Outside, rain tapped against the window glass while the lamplight inside cast a warm glow across the dinner table.
The excitement from moments ago had just begun to settle.
Dio, with his usual elegance, sliced off a small piece of steak with knife and fork, his eyes narrowing in contentment as he savored it.
"Dad," he suddenly asked, his tone carrying a hint of probing curiosity, "last night, you could've just killed that robot instantly. Why did you bother with a shotgun and dynamite instead?"
Clark also looked up sharply, his blue eyes showing the same confusion.
He had been holding back this question for a long time—after what happened last night, he was certain Uncle Locke wasn't an ordinary man. He was like them: a superhuman with special abilities.
Even if these two kept trying to hide it, that didn't mean Clark was an idiot!
Locke's hand froze on the fork for a beat, clearly not expecting Dio to throw the question out so suddenly.
But then he gave a gentle, almost proud smile. His gaze swept slowly between the two boys. After a moment of silence, he set down his utensils and spoke with grave seriousness:
"With great power comes great restraint."
Dio frowned, clearly unsatisfied with that answer.
"Dio, Clark," Locke continued, "we can't abandon the principles of how people should live, just because we have power. If you rely on strength for everything, you'll slowly lose touch with your true self."
"I disagree." Dio snorted, stabbing at his steak with a fork. "If you've got the ability to solve things easily, why bother pretending to do it the normal way?"
"It's not pretending," Locke shook his head. "It's choosing."
"Power is a tool, not an identity."
"If we separate ourselves from ordinary people, one day we'll forget how to think as people."
"And arrogance born of power will rob you of your ability to think." His gaze landed on Clark, weighted with meaning. "Humanity's true strength lies in wisdom."
Plainly put:
Think first. You can use super strength—but I, Uncle Locke, suggest you try using your human wisdom before that.
"But Dad, didn't you still end up using super strength in the end?" Dio countered. "You didn't restrain yourself either."
"You're wrong, Dio." Locke shook his head again. "It wasn't failure to restrain myself. My wisdom told me that, in that moment, it was time to use it."
"…"
Clark fell into deep thought. He could feel that Locke's eyes had locked onto him while saying those last words.
In that look, he sensed both a warning—and an expectation.
So much so, he forgot to even ask what kind of "super strength" they were really talking about…
Dio only clicked his tongue, turning his head away with a dismissive expression, though his hands slowed on the knife and fork. He, too, was clearly mulling over Locke's words.
Watching the two boys actually take his words to heart filled Locke with a quiet sense of satisfaction.
Perhaps this—this simple, fire-lit scene of ordinary happiness—was one of the most precious things he had found since coming to this world.
Even the stone mask hanging over the fireplace seemed to quiver slightly at the sight.
...
Morning sunlight barely pierced through the curtains when the shrill ring of the telephone shattered the farm's silence.
Groaning, Locke reached a hand out from beneath the covers, fumbling until he grabbed the old-fashioned receiver.
"Hello?"
His voice was rough, still heavy with sleep.
"Locke! Finally, you picked up!"
An almost shrill, excited voice burst through the line:
"A big boss is coming to town today to inspect farm products for purchase! You should come take a look! If you keep dragging things out, the wheat in your warehouse is going to mold!"
Locke rubbed at his eyes, yawning. "Anthony, you know I've never had trouble selling my wheat."
"This time is different!" Anthony's words tumbled out rapid-fire, brimming with excitement. "The buyer's offering one-point-three times the market price!"
"Get yourself ready and come quick! The big boss's helicopter is about to arrive.
And don't forget to bring Dio along—I heard the boss has a son, probably around the same age as him."
Click!
The call was cut off.
Locke stared at the receiver for two seconds, then raised an eyebrow.
1.3 times the market price?
No wonder Anthony was so excited. As the middleman, if this deal went through, his cut would be worth a month's salary.
And truth be told, that kind of premium was tempting.
Locke stretched and smirked slightly.
He'd been meaning to replace his old pickup anyway. That rusty Ford was about ready to fall apart—every time it started up, it coughed like it had tuberculosis.
...
"Kids!"
Locke rolled out of bed, clapping his hands sharply. "Wake up! We're heading into town today!"
The moment his voice fell, a shuffle of noise came from the next room.
Dio appeared in the doorway, his blond hair a tangled mess, red eyes still hazy with sleep but already carrying his usual proud expression.
"Into town?"
"Great!" Clark bounced straight up from bed, nearly smacking his head against the ceiling. "Uncle Locke, didn't you say yesterday that Mom and Dad are in town too?"
"You two…"
Locke chuckled and shook his head, pulling out a navy checkered shirt from the wardrobe—the one he only wore for important occasions.
"Wash up. Dio, comb that hair. Clark, don't you dare wear those work pants covered in mud—that's right, the very pair you're trying to sneak on right now."
Clark sheepishly set the pants down, while Dio gave a sharp "hmph" and went off to fetch his comb.
Half an hour later, the old Ford pickup was belching black smoke as it rumbled onto the country road.
Dio sat primly in the passenger seat, blond hair ruffled by the morning breeze; Clark sprawled in the truck bed, watching the golden wheat fields on either side rush past with wide-eyed excitement.
"Dad," Dio suddenly asked, "who is this big boss, anyway? Why would he suddenly offer such a high price?"
"No idea. Anthony wasn't clear about it." Locke steered one-handed, eyes on the road. "I'm curious myself. Usually, when some big buyer shows up out of nowhere—"
He didn't finish, but Dio caught the unspoken warning.
If something seems too good to be true, it probably is.
"Uncle Locke," Clark called from the truck bed, innocent as ever, "could it be a big company like Gotham's Wayne Enterprises coming to buy crops?
When they visited last time, Mom and Dad were happy for a whole week."
Lock was silent for a second. Was I overthinking it?
"Clark," he said, glancing over, "you're right. We shouldn't always assume the worst—"
"—about people with good intentions," Dio cut in flatly, rolling his eyes. "Dad, you've said that so many times my ears are calloused."
What? Are they already tired of my lectures?
Locke felt wounded—for half a second.
Then he stomped on the gas, making the old Ford roar in protest as it picked up speed toward town.
...
The Ford rattled its way onto the cobblestone streets of town, tires creaking with every bump.
Slowing down, Locke scanned both sides of the street. First things first, he had to find Martha and Jonathan.
On the phone earlier, they'd said they were having breakfast at a café.
The place was easy enough to spot—it was called Golden Wheat, and it just so happened to sit beside the town's only flower shop. Put those two clues together, and there it was, right on the corner.
"We're here, kids."
Locke pulled over.
The Ford gave a weary sigh as he shut off the engine—
Puff!
—belching a last little cloud of black smoke from the exhaust.
"There."
Locke's lips curved faintly. Through the café's glass window, he could clearly see Jonathan and Martha at a window seat.
Jonathan was spooning sugar into his coffee while Martha, smiling, said something with a half-eaten blueberry muffin in her hand.
Locke opened the truck door, then turned to the boys.
"Come on, let's fill our stomachs first."
"I'm not hungry, Dad."
Dio stepped down gracefully, landing light on his feet, casually straightening his collar like a little aristocrat.
Clark, meanwhile, leapt straight out of the truck bed, hitting the ground hard enough to make it tremble slightly, drawing startled looks from passing townsfolk.
That kid's that strong?
"Easy, Clark."
Dio gave him a disdainful side-eye. "Do you want to bring the whole street running?"
"Sorry, Dio," Clark scratched his head sheepishly. "I'm just really hungry…"