Chapter 16: A Hakimi of your level has no right to hiss at me."
Falling slowly from high altitude, Yale stepped onto the porch.
The door wasn't locked; with a gentle push, it revealed the girl sitting on the sofa.
She was staring at the television screen, her long golden hair draped over her shoulders, a few strands slipping down the side of her ears and covering half her face, creating a ghostly figure.
"What a terrifying scene..."
"Good evening." Yale closed the door with his backhand, blocking the night wind he brought back outside. "I thought you'd go play detective games with Elaine and the others tonight."
Joanna didn't make a sound.
Yale didn't mind either. If Joanna ever suddenly started chattering about gossip, he would instead have to consider whether it was Deathstroke in disguise.
Taking off his coat and hanging it on the coat rack, the young man swept his peripheral vision across the sofa.
The girl was wearing pajamas printed with a yellow lightning mouse, her legs drawn up to her chest and gently hugged, looking peaceful and detached from the world.
But the delicate toes curled up at the edge of the sofa still betrayed the unease in the girl's heart.
The advantage of growing up with Joanna since childhood was...
Yale didn't need super vision to read Joanna's body language.
She lacked a sense of security right now.
Translated into human terms: She was afraid of staying alone.
The house was too empty. Martha and Jonathan had been going to town almost every night recently. The crop yields were bad, and all the farmers in Smallville were at their wits' end.
The kind couple always felt that as long as everyone stuck together, they could pull through, so rain or shine they went to the community activity center next to the church to help organize donations and mutual aid. Clark also went along to move tables and chairs—after all, Superman's bubbling-over kind heart wouldn't allow him to watch his parents toil while he holed up at home.
This meant that for most of tonight, Joanna was the only one left in this house.
Yale remembered the last time a similar situation occurred was Thanksgiving five years ago.
He had gone to town with Clark and the Jonathan couple, while Joanna stayed behind. When they returned, Joanna's expression was calm; if it weren't for the next day when the whistleblower Clark secretly told him that the trash can at the corner of the stairs was full of snotty tissues, he never would have known.
Anyway, ever since then, Yale rarely left home at night.
But today was an exception...
He had to handle the matter of Deathstroke personally.
"Jo..."
Yale had just opened his mouth when he looked up and crashed into the girl's icy-cold eyes. She looked down following his gaze, and her toes shrank back, completely hiding in Pikachu's shadow.
"Yale, are you a pervert who develops desires for his sister's feet?"
"..."
Yale's eyelid twitched.
First Lana Lang felt that his breaking into the dance studio was to do something unspeakable to her dance shoes, and now it was Joanna's turn to conclude that he was a pervert harboring improper thoughts about his cousin's toes.
Must his god-like, shining, perfect persona... die in the line of duty over the word 'pervert'?
Today was September 17th, two hundred and thirty-four days away from the end of the semester.
But Yale felt that his suffering this semester had only just begun.
"Since you think so, for the sake of my personal safety and your mental health." The young man turned around expressionlessly. "Good night, I'm going to sleep."
"..."
"Wait."
Joanna's voice sounded behind him.
"...Yale... I didn't mean that..."
"Heh... Then what did you mean? My heart has already been broken, sister."
"..."
"I just wanted to say... Where did you go tonight?" she whispered.
"...?!"
Yale turned his head in flustered surprise, looking at the girl who was tugging at the hem of her T-shirt and repeatedly rubbing Pikachu's tail pattern.
"Are you caring about me?" The boy suddenly wanted to tease her.
"..."
"You are my family, of course I care about you." The girl lowered her eyelashes and spoke softly.
No hissing.
What? Joanna actually didn't hiss at him?!
Yale felt his brain crash. He had originally prepared to take her move of 'none of your damn business' and go upstairs dashingly, but the opponent directly opened the city gates wide and welcomed him in.
This left him a bit at a loss.
When was the last time Joanna said something similar to him?
"Fine."
Yale tried hard to keep the corners of his mouth from curling up too obviously.
"Then I'm very sorry... Dear sister, I shouldn't have left you home alone."
He turned around and walked back to the sofa, sitting down with a plop while intentionally bumping Joanna's thigh with his butt.
As a seasoned risk assessment master and opportunist, he would absolutely not let go of any opportunity to farm bonds and incidentally draw family relationships closer.
If he farmed too few bonds, he wouldn't even have a reason to pull off a subjective miracle when encountering trouble later on.
Joanna was squeezed to the side, but she didn't dodge away, only pulling her knees closer together.
"You're so annoying." Her eyebrows knitted slightly.
"Don't you like this warm family moment?" Yale blinked innocently.
Joanna moved her body to the other side of the sofa, leaving Yale with an icy profile.
Yale looked happily at the bristling girl, suddenly feeling a bit nostalgic.
Today, sixteen-year-old Joanna Kent was no longer the small, short, hostile blonde girl from eight years ago. The physical advantages bestowed upon her by compound vduring puberty, catalyzed together by Martha's apple pie and the Kansas sunshine, had turned into an embrace with full oppressive presence.
He felt his eyes growing a bit warm.
"Joanna."
"Hm?"
"Let's end the Cold War."
"..."
"Are you finally going to have a shootout with me?"
Joanna turned her head to look at him, sparks igniting deep within her pupils.
Yale's mouth stiffened.
I was truly foolish, really.
He only knew that ending the Cold War with his sister was a good thing, but he didn't know that a hot war could follow right after the Cold War ended...
Standing up from the sofa, Yale walked toward the stairs.
Joanna sat motionless on the sofa until the footsteps faded away, and only then did the corners of her mouth curl up slightly into an arc.
But very quickly, she pressed them together again.
She cast her attention to her side...
A backpack.
Today at six in the evening.
When Joanna opened the door, she saw Lana Langstanding under the porch, holding a backpack in her arms.
"Joanna. I... I'm here to return Yale's schoolbag... He asked me to deliver it..."
The auburn-haired girl stood at the door, her aqua-blue eyes full of panic.
Lana Lang, it was Lana Lang again...
The girl who frequently hovered around Yale ever since the elementary school bus accident in the third grade, the woman who had to stand on the sidelines watching Yalerun during every P.E. class, the woman who would sweep her peripheral vision across Yale at every school dance but never dared to invite him...
Joanna had thought her own existence alone over the years was already a sufficient deterrent.
No one would try to poach a lioness's corner in front of a male lion...
That was common sense.
Yet today, this cheerleader actually came knocking on her door...
Damn fox.
Just how many were there, and from which corners were they still going to pop out...
"Yo! Joanna!"
"The town is very lively today. Remember Peter? The boy who likes insects? Tonight he let a lot of spiders loose at the church entrance, and..."
The front door was pushed open, and Clark Kent walked into the living room shouting loudly.
"Sshh—!"
A scorching red light slashed past the potted plant.
Several leaves of the ivy turned into fertilizer.
Clark:...
Which foot did I... did I step in with just when entering the door?
Left foot? No... Is stepping with the left foot a capital crime?!
"Joanna... I..."
"I'm pruning the branches, Clark. Didn't you notice that this ivy is growing over the wall?"
"..."
Clark lowered his head to look at the lush ivy that was about to grow out of the window, and then looked up at the expressionless Joanna on the sofa...
...Indeed... growing over the wall a bit?
But come to think of why was it so strange?
...
On the other side.
Yale pushed open his bedroom door and walked to the window, pulling the curtains open with a swish.
The moonlight tonight was nice.
Yes, he could even absorb moonlight.
Although the efficiency was ten thousand times lower than sunlight, for the Eternals, this was a nearly instinctive physiological need, just like having to cover oneself with a blanket before sleeping.
Lying down on the bed, Yale pulled the glowing red gemstone pendant out from his collar.
Routine check-in every night.
Starting from being rammed by a silver-white lion in the cornfield at age eight.
Yale took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
Dark clouds covered the moon.
Replaced by a sheet of darkness.
Yale suddenly opened his eyes again.
Lucid dream.
The firmament hung low, and the silver mist rising from the ground flowed slowly.
A silver-white lion walked out of the mist, its gilt-like mane draped across its chest.
Its pace was very slow...
But every time its paw pads landed, the entire void space would emit a muffled sound like war drums!
Eight years.
This damn lion had plagued him for a full eight years.
But today was different.
After all...
"Eight years."
"Logically speaking, a Hakimi of your level no longer has the right to hiss at me."
"Hum—!"
As the words fell, the young man soared into the air, golden light flickering and dying in his pupils!
The night and silver mist were completely ignited by the monarch's majesty, causing a golden storm just as brilliant as the lion's to surge around his body! He was already a completely different person from the boy paralyzed in the cornfield eight years ago!
"Transgressor! Fall back!"
Chapter 17: Anti-Life Equation.
Blood flowed out from between the gaps in the mane.
Yale braced his knees with his right hand.
"Hoo…"
He wiped the blood stains from the corner of his mouth.
In the past eight years, he had never beaten the lion into such a state.
However strong he could be, this lion would be just as strong.
Yale stood up, supporting himself by his knees.
His crimson-gold eyes met the male lion's shattered golden pupils.
Yet Yale seemed to see…
It was smiling.
A silver monster beaten down to its last half-breath was flashing a smile at him.
"What the fuck are you smiling at…" Yale was so angry he laughed.
"Roar——!"
The male lion's remaining strength erupted in that instant.
But Yale executed a sliding tackle, passing underneath Meteor's belly.
"Screech——!!!"
Two crossed heat vision beams burst forth. The male lion was disemboweled and melted into droplets, scattering all over the ground.
"Thud…"
Yale propped himself up from the ground and sat up, panting heavily as he watched the giant beast that had accompanied his entire childhood dissipate inch by inch behind him.
"…"
He won.
Two thousand nine hundred and twenty nights.
This damned silver big cat was finally dead…
The corners of Yale's mouth couldn't stop curling upward.
In the future, he probably wouldn't have to dream this damned dream anymore; he could finally sleep soundly for a full ten hours, and even discuss adolescent boys' ergonomics in his dreams…
"Boom."
Darkness broke, and a white light engulfed the nothingness.
Yale's vision blurred, and when he regained his senses, he saw a red moon hanging above the firmament.
"…"
An unfamiliar moon…
He was standing in a boundless, pure white hall.
Countless towering pillars rose from beside him, leading straight beneath the distant firmament, straight beneath an hourglass suspended under the red moon.
Dust-fine sand grains flowed upstream, turning into swimming fish, flying birds, or some long-extinct ancient creatures, refracting fleeting images the moment they converged at the bottleneck.
A person in a red bodysuit was running at an impossible speed until their flesh stripped away and turned into white bones.
A man wearing a ridiculous bat cowl was hugging a young corpse, roaring silently in an alleyway on a rainy night.
There were also two planets colliding, yet a red-and-blue figure batted one of them away, but then someone slowly opened their eyes in the deepest darkness of the universe, with Omega-shaped fire lines burning in their eyes…
Furthermore, a wall of light stretched for tens of thousands of light-years like the Great Wall.
This side of the wall was order, and the other side of the wall was nothingness.
Countless images rose and shattered in the golden sand flow, so fast that even Yale's super vision could only catch fragments.
Hundreds of billions of living beings bobbed up and down within the hourglass.
"…"
What the fuck did I dream of?
Yale's rationality operated at high speed under the enhancement of his Super Brain.
After the nightmare ended, it wasn't followed by a sweet dream?
Of course, maybe that damned lion released some DLC easter egg right before it died, so all these things were just…
"You have finally come here, my friend."
Yale suddenly turned around.
The crimson-gold in his pupils had not completely faded as it swept across the empty hall, finally falling on the shadow on the armrest of the throne.
A cat.
Yale: "…"
To be precise, it was a round-faced, golden-eyed Burmese cat with black-brown fur, the tip of its tail lazily hanging down and swaying from side to side at this moment.
"...Did you just speak?" Yale asked expressionlessly.
"It was me speaking." The cat licked its paw pad.
"Who are you?"
The cat jumped down from the armrest, wagged its tail cheerfully, and looked up at the teenager who was dozens of times taller than it.
"I am Moge."
"...Moge." Yale repeated.
"Moge."
"You are a talking cat."
"Very good observation skills."
"You're crouching on a chair that looks like it's meant for a god to sit on, licking your paws."
"Licking paws is an instinct of felines."
"Where is this?"
"This is the Dream Realm." It raised its face. "It is the hotbed of all things born, and the graveyard of all things unborn. It is the kingdom of the sleepers, and the cage of those not yet awake."
"...Can you speak human?"
"What I'm speaking is human." Moge's tail flicked with displeasure.
Yale looked around the white hall, the red moon and upstream hourglass overhead, and the swirling white fog all around.
"Alright, Moge." He squatted down. "You said this is the Dream Realm. I can understand this as a dream. But what I need right now is…"
"You are the chosen child." Moge interrupted him.
"…"
"Uh... Well, you don't seem to count as a child anymore."
"The last time I saw you, you were just this... small."
It raised a front paw, gesturing in the air to a position roughly at the height of its own shoulder.
"…"
"The chosen child." Yale repeated expressionlessly.
"Yes."
"Then can you assign me a Angewomon? LadyDevimon works too? What's the deal with sending me a Burmese cat?"
"Wh... What?" The Burmese cat trembled.
"Nothing."
"So you are that lion." Yale's voice turned cold.
"That is not the case."
"You aren't."
"I am not."
"Then what are you?"
"I am the temporary administrator of the Dream Realm." Moge scratched its head with its tail, "I'm responsible for keeping watch for the Lord God."
"What about the lion?"
Yale shouted in a low voice, "It has troubled me for a full eight years. Do you know what consequences a growing adolescent male face from being deprived of deep sleep for a long time?"
"But it also kept you from having any other nightmares these past eight years, didn't it?"
Yale was stunned.
It seemed to be true…
Except for that silvery-white big cat…
He hadn't dreamed any other dreams.
For eight years, his sleep had only two states…
Fighting the lion, or absolute dreamless darkness.
"...Coincidence." Yale snorted.
"It is not a coincidence. It protected you for eight years, letting you grow to this day."
"…"
"Protected?" Yale laughed out of extreme anger.
The silver monster that chased and bit him every week and kept his sleep duration under four hours…
"That's truly the most aggressive bodyguard in the world." Yale sneered, "I thought Slade Wilson was already outrageous enough, but it turns out there's an even more outrageous one in dreams? Is this a second service packaged by my uncle?"
"Your uncle has nothing to do with this." Moge remained unmoved.
"From the result, it did what it was supposed to do."
"No nightmare has approached you in these eight years. Your mind matured in a safe environment. Your strength grew enough to kill it…"
The voice cut off abruptly as Moge was lifted by the scruff of its neck by a hand.
"Eight years ago, that lion appeared in reality." Golden radiance flickered in Yale's eyes, divinity and tyranny spilling like flowing mercury, "If I had failed eight years ago…"
"What would happen?"
"…"
Moge dangled swaying in Yale's hand.
"If you failed, it would just be a dream." The cat spoke unhurriedly, "Cry your heart out, and then forget what you dreamed of."
"…"
"The essence of the trial was never to survive, but not to give up. For eight years, you never stopped resisting it. I suppose that is also the true reason you were chosen by the 'Dream'."
Yale let go, his pupils returning to a clear amber.
Moge gracefully shook the fur on the back of its neck and jumped onto the steps at the base of the throne.
"You're really strong. If I were a normal cat, my neck would have snapped," it evaluated.
"You're not normal." Yale said expressionlessly.
"Yes... I am indeed not normal."
Yale looked around.
The Dream Realm.
The hotbed of all things born and unborn.
Morpheus.
The name emerged from the depths of his memory.
The Lord of Dreams, the Endless family.
"…"
"So what do you mean? Mr. Moge, calling me here... what do you want me to do?"
"Do you know about prophetic dreams?"
"…"
"I occasionally hear the old ladies of Smallville mention them at book clubs." Yale said without blushing or his heart beating.
"…"
Looking at the Burmese cat's "keep pretending" gaze at his feet, the corners of Yale's mouth twitched, and he said impatiently:
"Freud said it's the subconscious recombination of reality information, Jung said it's the resonance of the collective unconscious…"
"Of course, if you're going to tell me prophecy in the literal sense... considering that I'm currently standing in an impossible grand hall chatting with a talking cat... I can accept it." Yale said calmly.
"That's good, that can save a lot of explanation." Mogeraised a front paw, pointing to the upstream hourglass overhead, "Those images you saw…"
"Are the future."
"To be precise... all possible futures. Born and unborn. Going to happen and might happen. The shadows cast by the past and unsolidified destinies."
"Before all things fall asleep, they are first dreamed of."
Yale fell silent.
He remembered the fragments he saw in the sand flow just now.
"And now... the dream world has lost its ruler."
"Morpheus," Yale chimed in.
"You know him?" Moge was stunned.
"I know a lot of things, continue." He said.
"...He has been sealed." Moge muttered, "It's been a long time. So long that I can't determine the exact time."
"In short, the Dream Realm has lost its order."
"The nightmares are beginning to spin out of control."
"Small nightmares don't matter. Everyone has nightmares, and most nightmares dissipate on their own when dawn arrives."
"But powerful nightmares... they project into reality..."
"Project into reality." Yale was stunned.
"Yes. Natural disasters. Supernatural events. Fate-level misfortune. If a person dreams of a flood, it won't actually cause a flood. But when a nightmare powerful enough accumulates to critical mass in the Dream Realm..."
"It will overflow from the dream and overlay onto reality."
"By then, the dreamer will not wake up."
"Because the dream has already become reality."
"..."
"So..."
Yale probed, "Do nightmares arise first, projecting onto vulnerable minds to form precognitive dreams, or do human fears condense into nightmares?"
Moge: "Your question is just like which came first, the chicken or the egg."
"Then as long as I don't sleep, or ignore them, won't that settle it?" The young man frowned.
"Yale... things don't work that way..."
Moge shook his head.
"A long time ago... a long time ago, even longer than the history recorded by your world... once, a thousand cats had the same dream at the same time. In that dream, cats were the masters of the world."
"Humans were shrunk to the size of a palm, living in cages and eating canned food given by their cat masters."
"I suspect you're smuggling your own agenda." Yale felt too exhausted to retort.
"Anyway, when a thousand cats believed in this dream at the same time, the world really changed briefly."
"..."
"In that fraction of a second lasting less than a second, humans really shrank. Cages really appeared. Cats really sat on the throne."
"Although the next second a cat woke up, saw the cat food in its bowl, the consensus collapsed, the dream receded, and the world restored."
"But that one second was real."
"The essence of dreams is another kind of reality."
"A dream powerful enough will devour the waking world."
"This is the principle of nightmares coming true."
"Nightmares will continuously grow and expand in dreams... Their existence will ripple out into the dreams of all life related to them. These ripples are precognitive dreams."
"As the ripples continue, the nightmare's level will constantly rise, from a town to a city, from a city to a planet, from a planet to the universe, and sooner or later, the entire reality will be dragged into the deep sea of dreams."
"Yale, my friend, my brave warrior, my idol, the task of saving the world is left to you. I think you are the next King of Dreams."
Yale turned and walked away.
"Where are you going?"
"I want a midnight snack."
"Don't leave, I can share some dried fish with you, I still have some Dream Sand on me, you can eat as much as you want."
"..."
"Thanks for your kindness." Yale waved his hand without turning his head, "Leave the high-difficulty job of saving the universe to my brother in the future who wears his underwear on the outside of his pants. I'm just a minor suffering from severe procrastination. Remember, Moge, not employing child labor is the bottom line of labor law."
"Wait!"
"Wait, wait, wait, wait!"
The kitten chased after him.
"At least let me finish!"
"I'm done listening, thanks for your lion bodyguard service. Next time I need a precognitive dream, I'll burn some incense. Now please tell me how to wake up, I'm hungry and I want a midnight snack."
"You can't wake up!"
Yale stopped in his tracks.
"The red moon hasn't reached the horizon yet." Mogepanted as he ran to his feet, "Before the red moon sinks below the horizon, you cannot leave the Dream Realm."
The young man looked at the black-brown Burmese cat at his feet.
"Are you imprisoning me?"
His voice was very calm.
So calm that all the fur on Moge's body stood on end.
"It's not imprisonment! These are the rules!"
"Time in the Dream Realm is synchronized 1:1 with the real world, and the red moon is the clock... You enter the dream when it rises, and you wake up when it sets. This is the same for everyone."
"..."
"You haven't answered my question yet." Yale said abruptly.
"What question?"
"What can you provide for me?"
"Do you remember what I said... The Dream Realm contains everything that has been born and everything that has not yet been born." Moge breathed a sigh of relief as he looked at the upstream golden sand waterfall above his head, "What I can provide for you... is also precognitive dreams."
"In the dream, you can see the future that might befall you in advance, and you can see their shadows before they come true."
"It's equivalent to having one more chance than everyone else in the world."
"..."
The white hall was quiet for a long time.
Yale stood in place, something rapidly flipping in his pupils.
"Is there anything else?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Inside here are unformed dreams and future fragments." Moge used his tail to point at the surging white walls around the hall, "They are also already existing, or about to exist in the multiverse..."
"Projections of items, knowledge, and power."
"Theoretically speaking..."
"You can get everything."
Yale looked towards the mist.
But he saw a golden helmet floating in the mist, with several colorful rings floating beside it.
The Helmet of Fate, rings of various colors.
But Yale's attention was attracted by something deeper inside.
A lantern.
An emerald lantern floated in the middle layers of the mist...
"What is that?" Yale said instinctively.
"Oh."
Moge followed his gaze over.
"The Central Power Battery of Oa."
"..."
No wonder he, an Eternal, would be attracted by this thing...
If his memory served him right, the energy contained in this thing could destroy the universe. Yale's mouth twitched. His current mood was just like an innocent passerby seeing a certain blue raccoon cat pull a galaxy-destroying bomb out of its four-dimensional pocket...
Having said that, Yale's super vision couldn't help but continue deeper into a line...
Text?
Loneliness + alienation + fear + despair + self-worth ÷ mockery...
"...?! "
Yale's pupils shrank abruptly.
His Super Brain actually began to tremble the moment he saw that formula clearly...
Not because he couldn't understand it.
On the contrary, he understood it too fast.
That formula was trying to embed itself into his cognitive framework.
Trying to be...
"Snap!"
A tail whipped against the back of his head.
Yale retreated abruptly, fine cold sweat oozing from his forehead.
"What are you doing?!" He turned back and glared at the cat.
Moge was squatting two meters behind him, his tail raised high, turning into a spinosaurus form.
"You almost got lost in the mist."
"Before you have enough Dream Sand, don't explore deeply."
"The more you want to explore the mist, the more the mist wants to devour you."
"You will become a part of it, floating in there forever."
"As a projection."
"An exhibit."
"You wouldn't want to be looked at as an exhibit, would you? Yale."
Yale fell silent.
Was this really his own fault?
If his guess about that formula just now was correct...
——The Anti-Life Equation.
This ghost place even has this thing?!
"..."
"Let me sort this out."
"You want me, a sixteen-year-old high school student in Kansas, to be regularly teleported into this white room in my sleep, to fight nightmare monsters that pop up from nowhere. If I win, the monsters turn into golden sand and fly into that funnel overhead. The funnel thinks I've accumulated enough points, and lets me take things from that fog wall that could swallow me at any time."
"Roughly like that."
"And if I don't beat these nightmares, or no one fights them... the next day they will turn into disasters in reality."
"Correct."
"And the only benefit of me participating is... I can occasionally peek into my own future in dreams?"
"Of course, this is the privilege of all Dream Warriors." Moge praised sincerely, "Very concise summary, Yale."
"As expected of you, I've already become your fan."
"..."
Yale looked up at the hourglass.
The illusions refracted by the golden sand were too fast and too fragmented, making him no longer try to capture specific images.
"Just me alone?"
"No, the Dream God chose six people."
"You are the first to pass the trial."
Yale looked down at the cat.
The red moon hung in the vault of heaven, quietly shifting toward the horizon.
"Who are the other five people?"
"You will meet them... uh... of course, that depends on whether they can beat their guardian beasts tonight, like griffins, bats, and other ancient..."
"Wait..."
Moge's expression lit up with joy, "She's here, Yale."
Chapter 18 Darkseid, Kneel!
"Bang——!"
The white wall shattered, and a shadowy figure tumbled in.
Yale narrowed his eyes.
Yet all of the opponent's identifying features twisted into a blurry shadow in his eyes, with the sole exception of a pair of ice-blue eyes.
"It's normal that you can't see clearly," Moge whispered quietly, "The Dream Stone conceals everyone's true identity, and to her, you're also just a blurry figu—"
"What the fuck are you guys doing in my dream?!" A female voice interrupted the kitty's words.
Yale noticed that the other party's voice was also distorted to some extent by the dream, but this didn't affect his ability to read the irritability within it.
This was clearly not an easy fellow to get along with.
He turned his head to glance at the Burmese cat by his feet, "Is this what 'Dream' carefully handpicked?"
"An outstanding youth representative developed comprehensively in body and mind?"
Moge's ears drooped to the sides, and it tentatively took two steps forward, "Hello, my friend, welcome to the Dream Realm, I am Mo—"
"Shut up."
"..."
Yale sighed.
He had just killed a silver lion that had plagued him for eight years, had just been educated by a Burmese cat about what the Dream Realm was and how the universe was about to be swallowed by nightmares, and now another colleague who started cursing the moment she opened her mouth had arrived...
Stepping around Moge, who was curled up into a shadowy ball at his feet, Yale said calmly, "Sister, quiet down and listen to me—"
Before he could finish his sentence.
Ice-blue specks of light suddenly magnified in his eyes.
Someone threw a punch straight at his face!
The speed was close to that of Clark.
"Bang!"
The shadowy figure's forward momentum came to an abrupt halt.
The woman seemed completely not expecting anyone to catch her fist. She dazedly raised her head, only to see the eyes of the person before her burning to molten gold.
"Kneel."
Yale flipped one hand expressionlessly.
The shadowy figure was violently slammed onto the white ground. The woman's shoulders trembled violently, every muscle desperately trying to resist, but her body simply couldn't stand up.
It was as if gravity itself had chosen to stand on Yale's side at this moment!
"What the fuck! *****"
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Out-of-control, irritable curses gushed out from the shadow, a string of profanities echoing beneath the dome.
"Explain."
Yale chose to ignore it, turning his head to glance at Moge, "While she's still listening."
Trembling, half of its head poked out from behind Yale's trouser leg.
At the cost of almost being flattened into a cat pancake by a hand that broke free, Moge spilled the concepts of the Dream Realm, the materialization of nightmares, and prophetic dreams like pouring beans out of a bag...
However, the effect wasn't very significant... The other party was still launching physical attacks all over the kitty's body, until Moge gasped out:
——You can get everything here.
The shadowy figure pinned to the ground by Yale finally stopped struggling.
It seemed this information was important enough for her to temporarily set aside the humiliation of being pinned to the ground and forced to kneel.
Feeling the power in his palm no longer resisting, Yale also let go of his hand.
The woman stood up from the ground, her ice-blue eyes staring dead at Yale.
"Superhuman... What's your relationship with Vought?" she asked abruptly.
Vought?
Yale narrowed his eyes slightly, but relaxed soon after.
"Is this some new alien breed?" He blinked.
"Then who are you?"
"I'm an alien," Yale said with a straight face.
"..."
"...Which planet are you from?"
"Mars."
The shadow laughed out of extreme anger, but before she could say more—
"Someone else is here, you two." Moge's ears suddenly pricked up, "Good lord, is today a triple blessing?"
The woman turned around vigilantly, sweeping her gaze across the white walls surrounding the grand hall, evidently waiting for a third figure to smash in from one of the walls just like she did.
But the white walls were completely undamaged.
"Hello."
A voice sounded from behind them.
Yale turned around in surprise.
Only to see a blurry silhouette leaning against a white pillar.
"Uh... When did you get here?" Moge was also somewhat surprised.
This shouldn't be...
How could someone enter in such an unpretentious way?
"I've always been here," the voice, lingering between youth and boyhood, was very soft, "Ever since this gentleman made this lady kneel."
"Do you want to die?!" The woman let out a screech.
But whether wary of Yale or wary of something else, the woman ultimately abandoned the idea of going up to beat up the newcomer.
"..."
Looking at the figure leaning against the pillar, Mogeturned back to look at the undamaged white walls surrounding the white hall.
If this guy had already entered the grand hall just now...
Then who was the entrant it sensed just now?
Everyone fell silent for a moment.
The red moon shifted across the firmament, casting dim and uncertain shadows on the three figures.
But a fourth person never appeared.
"...Fine." Moge scratched the back of its head with its tail, trying to restore the atmosphere to normal from its eeriness, "Since everyone is here... Uh... temporarily everyone is here?"
"Then there's a matter that needs to be confirmed. I suggest you use code names in the dream and not reveal each other's true identities. This is a way to protect yourselves."
"Traveler," Yale spoke up first.
"Traveler, do you regard yourself as a passerby?" The woman sneered.
"Do you plan to settle down here?" Yale blurted out.
The speed of the retort was bizarrely fast...
Yale now found that he completely couldn't control the urge to tease this fellow. But this shouldn't happen—such a situation had only ever occurred when he was with Joanna. This guy couldn't possibly be Joanna, right?
He raised his eyebrows to closely examine this irritable shadow.
It couldn't be Joanna...
After all, Joanna couldn't possibly fail to recognize him, even in a dream.
Yale had absolute confidence in this.
"What about you?" he asked abruptly.
The woman's ice-blue pupils shot him a sideways glance without speaking.
"Don't want to choose your own?" Yale raised an eyebrow, "Then I'll pick one for you."
"I am—"
"Megaphone," Yale said with an unblinking expression.
"..."
The shadow's fists clenched and cracked loudly.
But perhaps because the sensation of being slammed to the ground just now still lingered in her body.
"Silence," she gnashed her teeth, "Call me Silence."
"Very good." Yale almost laughed out, but still kept a straight face and nodded, "Silence. Good taste."
However, the woman clearly heard something from his tone. Her ice-blue pupils narrowed dangerously, but in the end, she still didn't make a move.
"As for me, call me Nightwalker," the figure beside the pillar said calmly.
"Alright, alright, Traveler, Silence, Nightwalker. Great, we can finally act like civilized people..." Moge flicked its tail in relief.
"Mr. Moge," Nightwalker suddenly spoke, "You said just now that anything can be done here."
"Uh... Theoretically speaking..."
"Can it bring the dead back to life?"
The grand hall fell silent.
Yale narrowed his eyes and looked at the fellow calling himself Nightwalker.
The other party's gray-blue eyes were staring unblinkingly at the black cat at his feet.
"..."
"You can copy the person you want to resurrect from a certain universe," Moge's expression turned rarely serious, "Granting him the corresponding flesh, appearance, and memories."
"Cloning?"
"Yes."
"Because the souls of the dead are all taken away by Death, all 'Dream' can provide is copying and cloning."
Nightwalker leaned back against the pillar and spoke no more.
"This... Nightwalker? What guards you in your dreams?" Yale suddenly spoke, "Mine is a lion."
"...?"
"A bat," Nightwalker said calmly.
The corners of Yale's mouth curled up slightly.
A bat...
"Mine is a tiger," Silence sneered.
"Who asked you?" Yale said in disgust.
"Do you want to die?!"
The woman let out a ceaseless stream of foul language.
"Alright, alright, ladies and gentlemen, this is the first meeting of our great heroes! Since three candidates have already gathered in the Endless White Hall of the Dream Realm—I have a proposal."
Moge was trying to make its little round face look more solemn.
"We need to elect a council president. One vote per person, simple democracy, how about it?"
"What powers does the council president have?" Yaleraised an eyebrow.
"This... I'm not particularly clear either?"
"You're not clear either?"
"Anyway, 'Dream' told me we need to elect one! Dreams never make mistakes!" Moge said righteously, "And there must be benefits, Traveler, you have to believe me! Look into my sincere eyes!"
Moving his eyes away from this silly cat, Yale looked toward the two of them.
Silence crossed her arms in front of her chest; it was obviously impossible for her to vote for him.
Nightwalker leaned against the pillar, still nonchalant.
However...
"Let's discuss it first, how about that?" Yale said.
"Of course."
Moge covered its eyes with its tail, seemingly wanting to emphasize that it was an impartial cat.
Yale was speechless, but still stepped toward Nightwalker.
Nightwalker didn't avoid him either, facing so calmly the one who slightly bent over to approach his ear...
"...?!"
Silence's eyes narrowed slightly. She actually saw Nightwalker reacting as if he had heard something shocking to him, his gray-blue pupils suddenly expanding.
"Who are you?! Why do you know?!" Nightwalker said in a deep voice.
"Because I'm an alien," Yale said with a straight face.
"You..."
Nightwalker's expression was uncertain and suspicious. Just a moment ago...
Bruce Wayne.
This string of names was so soft that even Silence couldn't hear it clearly, so soft that even Moge's pricked-up ears could only capture the vibration of airflow.
But he heard it.
The other party said...
Your home is in Gotham, your butler is Alfred, and your mother is named Martha.
"..."
"...Let's vote," Yale said aloud.
"Alrighty!"
Moge joyfully initiated the voting process.
Although this process was outrageously crude...
It actually just plucked three tufts of hair from its own body and had everyone give the hair to the person they wanted to vote for.
Silence kept the cat hair in her own hands, as a matter of course.
As for Nightwalker...
The suspicious and unsettled Nightwalker cast his vote for this seemingly omniscient and omnipotent demon.
Although Silence was filled with reluctance, recalling the irresistible heavy pressure from just now, she still gritted her teeth and abstained. Thus, Yale successfully won unanimous election as the council president of this white house.
"Traveler, two votes!" Moge announced joyfully, "Congratulations on becoming the first council president of the Dream Realm candidate council!"
"...Thanks, Nightwalker." Yale cast a glance toward the shadow beside him.
Nightwalker: "..."
"Time is almost up."
Moge raised its head to look at the firmament.
The red moon hung upside down.
The white mist became sparse and distant.
"After the red moon sets, you will wake up and return... The next gathering will be in seven days. Remember, don't forget to sleep! Everyone!"
"Let's discuss this, I'm the council president, me skipping work shouldn't..."
Yale's words were only halfway done.
Something's wrong!
Silence and Nightwalker's figures had already dissipated into particles of light along with the sinking of the red moon, and even Moge had turned into a puff of smoke.
Yet he was still standing in place.
He did not wake up with the red moon.
"Hum——!"
Above the dome of the hall, the perpetually flowing reverse hourglass suddenly stagnated!
The golden sand grains suspended in the vacuum no longer flowed upward.
A prophetic dream?!
Council president benefits being handed out this fast?
But Yale didn't have time to continue thinking.
He was standing in the center of a burning city.
Countless pieces of paper fluttered down from the firmament.
Yale casually caught one.
"Daily Planet — 2012"
"Boom——!"
A golden giant sphere rolled down from the sky.
Yale recognized it; it was the crown on top of the Daily Planet in Metropolis, its figure appearing at the start of every daily television news broadcast.
Then this place is...
Metropolis five years later? Which villain is this...
"Hum——!"
An orange-red beam of light swept across, and skyscrapers toppled forward one after another, their glass curtain walls shattering into a storm during the descent.
"I am Darkseid!"
A rolling, majestic voice came from all directions.
Yale stood dazedly on one side of the river of fire, looking at the gray demon god across the bank whose eyes burned with Omega symbols.
His figure was only two heads taller than an ordinary person...
But the space he occupied was visually infinite, as if he was the coordinate origin of this world, and everything collapsing around him was merely a footnote to his existence!
Surrounding him were several figures that Yale knew all too well from comics!
The demigod in red and gold tights, the man wearing a green ring, the Valkyrie holding the Lasso of Truth...
Yet in their eyes, there was only the gray dominated by despair!
And the only man who wasn't controlled...
Was Superman...
And of course he was Superman!
He was Clark Kent, who would chuckle foolishly in the farm from picking up an oversized pumpkin, and whom Yale dismissed and told to get lost!
At this moment, half of his red cape was burned away, his knees were sunk into the magma, kneeling before Darkseid, kneeling upon the scorched earth distorted by gravity!
His arms propped up a collapsing continental plate!
"Superman!" The demon god raised both hands, "Surrender to me!"
Beneath Darkseid's feet, a black hole roared, and unimaginable gravity fell upon Superman's shoulders like a falling star. Yet Clark stared with wide, angry eyes, his bloodshot eyes suddenly lifting upward, gazing toward the pitch-black sky that would never welcome the dawn!
"Yale——!!!"
"..."
His pupils contracting, Yale instinctively stepped forward.
"I have come by my own summons!"
Yet the dawn of the gods descended a step ahead of him!
A gap was torn open above the high heavens, and golden light spilled through the shadows of the fleet! It was like a star plunging toward the earth! Wherever it passed, any Parademons that dared approach were vaporized by a gaze hot enough to ignite stars!
"Yale Kent!" Darkseid let out a roar.
The Omega Beams pierced through the scorched earth!
"Darkseid."
His face was soaked and blurred by the radiance, but the judgment pronounced by the golden figure drowned out the rumbling black hole beneath Darkseid's feet!
"The laws of nature shift because of me, bend because of me, and change because of me!"
"The despair pressed down by your gravitational field, I shall mold into hope with absolute gravity!"
With one hand, he threw a punch to interrupt the Omega Beams, and with the other hand stretched out to take over the heavy burden on Superman's shoulders!
Waves of light burst from his hands, and the continent was lifted up by a golden storm!
"The New God of the Old Gods, the New God of the New Gods!"
"These are the Eternals, I am Hyperion!"
"Darkseid, kneel!"
Chapter 19 Jonathan: With great power comes great responsibility? That is your Uncle Ben's twisted logic!
Darkseid will descend upon Earth in five years.
A burning Metropolis, starships blocking out the sky.
Yale frowned.
Five years later...
Which is to say, 2012.
It really is the end of the world.
Moreover, if his judgment of the timeline wasn't wrong, this year Clark was still an intern reporter at the Daily Planet, while the bat enthusiast who called himself Nightwalker in the dream realm had probably just crawled out of Ra's al Ghul's cave, busy stuffing his own basement with all sorts of black technology that violated the Geneva Conventions.
And then they were going to face a King of the New Gods?
What kind of hellish joke is this?!
Yale's mouth twitched.
Himself five years from now...
His fate was to blow up at the age of twenty-one with a gray stone man who could fire tracking M87 rays from his eyes? Just him alone?!
Are the Justice League of this universe's future really all good-for-nothings?
"..."
Of course...
Judging from the golden figure descending from the sky five years later and taking over the weight on Superman's shoulders with one hand, it seemed he had no other template besides Hyperion.
After all, a prophetic dream was just the future, a projection of several tributaries winding forward based on the current timeline.
101 Reading, read good books on 101 Reading Network, 101 kks. com, super worry-free, fully hand-typed error-free station
In these five years, he might be able to find other solutions...
For example, a new template, going to contact the Green Lantern Corps in advance... Forget it, contacting them would lead to an even total wipeout, better to figure out a way to seal Apokolips's Boom Tube oneself...
Or else...
"Mr. Yale."
A gentle voice sounded, and Yale's pen tip paused.
A middle-aged man was standing beside his desk, looking at him through gold-rimmed glasses with dark brown eyes.
"Although I don't mind students performing some time-transcending abstract stone man creations on the margins of the test paper in my class, I would prefer it if you could concentrate this exceptional imagination on the present."
"Sorry, Mr. Black." Yale crossed out the Q-version portrait of Darkseid and smiled rather sheepishly.
Adam Black.
The newly arrived history teacher at Smallville High School today, and the first thing this buddy did upon officially starting class was to smile and hand out a stack of test papers.
"..."
No wonder Slade told him to read his history books carefully.
After all, the questions on this test paper...
During the Dust Bowl era of the Great Plains in the 1930s, some agricultural communities formed spontaneous mutual aid networks, sharing seeds, water sources, and labor. Other communities chose to fight on their own and hoard resources.
According to post-disaster statistics from the Department of Agriculture, there was no significant difference in community survival rates between the two strategies.
Please answer:
If you were the mayor of a certain town in Kansas back then, what measures would you take?
"..."
Yale turned his head to look out the window.
Smallville in late August was shrouded in high temperatures.
The very first lesson of the opening day was actually teaching students to proceed from reality?
...
A moment later.
The bell rang.
The students surged toward the door as if granted amnesty.
Yale placed the test paper on the podium, his peripheral vision sweeping over Clark's test paper beside him.
This guy actually wrote the sentence, "As mayor, I will protect everyone."
It didn't look like he was acting.
Yale turned sideways to let a few classmates squeezing out the door pass, and casually spoke to Clark standing in the corridor, "There are no classes this afternoon. If you go to town, help me mail my comic strip..."
"Mr. Yale."
"Interested in being my class representative?"
Black spoke unhurriedly behind them.
"Mr. Black, thanks for the invitation, but I am already the biology class representative."
"Of course, understood." Black nodded slightly.
"Then... Mr. Clark?"
"Are you interested?"
"I... me?" Clark was flattered.
His gaze instinctively drifted toward Yale, yet Yale simply gave him a merciless thumbs-up and turned to leave.
...
Kent Farm.
The pasture land that had barely maintained a dark green color in early July had now degenerated into vast patches of grayish-brown, with a few lonely sunflowers still persisting by the roadside.
Super Hearing could even capture the wails of cattle lacking water continuously coming from surrounding pastures.
Yale walked along the ridge for a stretch, his gaze flickering uncertainly.
At the same time, the pests on the corn stalks beside him were vaporized one by one.
This was Yale's Heat Vision field patrol session after returning home every day, which could both hunt pests and control his mastery over his power.
But even though he manually cleared pests every day...
The man-height corn stalks still had curled leaves, and when Yale squatted down and snapped one off casually, he could see the dry fibers of the corn without a single drop of juice.
Clearly, Kent Farm's harvest this year was only about sixty percent of last year's, and as for the seeds left in the warehouse for next year's planting, Yale had counted them the night before last, and they were only enough to cover half of the farmland.
If the seeds were not enough during spring sowing next year, the Kent Family would have to buy them on credit from the seed company, and if next year's climate remained abnormal...
The credit loans would snowball and get bigger and bigger.
This was the sorrow of farmers in this era. Even if called farm owners, in reality, these small and medium-sized family farms were nothing more than ordinary beasts of burden under capitalists.
Yale sighed, standing on the field ridge and looking around, only to see two flyers whipped up by the wind blowing past him.
Flyers?
"S.H.I.E.L.D. Risk Assessment, your agricultural safety guardian!"
Yale's mouth twitched as he flipped open the next one.
"Greenfield Agrochemical... hiring seasonal workers!"
"Join us and find a way out in adversity!"
Yale didn't know much about the risk assessment company, but this factory was quite famous in Kansas.
Their Smallville branch had just lost a lawsuit last year due to wastewater discharge exceeding standards, and was fined two hundred thousand dollars by the Environmental Protection Agency.
"..."
These vultures didn't come before; not a single one came when the drought first showed signs. Now, seeing that the disaster was a foregone conclusion, they immediately rushed in to promote services and cheap jobs, right at the node where farmers' psychological defenses were weakest due to loans and poor harvests.
"Hum—!"
The flyers burned silently in his hand, turning into flying ash that drifted all over the ground.
...
"Sorry, dear."
Before pushing open his family farm's front gate, Yaleheard Jonathan's apology, scaring him so much that he almost thought this exemplary Kansas couple was about to part ways due to one party's fault.
After all, Jonathan Kent hadn't said sorry many times in his life.
"Dear, you don't need to..."
"But this is my decision." Jonathan sighed, "You've suffered too much following me all these years."
"Creeak!"
The wooden door made a creaking sound.
The two of them raised their heads simultaneously and saw Yale standing at the door.
Martha quickly reined in the expression on her face, and she got up to pour water for Yale with natural movements, but Jonathan patted the boy's shoulder.
"Come outside for a moment."
...
Forty pounds of corn seeds, twelve jars of pickles, several buckets of diesel, and a water pump.
This was the checklist of the Kent Family's remaining reserves currently.
"I plan to let those in need come and register, while also registering what they themselves can provide... repairing generators, taking care of children, transporting supplies, providing odd jobs. Barter trade, in black and white."
"Are you sure this setup will work in a disaster year?"
"..."
"You think I shouldn't do this?" Jonathan hauled a bag of corn seeds out from the corner of the barn.
"I just want to make sure you know what you're doing, Dad." Yale sighed, "These are our only remaining reserves. If we share them out just like this... next year..."
"I know." Jonathan smiled, turning to look at his adopted son, "Yale, you know too. You're always the child who can best figure out my thoughts."
"..."
"Forget it, as long as you're happy..." Yale got up and walked toward the door, "I might as well go to the front and hang the sign for you."
...
Dinner.
To be honest, Yale couldn't remember when such a level of silence last appeared at the Kent Family's dining table.
The Kent Family never lacked topics.
Clark always had an endless stream of campus anecdotes to share, Martha could always insert a comment or follow-up question, and although Jonathan didn't say much, he would occasionally drop a few sharp comments that brought everyone laughter and joy.
Even Joanna would occasionally share a few laughs with everyone.
But tonight was different...
Clark looked left and right, sizing up his adoptive father and his own perfect younger brother, not knowing what on earth had happened.
Yale forked a piece of beef and stuffed it into his mouth.
"I plan to be a comic book artist," he said casually.
"...Be a comic book artist, we support you," Jonathanpuzzledly said, "but why are you drawing..."
"With great power comes great responsibility." Yale said solemnly, "I keep Uncle Ben's teachings engraved in my heart. Dad, I feel it's time for me to make some contributions to this family."
"I understand the logic, I'm asking why you had to draw Benjamin." Jonathan's mouth twitched, "Why does it have to be him? Why can't you draw my Captain Americafather?!"
"I've already submitted the manuscript with my assistant, and the publishing house has already given a reply, hoping to publish it for me as soon as possible." Yale said solemnly to himself, "At that time, the first royalties will be used to buy a cow for the family, buy another tractor, plus buy a dress for Mom, a new set of pajamas for Joanna, and buy for me..."
"Are these the main points?" Jonathan laughed angrily, "I mean why..."
AI Model: gemini-3.7-flash
"Why isn't Clark there?!" The small-town boy on the side looked ready to cry. "My..."
*Knock, knock, knock.*
The sound of knocking on the door.
The cheerful atmosphere suddenly paused, and everyone turned their eyes toward the door.
"I'll get it," Yale said, setting down his fork and standing up.
*Click...*
The door opened.
Two people were standing outside.
Leading them was Walter Thompson, with his eight-year-old son, Little Walter, standing behind him.
The Thompsons.
They were one of the neighbors who had bad blood with the Kent Family.
Calling it "bad blood" was actually putting it mildly...
Last autumn, this fellow had shouted furiously at Jonathanover a boundary dispute regarding an irrigation canal.
"The Kents can't even farm properly on their own; you'd better stop farming altogether sooner rather than later."
It had made Jonathan so angry he nearly had a heart attack.
But now, this man stood at the Kent Family's doorstep, his voice much quieter than Yale had expected.
"Oh, Yale?" Walter forced a tight smile. "Is Jo—is your dad home?"
Yale narrowed his eyes, making no move to step aside.
His Super Vision had already taken in the scene.
The bed of Thompson's truck was completely empty, and two equally empty plastic barrels sat in the back seat.
Combined with the mutual aid chart Jonathan had posted on the barn door, the answer was obvious.
"My dad isn't—"
"Come on in and have a seat, Walter," Jonathan's voice called out.
".."
Yale was speechless, but he still stepped aside to let the Thompsons in.
"Have you eaten?" Martha stood up, preparing to fetch some plates.
"Y-yes, we have..." Walter looked down, avoiding everyone's gaze. "Martha, don't bother... I just..."
"Jonathan, I saw the chart you put up on the barn door."
".."
"What do you need?" Jonathan asked naturally as he stood up.
Jonathan Kent always managed to act with perfect naturalness at the right moments, because in his heart, he genuinely believed there was no shame in asking for help.
"A pump... your deep-well water pump, some diesel, and seeds... if you have any to spare, that is..."
"Sure," Jonathan chuckled heartily.
"...What?"
Walter Thompson was visibly stunned; he seemed never to have imagined that anyone in the world could be so generous.
"Boys, let's get those things hauled out," Jonathan called out loudly.
...
A moment later.
With the help of the two supermen, most of the supplies were easily loaded onto the truck.
Little Walter was also scurrying around helping to drop the tailgate of the truck bed, and the moment the water pump settled securely inside, the young boy suddenly turned around.
"Um... Yale... Clark..."
Little Walter's voice was muffled and timid.
"Yeah?" Clark asked, patting the dust off his hands.
"My mom... my mom told me to bring this."
Little Walter pulled an item wrapped in wax paper from his baggy jeans pocket.
"Blackberry jam. The blackberries my mom planted under the low wall in our backyard somehow survived the drought and bore a lot of fruit... She said Mrs. Martha could definitely use it..."
"This—"
A flicker of hesitation crossed Clark's eyes.
He hadn't forgotten their feud, and accepting this now made him instinctively uncomfortable, as if they had to trade away a water pump that belonged to their family just to receive an apology...
"Take it, Clark," Yale's voice came from beside him.
"Thank your mom for us, Little Walter. Tell her my mom will make the best blackberry pie in all of Smallville with this, and we'll bring one over to your place when it's ready."
Little Walter's eyes lit up.
"R-really? Then will I get to..."
He abruptly cut himself off, likely remembering that the unpleasant history between the two families wasn't something to bring up right now, and awkwardly swallowed the rest of his sentence.
The father and son's truck drove out of Kent Farm into the night.
Clark gleefully carried the jar of blackberry jam back into the house to report this major diplomatic triumph to Martha, while Yale lingered outside for a moment, staring blankly at the map of stars in the night sky.
...
Time passed.
In the days while Yale was rushing to meet his manuscript deadlines.
Time indeed proved a few things.
In the first few days after the mutual aid chart was posted, things weren't going well.
Someone had even borrowed diesel only to resell it the next day to a passing long-haul trucker at double the market price, claiming an urgent family emergency.
Of course, Old Zad eventually found out about it. The furious, nearly ninety-year-old man stormed into that household and gave the husband a brutal thrashing with his salted fish:
"If your great-grandfather were looking down from heaven, I bet he'd fucking jump down and beat you unfilial brat to death!"
That made Yale, who had arrived in a fury, burst into laughter first instead.
And other, positive changes were happening as well.
The Thompsons returned the water pump as promised, with Little Walter pushing a wheelbarrow behind the truck carrying an old, but well-maintained, hand-cranked thresher.
More handwriting began appearing on the cardboard chart on the barn door—some neat and tidy, some scribbled, and one line had even been written in pencil, erased, and rewritten multiple times...
The person had probably hesitated for a long time over what they could offer.
Every evening when Yale returned home, he would scan the newly registered entries on the barn door with his Super Vision.
For instance, the Ross Family wrote in the remarks section:
"—Does anyone have diesel? Can trade with seeds."
The very next day, someone replied:
"—I have diesel left. No need to trade seeds, just watch my kids for two days. I have to make a trip to Wichita to borrow some money."
".."
Yale pulled his gaze away from the mutual aid board.
Under Kansas's October night sky, the Milky Way was clearly visible to the naked eye.
"People desire goodness in their hearts, Yale."
Jonathan walked out of the barn.
"They just need someone to take the first step?" Yale asked.
"Of course."
"But how did you know they'd follow the system?"
"I didn't," Jonathan said, the corners of his mouth curving upward as he sat down beside Yale, gazing at the stars with his adopted son. "I just believe that inside every heart lives the desire to be a good person."
Yale fell silent.
Thoughts raced through his mind.
He recalled an issue from a comic he had read in his previous life. Facing the Joker, the Martian Manhunter had opened up the Joker's mental space to prove to the Spirit of Vengeance and the Phantom Stranger that even a madman like the Joker held the possibility of redemption within his heart.
Sure enough, at the deepest core of the Joker's heart was a colorful, vibrant world inhabited by an innocent and joyful clown.
Putting aside the fact that this, too, had been part of the Joker's scheme...
Perhaps Jonathan was truly right.
"Dad, you know what?" Yale couldn't help smiling. "If you went to the Daily Planet, you could probably be an editorial writer."
"You cheeky brat."
Jonathan chuckled helplessly and scolded him.
"Yale, I don't expect you to fully understand me right now. After all, you're much smarter than I am. The world you see is far bigger and much more complicated than the one I see."
"You know many things I don't, and you can do many things I cannot."
"But that's precisely why I hope you and Clark will remember what happened this summer."
"One day, you will stand in places far larger than this cornfield. When that time comes, the problems you face will be far greater than droughts and pests, and the hearts of men will be even more treacherous."
"...Are you trying to say, 'With great power comes great responsibility'?" Yale suddenly asked.
".."
"'With great power comes great responsibility'?" Jonathanwas taken aback, sounding slightly jealous. "How have you remembered your Uncle Ben's crooked logic for so long, when you never seem to take in a word I say?"
"Crooked logic? Didn't you admire that phrase back then?" Yale scratched his head.
"Depends on what you're comparing it to," Jonathan sighed helplessly. "Compared to how he was as a kid, I was just thanking the heavens he understood any sense at all back then."
Yale couldn't hold it in and burst out laughing.
"'With great power comes great responsibility.'" Jonathanshook his head. "I've never believed that the morality of the mortal world could bind a metahuman who can flip a tractor with the flick of a finger."
"What do you mean?"
"'With great responsibility comes great power'—that is the reason an old farmer like me can possess wisdom that prompts even you to ask questions." Putting an arm around Yale's shoulder, which was filled with world-shattering power, Jonathan murmured as he looked up at the stars, "I never want you to be bound by responsibility to save the world, my child..."
"My only heartfelt wish is that when you, Clark, and Joannatake on responsibility, great power will follow, giving you the faith to become examples who ignite hope."
".."
Shifting his gaze from the mud on the ground to the same starry sky his adoptive father was looking at, Yale gave a helpless smile.
Damn it... just how terrifying was the future he would have to face?
Following his precognitive dreams, his third golden finger turned out to be an idealistic power-up buff that his old man intended to unlock for him.
Chapter 20 Uncle Ben: This is all fucking made up! Yale: My uncle doesn't have any objections.
Metropolis.
At 2:00 PM on the third Saturday of every month, it is the announcement day for the nationwide comic monthly sales champion.
Today is no exception.
Three young men blocked the area directly beneath the electronic screen, each clutching this month's publications.
"The monthly sales champion must be'Steel Boy', right? The final chapter actually had him snap his fingers! The cultural section of the Daily Planet even gave him a half-page special report!"
"Why couldn't it be'Spider Boy and Miss Phoenix'? Didn't you guys check the official website? The editorial department even dug out old single-issue volumes from over twelve issues ago for analysis, and the romance thread between these two was planted seventy years ago! Pushing a pairing and selling nostalgia, with a combination punch like that, sales are bound to explode!"
"Both of you are dreaming. Haven't you read 'Purple Yam Farmer vs. Thunder God-man'? In the forty-seventh chapter, Thunder God-man swung his axe down and directly lopped off the purple yam farmer's head."
"It's too bloody, purely relying on violence and novelty to attract eyeballs..."
"Your Steel Boy also died in the final chapter, isn't that also attracting eyeballs?"
"That's called the spirit of sacrifice!"
"Give me a break..."
The three of them raised their voices step by step, gradually gathering a circle of onlookers at the entrance of the comic book store, but at the very next moment...
The cover of the sales champion slowly rose from the bottom of the screen.
Drawn on the cover was a bearded middle-aged man biting on an unlit cigarette, with endless wheat fields behind him.
The wind blows through the wheat waves, the fragrance of rice flowers~
——my uncle captain america
...
India.
Cows chewed on flowers at the alley entrance, and a motorcycle carrying ten people squeezed through between the herd of cows and pedestrians.
Among them was an out-of-place blond man wearing a khaki trench coat, carrying a takeout box, with a cigarette pinched in his right hand, weaving through the alleys.
A moment later.
The man tucked the cigarette behind his ear and pushed open the iron door.
The furnishings inside the room were crude.
The only living creature was a bearded big man lying sprawled out on the bed.
Constantine was so angry he laughed.
He had spent a full four days traveling between three countries, shaking off at least seven batches of unidentified followers.
And the end point of all this effort was this guy snoring in a hotel, capable of tearing apart a tank yet rotting away without any dignity in a foreign land!
"Bang!"
A kick landed on the side of the iron-frame bed, forcefully blasting the man—who was probably flirting with some Eastern European dancer in his dream—flying up.
"Lock-foot boy, you fucking do your job properly!"
The snoring stopped abruptly.
The man's eyes snapped open.
"Constantine?" Benjamin flew into a rage the instant he recognized the person. "You asshat underworld swindler! Do you believe that right now I'll tear off that thing of yours that has never been used for a proper purpose and shove it down your throat that only knows how to smoke cheap cigarettes..."
"You should try meditation, Ben." Constantine instead interrupted with sudden calmness, "India is the birthplace of meditation, it's good for your blood pressure."
"My blood pressure was just fine before I saw you."
"Alright..."
Constantine let out a cold hum, casually tossing the oiled-paper takeout box he had been holding in his hand, "Genghis chicken, local specialty, have a taste."
...
Benjamin looked down at the takeout box on his knees.
He raised an eyebrow.
Well, he had to admit...
"What's the point of just eating chicken?" he said seriously, "Aren't you going to get me some seasoning?"
"What seasoning?"
"F***k! I want it iced! I want something that can make a person spirited!"
"... Little foodie, I really can't do anything with you."
Constantine slightly nodded, unhurriedly reaching his hand into the inner side of his trench coat and pulling out a small packet of powder.
"Here."
"Satisfy your forever-unfilled lower body and brainstem deficiency."
"John, although you're a son-of-a-bitch swindler, you really are the bastard among friends who understands me best."
Benjamin's mouth hooked up.
He opened the package, brought it close to his nose, and took a deep sniff...
"Cough——! Cough cough cough cough cough!"
"This kick... how is it so big?! Do I fucking look like someone stuffed a whole thermite bomb up my nose?!"
"You've had this thing stuffed up you before?"
"There's nothing Russians can't do, damn it, cough cough... cough cough cough!"
While coughing, he hammered his head against the railing of the iron-frame bed.
...
"That's why I gave you Masala, my dear Ben," Constantine sighed, "Authentic Rajasthan hand-ground mixed spices, formulated from seventeen ingredients."
"In this damn New Delhi, besides this thing, what high-end ingredients do you expect me to prepare for you?"
...
Benjamin gritted his teeth, finally recovering his wits.
"Constantine, do you know?"
"?"
"If I can't wash powder, I'm the uncoolest bastard in this world," Benjamin reminisced.
"... Are you fucking sick?" Constantine was speechless, "How many years ago is that GG of yours?"
Pouting, Benjamin ignored this British bastard, instead tearing open the oil-stained takeout paper box.
He bit off a piece of chicken, shoved it into his mouth, and chewed twice.
"This cream is pretty good?" Benjamin's eyes lit up.
"Amul butter."
"Two hundred rupees?"
"Spot on."
"Mhm..."
Benjamin chewed a couple of times with satisfaction, but still lowered his head a bit strangely, "But why is this cream turning into water?"
"Maybe the weather is too hot?" Constantine touched his chin.
...
Benjamin fell silent.
"Constantine."
"Mhm?"
"What on earth did you buy for me?"
Constantine stepped back one step.
"Bang——!"
Benjamin's fist brushed past him.
"What are you doing?!"
Constantine wore a look of shock and anger.
"Do you know how expensive my face is?! This is a face lightly kissed by Satan! Hell's national treasure! The demons in all nine circles of hell have to make an appointment first just to spit on this face!"
"I'm going to beat your face into a Picasso," Benjamin bared his teeth and pulled his fist out of the wall, gravel rustling down.
"You don't even know who Picasso is."
"But I know how to beat your nose to the back of your head."
Benjamin twisted his neck and was about to rush up again.
But right at this critical juncture, he saw all the cheeky smiles on Constantine's face completely wiped away.
The Hellblazer's expression turned serious, and he abruptly pulled out a booklet.
"Take a look at this."
...
Benjamin frowned as he took it, hurriedly flipping through a few pages.
Constantine also frowned, probing as he asked.
"Did you see anything?"
...
Benjamin closed the comic book, pensive.
"Whose script approved this?"
"How would I know?" Constantine was speechless.
"I knew it was a trick concocted by you," Benjamin sneered, "This crappy comic full of shoddy sentimentality and fictional plots can't fool me, Constantine."
...
"If you want to fool me, Constantine, you'd better go back and retake your witchcraft classes!"
"Then forget it."
Constantine clicked his tongue irritably and left without looking back.
...
It became quiet.
Only the bell tolls coming from the distant temple filled this small room.
...Did that bastard really leave?
Benjamin sat on the edge of the bed, dazed at the empty door for a moment, and finally listlessly opened the comic book again...
Author: Peter Ken Parker.
Could it be?!
Uncle Ben rubbed his eyes.
"Aha! Caught you, didn't I!"
Outside the window, a blond head hung upside down and poked in. The despicable Constantine smugly said, "You big man are actually shedding tears in secret like a woman here! Benjamin Kent, you coward!"
"Constantine! I f***ing..."
...
Just as Captain America on the other side of the earth was preparing to slaughter the Hellblazer.
Kent Farm, Yale's room.
"Next... really have to be like this, Yale?" The girl with brownish-red long hair spoke in a low voice.
Lana Lang, the cheerleader admired by countless males in Smallville High School, was currently on Yale's bed, nervously crossing her slender legs wrapped in black stockings diagonally together.
She carefully folded the draft and held it against her chest.
"It's fine," Yale, sitting in front of the desk, said casually, "My uncle doesn't have any objections."
"Didn't your uncle not even leave contact info..." Lanawhispered.
"This is called tacit consent," Yale said with a straight face, "Silence means consent, this is a basic consensus in the legal field. Of course, I haven't checked which state's laws it specifically belongs to yet, but the general direction is fine."
"... That's probably not a consensus in the legal field."
"Alright, Captain Lana," Yale waved his back turned to her, "Go submit the manuscript. As my assistant, this is your duty. You must help me haggle and deal with the publishing house properly."
"Oh..."
Lana stood up from the edge of the bed, tucked the draft into the folder she carried with her, and walked to the door. But just as she was about to push open the door, her slender legs still rubbed together a bit unwillingly.
"Yale."
"What?"
Looking at the boy's reliable and broad back since childhood.
"This month's homecoming," Lana brushed a few strands of red hair behind her ear, her aqua-blue eyes gradually becoming resolute, "Yale, I want to invite you and me..."
"Bang."
The wooden door was pushed open from the outside.
A barefoot blonde girl walked into Yale's room with arrogant strides as if declaring sovereignty, carrying a tray with two glasses of orange juice in her hands along the way.
Joanna Kent.
"...?!"
"... I'll leave first!"
The girl hugged her folder and squeezed past Joanna's side.
"Eh! Lana! Did you drink the orange juice?"
Yale could even hear Martha shouting downstairs.
Unfortunately, it was of no use, the cheerleader had already run out of sight.
...
"Alright, Joanna," Yale shrugged, "Looks like the juice mom squeezed can be monopolized by the two of us."
Saying this, Yale took one of the cups and drank heartily.
With his financial help.
The Kent Family could be said to be thriving; now even the orange juice didn't need to be watered down!
"Have you thought about what dress to buy? Joanna, your older brother I am now a famous cartoonist renowned in Metropolis," he hiccuped with the taste of orange juice, "The first royalty has arrived in the account, and our family has said goodbye to the tragic fate of extreme poverty."
Joanna didn't answer, just holding the orange juice and walking to the spot where Lana had just sat, sitting down on her own.
"... What's wrong?" Yale blinked.
"Is this cheerleader your girlfriend?" the girl said coldly.
"...?"