Steam from the hot shower still clung to the bathroom mirror, sliding slowly down the glass.
After helping the two boys clean up, Lock walked into the bedroom, rubbing his damp hair with a towel before tossing it onto the back of a chair. The mattress creaked faintly as he flopped onto the bed, his left hand absentmindedly brushing over the blue ladybug pendant on his chest.
Outside, a full moon hung over the wheat fields, its pale light filtering through the sheer curtains, casting dappled shadows on the floor.
It was the only thing Jotaro had left behind.
The cold metal against his skin brought back memories of tonight's bizarre fight—and the guy who called himself Wolverine, claiming to be from another world.
"Mutant," Lock muttered under his breath.
Wolverine's appearance confirmed one thing: the urban legends about mutants in this world weren't just rumors.
What Lock hadn't expected was that these folks with the X-gene were apparently strangers, tossed here from other worlds.
"Did they just rip through the dimensional wall or what?"
Staring at a crack in the ceiling, Lock's thoughts swayed like the wheat fields outside.
Wolverine hadn't spelled it out, but you didn't need to be a genius to figure it out. Ruling out that loudmouth in the red spandex, who else could pull off something like this? A god, maybe?
Lock rolled over, the bed springs groaning in protest.
Jotaro's cryptic words echoed in his head again.
"Professor Charles."
"The Anti-Injustice Society Republican."
Clearly, Professor X had gotten tangled up in this cross-timeline mess, even becoming some kind of resistance leader in the future.
But what bugged Lock the most was the timeline contradiction.
He'd been sure Jotaro came from a parallel universe—after all, the system had promised multiple kids.
But tonight's kryptonite monster...
Lock took a deep breath, his fingers unconsciously gripping the bedsheet.
The timing and location of that metal killing machine were too perfect.
If he hadn't caught it in time, knowing Jonathan and Martha as he did, things would've played out differently. Martha's blueberry pie would've just come out of the oven, still steaming. She'd wrap the tray in that sunflower-embroidered napkin, and Jonathan would grumble about eating sweets so late while cheerfully firing up the tractor.
Then, at some turn in the road, under the moonlight, a metal giant would appear.
Martha's scream would be drowned out by the rain. Jonathan would throw himself in front of his wife, uselessly trying to shield her.
And then Wolverine would show up, too late, to end it all.
"Damn it!"
Lock bolted upright, his curls damp with cold sweat.
The scenario felt too real, like he'd seen it happen.
Now he finally understood what Jotaro meant by "Martha, my grandmother I've never met."
In the future that hadn't been changed, the Kents died tonight.
And if they had...
What about Dio and Clark?
He remembered what the system had said eight years ago.
[Ding!]
[Adoption successful.]
[Current adopted character: Dio Brando]
[Please guide him to grow healthy in mind, body, and spirit, and help him achieve greatness.]
What would a screwed-up Dio turn into?
Would that still count as the "healthy growth" his golden finger demanded?
Did the system crash because of something like that?
A gust of night wind rattled the windows.
Lock's fingers brushed the silent ladybug pendant again, its cold metal grounding him.
No matter what, history had changed.
Whoever was behind Jotaro's warning had failed.
Martha's blueberry pie was still sitting safely in the kitchen. Jonathan would probably wake up tomorrow griping about his sore back. And next door, Dio and Clark's hushed bickering floated through the walls—something about ice cream flavors and how to sweet-talk Aunt Martha into buying a gaming console.
"Phew."
The mundane chaos eased Lock's frayed nerves a bit.
---
In the next room, Dio sat cross-legged on his bed, his blond hair glinting faintly in the moonlight.
Arms crossed, he fixed his red eyes on Clark, who was sprawled on the opposite bed.
"Hey, Clark, you didn't pull your weight tonight. You're doing my chores tomorrow, right?"
"Uh-huh," Clark mumbled, rubbing his still-dizzy head. His blue eyes shone bright in the dark. "Sure thing."
That quick agreement made Dio choke a bit.
Was this really Clark?
He narrowed his eyes and upped the ante. "Also, tomorrow's pancakes from Aunt Martha? Mine."
"No problem," Clark said with a small smile.
Dio's eyebrow twitched.
He threw off his blanket and hopped down, his bare feet thumping on the wooden floor.
"And your comic books? I get first dibs. If I don't feel like going to class, you're covering for me. And—"
"All good, Dio," Clark said softly.
His calm voice stopped Dio cold.
Moonlight slipped through the curtain gap, catching the faint redness around Clark's eyes.
"F—"
Dio ruffled his hair in frustration. "Clark! What, are you my servant now?!"
The room went quiet for a few seconds.
Clark's thoughtful expression was clear in the moonlight. Hesitantly, he said, "I mean... I could be?"
"Hey!"
Dio let out a half-laugh, half-growl, lunging to Clark's bed and grabbing his pajama collar. "Listen, I'm not dying! I'm right here, alive! You don't need to act like I'm some sob story from the future!"
His voice cut off abruptly.
In the moonlight, he saw Clark's lips pressed tight, his eyes full of reluctance.
"..."
Dio let go and plopped down on the bed.
A breeze lifted the curtains, the rustling of the wheat fields drifting in.
Clark quietly wiped his eyes and whispered, "Dio... remember last winter?"
"Shut up," Dio snapped. "Bring up that time I fell through the ice again, and I'll tell every kid in town the coordinates to your secret base."
That would be a disaster!
Imagining his hideout trashed, Clark quickly clamped his fingers over his mouth, muffled gasps slipping through.
Moonlight danced on his trembling eyelashes, casting tiny flecks of light.
After a long, long pause—so long Dio thought the conversation was done—Clark spoke again.
"Dio, you know what I was thinking back then?"
His voice was soft, like he was scared to disturb the quiet night.
"The teacher told us to be careful around ponds, said people could drown." Clark slowly lowered his hands. "I don't really get why people drown... but I think I understand what death is."
"Dio, that squirrel we saw last spring..."
"You remember, right?"
His voice shook. "We made it such a cozy little nest, stuffed it with tons of nuts..."
Staring at the swaying patch of moonlight on the floor, Dio remembered that morning after the snow.
The squirrel had frozen to death, and Clark had crouched in the snow, crying for a full hour.
"Idiot," Dio said, his voice softer than usual. "I'm not a squirrel."