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

Smallville Elementary School.

With a loud bang, John grabbed Whitney by the collar and slammed him hard against a locker.

"I said, stay away from Clark!"

Gripping Whitney's shirt, John threatened fiercely, "If you do it again, I'll beat you so badly your parents won't recognize you!"

Earlier that morning, Whitney, leading a group of his cronies, had run into Clark. Intent on causing trouble, Whitney had knocked Clark to the ground, mocked him, and left.

When John heard that Clark had been bullied, he immediately came to confront Whitney.

Intimidated by John's commanding presence, Whitney didn't dare fight back. Knowing better than to escalate the situation, he raised his hands to show he meant no harm.

"Hey, hey, John, take it easy. It's nothing serious. I promise, I won't bother Clark again."

Seeing Whitney admit defeat so easily, John lost interest.

"Alright, remember your promise."

John let go of Whitney's collar and turned to leave.

However, as soon as John walked away, Whitney muttered under his breath, just loud enough for himself to hear, "F— you!"

"What did you say?"

John, who had been walking away, suddenly stopped. Turning around, he quickly marched back toward Whitney.

Whitney's face flashed with panic, but he quickly adjusted, pretending calmness.

"I didn't say anything."

John, clearly fuming, walked up to Whitney and smacked the back of his neck, forcing his head down.

"What. Did. You. Say?!"

With Whitney's head held down, John's furious tone made Whitney tremble with fear.

Terrified, Whitney stammered an apology. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Please forgive me!"

"Say it again!" John ordered, pressing Whitney's head harder.

With a loud thud, Whitney's backpack hit the ground, spilling its contents everywhere. Struggling to keep his balance, Whitney, shaken by John's aggression, begged, "I'm sorry! I wasn't serious! Please!"

John glared at him for a long moment before finally releasing his grip.

Whitney staggered backward, swallowing hard as he watched John walk away, his heart still pounding in fear.

Did I just get bullied?

The thought left Whitney both bitter and stunned. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he'd ever be on the receiving end of bullying.

"Thank you, John."

Clark's gratitude was sincere when he learned that John had stood up for him.

Though Clark didn't condone using violence against others, he was touched by John's actions.

"Honestly, I just don't like that guy," John admitted. "I've wanted to teach him a lesson since gym class. I just hadn't found the right opportunity, and I didn't want the school calling my dad."

"Either way, you helped me out. Let me treat you to honey sticks or maple bread," Clark offered generously.

John waved him off. "No thanks. I'm not interested in any of that, even if you throw in a box of those Sharp cookies."

Clark noticed something seemed off about John.

"You don't look too happy, John."

"It's nothing. It's just what the teacher calls mood swings—something everyone gets once or twice a month."

John wasn't sure why he had lost his temper earlier. For a moment, he'd really wanted to break Whitney's arm, even though he knew it was wrong.

Clark put his books down, looking thoughtful. "Is it about Miss Kelly and Star-Lord?"

Ever since Miss Kelly moved in, Clark had noticed John seemed upset.

"No, I'm not upset. I just..." John hesitated, unsure how to explain. "I just don't want Dad to get tricked."

Clark looked surprised. "You think Miss Kelly is a con artist?"

"I didn't say that, but have you seen this news?"

John recounted a story he'd read. "A billionaire oil tycoon got divorced, and his wife walked away with half of his fortune—about $5 billion. I mean, if something like that happened to Dad..."

He paused and then added gravely, "She'd take half of his farm too!"

Clark was stunned. He hadn't expected John to think so far ahead.

"No way. Miss Kelly is the chief's granddaughter. Her family has a huge plot of land to inherit. Why would she care about Dad's farm?"

John, ever the meticulous investigator, pulled out a notebook.

"I looked into it at the library with Mr. Hanks' help. The Kawachi tribe is still in court with Kansas and the federal government over who owns that land."

Clark's curiosity deepened. "Don't they have records?"

"Oh, they do," John replied, flipping through his notes. "But they're ancient. Ages ago, the land extended from a giant maple tree on the mountain to the river. But in 1882, the maple tree fell, and by 1900, it had rotted away completely. Part of the river turned into a swamp due to sediment buildup. Now, it's a complete mess."

Clark couldn't help but feel John was turning into a farmer—an extremely professional one at that.

Does John plan to drop out from college someday?

"So..."

Unaware of Clark's thoughts, John continued, "Think about the future. If Star-Lord grows up to be a wastrel, Dad's farm will be doomed."

Clark considered this but felt the logic was flawed.

"John, you're imagining the worst-case scenario."

"And how do you know it won't happen?" John countered. "I'm just being prepared."

Clark hesitated, then looked John in the eye. "I know why you're thinking this way, John."

John blinked in surprise. "What?"

"You're just scared—scared that Dad's love for you might be taken away, aren't you?"

John, caught off guard, slammed his notebook shut, flustered. "No, I'm not! Dad loves me! No one can take that away! I'm just trying to help."

"Really?"

Clark, knowing John well, wasn't convinced.

"John, didn't Dad always say we're born with a purpose? Maybe our future isn't just about the farm. Maybe we're meant for something bigger—Metropolis, or even beyond."

Clark didn't understand why John was so fixated on the farm.

John looked at him, surprised. He hadn't expected Clark to sound so much like Dad.

"You don't like the farm, do you, Clark?"

"No, I do. But I also want to help more people."

"You're wrong, Clark. You've never truly understood what Dad meant," John said solemnly.

"You want to be a good person and help the world? That's impossible! You weren't born normal. People will never accept you. Only the farm will—it's your true home."

"No, one day they will."

"Dream on!"

John's voice rose, drawing the attention of their classmates.

As Clark stared at him in shock, John took a deep breath and calmed down.

"Remember that movie The Fugitive? The cop said: You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain. Clark, in their eyes, you'll always turn bad."

"I will never turn bad!"

"Unless you die!"

Realizing he had gone too far, John regretted his words. But instead of apologizing, he grabbed his bag and left the classroom.

On his way home, John felt a pang of guilt.

The conversation had started about the farm but ended in a heated argument.

Shaking off his frustration, he noticed a group of students ahead, including Lana, chatting about a local legend.

They talked about an abandoned church in town, where it was said you could make a wish at midnight in the prayer room, and it would come true.

John, eavesdropping with his super hearing, paused.

"A wish?"

He found it hard to believe but couldn't help being intrigued.

Late that night, unable to shake the thought, John sneaked out of the house and flew toward the church.

Landing softly, he found himself standing before the eerie, dilapidated building.

Inside, dust and cobwebs filled the room. The furniture was broken, and the walls were crumbling.

In the prayer room, there was nothing but a single mirror.

Disappointed, John turned to leave. But then he froze.

In the mirror, his reflection stared back at him—with an expression he didn't recognize.

...

Merry Christmas brothers!

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