Under the bright sunlight.
By the quiet little lake near the Forest, only a mess remained after last night's party revelry.
Bang!
A hand suddenly broke through the thick ice, like the hand of a zombie clawing out of the earth in some terrible legend, reaching up from the lake.
Its skin was icy blue, like the corpse of someone frozen to death in the snow.
A figure crawled out of the lake and staggered onto the shore.
Soaked through and shivering nonstop, he looked exactly like someone who had fallen into an ice-cold lake and climbed back out—which would have been perfectly normal, except that he had lain in the lake all night.
Ice crystals clung to Sean's eyebrows as he sat on the ground, trembling, and used an abandoned lighter to start a campfire.
He held out his frozen hands to warm them over the flames.
But the fire's astonishing heat was absorbed from afar, and the freshly lit logs turned into a mound of ice.
The intense chill within him was driven away, and the icy blue tint faded from his skin.
As if he had become a living person again, Sean stared at his hands in disbelief. His mind, slightly numbed by the cold, began to turn. Something unbelievable seemed to have happened to him.
He clenched his fists and felt better than he had ever felt before—frighteningly strong.
Having recovered his health, he prepared to go home. But the moment he stepped out of the woods, that extreme cold struck again.
Ice formed on his eyebrows as Sean trembled and waved down a passing car for help.
Screech.
"Kid, what's wrong?"
The car stopped, and a middle-aged man got out. He had just grabbed Sean with concern when his body stiffened.
The next instant, the heat in his body was drained away like a tide. He turned into an ice sculpture and crashed stiffly onto the hard road, shattering into blood-red shards of ice.
Sean's cold condition improved, and at the same time, the strength throughout his body increased further. He stretched out a hand and easily lifted the sedan as though it were a plastic toy.
He instantly realized something. Looking toward a certain direction in town, he resembled a greedy prospector who had just found a nugget of gold and looked up to see a mountain of it. His eyes blazed with unprecedented excitement and fervor, and he could not help swallowing.
That was—a thermal power plant!
Crackle.
Heavy wool curtains were drawn shut, blocking out the sunlight.
The fire in the fireplace burned quietly.
Lex Luthor took a sip of whiskey. His throat burned like fire, but his expression did not change in the slightest.
As if he were working as usual, he browsed old news articles on the computer and forum posts made by the town's residents.
Stacks of US dollars sat on the table beside him.
Click.
A servant opened the door.
A middle-aged man in a trench coat walked in. Shrewdness flickered in his eyes from time to time, and his slightly balding head gave him the air of a capable, calculating man.
He held a manila file folder in one hand, lightly tapping it against his thigh as though he had all the time in the world.
"Mr. Luthor, have you prepared the money I asked for?"
"Roger Nixon, if I remember correctly."
Lex Luthor slowly rose to his feet, poured a glass of amber liquor, and handed it to him with a smile.
"A reporter from the Metropolis Inquirer? You said you had something to show me."
"This photograph sent our sales skyrocketing."
Nixon took a newspaper from the file folder.
A striking photograph was printed in the center of the paper: Lex Luthor at a bank entrance, pistol in hand, having just robbed the bank and rushed out the door.
"That is already in the past."
Lex Luthor chuckled. "As a reporter, I assume Mr. Nixson knows the latest developments in the Bank Heist."
"That is how news works. It becomes outdated very easily.
It is difficult for one's articles to stay on the front page all the time."
Nixson shook his head.
"Mr. Luthor, have you ever dug potatoes?"
Without waiting for Lex Luthor to answer, he stared into Lex Luthor's eyes as though he had the situation firmly under control, then smiled smugly.
"I imagine a young master like you, born with a silver spoon in your mouth, would not know that when you dig up potatoes, one often brings up a whole string."
Nixon waved the file folder in his hand and handed it over, sounding almost wistful.
"It is this thick, nearly as thick as a stack of cash. They are all criminal records from your youth. Quite surprising, really."
"So the reporter did not lie to me on the phone. You really do know something about my wild youth."
After taking the file and flipping through it, Lex Luthor's voice deepened, though a smile appeared on his face.
"Thank you very much, Mr. Nixon."
"Thank me?" Nixon was puzzled. Thank him for what—for coming to blackmail him?
"These are all destroyed electronic records and sealed archives. How did you find them, Mr. Reporter?"
He returned behind his desk, sat down slowly, and asked instead.
"One can imagine your father spent quite a bit of money to cover up these files.
I am not as rich as your father, but fortunately, it does not cost much to bribe a guard in an archive room where the shelves are covered in dust."
Nixon sneered, grateful to that bored guard who enjoyed flipping through files for sending him such a windfall.
"Just think what would happen if these things were published.
The heir to the Luthor Group, who was just found to have been falsely accused, was actually a delinquent in his youth. Robbing a bank would not even count for much."
"In my experience as a reporter, people love twists upon twists."
He set down his glass, shrugged, and glanced covertly at the fresh $100,000 on the desk, still carrying the scent of printing ink, as he spoke at length.
"I am sure this would also have some impact on the Luthor Group's stock price!"
"Mr. Nixon, this money is yours."
Lex Luthor smiled unhurriedly and took a black cloth bag from beneath the table.
"Mr. Luthor, you even provide the bag?"
Nixon was somewhat surprised as he stuffed the stacks of money from the table into the bag.
"You must be feeling very good right now."
Lex Luthor showed no hurry at all as he watched him pack away the money he had extorted from him.
"Beating the famous Luthor father and son does feel pretty good."
After packing up the money, he tossed out a line in a tone like an adult lecturing a child, then smiled and turned to leave, his hand about to touch the doorknob.
"I gave you the only copy. Live honestly from now on, Lex Luthor."
"If you walk out that door now, I guarantee that you will immediately evaporate from this world."
Lex Luthor set down his glass and spoke with a smile, saying words that sent chills down one's spine.
"What are you going to do, kill me over this little money?"
Nixon turned around and asked disdainfully.
"Did you think I would come blackmail an heir to a billionaire without making preparations?"
If he did not return on time, his email would automatically send the files to major newspapers. Besides, would Luthor really kill someone over $100,000?
He was not greedy. He had only asked for a modest sum.
"No, you will live quite well.
But there will no longer be any proof in the world that you exist." Lex Luthor shook his head.
"What are you talking about?"
"Your driver's license, passport, bank accounts, even your tax records—every last one will be wiped clean."
Continuing to browse the news on his computer, Lex Luthor spoke casually, as though discussing something utterly insignificant.
"One phone call, and there will be no evidence that you ever lived."
"Mr. Luthor, are you trying to scare me?"
"Call the bank and see whether your account still exists."
As though looking at someone who doubted a basic fact of the world, like the sun rising every day, Lex Luthor raised his eyes and glanced at him.
"If your phone number still works, that is."
Nixon took out his phone and tried to make a call, but after several attempts, he could not get through.
Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. His face turned panicked, and his tense voice rose into a shrill pitch.
"How did you do it?"