Clark's Dream and Lex Luthor

"David, Clark, we need to sell fruit at the town fair today. You two help load the cart in a bit."

On a rare day off, his mother's call drifted up from downstairs.

His feet hit the wooden steps as he answered her. David headed down, idly recalling yesterday's events.

Gregg, who'd had a complete image overhaul at school, seemed to have undergone a genetic mutation too.

"His heartbeat's much slower than a normal person's."

But plenty of people in this town had genetic mutations. As long as he didn't stir up trouble, it was fine.

He sat down at the table.

Jonathan was eating breakfast, pouring milk over his cereal.

David didn't like cereal. He ate a warmed-up roll, spreading blueberry jam on it with a knife.

"Clark!" Seeing her eldest son still hadn't come down, Martha shouted upstairs again.

Thump!

A dull noise from upstairs, followed by a sound like wood snapping.

"Since when does Clark have morning rage?"

Jonathan paused, then said.

It sounded like Clark had broken something.

"Are you okay, Clark?"

Knowing her husband was just joking, Martha called up.

"I'm fine, Mom. I'll be right down. It's just..."

Upstairs, Clark's voice sounded flustered.

A moment later, he sat down at the table with a look like he'd seen a ghost, embarrassed like a kid who'd caused trouble.

"The bed in my room needs fixing."

"Your bed broke? What happened?"

A flicker of confusion crossed Jonathan's eyes.

Adolescence was a time of rapid physical growth. Had his son's strength surged again, to the point he couldn't control it?

"When I woke up, I found myself floating in midair. I got scared, fell, and snapped the bed leg."

Clark frowned, his expression reluctant.

How could a person fly? Another ability different from normal people had popped up, and it made him feel awful—another reminder that he was an alien, that he didn't belong to this family.

And what else uncontrollable might happen to him next?

"Floating?"

From super strength, super defense, to super speed... Even the couple, experienced with this, couldn't help being surprised.

Since ancient times, flight had been humanity's dream.

Perceptive and sharp, Martha caught his mood. She grabbed his hand, her voice gentle: "Clark, no matter how many strange talents you have, you're still our son."

"Since it's an inborn gift, you can master it, son." Jonathan's tone carried a hint of seriousness, trying to give his son confidence: "Don't be afraid. You're not the only one who can fly in this world. Countless birds freely enjoy the sky too."

The young Superman seemed to be awakening his flight ability. David wasn't surprised.

"Thought it was something else."

"What?" Clark couldn't help asking.

"Nothing. When I got up, I heard some noise from next door, like someone talking in their sleep, repeating someone's name."

David swallowed the bread in his mouth, his tone casual, making Clark at the table deeply embarrassed.

Because before waking up, he'd been flying in his dream—all the way to Lana's house, hovering above her bed, admiring her graceful sleeping posture.

He swore he hadn't done anything before being woken up, but the dream was still a bit steamy.

"I said it out loud?"

It must have been because, on the way home from school yesterday, he'd rarely talked with Lana for a long time, trying to comfort her, so she'd appeared in his dream.

"Someone's name?"

Martha was puzzled. "Clark, did you have a nightmare?"

She remembered last time Clark had almost been beaten up by Whitney.

"Nothing, Mom. It's getting late. Let's finish breakfast quickly and load the cart for the fair."

Clark's face flushed red. He coughed twice on his milk and guiltily changed the subject.

"Otherwise, we won't get a good spot."

After the meal, they arrived at the farm gate. Clark and David carried box after box of packed fruit out of the warehouse.

The boxes weighed dozens of pounds, but Clark held them in his hands as if they were feathers, effortlessly loading one after another onto the pickup truck in rapid succession.

But when he turned his head, he saw that by the time he'd loaded seven or eight boxes, David had only just gotten the second one onto the truck, taking his sweet time like he was out for a stroll.

"Can you hurry it up?" he couldn't help saying.

"Clark, your brother doesn't have your strength. Don't rush him," Martha gently scolded.

"He doesn't have strength..."

Clark opened his mouth, remembering how he'd once tried to pry David's hand open with both of his and couldn't budge it.

Though that was partly because he hadn't dared to use his full strength.

All along, he'd basically served as a human tractor, fence-post driver, and plow on the family farm, saving them a lot of money.

Clark didn't mind—he was happy to share the burden for his parents, who had raised him and were getting older.

But after discovering that David also had superhuman strength, whenever he thought back to all those times he'd been working while David just watched leisurely, it pissed him off.

Especially now, with David still lazing around.

The most infuriating part was that he couldn't even tell his parents.

From Clark: Depression +4, +3...

Clark's resentful gaze drifted over, but David remained unfazed. After Clark had loaded another seven or eight boxes, David finally put the last box of fruit onto the truck.

He climbed into the pickup.

"It's a bit cramped. Dad can't drive comfortably like this. You sit in the back."

Just as Clark finished working and was about to get in, David waved him off.

The pickup's cab only had one row of seats—fine for three, but a bit tight for four.

"Why not you?"

Clark's eyes went wide as he was blocked.

"An older brother taking his younger brother's seat—doesn't seem right."

David glanced at him, his tone puzzled.

"You..."

Looking at David's entitled expression, which showed no sign of him being the younger brother, Clark gritted his teeth, took a deep breath, and helplessly turned to go to the back.

Jonathan and Martha exchanged puzzled looks. In the past, when this situation came up, Clark would always insist on riding in the back, afraid David might fall off and get hurt.

What was going on today? Were the brothers fighting?

Chirr

The key turned, and the engine started.

In the back of the truck, the future Superman, Clark, sat in the cargo bed, slightly dejected, hugging a crate of apples.

At the market.

The Kent family found a spot near the center, set up a tent, and laid out boxes of sweet, tempting fresh fruit.

Clark pressed a nail into a wooden post with his thumb and hung up a sign reading "Kent Farm Fresh Fruit."

"You're using your powers so carelessly. Not afraid someone will see?"

Sitting inside the stall, David looked up.

This area on the outskirts was a nice spot for an outing, and a temporary tent market had sprung up. On the green grass, stalls selling flowers, hot dogs, fruit, and more bustled with people coming and going.

"When it comes to hiding my abilities, I really can't compare to you."

Clark, who had made sure no one was watching before secretly using his powers, sat down beside him, both of them watching the stall.

"All these years, and Mom, Dad, and I never noticed."

"Clark, didn't expect to see you here."

Suddenly, a clear voice tinged with laughter rang out.

They both looked up. David saw a bald head gleaming like a lightbulb in the sunlight.

"Lex Luthor?"