"Locke, kids!"
Jonathan spotted them through the café window, waving enthusiastically. Martha jumped up, hurrying out with a warm smile.
"Kids!" She opened her arms, pulling Clark into a hug before turning to Dio. "You must be starving. I ordered your favorite—"
"Pancakes and maple syrup," Dio cut in, a flicker of excitement in his eyes before he quickly masked it with his usual smug look. "Not that I'm that hungry."
Grrrr. His stomach betrayed him with a loud rumble.
Martha stifled a laugh, pretending not to notice, and gently patted Dio's shoulder. "Come on inside, the pancakes are still hot."
Locke watched the scene, a smile tugging at his lips. He turned to Jonathan. "I'm leaving these two troublemakers with you. I've got to meet someone to check on our corn and oats."
"Man," Jonathan said, clapping Locke's shoulder, "thanks a ton."
Over the years, Locke had helped spread the word about Jonathan's crops while selling his own.
"Bro, no need for thanks," Locke said, returning a playful punch.
"Well, in that case, I'm not holding back," Jonathan whispered, leaning in. "Lunch is on me. Still got a bit of my secret stash."
Everyone knew Jonathan's "secret stash" never lasted three days—Martha always sniffed it out. But Locke played along, winking. "Guess I'll have to bleed you dry then."
He hopped into his truck and started toward the spot where he'd agreed to meet Anthony. But then…
"You're not hungry, huh?" Locke glanced back at the truck bed, where Dio's blond hair fluttered in the breeze.
Forty minutes later, the old Ford pickup rolled up to Smallville's second entrance. Locke squinted at the festive street ahead—colorful flags waved in the breeze, shopfronts were decked out, and even the lampposts were wrapped in ribbons.
"What's this? Did the Kansas Ravens win a game?" Locke asked, turning to Dio in the passenger seat.
Dio, flipping through a hardcover book with an air of sophistication, didn't look up. He smirked. "How would I know?"
"Weird," Locke said, raising an eyebrow. "Don't most boys your age love football?"
"Hmph." Dio snapped the book shut, his red eyes flashing with disdain. "Only gorillas like Clark get into that barbaric sport."
Locke was momentarily speechless, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. He drove in silence to the meeting spot with Anthony.
There, a sharply dressed middle-aged man was being warmly greeted by Anthony.
"That must be the big shot," Locke muttered, parking the truck and sizing up the guy.
The man had slicked-back hair and sharp eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses, carrying himself with the polished aloofness of high society.
"Dad," Dio whispered, "that guy…"
Locke's heart skipped a beat. "What about him?"
"His watch," Dio said under his breath. "It's a limited-edition Patek Philippe. At least $200,000."
Locke sucked in a breath. That was two years of his farm's net profit! "Is that the point? And how do you know about Patek Philippe?" He swatted Dio's head. "You sneaking peeks at my Playboy magazines again?"
"No way! That's Clark's thing," Dio protested.
"Hey, why's everything Clark's fault? That fair?"
"Dad, I told you, I'm just into fashion trends. I couldn't care less about those overdone models."
"So you admit you looked?"
"?!"
Before Dio could argue, Anthony spotted them and jogged over. The savvy middleman had gone all out today—new suit, tie knotted perfectly, even his usually scruffy beard trimmed neat.
"Locke! Finally!" Anthony grabbed Locke's arm, then glanced at Dio with a knowing grin. "And this young gentleman is…?"
"My son, Dio," Locke said, a bit exasperated, his eyes drifting to the suited man nearby.
Anthony caught the hint and led them over. "Mr. Luthor, this is Locke Kent, one of our best farmers around here."
Luthor?
Locke's eyes widened. A Luthor with hair? He glanced at the man's head—thick, golden hair gleaming in the sun. Didn't seem like a Luthor.
"Dad," Dio whispered, nudging his distracted father with an elbow.
"Oh, sorry," Locke said, snapping out of it. He shook the man's outstretched hand. "I'm Locke Kent, and this is my kid, Dio Kent."
"Lionel. Lionel Luthor," the man said with a smooth smile, unfazed by Locke's brief lapse. He stepped aside to reveal a scrawny boy. "And this is my son, Lex Luthor."
There's the real deal.
Locke grinned, curiously eyeing Clark's future arch-nemesis. Young Lex, about ten, had sparse blond hair and pale skin, hiding behind oversized round glasses. He looked like a spooked quail cowering behind his dad.
No hint of the future mastermind.
"This kid…" Lionel gave an apologetic smile. "He got rattled by some turbulence on the helicopter ride over. Don't mind him, Mr. Kent."
Dio's red eyes glinted with curiosity as he studied the boy his age. Lex seemed to feel the stare, shrinking further behind his father.
"No worries," Locke said kindly. "First flights can be nerve-wracking. Dio was a mess the first time he rode a tractor."
"Dad!" Dio's face flushed red in protest.
"Hahaha," Lionel laughed heartily. "Kids, right? By the way, Mr. Kent, I hear your farm…"
"Father," Lex interrupted, his voice barely a whisper. "Can I… can I go play with Mr. Dio?"
Mr. Dio?
Everyone froze. Dio's eyebrow arched, a smirk curling his lips.
He liked the sound of that.
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