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

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...

Afternoon, Smallville Saloon Restaurant.

The sounds of dining filled the air. Spoons clinked against cups, hot oil sizzled in pans, and forks scraped against plates.

Peter poked at the soft-boiled eggs in front of him, glancing toward the school building in the distance.

Three days had passed since Clark and Azu's first day at school.

The two troublemakers were still riding the high of the excitement from starting school.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Footsteps echoed as a middle-aged man wearing a North Carolina hat approached and sat across from Peter.

"Good afternoon, Chandler."

Peter greeted the man he'd arranged to meet.

Chandler didn't take off his hat but instead looked around nervously. "I told you not to say my name out loud."

Peter looked at the jittery officer with a hint of exasperation.

"We're not doing anything illegal. Why so nervous?"

Chandler, a Smallville police officer and a colleague of Officer Lane, had struck up a covert arrangement with Peter. In exchange for some cash, Chandler provided him with police department intel.

Peter casually picked up a cinnamon roll. "Think of me as a journalist. Cops leak information to the press all the time—it's not illegal, right?"

Chandler sighed, adjusted himself on the chair to better accommodate his bulk, and said, "You always have a way of putting things, Peter."

Peter mashed a piece of toast and pierced a yolk, watching as the golden liquid mixed with the maple syrup.

He looked back at Chandler. "Any leads on the Luthor family bank heist?"

A string of robberies at banks and jewelry stores had shaken the town, pushing Peter's tolerance to the limit. The Luthor family bank and the local jewelry store were part of his "territory." This thief had stolen from him, and Peter wouldn't be at ease until he was dealt with.

That's why he reached out to Chandler for intel from within the department.

Chandler glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then pulled out a stack of photos and placed them on the table.

"The suspect has gone quiet after hitting several banks and jewelry stores. He seems to be laying low."

Peter frowned, examining the photos on the table.

The images showed ransacked jewelry stores with shattered glass cases and bent safes.

He put the photos down and asked Chandler, "Surely, you've got someone watching the banks and jewelry stores. How haven't you caught him yet?"

Chandler sighed, "He's not just any criminal. We can't have just one or two officers on him, and we're short-staffed. You know, after the town hall bombing, we've had to have cops patrolling the streets constantly."

Peter nodded. "Any guesses on the suspect's identity?"

"We think he's a young guy—strong, agile, and incredibly powerful."

"A young man?"

Peter frowned, realizing how broad a category that was.

Maybe he'd have to take matters into his own hands—play vigilante, patrol the town at night, and catch this potential criminal.

Buzz! Buzz!

As Peter pondered, Chandler's radio crackled to life.

"Yes, I'm grabbing lunch. Near Kenney Street? I'm on my way."

He turned off the radio and stood, facing Peter. "Sorry, a homicide nearby—I have to go."

"A homicide? What happened?"

Chandler donned his hat. "An elderly man was strangled with piano wire. Though it could be a case of suicide, like he hanged himself with it."

He turned to leave.

"Wait."

Peter stopped him, pointing to an envelope on the table. "You forgot your...item."

"Oh, right. Sorry, my memory's been off lately."

Chandler caught the hint, picked up the envelope, and felt the thickness, estimating the cash Peter had tucked inside.

"See you next time, Mr. Podrick."

Chandler left, but his good mood quickly soured upon reaching the crime scene.

A strong, coppery stench hit him, making him gag.

Looking at the scene, where a nearly decapitated body lay from the force of the wire, he frowned and glanced at Officer Lane nearby.

Lane, examining the scene, looked over and said, "Hope the smell doesn't make you lose your lunch."

Chandler moved beside Lane. "I've been on the force fifteen years, I can handle this. Any leads?"

Lane shut his notebook. "There's a camera at the corner of the property."

"Any footage?"

"We caught sight of someone."

"Who?"

Lane paused a moment before replying. "The guy who robbed the Luthor family bank."

Back at School

Clark walked out of the hallway, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

School was over, and the first graders eagerly ran out of their classrooms.

Thud!

A tall, freckle-faced boy purposefully slammed into Clark's shoulder.

Caught off guard, Clark stumbled.

"Farm boy, next time, don't block my way," the boy sneered as he continued down the hall.

Clark said nothing and quietly picked up his fallen backpack.

"Are you okay, Clark?" Martha came over, helping him gather his scattered books.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine."

Clark quickly stuffed his books into his bag, embarrassed to be seen like this, even though Martha wasn't Lana.

On the other side of the hall, Azu witnessed the whole encounter, his face tense.

He watched the freckle-faced bully walk off and silently followed him.

The bully didn't head home right away, instead going to the exercise area behind the school.

Various small exercise stations filled the area, with the main attraction being a large slide in the center.

After lingering in the school, the bully's usual entourage had left, so he was alone.

He approached the slide, eager to slide down.

But something felt off. He had an odd feeling that someone was following him.

Standing atop the two-meter slide, he glanced back.

Behind him was a calm, empty patch of woods.

He exhaled in relief, brushing it off as his imagination.

As he bent down to enter the slide, he didn't notice the shadow that had silently appeared behind him.