chest, dark gold metal boots. He glanced at it, noticed the state of disrepair. "What a pity," he muttered. The uniform was taken, and the equipment leftover was insufficient for him.
Leaving Flash's uniform, Adrian exited the headquarters and took flight toward Smallville. His feet touched down on the road near the farm. He started walking home. Two steps later, he spotted someone riding a horse ahead.
"Hey, Adrian!"
Lana sat astride her steed, smiling. "I didn't expect to run into you here."
"It's a coincidence," Adrian replied. Although reclusive and distant by habit, he wasn't incapable of acknowledging acquaintances. He held a moderate respect for Clark's circle: Chloe, Pete, Lana.
"Tyson's been listless lately," Lana said softly. "Maybe it's age. I often take him for walks to clear his head."
Tyson was the horse she rode.
"Ever since Whitney was hospitalized, he hardly went out. The vet suggested fresh air. Whitney's mother wants to sell him — she can't afford him anymore."
"Uh-huh."
Adrian kept walking, noncommittal.
"So…" Lana hesitated. "Clark suggested I keep Tyson at the farm. Would that cause trouble for you?"
"For Clark, he'd be very happy. Though cleaning the stable is a bit of a hassle." Adrian shrugged lightly.
"That's good then." Lana nodded. Then with hesitation: "I heard about the car accident at the farm yesterday. Is everything okay?"
"Yes."
By then they had arrived at the farm entrance. Clark was there, a bit surprised to see them. Adrian nodded to him, avoided any romantic drama. He had no interest.
Clark coughed, reached to stroke the long mane of Tyson. The horse, however, sneezed and turned its head away—resisting Clark's attempt.
"What's wrong with Tyson?" Clark asked, surprised.
"His illness is getting worse. Putting him here – will it bother your parents?!" Lana double-checked.
"No," Clark smiled. "We don't want part of our lives taken away, do we? I'll look after Tyson."
As he spoke, his gaze caught a familiar figure in the shadows behind them. Before Lana could see, Clark changed expression.
"Sorry, Lana. I have to leave for a moment."
In an instant Clark vanished from view, leaving Lana standing there, bewildered.
---