"Then she just left?"
At the Kent Farm, Clark looked surprised as he turned to his parents. "No threats or warnings or anything?"
Jonathan frowned, setting down the jar of jam he was stirring. "Clark, do you actually want us to go through something like that?"
"No, I just…" Clark caught himself and quickly shook his head. "Sorry, I didn't mean it that way. I just thought—with Kara's personality—it's strange she'd show up, say nothing, and leave."
"That's the strange part," Jonathan said, still frowning thoughtfully. "She seemed… different somehow."
"Different?"
Martha leaned forward, concerned.
Jonathan nodded slowly. "The edge in her voice, the tension she always carried—it was gone. It's like something inside her changed."
"Maybe once Clark stops provoking her, she'll start acting more like a normal person," Adrian said calmly from the corner.
"Since I could defeat her once," he said with quiet confidence, "I can defeat her again if I have to. No need to worry."
Then his tone turned colder. "If anything, Jor-El's the one we should be cautious of."
"Adrian!" Martha scolded softly, "You can't speak that way about him. He might be your—"
But Jonathan gave her a warning glance, and she stopped herself before finishing the sentence.
Jonathan folded his arms. "Whatever happens, both of you—be careful. Kara's made it clear she wants you to leave this world, but she never explains what the danger is. Until we know, we stay alert."
Adrian gave a simple nod of acknowledgment.
Clark, however, still looked troubled, questions running through his mind like storm clouds. Kara's sudden shift in behavior, the strange energy around her—it all made him uneasy.
---
That night, the Kent Farm slept under a silver moon. Crickets hummed, the wind whispered through the cornfields, and the air carried the faint scent of hay and earth.
Adrian opened his eyes. He'd only been half asleep. His body didn't really need rest.
Rolling out of bed, he glanced at the glowing clock on his nightstand: 2:47 a.m.
He left through his window, boots crunching against the grass as he walked into the cool night.
Then, with a pulse of energy, he lifted off into the air and sped toward Metropolis, streaking like a shadow through the clouds.
The Justice Society Headquarters stood in eerie silence at the city's edge, its once-grand facade scarred by time.
Adrian landed softly in front of its reinforced doors and immediately noticed something off—the security lock was broken.
"Someone's been here," he muttered.
He stepped inside cautiously.
The main hall was different—chairs moved, tables shifted, faint footprints scattered across the dust-covered floor.
Adrian crouched to examine them.
More than one set. Multiple intruders.
He rose and scanned the room again.
Nothing seemed stolen, but the placement of artifacts and relics had changed.
Then he noticed it—one of the Green Lantern relics had been moved.
Picking it up, he felt the faint, lingering pulse of power.
The lantern was cracked, its wick missing.
"Green Lantern energy," he said under his breath.
The trace was weak, but familiar—something cosmic, ancient, disciplined.
He could feel it through his heightened perception.
"Someone connected to the Corps?" he wondered, fingers brushing the cracked surface. "Or maybe… something worse."
After setting a hidden psychic alarm across the building—a safeguard against another intrusion—Adrian sealed the door and soared back into the sky, heading home.
When he landed quietly beside the farmhouse, dawn was still hours away.
He slipped through his window and had barely sat down before—
Knock, knock.
He sighed. "Clark."
Opening the door, he found his brother standing there, barefoot and uneasy.
"Adrian," Clark said quietly. "Can we talk?"
Adrian stepped aside, motioning him in. "If this is about where I go at night, save your breath."
Clark shook his head. "No, it's not that. I'm not prying anymore. I just wanted to warn you."
"Warn me about what?"
"I heard from Chloe—you had an argument with Mr. and Mrs. Brooks."
Adrian frowned. "Who?"
"Lawrence and Paula Brooks," Clark explained. "They've got a daughter on the baseball team—Dana Brooks. Chloe's been investigating them. All three of the team's previous coaches had conflicts with Lawrence. All three died soon after—in supposed accidents."
"You think they were behind it?"
"I don't know," Clark admitted. "But it's too suspicious. And since you clashed with them, I thought you should know."
Adrian leaned back against the desk, crossing his arms. "You're worried they'll come after me next?"
Clark hesitated. "If they were normal people, I wouldn't. But I checked their house—with my abilities."
Adrian raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you promise to stop spying on people?"
Clark coughed awkwardly. "I know what I said. But sometimes… there are exceptions."
"Flexible morality. I get it," Adrian said dryly.
Clark rubbed his neck. "There's something strange about them. The basement's full of weapons and… uniforms. And the way they move—it's not normal."
Adrian smirked slightly. "You're not wrong. I know exactly who they are."
Clark blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Lawrence Brooks is an alias. His real name is Lawrence Crock—codename, Sportsmaster. Former pro athlete, banned for paralyzing an opponent. Turned criminal, later joined the Injustice Society of America."
"Injustice Society?"
"An old organization," Adrian continued, his voice steady. "Criminals who opposed the Justice Society decades ago. Most of them either vanished or went underground."
Clark's eyes widened. "And his wife?"
"Paula Brooks," Adrian said. "Alias: Tigress. Enhanced agility, predatory instincts, and combat skills to match. She's also a member of the Injustice Society."
Clark's mind raced. "So they're… actual supervillains."
"Exactly."
Adrian's eyes flicked toward the window. "Which means this isn't about baseball anymore."
Clark hesitated, glancing at his brother. "What do we do? Should we call the police?"
Adrian gave him a flat look.
"Right. They'd never believe us," Clark muttered.
Then his expression hardened. "If they really killed those coaches… then we need to stop them."
His voice was quiet but firm, the kind of tone Jonathan Kent used when making a moral stand.
Adrian's gaze shifted toward the window again, his vision stretching across the miles like a focused beam.
He saw movement—a man and a woman approaching the farm, their footsteps silent but determined.
"You won't need to find them," he said. "They're already here."
Clark froze. "What?"
Through Adrian's eyes, he saw them clearly.
Sportsmaster—dressed in sleek black combat armor, a hockey mask hiding his face, weapons strapped across his back.
Tigress—her body wrapped in yellow and black leather, twin claws glinting faintly beneath the moonlight.
They were cutting across the field, moving straight toward the farmhouse.
"They're coming for us," Clark said, his voice tightening. "Here?!"
"Looks that way," Adrian replied calmly, setting the cracked Green Lantern down on the table. "Maybe I offended their little princess, so now they want revenge."
Clark clenched his fists, his eyes glowing faintly. "Then I'm going with you."
Adrian glanced at him, almost amused. "You sure? They're not just thugs, Clark. These are trained assassins—professionals. If you hold back, you'll regret it."
Clark took a deep breath. "Then I won't hold back."
A faint smirk tugged at Adrian's lips. "Alright. Just don't slow me down."
Then, with a rush of air, Adrian blurred into motion.
His body vanished from sight in a streak of silver and red, the curtains whipping violently in his wake.
Clark followed an instant later, the ground trembling under his feet as the two brothers surged into the night—ready to meet the predators waiting for them in the dark.
____
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