Seeing Lex staring straight at Sarafiel, Clark's heart skipped a beat. Almost instinctively, he stepped in front of his little brother, shielding him completely, his tone wary. "Lex? What's with you and Sarafiel?"
"What do you think?" Lex snorted, straightening his rumpled suit collar with an irritated huff. "I was there when he and Dio left back then, you know."
"Oh, haha!"
Clark suddenly remembered that Sarafiel and Dio had stayed at the Luther estate for a while.
He scratched his head sheepishly, chuckling awkwardly. "Sorry, sorry, slipped my mind… Oh, hey, Lex," he said, trying to change the subject, glancing behind him. "Where's Uncle Lionel? Did he come with you?"
Lex's hand paused, almost imperceptibly, as he adjusted his collar.
For a moment, he was silent, the drooping cuff seeming to carry a heavy weight.
The air grew thick.
"My father…"
His voice was soft, like he was talking about someone distant and unimportant. "He's busy, Clark."
"The Dawn Project… it's got all his attention."
"Oh…"
Missing the cold detachment in Lex's tone, Clark just sighed with disappointment. "That's too bad. Uncle Lionel and Dad would've—"
"Wait."
Clark suddenly remembered something more urgent.
"Lex! How were you even driving? If I hadn't been there, Lana could've—"
"The lady?" Lex cut him off smoothly, as if he hadn't heard the accusation.
Without hesitation, he turned and strode confidently toward Lana by the shore.
His soaked suit clung to his lean frame, but his steps were steady, showing no trace of someone who'd just brushed with danger.
"My deepest apologies, ma'am."
He stopped in front of Lana, giving a flawless gentleman's bow.
Lifting his head, he flashed a perfectly calibrated, aristocratic smile—an apology so charming it melted most of Lana's frustration. She'd been caught between the shock of her near-miss and the awkwardness of being an outsider, but this formal apology threw her off balance.
She waved her hand, signaling she was fine.
"I… I'm okay, Mr. Luther, but your car…"
She hesitated but said it anyway.
Lex smiled apologetically, his tone gentle. "Someone will handle it shortly. As for your distress, I'm truly sorry. My assistant will visit later with a proper apology to make amends."
Lana waved her hands again, insisting it wasn't necessary.
"No, no." Lex's smile was like an impeccable mask, betraying no cracks. "The Luther family's upbringing doesn't allow for such ungentlemanly behavior."
With that, he crouched down to meet Sarafiel's curious gaze.
"Little guy, we'll do proper introductions tonight."
He chuckled softly, then stood briskly and turned back to Clark.
Lowering his voice with a teasing edge, he said, "Seriously, Clark, that shirt's doing you no favors. Take it off and let the girl see those muscles. You smell like a soggy rug."
"Lex! What're you talking about…" Clark's face turned beet red.
"I'm saying, my friend!" Lex raised his voice, cutting Clark off. "Thank you again! I'll swing by tonight."
He glanced at Lana nearby. "Wouldn't want to interrupt your… date."
"Huh?"
Clark was completely thrown by the whirlwind of Lex's words and actions.
A date? Since when was he on a date?
He nodded dumbly, totally lost in Lex's fast-talking rhythm.
"Wait! What visit? What da—!"
"Tell Aunt Martha to set an extra plate," Lex called as he walked away, his wet suit jacket flapping behind him. He waved casually. "It's been five years since I've had her cooking, and I'm craving it!"
Clark stood there, mouth open, watching Lex stroll down the path toward the main road. It hit him that he should've told Lex to go home and change into dry clothes.
But before he could move, a small hand yanked at his pant leg.
Sarafiel rolled his eyes dramatically, his little finger subtly pointing behind them.
Lana was still standing there, looking a bit lost as she watched the brothers.
Clark snapped out of it, embarrassment flooding his face.
"Uh… hey," he said, turning to Lana.
He opened his mouth to greet her properly, but—
A creeping weakness, like a persistent shadow, crawled through his body.
His voice tightened, and he could only manage a low, "Long time no see, Lana."
Lana froze, a flicker of complex emotions passing through her clear eyes.
This boy she'd grown up with in Smallville, always shrouded in a layer of mystery, was now standing in front of her, greeting her. But his tone…
"…Hey."
She nodded awkwardly, her voice soft. "Clark. Thanks… for saving me again."
The last few words carried a faint, bittersweet edge.
Silence spread like tar.
Sarafiel quietly backed away a few feet, pretending to be fascinated by an ant hill.
This brother's hopeless.
"Clark," Lana finally broke the silence, lifting her head. The sunset gilded her eyelashes. "I'll be cheering for you at the alumni day game."
"Oh, yeah!"
Still wrestling with his weakened body, Clark's face lit up, nearly stumbling. Thankfully, Sarafiel discreetly propped up his wobbly legs from behind.
But to Lana—
Clark's short, almost impatient response dimmed the faint spark of hope she'd felt.
Her fingers tightened around the green bracelet in her pocket, knuckles whitening.
"You'd better train hard, then."
Her voice was barely a sigh as she lowered her eyes. Turning, she walked quickly down the road.
The sunset stretched her shadow long and lonely.
"Dummy brother! You're impossible!" Sarafiel groaned. "Dio was right—you're a total blockhead!"
"I even know to sweet-talk Lucy when we play together."
"…"
"What're you talking about, Sarafiel?" Clark, having caught his breath and regained his strength, gave a helpless smile. "I told you, I don't like Lana like that."
"Heh."
Sarafiel let out a skeptical scoff.
"You little punk." Clark couldn't help but laugh.
He ruffled his brother's hair, feeling surprisingly good.
The earlier awkwardness and the slight pang of Lana's departure faded in the face of his excitement.
After all, not only had he won that bet today, but Lex was coming over tonight.
The house was going to be lively, and Dad and Uncle Locke would definitely be thrilled.
---
The ceiling fan in Smallville Elementary's auditorium creaked, slicing Dio's voice into sharp fragments.
"Survival of the fittest—but who defines 'fit'?"
"I hope everyone here will grow up to write the rules, not be defined by them as the weak."
His slender fingers tapped the podium rhythmically, his tone steady as he delivered his meticulously prepared speech with airtight logic.
Below the stage…
Well.
A bunch of sixth graders stared up, mouths agape, eyes glazed, looking like pond frogs stunned by a lightning bolt.
In the front row, the principal nervously wiped the sweat from his shiny forehead, discreetly shoving his own prepared speech deep into his briefcase.
How was he supposed to follow that? Talk about the joys of kite-flying in school life?
"Next up, questions."
Dio, unfazed by the audience's reaction, casually tossed his pricey Montblanc pen into the air.
The pen hovered above his fingertip, defying gravity like it was tethered by invisible strings.
"Three minutes."
He announced, his gaze coolly sweeping the room.
In the back corner, a shaky hand went up, followed by a small, teary voice. "S-Senior Dio… are you really a high schooler?"
The auditorium fell dead silent, even the fan's creak seeming to freeze.
"High schooler?"
Dio's lips curled into a dangerous smirk. The pen spun faster, glinting silver in the light.
"That depends on how you define 'high schooler.'"
He snapped his fingers, the pen landing neatly back in his breast pocket.
"If you mean a place like Smallville High—"
His voice dripped with unmasked disdain.
"Mr. Kent!"
The principal shot up like he'd been stung, his voice a mix of pleading and panic. "Time's precious! Let's… let's take the next question!"
He had to cut in—who knew what bombshell this kid would drop next?
"Anyone else for Mr. Kent—"
Whoosh~
The oak tree outside the window shook violently.
Dio's next words stopped short as he turned to look.
Two figures, one big, one small, were walking slowly toward the exit.
Picked up the dumb kid, huh?
Fine.
Time for him to step up and save this broken family.
Let the big dummy and the little dummy bask in the happiness he'd create.
A flicker of satisfaction, almost like he controlled everything, passed through his eyes. Dio loosened his tie and strode toward the side door.
"Principal," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument, "I've got more important things to handle."
"Huh?! But Mr. Kent, the program—"
The principal scrambled to stop him.
But by the time he stumbled out the auditorium's side door into the dim hallway, all he caught was a fleeting glimpse of golden hair, like burning gold, vanishing behind the shadowy fire escape.
The hallway echoed with his heavy breathing.
"…"
"That kid."
The principal sighed. "Ms. Green still wanted to talk to him."
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