The orange sun sank slowly behind the wheat fields.
It should've been a peaceful sunset, but Locke's heart was anything but calm.
"Dio?"
"Did The World evolve again?"
Locke muttered under his breath as he stood up. Behind him, a tall, purple figure appeared.
But something was different this time.
On Star Platinum's forehead, golden markings began to glow with an eerie green light. That glow slowly gathered at its back—
—until it formed a faintly glowing emerald crystal.
Star Platinum had "printed" something new.
But Locke couldn't feel happy about it.
"The World!"
Time froze.
The wheat stalks hung still in the air, and even the wind stopped blowing.
When time snapped back into motion, the pickup truck beside them roared to life.
"Locke, you can teleport now?!" Logan gawked. "What the f—"
"Get in the truck!" Locke shouted, his voice sharp. "We've gotta pick up the kids from town!"
Logan finally shook himself out of shock and scrambled into the passenger seat. His claws slid out as his eyes grew serious.
With an unlit cigarette clenched between his teeth, his leather jacket snapping in the wind, Logan muttered in that low, gravelly voice:
"Listen, farmer. Whatever's ahead…"
The adamantium claws clashed together, sending sparks flying.
"…I'll tear it all apart."
Silence.
"…Cough."
Logan cleared his throat awkwardly, then tried again:
"Locke, don't panic. Think of the future. Besides you, nobody—"
BAM!
The truck jolted over a ridge, cutting him off.
Another sharp turn smashed his face into the window.
"F\\k! Locke! My nose!!"
The truck tore down the dirt road, kicking up a storm of dust.
As they rounded the last bend, a familiar tractor appeared ahead—Jonathan and Martha, their faces etched with worry.
Seeing their expressions, Locke's stomach dropped. He rolled down the window quickly.
"Get in! We'll explain on the way!"
Jonathan didn't hesitate. He helped Martha down and ushered her into the back seat.
Before she was even settled, Martha's voice broke into sobs:
"The school just called… The bridge collapsed. The bus went into the river!"
"What?!"
"Don't worry, Locke—the kids are safe," Jonathan said quickly. His hand twisted nervously around his hat. "But Clark… he passed out saving the others. He's at the hospital now."
"My little angel…" Martha wept harder. "Why did it have to be today…"
The truck went quiet. Even the sunset outside felt heavy.
Then, from the passenger seat, a low, gravelly voice broke the silence:
"Don't worry, ma'am." Logan turned his face slightly, his tone strangely gentle. "The kids are safe. That's what matters."
Jonathan blinked. Only then did he notice the stranger in the cab.
"And this is…?"
"He's someone I brought in—"
"Don't ask, brother." Logan cut Locke off, gazing out the window with dramatic melancholy. "Just a traveler, staying at a friend's house for the night. In return…"
He paused, eyes narrowing.
"…I worked his fields."
"Worked the fields?" Jonathan tilted his head.
Then his eyes lit up.
"Oh! You're that 'Wolf of the Wheatfields' I heard about earlier, right? The guy faster than a combine harvester?!"
"…What?!"
Logan's face darkened. "Wolf of the what now?"
"I saw it this morning with Old Bob!" Jonathan gave him a thumbs-up. "You were darting across the field like a hungry wolf chasing rabbits!"
"What wolf?! I'm the goddamn Wolv—"
"—winner of the Gold Harvest Award," Locke cut in smoothly, hiding his grin. "Canada's finest agricultural expert. Cost me a fortune to hire him."
"No wonder he's so skilled." Martha managed a watery smile. "Mr. Logan, thank you for helping with the harvest."
Logan's jaw worked, but in the end, he just stuck his head out the window. He let the evening wind carry away the curses he wanted to scream.
In the rearview mirror, Locke saw Jonathan and Martha's shoulders finally relax. His own chest loosened, just a little.
The kids were safe. That was all that mattered.
Maybe he was just being too sensitive—
---
The hospital room was quiet, the air heavy with the scent of antiseptic and faint lilacs drifting through the window.
Clark lay in the white hospital bed. His face was pale, but his bright blue eyes shone like stars.
Beside him, Dio sat stiffly, his golden bangs casting a shadow over his crimson eyes. His anger felt like a volcano on the edge of erupting.
At last, he spoke—his voice low and tight, like it had been forced through clenched teeth:
"Clark… are you not afraid of dying?"
Clark gave a sheepish smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Sorry, Dio…"
"Answer me!" Dio snapped.
Clark sighed, then said softly, "Didn't you once face down a meteor to save people, Dio?"
"That's different!"
Dio let out a bitter laugh. "I calculated it. I knew I could survive!"
Clark mumbled, "Then how'd you still get blown away by it…"
"Clark!!"
Dio's fist slammed against the bedrail.
Clark flinched, but after a moment, he looked up again with determination.
"Don't you think Lana's pitiful, Dio?"
"…Pitiful?" Dio frowned.
"Her parents died in that meteor strike." Clark's voice dropped. "If she had drowned today too… that would've been too cruel."
"And if all the kids drowned…" His voice faltered. "Then all their moms and dads would've been pitiful too."
"Dio… didn't you pull Mrs. Green out of the water? Just because she wished you a happy birthday?"
Clark gave a small, warm smile. "So I figured… if you had the power, you'd save everyone."
"Uncle Locke said it himself, right? That kind of courage… that's the Golden Spirit."
Dio's knuckles went white. His nails nearly dug into his palms.
"But Dad later apologized," he muttered, his voice trembling for once. "That kind of courage makes your family worry. Makes them cry."
"Clark!"
Dio stood abruptly, towering over the boy in the hospital bed. "Have you even thought about Aunt Martha? About Uncle Jonathan?!"
Clark froze, but then, stubborn as ever, he lifted his chin.
"Maybe… but didn't a miracle still happen? I saved everyone. I lifted the bus."
Dio stared at him.
Then, suddenly, he laughed.
"Clark… so you're putting your life on the line, betting on miracles?"
Clark opened his mouth, but Dio didn't let him speak.
"Fine. You have your Golden Spirit." Dio stepped back, his voice sharp. "Then I'll have… the Dark Will."
"I won't let my family worry. I won't drown in some river. I won't make anyone cry for me or sing me a funeral song."
"As for you, Clark…" His voice grew mocking. "You can keep waiting for your miracles. Pray to them all you want."
"But me, Dio—I'll live to the very end. I'll show everyone who the real king—"
The declaration cut off.
A large hand pressed down firmly on Dio's head.
The would-be king's speech was crushed.
"What's that? You wanna be a king?"
"Tell me, Dio. Is that your birthday wish?"
---