Damn it, I’m surrounded by those who kill their fathers!

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One week later.

Azu proudly showed off his birthday gift to Clark.

Clark had just been discharged from the hospital that day. He generously forgave Azu for the mishap of accidentally dropping the lawn mower on his head.

Dressed in a kid-sized version of the same superhero outfit he wore in his past life, Azu crossed his arms with a confident stance.

"So? Pretty cool, right?" he asked.

"Uh…" Clark looked at Azu's flashy uniform, then asked, "Do you really like that outfit?"

"Of course! My dad gave it to me."

Azu expressed how awesome he thought the uniform was.

"This is the exclusive suit of a hero. Dad said so," Azu explained.

Clark wasn't too interested in the "exclusive suit." What he envied was that Azu's godfather had taken him to an amusement park and a museum for his birthday.

At six in the evening, the Smallville High School band performed at the amusement park, along with another group called the "Happy Han's Barbershop Quartet."

At ten, there was a grand fireworks show.

As for the museum, it was filled with artifacts collected by Old Mike, a local librarian and amateur historian.

Recently, the town's oldest family even lent priceless heirlooms for display.

There were items like restaurant menus from the 1890s, loggers' tools from the 1980s, and toys from the 1920s.

However, the Women's Association had rejected part of Old Mike's collection.

Items like a famous cage chair from the 1930s and photos from gang shootouts didn't make the cut.

"I wonder what my godfather will give me for my birthday," Clark mused, already envisioning his own special day.

Even though it was still eight months away.

Azu, oblivious to Clark's daydreaming, soon wore a troubled expression after celebrating his best birthday yet.

"Dad wants me to control my strength. He said the new school term is about to begin, and I need to learn control before he sends me to school with you."

Although Azu was excited about the school life he'd never experienced, the thought of his dad's special training immediately furrowed his brow.

Hearing Azu mention the special training, Clark felt a pang of sympathy.

Peter hadn't only trained Azu; he'd also been training him.

Clark's only abilities so far were having extra strength and "thick skin," so his training was nowhere near as intense as Azu's.

"Are you looking forward to school, Azu?" Clark asked.

"A little. But I'd rather stay on the farm and be a cowboy," Azu replied, saying his current dream was to inherit his dad's farm.

He glanced at Clark, sensing he might someday be a threat to his inheritance.

Maybe not now, but in the future?

Whenever things seemed to be going smoothly, someone would always show up at a critical moment.

This was a new conclusion Azu had reached, inspired by a TV show he recently watched called The Fugitive.

Every time the characters got close to success, someone would show up and ruin everything.

Azu didn't share his thoughts but scratched his slightly itchy nose and asked Clark, "What about you? Do you like school?"

"Yes, I'm looking forward to it."

Clark thought of Lana.

She should be in second grade by now, and he'd get to see her once he started school.

Screech!

Jonathon stopped the car outside the school and Peter said to Azu and Clark, who were in the back seat, "Alright, warriors, it's time to head into battle. Stay sharp and don't lose face."

Jonathan chuckled and said, "Good luck, boys!"

With the new school term starting, Azu had mostly mastered controlling his emotions and strength bursts. Jonathan and Martha had also agreed to let Clark attend school.

So, both could enroll on the last day of the registration period.

Clark swallowed nervously and stepped out of the car, backpack on his shoulder.

The iron gate of the school had fleur-de-lis spikes on top, which looked like teeth to him.

A hungry black dog, its metal fangs bared, added to his nervousness.

At the gate stood an elderly black guard, his eyes shrunken into his skin that looked like it was moving like a slug, with stubbly, wiry white whiskers on his cheeks.

To Clark, he looked like a demon guarding an evil castle.

Peter, unaware of Clark's imagination, waited at the gate after Jonathan dropped them off and went back to the farm. He stayed to handle the paperwork.

As they walked along the winding path, they passed a woman.

A striking, curvy beauty carrying some books walked past Peter.

After they brushed past each other, the woman froze in place.

After a moment, she turned to stare at Peter's back.

It was Martha McDonald, and a storm of emotion stirred within her.

She was the same woman who had witnessed Peter take down a group of gang members when she was almost victimized by Frank's gang.

Due to the trauma from the kidnapping incident, she had resigned from her previous school and transferred to teach at the elementary school in Smallville, hoping for a change.

But now, she was face-to-face with the man who had saved her!

Could she be mistaken?

No, definitely not. Although he wasn't wearing glasses now, and his aura was different, her sharp sense of smell—something she'd had since childhood—meant she could recognize anyone by their unique scent.

Should she follow him or walk away as if nothing happened?

After a moment's hesitation, she chose to follow.

Inside the principal's office, Peter was discussing the enrollment of the two boys with the principal when he glanced toward the door.

"Is there a problem?" asked the principal, a refined white man in a leather jacket. "Mr. Podrick?"

"No, sorry, Principal. Let's continue."

After leaving the principal's office, Peter looked down the hallway.

He had sensed someone lingering outside, noticing them the instant they appeared.

That woman?

He'd recognized Martha McDonald when they passed, realizing she was the woman who'd nearly fallen victim to Frank's gang.

She'd been following him since, all the way to the principal's office.

Did she recognize him?

Frowning slightly, a hint of doubt crept into his mind.

The night had been dark, and he'd deliberately altered his appearance. Could she really recognize him?

He glanced at Clark, who was wearing the black-framed glasses he'd given him and gave his cheek a little pinch.

At least this kid knew how to disguise himself; a simple pair of glasses worked wonders.

"Godfather?" Clark asked, puzzled as to why Peter pinched his face.