American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 132 The King's Coronation & The Changing of the Throne.

On Wednesday morning, sunlight streamed through the gaps in the curtains.

It gently landed on the side of the sleeping man on the bed.

He stirred and rose from the chaos.

I felt like my consciousness was a piece of paper sinking to the bottom of the water, slowly and struggling to rise.

A strange sense of fatigue seeped into my bones, not at all like I had a good night's sleep, but rather like I had just fought a tough battle that left me exhausted.

".Well."

Letting out a muffled groan, Clark pressed his fingers to his throbbing temples, trying to clear his mind.

Why am I so tired?

He went straight to sleep after getting home last night, he didn't even take a shower...

Wait, he remembered that he had taken a shower.

Memory is like a thick fog, many details are blurred, leaving only fragmented, overly vivid yet unsettling pieces—

Lana's smile, the deafening music, Chloe's wounded eyes, the darkness of the night road.
and also…

A kind of violence and impulse?
He frowned, struggled to sit up, and felt a sticky, drowsy sensation.

Then he stumbled to the window and pulled back the curtains.

"Wow—"

The clear morning light rushed in and engulfed him in an instant.

It was like a redemption, washing over his skin and seeping into his blood.

Clark tilted his head back, squinted to welcome the warmth, and straightened his back involuntarily.

Endless energy surged silently through my limbs, soothing all discomfort.

But it was only for a moment that he was indulging in sunbathing.

The blurry, flickering fragments from last night seemed to be infused with energy by the sunlight. They broke through the hazy mist and entered his mind clearly and coherently!

He spoke to Lana in a flippant manner.
He used his heat vision to pop the balloon, just for a moment of showing off.
He shook off Chloe's hand and called her coldly.
Miss Penguin.

He didn't protect Whitney and her gang; instead, he...
"boom--!"

The flood of memories surged forth like a burst dam, every detail terrifyingly clear, especially the last…

Several scarecrows...

Whitney and his accomplices wore expressions of extreme fear and utter collapse…

I felt cold, cruel, and even slightly pleased at the time…

"!!!"

The light on Clark's face vanished instantly.

The color quickly disappeared from his cheeks.

This is not a physical discomfort; the sun is still warm, and the energy is still surging.

This is psychological...

A tsunami-like impact and terror!
"Boom!"

He took a step back, staggered, and almost fell, his back slamming heavily against the cold wall. Before he could even recover, he incredulously raised his hands.

These are the same hands that bent a crowbar with their bare hands yesterday and easily knocked someone flying.

even…

He touched his eyes again.

Those eyes emitted heat yesterday, not for control, nor for protection.
It's simply for...

show off?!
"What...what have I done?!"

A horrified whisper escaped Clark's lips, trembling.

That arrogant, mean-spirited, and cruel person…

Is it really him?
Guilt filled me like ice water.

He slid down the wall and curled up on the ground.

The light still bathed my entire body, but it had lost its warmth, leaving only a bone-chilling cold.

After an unknown amount of time, until the sunlight outside the window became even brighter and more dazzling, Clark seemed to have escaped from a nightmare.

He took a few deep breaths, trying to suppress the cold panic in his chest, and struggled to his feet. Then he rubbed his face vigorously to make his expression look normal before pushing open the door and walking down the stairs.

Good morning, Clark.

Jonathan, who was reading the newspaper, looked up and greeted him as usual.

Good morning, Dad. Good morning, Mom.

Clark's voice sounded a little hoarse, but it regained its usual politeness and gentleness. He walked to the table and picked up a piece of bread.

Jonathan and Martha quickly exchanged a glance.

They both saw the same confirmation in each other's eyes—

The familiar, gentle, and polite Clark was back.

only…

The child had a distinct gloom between his brows, and seemed unusually depressed. He silently ate his bread, his eyes somewhat vacant.

Jonathan scratched his head, muttering to himself unconsciously:
Do young people experience such dramatic mood swings when they're in a relationship?
Yesterday he was acting all arrogant, like he wasn't afraid of even the King of Heaven himself.

Have you turned into a wilted eggplant today? One minute you're riding high, the next you're completely dejected.

This dramatic turn of events left the elderly father completely bewildered and unsure how to offer comfort...

"Clark," Martha thought thoughtfully. She put down the milk jug, walked over to Clark, gently patted his shoulder, and smiled as she tried to dispel his gloom: "My little king. Don't be daydreaming. Today is your big day. Don't forget that the king's coronation ceremony is waiting for you at school on Homecoming Day."

"The coronation ceremony..."

Upon hearing those four words, Clark's body trembled.

Last night, he did so many absurd and terrifying things while posing as the 'King'...

Put down the half-eaten bread.

"I know, Mom."

Clark stood up, his voice somewhat somber. "I'm going out, Dad, Mom."

After saying that, he lowered his head and hurried towards the door, seemingly trying to escape. He pushed open the door, basking in the morning sunlight, and headed towards the school.

His back view showed no trace of the joy of impending coronation.

After the door closed, Jonathan and Martha stood facing each other at the dining table, both looking puzzled.

"What...is wrong with this child?"

Jonathan frowned and looked at his wife.

Martha shook her head, her eyes also filled with confusion: "I hope... it's just the troubles of growing up."

"."
-
"You mean... Clark has been acting strange lately?"

Locke put down his hoe, wiped the sweat from his brow with the towel hanging around his neck, and glanced at Lex not far away.

The young master was bending over, huffing and puffing as he turned over the soil. Although his movements were still a bit clumsy, they were much more skillful than they had been three days ago.

Ok…

The results of the labor reform seem to be quite good.

At least this young master wasn't slacking off, so we can rule him out first.

After all, Lex practically lived in this field from morning till night; where would he find the time to provoke Clark?
“Yeah,” Jonathan grumbled from the side, his brows furrowed. “He was so smug when he came back yesterday, but he’s all down this morning. He’s distracted when you talk to him, and he’s not even interested in the blueberry pie and tacos Martha made!”

"When we mentioned the coronation ceremony to him, his expression turned sad... This child must have something on his mind, something important!"

"is it?"

Just as Jonathan was rambling on about his adopted son's unusual behavior, a voice suddenly rang out from behind him, startling him:
"It seems... Clark hasn't been in a good mood lately."

Jonathan turned around abruptly and found that Lex had somehow appeared behind him, carrying a hoe.

The afternoon sun fell on his bald head, reflecting a slightly dazzling halo, which, combined with his ambiguous smile, made him look both abrupt and a little... scary.

"You little rascal..." Jonathan clutched his chest, glaring at him with annoyance, "When did you touch me? You scared me half to death!"

"What are you doing?" Luther shrugged indifferently, pointed with the handle of his hoe to a neatly turned plot of land next to him, and said in a flat tone, "My plot of land, all done. Uncle Jonathan."

"Are you... done?"

Jonathan paused, his gaze shifting between the soft earth and Lex's barely breathing face, momentarily speechless.

Only three days...

Isn't this kid adapting a little too fast?
Luther ignored his surprise, simply placing the hoe on the ground, his hands clasped over the handle, his chin resting lightly on the back of his hands, a sly glint in his eyes:
"In short, the King is in a bad mood for our homecoming festival."

He smiled slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing some extraordinary plan:
"As friends and family, shouldn't we do something? Prepare some special 'gift' for him... to help him cheer up?"

"?"

Upon hearing this, Locke glanced at Lex and raised an eyebrow: "What are you going to do, Lex?"

He knows this kid.

Are you going to create another job for yourself?
Lex laughed heartily, his smile brimming with confidence and excitement:
He snapped his fingers, his gaze shifting back and forth between Locke and Jonathan:

"Simple."

"You two uncles just need to cooperate with me. We need a little...surprise, don't we?"
-
Smallwell High School.

corridor.

Sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting dappled patterns that reflected the fine dust particles floating in the air.

Clark stood outside the school magazine room, torn between his inner turmoil.

He raised his hand and lowered it several times, but he still didn't have the courage to knock on that door.

Chloe's hurt and aggrieved look last night.
The voice, trembling with tears, still echoed in his mind, filling him with guilt.
but.
Since we're already here...

We can't just stand here forever.

He took a deep breath, finally deciding to face the situation head-on—

"Hey! Clark!"

A burst of noisy footsteps and familiar laughter came from the other end of the corridor.

The football team members were walking towards them, chatting and laughing. The vice-captain spotted Clark frozen in the doorway, burst into laughter, and rushed over, grabbing Clark's neck without hesitation and giving him a friendly chokehold.

"You, Clark Kent! You've been hiding it well!"

The vice-captain ruffled his hair vigorously while complaining exaggeratedly, "Tell me! Have you been having an affair with our 'Empress' all along? You didn't even let us know! We were all still fooling around guessing who you were up to, did you even manage to do it?!"

“Exactly!” another teammate chimed in with a wink. “If it weren’t for Jamie’s insistence last night that he saw you and Lana being all lovey-dovey at the picnic, and… well, anyway, very intimate!”

"Hahaha"

A knowing, unspoken burst of laughter erupted from the crowd.

Clark was a little helpless as he was being strangled, but he secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

At least…

Their attention was still on Lana, not on the worse part of him from last night.

Clark felt a pang of guilt as his gaze inadvertently swept over the closed door of the school magazine room, but it was quickly overwhelmed by the noise in front of him.

"Alright, alright, let him go." Captain Jason stepped forward, smiling as he pulled the vice-captain away, then patted Clark on the shoulder. "Ignore these testosterone-fueled bastards. Come on, Clark, we've run into you. Come with us to the gym."

"To the stadium? Now?"

Clark blinked, somewhat puzzled.

Isn't the mobilization meeting about to begin?
"Um"

Jason paused, a complex emotion flickering across his face, and said in a slightly lower voice, "Yes, Coach Arnold is back. He wants to call a meeting to discuss tactics for the day after tomorrow."

"coach?"

"Coach Arnold."

Upon hearing this, Clark finally realized what was happening.

Yes, the team does have a legitimate coach.

"..."

Upon hearing this, the playful atmosphere among the team members cooled down considerably. The smiles on their faces disappeared, and they exchanged helpless glances.

"Yes."

Jason sighed and lowered his voice to Clark, and also to the team members around him, "Coach Arnold... he's recovered from his injury and is back with the team. When he says anything later, just listen to him, don't take it to heart, and definitely don't talk back, understand?"

"Understood, Captain."

The team members nodded in agreement, their faces revealing obvious helplessness and reluctance.

A silent sense of oppression quietly spread, enveloping this group of normally energetic young people.

Clark didn't feel anything particularly special.

For him, apart from holding a selection competition at the beginning of the school year, Coach Arnold was hospitalized less than a week later for severe burns caused by setting the sauna temperature too high while he was in the gym, and has been recuperating ever since.

My entire impression of him was still from when he first joined the team, during those few short minutes when the coach briefly introduced him to everyone—he was…

A middle-aged man with a loud voice and a serious expression.

They seem quite responsible.
After all, it is said that they were all under his guidance.
Smallwell Center has been a top team in the Kansas high school football league for several consecutive years.

But the sudden somber expressions on his teammates' faces made him feel a little uneasy.

What kind of person is this coach whom we haven't seen in a long time?

"boom--!"

Push open the heavy double door.

A smell mixed with sweat, disinfectant, and old leather hit me.

The stadium was empty and quiet, with only their footsteps echoing, sounding particularly jarring.

Clark glanced around and naturally noticed the changes in his teammates. He could feel the sudden tension in the breathing around him, and the palpable silence of his men as if facing a formidable enemy.
And the source of all this lies in the center of the venue—

The man with his back to them was a stocky, middle-aged man in sportswear.

The sound of footsteps startled him.

He slowly turned around, his movements steady.

It was Coach Arnold.

However, his expression seemed even more somber than Clark remembered, and his eyes were even sharper.

even
They seem to have become more muscular?

The dark blue tracksuit clung tightly to his muscular torso, and the muscle lines of his shoulders and back were faintly visible even with the loose cut.

That chubby coach Arnold, after being hospitalized, has become so broad-shouldered and muscular?!
"Is everyone here?"

Before Clark could even react, Arnold spoke in a hoarse voice, "Enough with the chit-chat, let's get to the game the day after tomorrow."

"We must win. Not just maybe, not just try our best, we absolutely must!"

He paced back and forth, his gaze sweeping across the faces of each team member.

“Those guys are tall, fast, and technically skilled.” He changed the subject, his tone turning cold. “So, with conventional tactics, we don’t have much of a chance of winning.”

The team members remained silent, making the atmosphere even more oppressive.

“But,” Arnold stopped, a slight smile playing on his lips, “they have their advantages, and we… can have our own ‘advantages’ as well.”

He deliberately emphasized the last two words.

"When defending, accidentally step on your opponent's ankle; when intercepting, unintentionally raise your elbow slightly; when landing a takedown, use more finesse..."

As he spoke, he made subtle gestures, his eyes gleaming with certainty:
"As long as it's within the rules, we should maximize our strengths... Do you understand what I mean?"

The team members kept their heads down, and no one responded.

But their clenched fists betrayed their inner resistance and frustration.

This dirty tactic violates the spirit of sportsmanship and goes against their original intention in playing the game.
Clark frowned slightly.

The coach's words seemed fine on the surface, but something just didn't feel right.

That suggestive tone made him feel a vague unease.

Coach Arnold's gaze swept across the players, finally settling on Clark:

“Especially you, Kent. I noticed it during the selection process; your physical condition is quite special.”

"Your strength and speed far surpass those of ordinary people." His tone became meaningful. "I want you to fully utilize these talents on the field. When necessary..."

"coach."

Clark hesitated for a moment, his voice a few decibels softer than usual, "What exactly do you mean? I don't quite understand..."

“Mr. Kent.” Coach Arnold frowned slightly, his eyes sharpening. “I thought you were a mature player. Some things don’t need to be said outright.”

Although his tone remained restrained, it carried an undeniable sense of pressure.

"I just feel..."

Clark carefully chose his words, trying to make his question sound more like a request for advice:

"Rugby should be won through skill and technique, not..."

"And what?" Coach Arnold interrupted him, raising his voice slightly. "You think those kids on the other side will just play honestly? Naïve!"

“Victory comes at a price, Kent. Sometimes that price is letting go of unrealistic ideas.”

“Coach,” Clark felt a pang of discomfort, but persisted, “this is intentional harm, this violates the spirit of sportsmanship…”

"Who said I was going to intentionally hurt someone?"

Arnold's voice suddenly turned cold:
"I'm talking about making full use of the rules and maximizing our advantages. How can you not even grasp that?!"

"If this is intentionally hurting others, Mr. Kent, didn't you hurt others the whole way during the team selection process to qualify for the school team?"

"Clark Kent, I think you might not be a good fit for our team."

These words struck Clark like a heavy blow, leaving him speechless for a moment.

It also instantly reminded him of his loss of control last night…

"coach."

Jason chuckled. "Clark doesn't quite understand, after all, it's only been a few months."

“It better be this way”

“Do as I say from now on.” Arnold snorted coldly, seemingly having no intention of continuing. He glanced at the time, turned, and left, as if he had only summoned them to announce his return.

"I'll be a bit busy next, so please don't make me contact you on Friday afternoon."

Upon hearing this, everyone nodded in silence.

I just watched Arnold's departing figure.

Then, with a sigh, he surrounded Jason and Clark and left in the opposite direction.

They had to attend a mobilization meeting.
Who is Mr. Kent?

The sudden question startled everyone, and all eyes turned to Clark in the crowd.

A man in a formal suit, with a serious and unfamiliar expression, stood to one side of the entrance. His sharp gaze swept across the venue before finally settling on Clark, who was the focus of everyone's attention. He said in a loud voice that left no room for argument: "Mr. Clark Kent, please come with us."
-
“I apologize, Mr. Kent, the scene just now may have been a bit offensive.”

The leading official, with a formulaic apology on his face, chuckled and nodded, explaining, "We're just trying to ensure the process is compliant and prevent any unexpected situations from happening. We hope you understand."

Clark nodded, his tension easing slightly.

The people in front of them weren't from any mysterious department; they were simply officials from the state's college athletics association.
We are conducting an investigation today because we received an anonymous tip.

As a newly promoted key member of the team, and having only recently joined, he was seen by officials as someone who might not have been completely assimilated by the team's 'bad practices' and still retained a pure sporting spirit.

They are more likely to provide objective information.

That's why they waited until Arnold left before plainclothes officers appeared and took him away for a private interview.

"Is your coach really okay?"

The official put away his apologetic expression and said in a deep voice, "The anonymous whistleblower letter described many of his illegal operations."

“We understand you’ve only been with the team for a short time,” another official added, in a relatively mild tone, “but that’s precisely why your perspective might be more objective. The whistleblower letter lists some… well… rather serious allegations, involving Coach Arnold possibly teaching and encouraging players to use flagrant fouls, or even manipulating game results.”

“Mr. Kent, during your brief contact and training, did you notice any…non-compliant instructions from Coach Arnold? Or anything that you felt was against the spirit of sports? Any subtle signs are welcome.”

Clark's mind flashed back to the calculating look in Arnold's eyes in the gym earlier.
And those veiled remarks that made him extremely uncomfortable.

Can.
Are those statements sufficient as evidence? Are they specific enough?

Arnold could easily argue that those were just tough words to motivate the players, another interpretation of the spirit of competition.

I did not actually see him instructing anyone on how to commit specific fouls, nor is there any evidence that he manipulated the game.

More importantly, what impact would it have on the team if we said it now?
The important match is the day after tomorrow…

Jason and his teammates were reluctant, but they seemed to have grown accustomed to enduring it...

Should I, a newcomer, really stir up trouble at a time like this?

“I’m sorry, sir.” Clark shook his head. “I haven’t had much contact with the coach.”

The officials exchanged glances, clearly not surprised by the answer.

I was still a little disappointed.
They then asked a few routine questions about training intensity, team atmosphere, and other topics.
Clark responded cautiously.

The questioning lasted for about ten minutes, and seeing that they could not get any more valuable information, the officials had no choice but to give up.

"Okay, Mr. Kent, thank you for your cooperation."

The leading official stood up and handed him a business card:
"If you remember anything that might be relevant later, or if you encounter any situation, you can contact this number. Remember, maintaining a fair competitive environment in sports is the responsibility of every athlete."

"I will, sir."

Clark took the business card and nodded.

The officials put away their notebooks, apologized again for interrupting his activities, and then turned and left.

Just as quickly as it came, it came and went in a hurry.

Even so.
This little incident also took up a lot of time.

Once Clark is free, the main event of Homecoming—

The mobilization meeting and the coronation ceremony of the king have already begun in the school auditorium.

"."

The auditorium was packed with people, and the atmosphere was lively.

The principal is giving a long and unoriginal speech on the stage.

It's nothing more than emphasizing school spirit, unity, and friendship.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, Clark quietly slipped backstage. Lana, who was already waiting there, breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him and gave him an inquiring look.

He shook his head, indicating that he was fine.

Until the principal finished speaking.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and raised his voice:
"...Now, let's welcome the most exciting moment!"

"Please welcome our King and Queen of this year's Homecoming Festival—Clark Kent and Lana Lang!"

Amidst deafening cheers and applause, Clark and Lana walked to the center of the stage.

The spotlight shone on them, and Clark surveyed the audience, seeing excited, smiling faces—a truly spectacular sight. Yet, he felt utterly uncertain, even somewhat heavy-hearted.

His gaze swept across the audience, easily locating the blond figure—

Dior was lounging lazily in the corner, his face expressionless.

Looking at Dior, who was as stylish as ever.
The memory of last night's out-of-control, harsh, and violent behavior involuntarily resurfaced in Clark's mind.

That kind of self...

Do they really deserve to stand here and wear a crown?
The honor of being called 'King' truly made Clark feel incredibly ironic and uneasy at this moment.

But nobody cared about Clark's thoughts, and the principal continued with the process.

His face was plastered with a fawning smile, and his voice carried throughout the auditorium through the microphone:
"Next, it is a great honor to invite Mr. Lex Luthor, the generous donor who has provided the greatest support for our school's homecoming celebration, and also the crowning of this king!"

"?!"

Clark was taken aback and subconsciously looked at Dio in the corner of the audience. Sure enough, he saw that Dio had also stood up straight, his brows furrowed, and a hint of surprise flashed in his scarlet eyes.

Is this guy really going to make offerings to the school?!

"Cough cough."

The principal cleared his throat and turned to look at the bald young man beside him.

Lex Luthor calmly walked onto the stage. He had changed into a well-tailored dark suit, his bald head was so shiny it looked like it had been waxed, and he had a perfectly measured smile on his face, looking every bit the young talent.

Um.
Who would have thought that he was sweating profusely in the field just thirty minutes ago?

He took the microphone from the principal.

Under Clark's watchful gaze, as if asking "What do you want to do?", Lex first gave a short and appropriate speech, praising the school's vitality, blessing the King and Queen, and thanking the teachers and students who organized the event.

Everything seemed normal.

Can.
He then walked toward the tray containing the crown and the royal crown.

Just when everyone thought he was about to begin the coronation ceremony, Lex suddenly stopped.

He picked up the exquisite crown, weighed it in his hand for a moment, and then, speaking into the microphone, his tone became somewhat playful:
"Hmm... to be honest, holding this, I suddenly feel... that I'm not quite qualified to be the one to be crowned."

A slight commotion and whispered questions arose from the audience.

The principal broke out in a cold sweat instantly. He leaned closer to Lex and asked anxiously in a low voice:
"Mr. Luther, what's going on here...? Is it a procedural issue..."

"I think"

Lex cleared his throat, completely ignoring the principal who was on the verge of tears beside him. His smile remained unchanged, even carrying a hint of mischievous slyness, as he continued, "At this glorious moment, there should be more suitable and more respectable people to crown our outstanding young people."

"so."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the entire room, then clapped loudly and said:
"Let's give a warm round of applause to Smallville Community, which has been named a 'Community Model' for the seventh consecutive year!"

As soon as he finished speaking, a spotlight suddenly shone on the entrance to the stage.

This caused Dior, who had initially just been watching the spectacle, to have an extremely gloomy expression.

I saw
Under the spotlight, dressed in a plaid shirt and jeans, looking helpless as he was 'invited' onto the stage by the staff, was none other than his father, Locke Kent, and his uncle, Jonathan Kent!

Jonathan was clearly overjoyed, his face flushed red, and he kept grinning and waving at the audience like he had just won the lottery.

Locke remained relatively calm, but was clearly surprised and frustrated by the situation.

He glared fiercely at Lex on stage, who was grinning like a fox.

You said you were just here to take a look?!
"Of course, I actually think that being a 'community role model' is secondary."

Lex explained with a grin, but his eyes met Dio's, whose face had turned as black as the bottom of a pot, for a second. "I just think that no one is greater than the father of the 'King'."

"Isn't it more meaningful for the father to crown his own child?"

"..."

Dio stood below the stage, struggling to control his urge to go up and beat Lex until he knelt down.

Lex...

You really are...

So well-behaved.
He now wished he could kill Lex and, while he was at it, beat up the man who had given up the throne to Clark the day before yesterday!

Ignoring Dio's murderous glare, Lex turned to Locke and Jonathan, who were frozen on the stage, and whispered:
"So, my two uncles? Who do you plan to go first? To crown the King or the Queen?"

"of course…"

Jonathan was about to speak.

Locke, however, pulled him aside impatiently and whispered:
"Shut up, didn't you see Dio down there? His eyes are practically burning me! Go put the crown on Clark, and Lana's over there... I'll go."

I didn't want to further provoke my jealous and filial son at this time.

"I know without you saying it..."

Jonathan muttered a complaint under his breath and casually took the crown.

With a radiant smile returning to his face, he walked towards Clark.

The spotlight followed his steps, enveloping the father and son in a dazzling halo, and the gazes of the entire audience pressed down on them as if they were physical.

Just as Jonathan raised the crown, preparing to crown his son—

Clark suddenly took a small step back and avoided it.

Amidst everyone's astonished gazes, he sighed deeply and raised his hand to untie the sash with the word 'King' written on it from his chest.

An uproar erupted at the scene, with whispers filling the air.

The principal almost fainted.

Lana looked at him with concern.

Jonathan stood there, holding the crown, stunned, looking at his son in bewilderment.

Dior frowned, wondering what Clark was up to now.

then
Under Lex's matter-of-fact gaze, Clark took the microphone.

The sound, amplified by the speakers, filled the now-silent auditorium, carrying a sincere and somber tone.

"I'm sorry to interrupt this ceremony."

“But I think… I am not worthy of this honor of ‘King’, Dad.”

"They are not worthy of this coronation."

His gaze swept across every face in the audience, finally settling on Dior in the corner.

“In the past day, I made some mistakes, hurt some people, and also gained a clearer understanding of myself. This crown represents not only popularity, but also responsibility, commitment, and true excellence.”

"Among the people I know, there is one whose votes are second only to mine."

"But his abilities, his wisdom, and everything he silently did to protect his family... far surpass mine."

Then, Clark began his narration.

He recounted his brother
How he protects his family in his own way, in places unseen by outsiders.

How keenly he sensed the potential financial pressure his family might face, how he silently devised solutions on his own, even at the cost of sacrificing his own time and energy to take on part-time jobs…

of course
The specific work location was cleverly omitted.

He certainly didn't want Smallwell High School to be half-empty tomorrow.

However, Clark did not exaggerate; he simply calmly recounted some true events.

The words were sincere and full of admiration, depicting a man completely different from the arrogant and aloof image he projected to others and at school.

Dio Kent.

The auditorium was utterly silent. Everyone was stunned by Clark's unexpected speech of yielding the throne, and at the same time, they couldn't help but feel a great curiosity about Dio Kent...

A touch of respect.

As expected of Dior!
He's truly a man among men!

But Dio, standing in the corner, felt his body stiffen.

As he listened to Clark's words, and looked at his brother on the stage who had pushed aside all honors, his scarlet eyes flashed with an extremely complex light.

Helplessness? Embarrassment? Surprise?

Perhaps there's still a sliver of...

Extremely small, yet understood vibrations.

“So,” Clark concluded, “I think.”

“The true ‘king’ should be my brother, Dio Kent. He is more deserving of this crown than I am.”

After saying this, he took the sash and bowed deeply towards Dior in the audience.

All eyes were instantly drawn to Dior, and the spotlight found its true protagonist, shining directly on him.

It captured his handsome face in crystal clarity.

"Dior!"

It's unclear who first shouted the name, but the shouts quickly spread like wildfire.

"Dio! The King! Dio! The King!"

The students were thrilled by this dramatic turn of events, moved by Clark's humility, and cheered for breaking with convention.

The principal on the stage completely panicked; his handkerchief was soaked with cold sweat.

This wasn't mentioned in the rules passed down from our ancestors!

On homecoming day, kings don't abdicate.

If things go wrong, will he be skinned alive in his dreams by all the former school principals?!
"Mr. Lex...this...this is against the rules..."

The headmaster leaned close to Lex and reminded him in a trembling voice, "The crown... you can't just give it away."

"Om-!"

Luther simply tapped the microphone, signaling for silence.

His commanding presence made it seem as if he were the master of the place.

"Quiet! Ladies and gentlemen, please be quiet!" His voice, carrying a convincing charisma, blared through the speakers. "Rules are rigid, but honor is flexible! Since our Clark Kent has demonstrated such noble character, believing his brother is equally worthy of the King's honor..."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the excited faces of the audience, a smug smile playing on his lips:

"...Then why don't we break the rules this time? Who says there can only be one king on Homecoming?!"

"Wuhu—!!!"

The cheers and whistles from the audience rose like waves, creating an even louder roar.

The students were clearly thrilled by this unconventional and crazy proposal.

The principal's vision blurred, and he barely managed to stand by holding onto the podium.

Lex ignored the principal who was on the verge of collapse beside him and continued:

“True glory lies in sharing and recognition! Therefore, I propose that this year’s Homecoming Festival have two kings! Clark Kent, and—Dio Kent!”

"As for the crown..."

Lex deliberately dragged out his words, and looking at the principal's desperate expression, he smiled with a wicked grin.

Then he clapped his hands crisply twice.

Two men dressed in black suits and wearing sunglasses quickly walked onto the stage.

One of them carried a silver metal case, which gleamed coldly under the light.

Under the watchful eyes of the entire audience, the spotlight shone on the inside of the suitcase—

Another crown lay quietly in the black velvet.

It is almost identical to the one Jonathan has.

Golden light shimmers, gemstones sparkle, every detail is breathtakingly exquisite!
The silence lasted only a second.

"!!!"

Then an even louder exclamation and exclamation erupted!

The principal stared in disbelief at the crown that had appeared out of nowhere, a crown so realistic it could easily be mistaken for a real one, and was completely speechless.

He now seriously doubted whether Lex Luthor had anticipated this scene all along, and even prepared a spare crown?!
Lex proudly took out the crown and gestured for Dio to enter from below the stage.

“Then, Mr. Dio Kent.”

He asked with a smile, "Would you like to come up on stage and share this honor with your brother?"

All eyes, all cameras, all spotlights were fixed on Dior.

He could no longer be a bystander in the shadows.

He was suddenly propelled to the absolute center of the stage by a massive and irresistible torrent.

"You win, little bald guy."

Walking up to Lex, Dio said coldly, "So you didn't eat at my house for nothing."

"Well, Dior, cheer up."

"There's no winner or loser between us, just a tacit understanding. My dearest friend."

“After all,” Lex smiled, his eyes crinkling, “today is a special day for you and Clark!”

"Humph!"

Dio snorted coldly, too lazy to argue with him anymore.

He turned his head and his gaze fell on his father.

The father held the new crown that Lex had conjured in his hand and watched him quietly.

The usual banter and helplessness were gone from his face, replaced by a complex sense of emotion.

Under the spotlight, the father and son looked at each other silently.

Locke stepped forward, standing before Dio, and raised the hand holding the crown, his gesture seemingly more solemn than when he had picked it up earlier. He didn't immediately place it on Dio's head, but instead gazed into Dio's red eyes, which always concealed so much emotion, his voice low but clear, tinged with a hint of relief:
"If you want to wear a crown, you must bear its weight."

"Perhaps you... are ready to grow up, Dior."

This sentence is very light.

But it was like a pebble suddenly thrown into a deep lake that had been silent for many years.

Dior was slightly taken aback.

Although I had expected it, I was still caught off guard when I actually heard it with my own ears.

Locke didn't say anything more after that, just smiled slightly.

He solemnly placed that dazzling crown on Dior's radiant golden hair.

The crown's cool touch fell on my hair.

this.
It's a form of recognition.

“Wow——!!”

The spotlight suddenly shone down, illuminating the crowned Dior with dazzling brilliance.

He stood on the stage, with Clark, who was also adorned with a crown, beside him.

The audience below was abuzz with excitement, and cameras were constantly rolling.

(End of this chapter)