David, How Much Strength Do You Have

"I didn't expect Dad to testify for Lex."

Back home that evening, Clark was still a bit surprised.

During the day, Luthor had indeed stayed by their fruit stand the whole time, never leaving their sight.

But Jonathan, who clearly disliked Luthor, had stepped up to vouch for him, helping clear him of some suspicion.

David raised an eyebrow and shot back, "You think Dad would lie just to cause Luthor trouble?"

Clark scratched his chin and realized that was impossible—that thought alone was practically a doubt cast on everything their father had taught them by example over the years.

"Honesty is a bright mirror that reflects your character. I don't want to stain that mirror for Luthor's son."

Coming in from outside and overhearing his sons' conversation, Jonathan took off his coat and spread his arms.

"Especially in front of you, my sons."

Today's fresh fruit from the Farms had sold for a good sum; the hard work of planting had paid off, and he was in a good mood, raising his voice slightly.

"I wonder who showed up late for a date with me when we were young, claiming their motorcycle broke down halfway when they just overslept."

Martha walked up from behind, shaking her head.

"Sometimes a little white lie doesn't hurt."

Jonathan looked a bit embarrassed, gently hugged his wife, and raised an eyebrow at his two sons.

"Otherwise, where would this cozy home of ours come from?"

Well, despite the lighthearted atmosphere at home, Clark could tell their father's dislike for Luthor hadn't changed one bit.

"Today was really strange. Luthor never left the market.

Who robbed the bank?"

He recalled the day's events, his tone tinged with confusion.

"A lot of people saw Luthor, and the bank's security cameras caught him too."

"Maybe the robber just looked a lot like Lex Luthor?"

In the kitchen, after washing her hands, their mother Martha started preparing dinner and turned to guess.

"Luthor hasn't been in town long. Not many people know him well—they might have mistaken him."

She wiped the water off her hands and continued with a smile.

"Jonathan, remember Jack King from our school days? Except for his curly hair, how much he looked like our English teacher."

"He always liked mimicking the teacher's voice behind his back, until he got caught and dragged to the office before his parents were called."

Jonathan also recalled that funny school memory.

Clark nodded in agreement and spread his hands. "Maybe it's someone who thinks they look like Lex and decided to try their luck."

The officer had described the crime: Lex Luthor went to the bank to withdraw money, and the branch manager excitedly welcomed the big client.

But when it came time to sign, the signature didn't match the sample on file.

"The bank manager just casually asked to see his driver's license, offering to handle the transaction another way.

Then he pulled a gun... Luckily, no one got hurt."

Finally, he summed up the hot topic in town.

But Clark had another guess.

David, who had been silent and thoughtful, exchanged a glance with him. Both knew what the other was thinking, but they didn't say it in front of their parents.

Even though their parents knew about Metahumans, it was better to keep them from worrying.

After dinner, in the warehouse loft.

Cool night breeze blowing, gazing at the quiet wheat fields under the moonlight, David turned to look at Clark, who had just snuck back from outside.

"Where'd you go?"

"Nowhere."

Clark scratched his head. During the day, David and Gregg had fought and wrecked the highway. Now that it was dark, he was worried someone might drive into a pothole and crash, so he went to check.

"You really are kind."

Hearing that, David couldn't help but sigh.

"When I got there, the town's outsourced road maintenance crew had just finished their work.

They were baffled by the damaged road, saying even a dozen-ton steel beam falling off a truck couldn't have made dents like that."

Clark talked about what he saw, glanced at David a couple of times, and pretended to ask casually.

"David, how strong are you?"

"Trying to bond as brothers through arm wrestling?" David squinted.

"How old are you?"

"Not really..."

"Perfect. I'm not interested in arm-wrestling you either."

"You should practice hiding your intentions when you speak, Clark."

He shoved his hands in his pockets and gazed out at the night.

"I don't think there's anything wrong with being sincere."

His younger brother always talked to him in that tone—like he was more mature and clever, which he usually was—but it still irked Clark.

"Oh?"

David let out a light scoff. "You dare say you were just innocently asking about my strength?"

"..."

The Son of Krypton felt a bit embarrassed.

His question hadn't been entirely innocent.

He wanted to gauge David's power level so that if something like Gregg's incident happened again, he'd know how much force to use to stop it.

David saw right through Clark's intent.

"Save it. I'm not telling you."

Then he added, "Because honestly, I don't know myself."

"David, do you think that impostor who robbed the bank as Lex Luthor could be a Metahuman?"

Clark fell silent for a moment, surprised by the answer, then shifted the topic.

Encountering two Metahumans in such a short time had left a deep impression.

Now, whenever something strange happened, he instinctively leaned toward that line of thinking—like after nearly being bitten by a snake, every rope looked like one.

"Maybe."

David didn't rule it out.

But he also didn't think every odd occurrence had to involve a Metahuman.

"If he really is a Metahuman, he might be able to block bullets with his bare body."

Clark's expression turned slightly grave.

Even Gregg, with his hundred-ton strength, didn't have that kind of defense. This could be a more powerful Metahuman.

David nodded.

Rumors were circulating in town. According to eyewitnesses, the man was clearly wearing only a light suit, nothing like a bulletproof vest.

But to ordinary people, there was no other explanation for someone taking two bullets to the back and escaping unscathed—except a vest.

"Don't worry. A bank robber probably isn't interested in the Farms."

He patted Clark on the shoulder, turned, and went downstairs to sleep.

But Clark was still uneasy about having a bandit bold enough to rob a bank hiding somewhere in town.

"Hope everyone else is okay."

Thump, thump, thump!

Early morning.

Inside an antique shop in town.

Catherine, looking somewhat aged with graying hair, lugged a red bag stuffed with cash as she labored up to the second-floor living quarters, urgently knocking on her daughter's door.

"Tina, where did you get this money?"

Tina, her hair freshly washed, strolled out of her room, casually drying it with a towel.

"I told you, our life is going to get better."

"Tell me you didn't rob the bank yesterday." Catherine could hardly believe what she'd heard, clinging to a last shred of hope as she spoke to her daughter.

"Of course I didn't."

Tina, with her high-bridged nose, decent looks, and long reddish-brown hair, smiled.

Before Catherine could catch her breath, Tina set down the towel. A chilling, grotesque scene unfolded.

Crack, crack!

Tina's flesh flowed like putty. Her appearance shifted abruptly, her frame stretched taller, her bones broadened—and she transformed into the bald-headed Lex Luthor, a cold smirk on his face.

"It was Lex Luthor who did it."