October's wind carried the smell of wheat across the farm, golden waves rolling all the way to the horizon.
The porch calendar was already turned to its last page, covered with notes and countdowns for the harvest.
But Dio and Clark weren't on the farm.
School had started two weeks ago, and the boys were both back in town.
That left only—
"Sigh…"
"Sigh…"
Two farmers standing in front of the rebuilt barn, both sounding pretty defeated.
Jonathan scratched the back of his head, straw falling from his messy hair.
Locke just stared at the oil stains on his wrench, lost in thought.
"You first?"
"No, you first."
They looked at each other, then blurted out at the same time:
"Clark's birthday!"
"Dio's birthday!"
Jonathan's tractor coughed out a puff of black smoke, like it was laughing at the coincidence.
Shaking his head, Locke pulled a crumpled list from the bottom of the toolbox.
At the very top, circled in red, was one date:
Harvest Day.
Not just the day for crops, but the day they'd first "harvested" two kids who fell out of the sky.
"Actually, Martha's been talking about this since August," Jonathan admitted, pulling out a book titled The Complete Guide to Kids' Birthday Parties. "She says this year's special—Clark and Dio are turning eight. We've gotta make it big."
"She says that every year."
Locke couldn't help chuckling, then pulled out a little notebook.
Inside, Dio's messy scrawl filled the page:
Birthday Wish List
1. No repeats of old gifts.
2. Must be thoughtful.
3. Put real effort into it!
The older he got, the harder he was to please.
"This kid…"
Another sigh.
"Locke, thing is… my stash money? Martha found it again," Jonathan groaned. "I'm running out of allowance."
"Martha just gave you some two weeks ago," Locke frowned.
He was starting to wonder if Jonathan had picked up a bad habit.
"Don't get the wrong idea," Jonathan coughed, looking around to make sure Martha wasn't in earshot. Then he pulled a folded flyer out of his pocket, lowering his voice: "You know… that robot cartoon from Japan."
Locke's frown relaxed. "You mean Gundam?"
"Shh!"
Jonathan practically tackled him to keep the words quiet. "Martha still thinks I bought tractor parts."
Sunlight lit up the flyer, showing an image of the PG Perfect Gundam – Limited Edition.
The price tag made Locke suck in a sharp breath.
"You… you spent all your allowance this month on two giant plastic toys?"
At forty-one, Clark's adoptive dad Jonathan Kent had officially become a model kit collector.
What kind of dream was this?
Jonathan's face flushed. "They're not toys! This is a man's passion! And besides—it's die-cast metal!"
He whipped out a second flyer showing a half-built kit. "Look at this joint movement, these details—"
In the shadow of the barn, the two middle-aged men hunched over the flyer like they were running an illegal deal.
Locke's throat tightened as he studied the picture.
That 1/60-scale metal skeleton gleamed in the light, so detailed it was mesmerizing.
He had to admit—he was tempted too.
"So…" Locke muttered, "you gonna give me one?"
"No way!"
Jonathan stuffed the flyer back in his pocket like it was a state secret. "I'm building both! One stock, one battle-damaged."
Locke smirked, slowly pulling out Dio's wish list and waving it.
"Then what are you giving Clark?"
"Damn it…"
Jonathan's face turned beet red.
Shaking, he opened a hidden compartment under the tractor seat.
Inside were two unopened model kit boxes, corners sharp, cover art gleaming with metallic mechs.
The air froze for three seconds.
"Brother!"
Jonathan suddenly roared, slapping one of the boxes into Locke's chest. "Take it—build it!"
The sunlight threw his shadow against the barn wall, bent like wheat under too much weight.
He sighed, then stretched out a hand for Locke to return the flyer.
"Guess that's just how it is between brothers."
Locke grinned. "Already got something special ready for the boys."
He led Jonathan to a tarp, flipped it back—
Revealing a kid-sized tractor, cobbled together from toy car parts.
"Built it out of scrap harvester pieces," Locke said proudly. "Dio'll never see it coming."
"That's awesome!"
Grinning, Jonathan whistled and wheeled it toward his tractor. "I'm taking this one home."
"Go for it."
"Just remember to make Dio's version, too. Otherwise you're in for an earful."
Locke shrugged, nodding at the half-finished version beside it.
"Yeah, yeah. Those two are gonna love it."
Jonathan hummed off-key as he hauled the mini-tractor away, even dragging the cart of spare parts behind him.
The sunset stretched his shadow long, like a bear sneaking off with stolen honey.
So…
My brother Jonathan.
When did you turn into this guy?
Locke sighed.
He remembered being twelve, showing up here for shelter. Back then, Jonathan was strict to the core:
No late-night snacks.
Bedtime before nine.
No more than two hours of TV.
Even playtime outside was limited.
He'd been the picture of a stern father.
And now? Look at him.
Honestly… compared to his own childhood, Locke almost envied Clark.
He'd fought tooth and nail just to earn a little freedom back then.
"So… sorry, bro."
Locke chuckled, patting the model kit box.
"I'll build this one first—and return it later."
A sly grin tugged at his lips.
He crouched and hid the limited-edition Gundam at the bottom of the scaffolding, then walked to the barn's darkest corner—
Where another tarp covered something else.
"Shhhk—"
Underneath lay two polished metal cases.
The golden emblems on them gleamed in the fading light.
That toy tractor? Just a throwaway idea he whipped up with Star Platinum.
The real gift wasn't that at all.
"Ouch…"
Locke clutched his chest a little as he touched the cases.
These two astronomical telescopes had cost him a fortune—not to mention a favor from Anthony to ship them all the way from England.
Yeah… this time, Dad really put in the effort.
Royal Academy quality, supposedly.
Whatever.
The boys were gonna love them.
"Skreee—!"
His thoughts cut off by the screech of tires.
Locke dropped the tarp back in place, glancing at the barn clock.
—4:23 p.m.
At least half an hour before the school bus should arrive.
And he knew that rickety old bus's engine sound by heart. This wasn't it.
Eyes narrowing, Locke wiped his hands on his overalls and stepped out of the barn.
Raising a hand to shade his eyes, he used the telescope's lens to look down the road.
A Chevy SUV limped along the dirt path like a crippled ox, swaying side to side, trying to dodge Lockes.
Its paint was splattered with mud, and its proud bulk looked more like a drunk stumbling home.
After two whole months…
They were back.
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