The first frost of October hit earlier than usual.
When Dio woke up, the world outside was blanketed in white.
From the second-floor window, he stared coldly at the vegetable garden. The once-golden pumpkin patch looked like it had been dusted with salt, the vines shriveled and limp in the frost. A few cornstalks had snapped, their heavy ears slumping into the furrows like defeated soldiers.
One glimpse tells the whole story; one leaf signals deep autumn.
This harvest was looking at a loss of at least twenty percent.
The farm…
The lifeline of the Kent family seemed to be facing a rough test.
Dio narrowed his crimson eyes, his fingers tapping the window frame absently.
Honk honk~
The rumble of a pickup truck came from downstairs. Uncle Jonathan and Dad must've just gotten back from town.
Dio didn't mean to eavesdrop—
Honest.
But as he passed the guest room with a book in hand, bits of conversation slipped into his unnaturally sharp ears.
"The bank's being tough. They're demanding more collateral to keep the current loan." It was Jonathan's voice, tinged with a rare exhaustion. "If we renew at their proposed interest rate, next year's cash flow might…"
"What if we put up some land as collateral?" Locke's fingers drummed a dull rhythm on the table. "We're rotating crops next spring anyway."
"?!"
Dio froze mid-step.
Collateral? Interest rates? Cash flow problems?
The words pieced together a grim picture in his mind:
Bankruptcy? Selling off land? Losing the farm?
He thought of Clark's worn-out football cleats from last week, Sarafiel's math notebook covered in scribbled drafts, even his own school shirt with its fraying cuffs.
This was bad.
A cold realization gripped him.
Was the Kent family about to…?!
The conversation in the study continued, and Dio silently pressed himself closer to the door.
"We could ask Lionel," Jonathan sighed. "He might be willing to—"
"…"
"Jonathan." Locke's voice dropped, heavy with disapproval. "Lionel…"
Was it so bad that Dad had to turn to LutherCorp?
Dio's brows furrowed, and he quietly backed away.
At lunch, sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, warming the table where Martha's pumpkin soup filled the air with a sweet, comforting aroma.
Sarafiel, standing on his tiptoes, slipped two extra pieces of toast onto Dio's plate.
The kid had noticed his usually picky brother had barely touched breakfast.
"Dio."
Martha looked up as the blond teen came downstairs. Wiping her hands, she pulled a fancy gold-embossed invitation from her apron pocket, her smile warm. "The principal from Smallville Elementary dropped this off himself," she said, her eyes crinkling. "They want you to speak at the alumni day. Not every day our town produces a national physics competition gold medalist."
Dio slid into his chair, eyeing the ornate "Distinguished Alumni" text on the invitation. His lips twitched into their usual detached smirk. "Aunt Martha, it's just a waste of time. A bunch of people patting themselves on the back."
"Really?" Locke cut into his steak, casually chiming in. "I think it sounds like a good opportunity."
"Plus, the farm could use the community goodwill for tax breaks."
Tax breaks?
Dio's fingers froze.
The morning's fragmented conversation crashed back into his mind.
Bank. Collateral. Interest rates. Now taxes?
"Dad."
Dio's voice cut through, laced with suspicion. "How's the farm's harvest looking this year?"
The table went dead silent.
Martha's soup spoon hovered in midair. Sarafiel blinked over at him.
Even Clark, who'd been sneaking carrots onto his brother's plate, froze.
Dio asking about farm business?
That was rarer than the sun rising in the west!
Jonathan and Locke exchanged a quick, complicated glance.
"It's… it's fine, right?" Jonathan cleared his throat, trying to sound casual but failing to hide a hint of unease.
"Yeah! Doing great!" Locke jumped in, his voice loud and hearty. "We've got plenty to keep this family fed and clothed, no problem! Hahaha!"
That laugh sounded a bit forced in the suddenly quiet dining room.
"Dio, actually…" Jonathan rubbed the back of his neck, hesitating.
"Actually what?"
Dio set down his knife and fork, the metallic clink ringing like a gavel.
"Actually…"
Locke was quick on his feet, scooping a big spoonful of mashed potatoes onto his plate with a calm smile. "Your Uncle Jonathan's saying this steak is cooked just right but could use a little black pepper for flavor." He smoothly slid the heavy pepper grinder toward Dio. "Want some?"
Lying.
Dio stared at his father's hands, calloused and worn.
Those hands held up this family, and yet… they were hiding the truth from him!
The golden, tempting mashed potatoes on his plate suddenly seemed as appetizing as wax.
Dio chewed mechanically, his mind elsewhere.
Was it so bad they had to keep it from us?
"I'm done."
"Oh, by the way," he said, standing up, his chair scraping harshly against the floor. He grabbed the invitation and tucked it into his jacket. "I'll do the speech."
As he climbed the stairs, Dio's heart sank like it was filled with lead.
Now he was sure.
Those hesitant looks, the clumsy subject changes—
It all pointed to one reality!
But what he didn't see was the moment his figure vanished around the stairwell, the tension in the dining room melted away.
"Locke," Jonathan said, scratching his thick dark hair in confusion, "since when does Dio care about the farm's harvest? That's not like him."
Locke leisurely spooned some creamed corn onto Sarafiel's plate. "Who knows? Maybe he's suddenly into farming."
"And didn't I tell you not to bring this up in front of the kid?" He glanced toward the stairs, sighing softly. "The frost hitting the crops and cutting our yield—Dio's obviously picked up on it."
"If he finds out we're already stretched thin and still planning to lead the effort to help other farmers in town who got hit, with his personality…"
"Uncle Locke."
Clark's voice came from the table. He hesitated, setting down his fork, his tone earnest. "I actually think… Dio might not be against it. He asked about the farm just now. Maybe… he's worried? Wouldn't it be better to just be straight with him?"
"Yeah, Dad."
Sarafiel licked the cream off his lips, his small face full of innocent but serious conviction.
"Didn't you say last night that families should be honest with each other?"
"…"
Locke looked at Sarafiel's righteous little expression and couldn't help but laugh in exasperation.
You're the one with the most secrets, kid.
He reached over, playfully ruffling Sarafiel's soft black hair until the boy wobbled.
Then, with a fond smile, he turned to Clark, chuckling. "You guys are right."
"Whether Dio's on board or not, he's part of this family. He deserves to know what we're dealing with and the decisions we're making. I'll find a good time tonight to talk to him."
"See?"
"Told you you're getting senile," Jonathan teased with a smirk. "I was going to tell Dio."
"…"
Locke was speechless.
Jonathan, are you getting more childish with age?!
"Fine, maybe I'm getting senile," Locke huffed. "But I'm not the one who snuck Dio's steak in the middle of the night—"
"Cough, cough, Locke!"
---
[Historian: Pastor Sister Yika]
[Continued Record—
Hearing this, Jonathan's face turned red, veins popping on his forehead as he protested, "Taking a steak isn't stealing… a steak! It's family business, how's that stealing?"
What followed was a string of confusing talk—something about "midnight hunger" and "whatnot," making everyone burst into laughter.
The dining room filled with a lively, joyful vibe.
---