American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 175 Prophecy.

The night is getting darker.

As Dio drove his silver Harley, bringing with him the chill of a Gotham night, closer to the farm, his sharp eyes immediately spotted an incongruous figure in the fields.

A man dressed in dark clothes is holding a shovel.
Shoveling snow in his own field... with great effort?

Lex is gone, so who is this guy?
Dior narrowed his eyes slightly, a cold glint flashing within them.

What kind of stupid thief dares to sneak around on Kent's turf?
He almost instinctively wanted to activate "The World" to stop time and get close in an instant, then give this foolish guy a lesson he would never forget.

However, at the slightest thought, he abruptly stopped himself.

That's not quite right.
The entire farm was covered by the father's almost abnormal senses. He could see everything, from a grown man shoveling snow to a rabbit running by.

It's impossible for the father not to know about this guy's existence.

Could it be that…

Was this permitted by the father?
Even... was it his father who made him work here?
This thought temporarily suppressed Dio's urge to take action.

He slowed down and quietly stopped beside the farmhouse, his gaze scrutinizing as he walked toward the figure still struggling against the snow.

Just then, Locke's voice came from the barn, carrying a hint of understanding:
"You're back? Perfect timing, come and get acquainted."

Dior stopped and looked toward the barn.

Locke emerged from the shadows, holding a handful of hay, and pointed at Bruce, who had stopped moving at the sound.

"He is Bruce Wayne, and he will be staying nearby for a while, so..."

"My students."

Locke explained in a casual tone.

Then he turned to the somewhat curious young man:
“Bruce, this is my eldest son, Dio Kent.”

The eyes of the two young people met in mid-air.

Dior's eyes held an undisguised scrutiny and a hint of condescending indifference.

Bruce maintained a calm demeanor, but a wary and calculating look lurked deep in his eyes.

However, out of basic courtesy, or rather, as a necessary procedure under Locke's watchful eye, Bruce still extended his hand:

"Hello, Dior. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Dio glanced at the hand covered in snow and mud, hesitated for half a second, and then slowly reached out and casually shook it.

then
"squeak!"

The moment their hands clasped together.

Bruce felt a tremendous force suddenly tighten around him!

Dior's hand was like an iron clamp, with a hint of probing and a subtle provocation, as he exerted force.

Caught off guard, Bruce broke out in a cold sweat.

"hiss!"

A slight tingling sensation instantly spread through their arms, abruptly interrupting their struggle, and their hands involuntarily separated.

"Get along well."

Locke glared at Dio, then, as if explaining, said:
"Bruce donated several hills to our farm as 'tuition fees'."

"Ok?"

How many mountain peaks?

Dio raised an eyebrow slightly, shook his slightly numb hand, and looked the young man in front of him up and down again, who was trying to move his fingers despite the pain.

Wayne…

Bruce Wayne...

A sudden thought flashed through his mind, and he remembered.

“You’re the son of the Wayne Group? Bruce Wayne,” Dio stated.

“It’s me.” Bruce nodded, trying to keep his tone calm. “We must have met many years ago, at the Metropolitan Exposition.”

"I even asked you for the pendant."

"..."

Dior's lips twitched slightly.

It seems... there is such a thing.

A young master who looks a bit boring and a bit annoying.

However, he didn't quite remember it at first, since his impression of the name Bruce came more from the Iceberg Club.

This young master Wayne is a regular in the club's VIP area, spending top-tier amounts of money and rarely causing trouble.

They are truly the best of the best among the best customers.

As for what he had seen back then, he had long forgotten about it...

Forget it.

Dior inwardly scoffed.

Seeing how cooperative this guy was, he even gave us several mountains.

In the future, he would try to protect this person in Gotham, since it would help generate revenue for his own business.

"understood."

Dio responded listlessly, too lazy to say anything more, and didn't even bother to ask Locke why he had taken such a young master as a student.

He turned and walked toward the farmhouse, leaving the cold wind and the two men behind.

Watching Dior's departing figure, with its composed demeanor and an air of innate superiority.

Bruce recognized the other person at a glance.

The King of the Iceberg.
The 'Golden Illusion of the Iceberg' that repelled the attack on the Gotham superhumans.

This aura...

Well-deserved name.

He glanced subconsciously at Locke beside him, who looked perfectly normal, and a strange feeling welled up in his heart: Mr. Locke's way of educating his children... he really lets go quite a bit.

His eldest son has become the uncrowned king of Gotham's nightlife scene, while he himself is still just an ordinary farmer.
wrong
Wait a minute?
He remembered the information correctly.
Dio Kent is only fifteen years old!
-
The next morning, it was just dawn.

After a simple breakfast, Bruce was assigned a new task.

Continue clearing snow from another area.

After a day of physical exertion, coupled with the brief but intense meeting with Dio last night, Bruce was completely exhausted and could only drowsily swing his shovel.

Clark was also there to help.

But compared to Bruce, his movements were unhurried and incredibly efficient. With a single shovel stroke, he removed a large patch of snow, and his breathing was remarkably steady.

But looking at Clark's youthful and innocent profile, he recalled Dior's powerful aura and domineering presence from last night.

Bruce couldn't help but stop what he was doing, rubbed his sore arms, leaned closer to Clark, and asked in a low voice, "Clark, are you fifteen years old this year?"

“Yeah.” Clark stopped shoveling snow and wiped non-existent sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “What’s wrong, Bruce?”

Looking into Clark's clear blue eyes, Bruce sighed softly, his feelings a mix of emotions.

With the understanding of someone who's been there, he tried to offer comfort in a tactful way, even patting Clark's strong arm:

“Clark, listen, it’s normal for people to be different. Your brother… Dio, he’s also fifteen, but he’s really… well… ‘precocious’ and very ‘promising’. But you have your strengths too, like… you’re very strong and you have a good personality.”

"So, you don't need to feel inferior sometimes, just grow at your own pace."

"???"

Completely bewildered by this sudden 'comfort,' Clark's face was etched with a huge question mark.

self-abasement?

Because of Dior?

Why does he feel inferior because of Dior?

There used to be some, but not at all now.

However, since Bruce mentioned Dior's 'ambition,' Clark wholeheartedly agreed, and while continuing to shovel snow, he sincerely remarked:
"Bruce, you're right, Dior is indeed very capable and very promising!"

He counted on his fingers, "Look, he's so young and he can already earn money on his own, and so much! He bought so many nice things for our family, Dad's motorcycle, and lots of high-end ingredients..."

"Although he always has a sour face and speaks harshly, he is still very reliable in critical moments."

"?"

Bruce listened as Clark recounted Dior's methods of earning a living, his facial muscles twitching slightly.

There seems to be a slight, subtle difference between what I mean by "promising" and what Clark understands as "promising"?
He wanted to say something more, trying to steer the conversation in a deeper direction, such as what the Kent family does, and whether everyone in the family has strange or unusual abilities.
Clark had already deftly shoveled away the last bit of snow in front of him.

He straightened up, shoveled the shovel in his hand into Bruce's, and flashed a bright smile:

"Alright, I'm done cleaning up here! Bruce, the rest is up to you. I have to volunteer at the town's nursing home later, helping to move things, I'm going to be late!" "Volunteer?"

Seeing Clark's energetic appearance, Bruce couldn't help but tease him:
"So eager to volunteer? Who are you going with? That pretty girl named Chloe from yesterday?"

He had expected to see Clark's somewhat embarrassed or tacit expression.

Unexpectedly, Clark shook his head very naturally, cracking his knuckles as he answered frankly, "It wasn't Chloe. She had to finish her school newspaper article today. She went with Lana, another friend of mine, who's also a good person."

"Lana...?"

Bruce repeated the unfamiliar girl's name, his eyes widening slightly.

Another girl?
Looking at Clark's matter-of-fact attitude, combined with his almost perfect sunny and handsome appearance.

Bruce instinctively took a half step back, exclaiming in an exaggerated low voice:

"Clark Kent! With your thick eyebrows and big eyes, I never imagined you were a playboy!!"

"???"

Completely bewildered by Bruce's sudden accusation, Clark's face was once again filled with question marks. "What playboy?"

“I was just there to help, and Chloe is my friend.”

"Oh, what about Lana, whom you mentioned earlier?"

"pull"

Thinking of the girl's feelings for him, Clark paused, then sighed with a sense of helplessness.

"Bruce, don't talk nonsense."

Hey! I think you got poked by me.

The teasing stopped abruptly.

"Hi~!"

A chill ran through my brain.

Bruce shook himself and quickly patted his clothes to break the snowball that had somehow landed on the back of his neck.

But by the time he came to his senses and wanted to continue teasing and have some fun, Clark had vanished.

He was left standing there alone, shovel in hand, looking at the snow that hadn't been cleared yet, and then at the boy's retreating figure in the distance.

For a moment, I didn't know what expression to make.

and so…

Is it really true?!
Saying goodbye to Bruce.

Clark strode towards the agreed meeting point in the town.

From afar, I could see the figure standing in front of the post office, gently stamping his feet to ward off the cold wind.

It was Lana Lang.

Today, Lana has shed her vibrant energy from school and embraced a warmth more suited to the small town's winter.

A short white down jacket made her small face look even more delicate.

Her hair wasn't tied into a neat ponytail as usual; it was simply draped softly over her shoulders.

It was very cold, and she would exhale puffs of white breath from time to time. Her hands were in her pockets, and she looked expectantly in the direction Clark had come from.

Lana's face lit up with a bright smile only when Clark appeared. She raised her hand and waved, "Clark! Over here!"

"Lana." Clark quickened his pace and ran over, saying somewhat apologetically, "Sorry, have you been waiting long? I was held up by some work on the farm."

"It's okay, I just arrived recently too."

Lana smiled and shook her head, letting her hair sway slightly with her movement: "The weather is pretty good today, at least it's not snowing. Let's hurry up, the director said there's a lot to move today, and we need your 'strongman'."

"No problem, I'll take care of it."

Clark smiled憨厚ly and naturally walked to Lana's side, slightly forward, to shield her from the cold wind blowing in her face.

We walked side by side on the quiet streets of Smallville, heading towards the nursing home.

Along the way, Lana enthusiastically shared with Clark the latest fun stories about the cheerleading squad, gossip from school, and Grandma Cassandra at the nursing home, who was said to be able to see the future.

Clark listened quietly, occasionally interjecting a word or two, his gaze frequently falling on Lana's cheeks, slightly reddened by the cold wind, his eyes filled with a smile.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, making the afternoon at the nursing home busy and fulfilling.

Clark and Lana worked together seamlessly.

One person was responsible for moving heavy supplies and repairing broken furniture, while the other patiently chatted with the elderly, read newspapers to them, and distributed the snacks they brought.

This made time fly by, and the work quickly came to an end.

They arrived at the last room.

An elderly woman with a full head of silver hair was sitting quietly in a rocking chair by the window.

“Grandma Cassandra,” Lana said with a smile as she approached, “we’ve come to see you. This is also the last snack and newspaper for today.”

"Lana, it's been a long time." The old man raised his head, looking at Lana and Clark beside him with gentle eyes, a genuine smile appearing on his lips: "And this tall and handsome young man... Clark, right? You good kids have really had a hard time these past few days."

“It’s not hard work, Grandma Cassandra, it’s what we should do.”

Lana responded softly, placing the snacks and newspaper on the small coffee table next to the old man.

“Good child.” Cassandra reached out her wrinkled hand and gently patted Lana’s hand, her eyes filled with affection. “Kindness and perseverance will give you a bright future. I see it…”

Her tone was firm, as if she were stating an established fact.

"Grandma, really, you're joking with me again."

Lana covered her mouth and chuckled softly.

“I never misjudge a situation,” Cassandra said kindly.

Then, she turned her gaze to Clark, who was standing a little further back, and extended her hand to the boy, seemingly just wanting to shake hands in a friendly manner.

"And you, child, let me thank you too..."

Clark, without suspicion, stepped forward and naturally and politely shook the old man's outstretched hand.

But just as their palms touched—

Cassandra froze instantly.
His previously gentle eyes suddenly widened.
Countless lights and shadows seemed to be rapidly flowing deep within his pupils!
In her field of vision at this moment
The image of the smiling boy in front of me blurred and rose instantly, his body bursting with an overwhelming radiance, like the sun descending!
Behind that dazzling light, countless blurry yet powerful figures emerged layer upon layer, each with a different posture, yet they seemed to coalesce into an invincible torrent.

finally.
They come together to form a fist capable of shattering stars and piercing the universe!

It roared out into the endless darkness!
"boom--!"

A silent explosion erupted in her mind, followed by a pure white light that engulfed everything.

The illusion came to an abrupt end.

Cassandra abruptly released Clark's hand, her body leaning back uncontrollably in the rocking chair, her face turning pale and her breathing becoming rapid.

"What's wrong with you?"

Lana was startled by the old man's sudden reaction and quickly went over to check on him.

Clark looked equally bewildered.

I looked at my hands.

Does he carry the virus?
After a few heavy breaths, the old man finally managed to calm down.

She raised her trembling hand and waved it weakly.
"No...it's okay..."

Her voice was a little hoarse, with a sense of urgency to end everything:

"My old ailment has flared up again, my asthma. I... I'm a little tired. Children, thank you... Let's call it a day. You can go out now."

Her tone even carried a hint of dismissal.

Lana and Clark exchanged glances, filled with doubt and worry, but seeing the old man's closed eyes and unwillingness to talk, they had no choice but to leave the room as instructed.

"What happened to Grandma Cassandra?" Lana asked anxiously.

Clark shook his head, his brow furrowed: "I don't know, everything was fine just now..."

He was also very confused. Just a moment ago, he seemed to feel the old man gripping his hand with unusual force, and then it was as if he had seen something extremely terrifying.

Silence returned to the room.

Cassandra sat in a rocking chair.

The sunlight outside the window shone on her face, but it couldn't dispel the solemnity between her brows.

She raised the hand that had just shaken with Clark and held it in front of her eyes; her fingers were still trembling slightly.

“Light…and…fists…so many figures…” she murmured to herself, her eyes filled with confusion and shock: “What are those? That boy…who is he…”

She tried to focus her mind again, to uncover more of the truth behind that fleeting glimpse.
But all she could see with her eyes at that moment was a cloud of turbidity.

she.
Never see it again.

(End of this chapter)