At the dining table—
Roasted ribs, creamy corn chowder, a freshly baked blueberry pie, and Jonathan's pride and joy: smoked ham.
Lionel sliced his ribs with a dinner knife, his movements polished and graceful.
But Luther? He was a different story. His fork practically sparked against the plate, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's.
For someone who rarely ate food like this, this place was pure heaven!
"Lex," Lionel said, his brow furrowing slightly as he dabbed his mouth with a napkin. "Mind your manners."
Lex froze mid-bite, his knife and fork flattening against the table as a sheen of sweat glistened on the back of his neck.
Martha couldn't help but chuckle. "Lex, is the food to your liking?"
"It's delicious!" Lex blurted out, only to catch himself. His voice dropped a few notches. "I mean… it's very enjoyable. At home, it's usually Miss Sally who cooks, so we don't often get meals like this…"
"Miss Sally?" Martha glanced curiously at Lionel.
"Nutritionist," Lionel said with a resigned shake of his head. "She oversees Lex's dietary balance. Sorry for the spectacle—this kid doesn't usually…" He glanced at the sauce smudged on Lex's mouth and sighed. "He probably doesn't get much home-cooked food like this."
"Well, then dig in!" Jonathan said with a hearty laugh, waving his fork as he carved up the ribs and distributed them to the kids' plates, ruffling Clark's hair in the process.
The boy was currently stuffing an entire slice of ham into his mouth, his cheeks bulging comically.
"…"
Jonathan's mouth twitched as he glanced at the poised Dio and Luther. "Honestly, if you eat slower than my kid, you're already a model of civility."
"?"
Is he saying I eat fast?
Clark blinked his blue eyes, mumbling something incoherent through his stuffed cheeks before shoving another piece of meat in his mouth.
Lionel stifled a laugh, his gaze drifting to the other end of the table.
The blond teenager was delicately slicing into the blueberry pie with a silver spoon, his red eyes gleaming like polished gems in the sunlight.
Watching Dio's refined table manners, Lionel couldn't help but admire him. The boy carried a maturity beyond his years, his every gesture exuding a sophistication far removed from the average farm kid.
No doubt the result of his father's guidance, Lionel thought, his eyes shifting to Locke. That man's insight and capability completely upend any stereotype of a typical farmer.
A hidden gem.
That was the only way Lionel could describe him.
"Lo—"
Just as he opened his mouth to speak—
Knock, knock, knock.
A sudden rap at the door cut through the table's cheerful chatter.
Jonathan wiped his hands and stood. "Keep eating, folks. I'll check it out."
Bang!
The door swung open, and a gust of wind carried unfamiliar voices into the dining room.
"Mr. Jonathan Kent?" a polite middle-aged man asked. "Sorry to interrupt, but we'd like to have a quick word with your son, Clark."
Before Jonathan could respond, a younger voice chimed in: "You're part of the Kent family, right? We're looking to speak with Dio Kent as well, but we couldn't find Mr. Locke Kent. Do you know where he is?"
Clark froze, his fork halfway to his mouth, and shot a panicked look at Martha.
"Clark," Martha said, pulling the boy into a hug. Her tone was calm, but worry flickered in her eyes.
Dio, though less rattled than Clark, quietly tightened his grip on his napkin.
Hmm?
Lionel's brow furrowed as he took in the two tense kids and—
Locke stood, his chair scraping lightly against the floor. "I'm Locke Kent, right here," he said, his voice steady and commanding. "What's this about?"
The two uniformed officers exchanged a glance, and the older one nodded. "Mr. Kent, we're here about the school bus incident," he said, pulling out a notepad. "According to the rescue team, Dio was the only kid conscious on the shore. We need to know exactly how the bus got from the middle of the river back to land—'washed ashore' doesn't quite add up."
"As for Clark," the younger officer added, "some of the rescued kids claim he broke the bus window to save them. We just need to confirm."
"This—" Jonathan took a deep breath, his smile stiffening. "Officer, you can see Clark's just a fourth-grader. How could he possibly—"
"We understand your concerns," the older officer interrupted. "But procedure requires us to speak with the kids directly. There are details we need to verify."
Locke and Jonathan instinctively stepped forward, subtly blocking the doorway.
"Officers," Locke said, his voice cooling, "these kids just went through a terrifying ordeal. Forcing them to relive it now doesn't seem right, does it?"
"We get that, but…" The older officer wiped his brow. "Mr. Kent, we're in a tough spot. The investigation report needs to be thorough—"
"Please, step aside," the younger officer said, a hint of impatience in his tone as he reached to push past Jonathan and Locke.
"Doesn't seem like a good idea, does it?" a voice called from inside the house, cutting through the tension and stopping the officers in their tracks.
"Forcing traumatized kids to relive their ordeal right after it happened?" Lionel said calmly, dabbing his mouth with his napkin. "Sounds like the Smallville PD might need to rethink its protocols. Maybe I should have a chat with the mayor about cutting the department's funding."
The officers froze.
The younger one muttered under his breath, "What's this guy talking about?"
"Let them in," Lionel said, nodding to Locke, his eyes sharp behind his gold-rimmed glasses. "Once they're done, our legal team at LutherCorp can have a word about how many federal child protection laws this kind of secondary trauma violates."
LutherCorp? Legal team? Child protection laws?
The older officer's face went pale.
That voice—it was unmistakably Lionel, the man who'd been fixing the bridge that morning.
Didn't Old Tom say the Kents were just simple folk? How are they tied to LutherCorp?!
And lawyers?!
The thought of ruthless attorneys made the officer's throat bob. He grabbed his partner's arm, and they practically bolted.
"Sorry for interrupting your meal! We'll, uh, come back another time!"
At the sound of their retreat, Clark finally emerged from Martha's arms.
Uncle Vampire's a good guy, Clark thought, picking up a piece of ham. But his appetite was gone.
Dio, meanwhile, resumed eating, seemingly unfazed—if you ignored the crumpled napkin in his hand.
Martha let out a long breath, gently setting her fork down. "Thank you, Lionel. You know… the kids…"
"No need to say it, Mrs. Kent," Lionel said with a warm smile. "Those officers were out of line. Even if I hadn't spoken up, I bet Locke and Jonathan would've been on the phone with a child advocacy lawyer already."
"Had to steal our thunder, huh?" Jonathan said, clapping Lionel's shoulder as he returned to the table, leaving creases in the man's suit. "Thanks, man. You saved us from a real mess."
Lionel adjusted his collar with a graceful shrug. "It's nothing, Jonathan. Compared to the help you two gave me this morning, this was a small favor."
"It's not small, Lionel," Locke said, a soft grin on his face as he gestured to the boys. "Around here, nothing's bigger than their well-being."
The table fell quiet.
After a moment, Lionel let out a low chuckle. "Well then," he said, smiling. "I guess we're even, Locke, Jonathan."
---
The helicopter's blades whipped up a gust, rustling the wheat fields by the farm.
Inside the cabin, Lionel leaned back in his leather seat, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest. He turned to his son with a rare, gentle smile. "Lex, the Kents are quite the family, aren't they?"
"Yeah…" Lex nodded, a flicker of reluctance in his eyes. "Clark and Dio are pretty special."
Lionel's smile widened as he recalled Clark hiding behind Jonathan at their first meeting, sneaking glances as if Lionel might bite. He'd initially thought his age gave off some intimidating vibe, like his father before him.
But after Jonathan prodded the boy, Clark's reason? He was scared Lionel might suck his blood.
Lionel chuckled softly. "Cherish that friendship, son," he said, ruffling Lex's bald head. "I want you to make more friends, not spend all your time holed up in your room tinkering with circuit boards."
"LutherCorp's future is yours," he said, his tone turning serious. "Research is for the folks downstairs. Your job is to learn how to steer the ship, to lead. You need to turn our family's legacy into lasting capital."
"Yes, Dad," Lex said obediently, though he hesitated. "Dad, do you know what—"
"Boss, phone," an assistant interrupted, handing over a headset. "The policy research team's on the line."
Lionel waved Lex silent as he took the call. A slip-up at this critical juncture? He didn't buy it was a coincidence. He might overlook something, but his army of advisors? Never.
Who's trying to sabotage LutherCorp?
His expression hardened.
Lex lowered his head, gazing out the window. The Kent farm's chimney was still visible, white smoke curling upward.
Relaxed, cozy, warm—a different world.
Man, I'm jealous of Dio and Clark.
Whoosh!
The helicopter sliced through the clouds, leaving that world far behind.
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