American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 163 Clark: I was born a human. Jonathan: Actually, you're not human. [Long chapter of 10,000 words]

Time flows quietly in the rich autumn sunshine.

The aroma of roasted turkey, the sweet warmth of cinnamon rolls, and the unique buttery scent of pumpkin pie gradually permeated every corner of the Kent farm.

Thanksgiving is here.

In front of the house, Locke and Jonathan were standing on the wooden ladder.
Busy decorating the porch and front window with the festive spirit of a bountiful harvest.

Strings of golden corn, plump pine cones, and several scarecrows with憨厚 (honest and simple) expressions sway gently in the breeze.

“A little to the left, Jonathan, a little more to the left… no! It’s your left, not mine!” Locke, holding the ladder, directed his brother who was trying to fix a large pumpkin lantern to the eaves from above. “After all these years, how come you still can’t tell left from right? Where has our teamwork gone? I’m asking you.”

"Oh my god"

Jonathan awkwardly adjusted his position, the ladder creaking slightly in protest: "Locke, can't you be a little clearer? Like 'move it a little towards the barn' or 'move it a little towards Clark's old swing'?"

"Your left side is my left side, this is harder than figuring out if Dior is being sarcastic!"

"Stop talking nonsense and hurry up. Martha has been calling us to come in and try the pumpkin pie for almost eight hundred times."

Locke slapped the ladder leg in annoyance. "You, you're so strong when you're planting pumpkins, how come you're so clumsy when it comes to hanging decorations?"

“Hey! Farming is inextricably linked to Kent’s blood, while hanging this thing is fighting against Kent’s aesthetic sense. How can you call them the same?” Jonathan finally straightened the pumpkin lantern, panting as he climbed down the ladder, hands on his hips, admiring his masterpiece. “But look how perfectly I hung it!”

"Ah, the joy of a bountiful harvest!"

Locke looked up at the pumpkin lantern, which wasn't obviously crooked but was definitely a little crooked.

Missing Lex for the first time.
Why did that child go back to the metropolis?
Isn't Lionel in Africa?
Sighing, Locke remained silent for two seconds, deciding not to dampen his older brother's enthusiasm:
"...Yes, joy, great joy."

"He was so happy he almost fell off the roof and smashed open a second cellar."

Jonathan chuckled and nudged Locke with his elbow:
"Come on, you're just jealous of my cooking skills."

Locke was about to complain, but
Jonathan's tone shifted, becoming serious: "I think it's time for that matter as well."

"."

Locke's expression turned serious: "Really?"

"Well, it's time," Jonathan sighed. "The later it gets, the harder it becomes."

“Yes,” Locke nodded. “Thanksgiving special. Toilet paper on sale, buy twenty rolls and get five free, plus your robot model. This kind of good deal only comes once a year. If you miss it, you’ll have to wait until next year.”

"."

Jonathan looked up at the sky speechlessly.

The anxiety I had been holding back has finally subsided.

“Alright, brother, I know you’re kidding me.” His voice softened, but there was still a hint of heaviness. “But it really is… time.”

Seeing this, Locke's teasing expression faded, and he asked in a low voice, "Even if it's possible to put Clark back into his previous state?"

“Hmm,” Jonathan took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air and nodded. “I think the time is almost here. They’ve grown up, and there are some things we can’t keep from them anymore. It’s time for him to know…”

Locke nodded; he understood what Jonathan meant.

About Clark's background, and about that Kryptonian spaceship.

All the unusual secrets hidden behind this family.

"Then..."

Just as Locke was about to respond to this heavy sentiment, a delicate violet fragrance wafted over the two of them, followed by a cheerful female voice: "You're both here, that's perfect."

The newcomer looked at Locke with a smile.

He was still wearing his signature magician's tuxedo coat and top hat.

She was carrying a gift box carefully wrapped with a shimmering purple ribbon.

"So early." Locke was a little surprised, then laughed. "I thought you'd be dawdling until the turkey was served."

“I won’t break my promise to the invitation I’ve accepted.” Zatanna winked playfully and handed over the gift. “It’s a little something, Jim’s private collection of cider. They say it makes people tell the truth.”

"—Of course, it might not be of much use to you."

As she spoke, she looked curiously at the two people whose expressions seemed a bit too serious. "I think I heard you two saying something about 'it's time'? What do you know?"

"It's nothing." Locke took the gift, smiled, and lightly changed the subject. "We were just discussing when to go grab some supermarket deals."

"By the way, it's cold outside, why don't you come inside and sit down? Martha will be very happy to see you."

"No, thank you." Zatanna shrugged, not pressing for details. "Today is a family dinner day, so I won't disturb your family's enjoyment of time together."

“I just came to deliver a gift, thank you for the invitation, and also to see little Salafir and… well, another little one.” She smiled knowingly. “But they don’t seem to be here.”

"Aren't you going to stay for a simple meal? Martha roasted a huge turkey," Locke urged.

"Is that stuff really that good?" Zatanna complained. "Maybe next time. I have to go to the Metropolis to deal with some minor troubles."

"Ok."

Since that was the case, Locke naturally didn't insist.

He quickly grabbed the largest pumpkin from the decorative basket next to him, took a few quick steps, and stuffed it into Zatanna's arms.

Zatanna was taken aback by the unexpected gift and instinctively hugged the heavy pumpkin: "...What is this?"

"A Christmas present." Locke said casually, as if giving a pumpkin was a matter of course: "This is an early return gift. Remember to bring a present next month for Christmas."

He spoke with perfect ease, as if exchanging his own pumpkins for a magician's magical gift was the fairest of deals.

"..."

Looking at the pumpkin in her arms, which was as big as a cannonball, Zatanna's lips twitched: "Lock Kent! You...you really know how to do business!"

She glared at him irritably, but finally sighed helplessly and resignedly stuffed the giant pumpkin into the magician's hat.

"A Christmas present, right? Wait! I'll bring you a box of pumpkins that can dance by themselves!"

After she finished speaking, she put on her top hat, the shadow cast by the brim obscuring half of her smiling face.

Then, his figure swayed slightly, and the surrounding air trembled gently like ripples on water before quietly dissipating in the clear sunlight of a Thanksgiving afternoon.

His magical skills seem to have improved considerably.

Locke was left with only a helpless look on his face, along with a lingering fragrance of flowers.

Jonathan opened his mouth, looked at the spot where Zatanna had disappeared, then glanced at the calm-faced Locke, and ultimately swallowed back his previous words, condensing all his unspoken thoughts into one sentence:
"...Are the ways you people who know magic so...unique?"

The apple potion was inserted into the cat's eye stone and then sent to the Kent vault through it.

Locke dusted off his hands.

"Reciprocity in gift-giving has its own rules."

“Really?” Jonathan stroked his chin and teased, “I didn’t realize, Locke, that you knew so much about dealing with magicians.”

"."

"Save your breath." Locke's face darkened, and he interrupted Jonathan's gossip with annoyance: "Instead of worrying about my social etiquette, you should think about how to explain to Clark tonight—'Son, do you know who you are from?'"

"Clark watches soap operas every day, so he should be familiar with it."

"?!"

Jonathan, who had just been joking, suddenly seemed to have been struck by acupuncture, his smile freezing on his face.

Immediately afterward, he slumped down at a visible speed, letting out a wail comparable to a cat whose tail had been stepped on:
“No—don’t—ah—!”

He clutched his head in anguish, as if he were about to participate in a great Indian hunt on Thanksgiving night.

His face contorted in pain, and he clutched his chest, acting as if he were having a sudden heart attack.

"Just thinking about saying those kinds of things makes my heart pound and my blood pressure spike to over 200!"

Seeing his brother's dramatic outburst, Locke finally couldn't help but laugh out loud: "Then what should we do? Why don't you write a draft first? Make a draft, practice it a few times? Or have Dio help you proofread it? That kid has a sharp tongue, but his writing skills should be pretty good."

"?!"

Jonathan imagined it for a moment, and was immediately so frightened that he waved his hands repeatedly.

Clark would probably run away from home after hearing that.

"Let it be, Jonathan."

After the joke was over, Locke's smile gradually faded.

He stopped looking at Jonathan, who was still there, brooding and sighing.

My gaze simply passed over the barn and landed on the vast fields in the distance.

The autumn wind brought a chill, swirling up wisps of dry dust and grass clippings in the air.

The setting sun was slowly sinking, bathing the vast land in a golden-red hue.

Another Thanksgiving has arrived, making one sigh at how quickly time flies.

Locke breathed a sigh of relief.

In the blink of an eye, almost sixteen years have passed since I found Dior that night.

That baby, wrapped in swaddling clothes, wearing a stone mask, and with a star-shaped birthmark on the side of his neck, has now grown into a rebellious and hypocritical young man.

Clark, too, has transformed from a little boy who accidentally knocked over a haystack and could only hide in the field and cry, into a young man who is about to gaze at the stars and explore who he really is.

Even Salafil, that little guy sent from the gates of hell, has grown up so much...

Everything seems like yesterday, yet sixteen years have truly passed.

only……

Locke's thoughts drifted to the third one, which had been delayed for so long.

The system clearly indicated that it would be fifteen years later, but it's almost been sixteen years and there's still no sign of anything happening.

No new meteorites fell, no more demons came knocking, and there were no news reports of unusually missing children in the local tabloids.

When exactly are they coming? They haven't given him any hints.

Is it male or female? Is it a person or... something else?
Could this bring some huge trouble again?

There are only two months left.

Locke rubbed his temples, temporarily suppressing the chaotic thoughts that were a mix of anticipation and unease.

Regardless, he only hoped for that child...

May they arrive safely and peacefully.

Like everyone before her, she eventually fit into this somewhat strange, yet always warm, family.

He looked away and patted Jonathan on the shoulder, who was still mentally preparing himself.

"Alright, stop howling. It's time to go inside. The smell of pumpkin pie and blueberry pie is practically lifting the roof off. As for that matter..." Locke paused, "we'll talk about it after we finish eating turkey tonight."

"You have plenty of time to think."

With that, he walked towards the house first.

Jonathan sighed, scratched his head, and temporarily put his worries aside before hurrying to catch up with his brother.

Thanksgiving dinner is far more important than any extraterrestrial origin story.

At least……

That was certainly true before the turkeys were eliminated.
-
"What? You said you're having turkey for dinner?"

Chloe, without looking up, wrote a caption on the back of a photo that appeared to be stained with coffee, her tone clearly showing disdain:
"Please, Grandpa Henry hasn't been eating much of that dry, mushy food that's only saved by the gravy for the past few years. He says he'd rather eat my apple pie, which is baked to the point of being as thick as a brick."

Clark shrugged noncommittally and carefully arranged a stack of articles about "the largest pumpkin of the year, the Kent Iron Pumpkin" in order:
“Mom’s roasted turkey is different…and, the important thing is that we all eat it together.”

For him, the taste of the food itself is far less important than the atmosphere of a family meal.

“Alright, alright, the charm of the Kent family tradition.” Chloe put down her pen, stretched, and leaned closer to Clark mysteriously, lowering her voice, “Hey, speaking of tradition, come check out my new column—The Smallwell Chronicles!”

"So, is the name catchy enough?"

She handed me several sheets of draft paper filled with ideas, blurry photos, and newspaper clippings, and excitedly pointed to one spot: "Look at this."

"Last month, the police station inexplicably caught fire, and it also burned some unsolved cold case files. Isn't that a coincidence?"

"And this one, old Miller's cows suddenly tripled their milk production, and he insists it's because of the moonlight! And this one, that abandoned Wilson house at the east end of town, people always say they can hear a sound like a giant heart beating inside at night... thump thump thump..."

Clark browsed through these bizarre records, a helpless smile creeping onto his lips.

He shook his head, handed the manuscript back, his tone gentle yet firm:
"Chloe, Smallwell is just a small town in the countryside. Where would so many supernatural phenomena and urban legends come from? They're probably just made up by people who are bored."

"Yup!"

Pete, who was typesetting the school newspaper nearby, turned around and joined the conversation: "Just like what those people have been saying lately, that the new substitute teacher, Ms. Diesel, is actually a succubus!"

"Haha, that's ridiculous! Demons from hell are teaching biology at Smallwell now? Is the next thing they're going to say is that the football captain got bitten by a werewolf?"

"."

Was it Jason the Werewolf?

Clark gave a strange laugh, however.
Clark raised an eyebrow slightly at the thought of Ms. Diesel.

That female teacher was indeed...very special.

She was tall and voluptuous, always dressed in well-tailored dark dresses, and her eyes seemed to have hooks when she looked at people. Her voice was as languid as a cat basking in the afternoon sun…

No, no
In short
The boys' attendance rate in her classes was ridiculously high.

“You know…” Clark stroked his chin, his voice tinged with uncertainty, “…I think she really is strange.”

He recalled the last time he ran into Ms. Diesel in the hallway; she simply smiled at him and said:

"Good afternoon, Kent."

He inexplicably felt a little uneasy.

His heart skipped a beat in fright, and he quickly grabbed the book and ran away.

after all
His brain was telling him to immediately look the woman in the eye and release his heat.

"See?" Chloe exclaimed, slamming her hand on the table as if she'd found a kindred spirit: "Even Clark says so! Maybe she really is?"

"I think most guys are frozen in place the moment they see her. They can't even walk straight, their eyes are glued to her. What else could it be but seduction?"

Seeing the two suddenly reach a consensus, Pete shrank back and whispered, "...Is it really that serious? I think it's alright..."

He carefully recalled Ms. Diesel's appearance; she was indeed very beautiful and charming, but...

"Anyway, nothing is as appealing as my race car." He finally concluded, and patted his chest with a hint of relief, "Luckily, I don't have those worldly desires."

"."

Chloe glanced at Clark helplessly, about to continue speaking—

But then it suddenly stopped.

Clark's smile began to fade.

His exceptional hearing detected the sound coming from the direction of the distant parking lot.
The strange noise was almost completely drowned out.

It wasn't the sound of ordinary playful fighting.

It was a dull thud, like a stick hitting flesh.

Mixed with muffled groans, and... the crackling sound of flames burning?
What weighed even more heavily on his heart were those fragmented yet clear words, drifting intermittently into his ears:

"Jason...it's all because of you...meddling..."

"Damn it... Arnold, you brought this on yourself."

Captain Jason?

Is it Jason, the captain of the football team?

Something's happened! And it's Arnold!

The former coach who was imprisoned after Jason anonymously reported him for instigating players!
Is he out?

Is he taking revenge?
A chilling rage instantly surged up Clark's spine.

He could almost imagine the pain Jason was going through right now.

My instinct was to rush out, and the super speed was about to start uncontrollably.

but.
In that instant, he caught a glimpse of Chloe, who still looked relaxed, and Pete, who was still muttering about the newspaper, beside him.

How to do?
Just disappear right in front of them?
fortunately
The boy's hesitation and the instantaneous change in his expression did not escape the keen observation of Chloe.

She looked closely at Clark's profile, which had suddenly become tense and anxious, and a hint of understanding flashed in his usually curious eyes.

Although she didn't know the specifics of what had happened, she knew Clark.
I know he must have sensed something...

The things that need to be done by him.

“Clark,” Chloe’s voice was soft, yet exceptionally clear, filled with trust, “Go.”

“Do what you think is right.”

There were no questions, no surprises, only complete support.

Clark looked at her sharply, his eyes filled with gratitude and determination.

He nodded emphatically: "Thank you!"

Without the slightest hesitation!
The next instant, Clark's figure seemed to sway slightly in place, like a blurry afterimage under a high-speed camera, or a distorted scene seen through heat.

call--

A faint, almost imperceptible breeze gently brushed Chloe's hair and the manuscript in Pete's hand.

Then, only Chloe and Pete remained in the school magazine room.

“Uh…” Pete blinked blankly, looked at the empty space beside him, then at Chloe, “Where’s Clark? Did he just… 'whoosh' away…”

He gestured with his hand as if he were disappearing quickly.

"Um"

Chloe took a deep breath, trying to make her expression look natural: "Maybe... he suddenly remembered that Aunt Martha asked him to buy cranberry jam for Thanksgiving? He's always so... impatient."

Um.
The excuse was so lame that even she didn't believe it.

Pete stared wide-eyed out the window, then back at Chloe.

In the end, the question was left unresolved.

Ok
My best friend has finally stopped pretending.

Pete smiled helplessly and helped Clark organize his copy.

Meanwhile, at the school parking lot.

"This is the price you pay for betraying me, kid!"

"If I can't be a coach, you can forget about being a player!"

Coach Arnold's face was contorted with rage, his eyes burning with a frenzied hatred.

He swung the flaming stick down again, aiming directly at Jason's knees, who was curled up on the ground, almost unconscious!

"Wow——!"

The flames stirred up a gentle breeze.

Just as the burning murder weapon was about to fall—

A gust of wind!

A gust of wind that shouldn't have appeared in this corner suddenly arose!

The dust and fallen leaves on the ground were swirled wildly, blinding Arnold.

He felt a sudden numbness in his wrist, as if struck by an invisible iron clamp. A sharp pain shot through him, and the burning stick flew from his hand, hitting a trash can in the distance. The flames on it flickered, nearly going out.

And Jason, who had been lying at his feet groaning in pain...

"Kent? It's you."

Arnold clutched his wrist, looking around with suspicion and uncertainty, before finally fixing his gaze on Clark, who had appeared a few meters away and was carefully laying the astonished Jason flat on the ground.

His gaze gradually shifted from shock to a twisted fanaticism.

"It's really you!"

He spat, a ferocious smile spreading across his face:
"I knew it! That speed... that strength... it's not normal! You have superpowers too, don't you?"

"also?"

Clark gently laid Jason down, and only after confirming that he was not in immediate danger did he slowly stand up.

His gaze swept over the stick still burning beside the trash can, and his brow furrowed.

The suspicious points surrounding the previous school bus fire suddenly connected.

"You started the fire in the principal's car last time, didn't you?"

"if not?"

Arnold grinned unabashedly, his eyes gleaming with madness.

"Who told that old man to stop me? Clearly, only under my guidance can your 'talents' be truly unleashed!"

“Violence, collisions, crushing opponents! That’s the essence of rugby! That’s the path for ‘special’ people like you! That bastard… what does he know? He dared to fire me… and even want to send me to jail?!”

He became increasingly agitated as he spoke, his voice hoarse with anger and hatred:
"It's all your fault! It's all your ungrateful bastards!" His gaze suddenly shifted to the unconscious Jason, then returned to Clark like a viper. "Jason! You coward! Aren't you going to tell your good player Kent the real truth? Tell him how you helped me manipulate the game, how you made those disobedient players 'accidentally' injured? Hmm?"

Jason groaned in pain while unconscious and could not answer.

Clark remained silent, his fists clenching quietly.

Although he vaguely sensed that something was wrong with some things about the team in the past, hearing the truth with his own ears still chilled him to the bone.

Seeing Clark remain silent, Arnold assumed he was wavering and his tone suddenly became persuasive as he tried to win over this young man with incredible power:

“Kent, look at you! Look at us! We are different from ordinary people! We were born to stand on higher ground!”

He pointed to himself, then to Clark.

“We’re different from them! Completely different! Speed, power, and this!”

"boom!"

He suddenly waved his hand, and the flame on the stick that had fallen next to the trash can seemed to be drawn to it, leaping up sharply.

"We have been chosen! We are a new species after evolution! We are a higher existence than those mediocre mortals!"

"Law? Morality? Those are cages woven by the weak to protect themselves! They are fences used to bind sheep! But we..." He grinned, revealing gleaming white teeth, "...we are wolves! Why should we be bound by the rules for sheep?"

"So I burned down the police station and escaped, Kent!"

He opened his arms wide, as if embracing a crazy future:

"This boring little town can't hold us! Join me! Let's go to Gotham! That's the place for us! Chaotic, dark, where only strength and power matter! We can build our own order! We can have everything..."

Arnold

Clark's brow furrowed deeply.

It wasn't because of wavering, but because of a deep sorrow and anger.

This froze Arnold's expression on his face.

The boy raised his head and took a step forward.

The setting sun cast its golden rays upon him, as if gilding him with a layer of gold.
There was no longer any hesitation in those blue eyes.

Only a serene stillness, as clear as the Kansas sky:
"Whether someone has superpowers, can manipulate fire, can run fast, can jump high..." Clark shook his head. "These have never been the criteria for distinguishing between 'high-level' and 'low-level'."

He glanced at Jason, who was covered in wounds on the ground, then looked at Arnold and said, word by word, "The principal stopped you because you were on the wrong path, a path that hurts others. Jason chose to tell the truth because he realized his mistake and he is trying to correct it. That's what's 'high-level'."

"What truly defines who we are is our choices!"

"Should we use this power to protect, or to harm?"

"To build or to destroy!"

"Will you choose to uphold the goodness and justice in your humanity, or will you, like you, succumb to hatred and violence, turning yourself into a beast that only knows destruction!"

“And Gotham…” Clark shook his head, “It certainly needs help, it needs light. But it certainly doesn’t need the kind of ‘order’ you’re talking about, built on violence and fear.”

You're saying we're wolves?

Taking another step forward, an invisible aura seemed to emanate from him. Clark shook his head, his tone tinged with pity, "No. If you think you can be above others just because you have power, and disregard life and rules, then you don't even deserve to be called a wolf."

"Just a madman who has acquired claws."

"I am not the same kind of person as you."

"Never!"

Arnold stood there, stunned.

Confusion first appeared in his eyes, then it was replaced by rage.
He seemed completely unable to understand Clark's logic:

"Nonsense! Childish! Ridiculous! Since you don't know what's good for you, then you'll be dragged down with me..."

The words have not yet fallen.

"boom!"

Arnold felt as if he had been punched in the head.

Before he could even see the movement, all his roars and madness were cut off in his throat. His vision went black, and he collapsed limply to the ground, completely losing consciousness.

so
quick?!

"?!"

I haven't even made a move yet!

Clark slowly withdrew his fist and turned his gaze forward.

I saw
A familiar figure had appeared beside Arnold without him noticing, its transparent shadow floating behind him like mist.

yes.
Dior.

"Clark"

Dio's voice carried a hint of languor as he lightly stomped on Arnold's foot, as if he were merely a troublesome rock. "Instead of going home early on Thanksgiving night, you're here practicing your speech?"

"Dio? What are you doing here?"

Clark was somewhat surprised, and his gaze subconsciously swept around.

This isn't Gotham.

"Come and drive."

Dio seemed too lazy to say more, and simply pointed to the silver Harley next to him.

"Oh"

Clark nodded blankly.

He only realized what had happened after Dior drove away.
How did this guy manage to drive his car into the school?

Did they move in during a time-stop period?!

Shaking his head helplessly, Clark stood between the two unconscious people.

He took out his phone and dialed a number his uncle had given him.

He said that for any supernatural event, just contact him.

"?"

"Which Mr. Kent is it?"

That's what the other party said.

“Are you Mr. Ron?” Clark hesitated before speaking. “I am Clark.”

"It's you!"

The Martian hunter smiled, his voice reassuring, "Don't worry, someone will be at your location soon. You can just leave now."

"what?"

How did he know what happened to me?!
Clark was taken aback and turned to look around.

"Trust me, just leave."

“Don’t worry about the follow-up, Mr. Kent.”

“We have a… well… dedicated rapid response process to handle these kinds of special incidents. On-site cleanup and personnel handover are handled by professionals who are very good at making these things look like they never happened, or at least, in a way that can be explained by common sense.”

"And you"

"My hero, I think you have completed the most difficult part."

Nodding, Clark glanced at Arnold lying on the ground.
He didn't intend to finish off or kill the other person, and he didn't even cause any unnecessary damage.

He chose to turn around and leave.

How to handle this should be left to the law and justice.

While the law may not be able to fully measure extraordinary events, the moral compass in people's hearts has never failed.

He still chooses to believe in the rules and order of this world, and to use his own strength to protect them, rather than trample on them.

This was his choice, clear and firm.

after all
Before he became a superhuman, he was born a human.
-
"Clark, you're not human."

The atmosphere at Thanksgiving dinner was warm and lively.

The enormous turkey was devoured, and only crumbs remained at the bottom of the plate of pumpkin pie. The air was filled with the satisfaction and happiness brought by the food.

Under Locke's helpless gaze, Jonathan stammered out these words.

"."

"?"

Clark was stunned.

Blue eyes were filled with pure confusion and disbelief. He even subconsciously thought he had misheard, or that his father was making an extremely lame joke.

not human?
So what is he?
"Cough cough."

“He’s senile, Clark,” Locke explained. “What he meant was, you’re not from Earth.”

"???"

So what those old guys in the museum said was true?!
"Anyway, you guys come with me first."

Jonathan's cheeks flushed slightly, and he stood up somewhat awkwardly. "Come with us to the barn. There's something... I'd like to show you."

He led the way to the door, and Clark and Dio exchanged a glance before getting up one after the other.

Clark, in particular, had a vague feeling that his adoptive father's tone was different from usual.

Dior raised an eyebrow, a knowing and amused glint in his red eyes, as if he had anticipated this moment.

Martha sighed softly and followed in silence.

She had known this moment would come, but when it actually arrived, she was still overwhelmed with mixed feelings.

The family stepped out of the warm house and into the chill of Thanksgiving night.

The starry sky hangs low, seemingly within reach.

Instead of entering the main barn area where farm tools were stored, they went around to a small, covered open space at the back.

Jonathan stopped in front of the large, heavy black wooden plank.

His hands trembled slightly.

He took a deep breath, turned around, and faced his family, his gaze falling particularly heavily on Clark.

Locke stood beside him, hands in his pockets, his expression unusually serious, offering silent support.

“Clark…” Jonathan began, his voice barely audible and hoarse. He paused, as if gathering his courage, “My child… there’s something your mother, Locke, and I have kept from you for a very, very long time…”

Clark's heart leaped into his throat.

The warmth from dinner quickly faded, and a sense of unease began to creep in.

Dior, however, stood with his arms crossed, watching with a leisurely air.

Jonathan took another deep breath, as if he needed to use all his strength to say the next thing, his eyes filled with complex emotions.
—Love, worry, and a sense of relief.

He turned to the side and reached for the huge wooden plank with one hand.

Locke also stepped forward and gripped the edge of the plank with him.

“Clark…” Jonathan finally said, his voice not loud, but like a thunderclap in the silent night sky, “Your origins are right here down here.”

The voice fell
The two exerted their strength simultaneously, forcefully tearing off the cover that had been there for sixteen years!
The wooden plank slid off, raising a light dust.

Under the clear, bright starlight and moonlight, the outlines of what had been hidden in the underground space gradually became clear—

It's not a pile of junk.

That was a…

Streamlined, shimmering with a dark metallic sheen, quietly lying dormant...

spaceship.

It stands silently on the land of Kent Farm.

Clark's pupils contracted, and the whole world seemed to freeze before his eyes.

All other sounds faded away, leaving only the frantic pounding of the heart in the chest.

"You are not from Earth."

The old man with the white beard in the library earlier had a profoundly heavy weight in the face of this creation that transcends comprehension.

His origins, his power, all his extraordinary qualities...

The answer, it turns out, has always been hidden here.

In the starlight high overhead, inside this silent spaceship.

"Whoo~"

However.
Clark did not exhibit any breakdown, screaming, or prolonged daze.

He simply breathed a long sigh of relief.

The astonishment and shock on their faces receded like a tide, replaced by...
It's a sense of sudden enlightenment and relief.

"Hmm..." He nodded gently, his voice unusually calm. "I understand."

Locke blinked.

All the prepared words of comfort and explanation were of no use.

Martha covered her mouth with her hand, and tears welled up in her eyes, but this time, they were tears of relief and emotion.

Dio let out a cryptic chuckle, seemingly both bored and expectant of Clark's reaction, and lazily remarked, "True."

Salafir looked left at her brother and right at the large, gleaming toy. Although she didn't quite understand what had happened, she sensed that the atmosphere seemed to have relaxed from tense.

So he started grinning like an idiot, revealing his two little tiger teeth.

"It's boring."

"Shen Du" curled his lip, seemingly finding this emotional drama rather uninteresting. With a flicker, he vanished like smoke, returning to the depths of Salafir's consciousness.

His gaze slowly shifted from the silent spaceship to his family members in front of him.

Martha with reddened eyes, Jonathan with a complicated expression, Locke with a relieved expression, and his brothers with different expressions.

A warm and firm smile slowly rose to his lips, a smile devoid of any gloom, filled only with complete acceptance and belonging.

"I have always."

He stated clearly that every word was full of power:

"They live in the land and love of Kent farms, not among the cold, distant stars."

He looked at Jonathan and Martha, his eyes filled with affection:
"Perhaps in the future, I will go looking for them."

"but"

“I am Clark, son of Kent. I was, I am, and I always will be.”

These words, like the rising sun, dispelled all unease and gloom.

Hearing his adopted son's response, which was far better than he had ever imagined, and seeing the complete trust and affection in his eyes, Jonathan felt the weight and worry that had been weighing on his heart for sixteen years lifted.
"Good...good boy!"

His voice choked up, and his eyes were red and swollen.

But his face was filled with a smile of immense satisfaction and pride.

He wanted to say something more—

But the next second, the smile on his face froze, turning into a look of pain.

He raised his hand to cover his chest, his breathing suddenly became rapid, and his face quickly turned ashen.

“Jonathan?” Martha was the first to notice something was wrong.

"?!"

Locke immediately stepped forward as well.

But it's too late.

Jonathan Kent.

This is Smallwell's most steadfast farmer.

Because he was too emotional, before he could finish speaking, his eyes rolled upwards and he fell straight backwards!

"boom!"

Its heavy body crashed to the ground, raising a cloud of dust.

Everything happened too fast.

The scene, which had just been filled with warmth and relief, froze instantly.

Martha let out a short scream.

Dior's playful smile vanished instantly, and he straightened up.

Clark's relief and smile were completely replaced by terror and panic. He suddenly knelt down: "Dad—!"

Locke was completely stunned as he stared at his old brother lying motionless on the ground.

The first thought that popped into my head was:

Jonathan Kent!
What the hell are you...

I've prepared myself mentally and had contingency plans for sixteen years, and you give me a heart attack?!

(End of this chapter)