"Don't worry, Mr. Jack."
In the manor office, Luthor leaned forward, fingers interlaced, like a prehistoric crocodile finally baring its bloody jaws. He sneered. "A wonderful new life is waiting for you."
"I... my name is Nixson."
"That was in the past. I'll give you a new identity. Your surname will be Jack. As for your given name...
Baker? Benson? Let's go with Johnson."
His tone was as casual as if he were deciding what to have for lunch, freely weaving the life Nixson would lead from now on. Nixson felt as though he had fallen into an abyss, a chill running down his spine.
"What profession should you have? Assassin, drug dealer, gang enforcer, or terrorist?"
Every one of them was an identity that would inevitably leave him with blood on his hands and make him a wanted man.
"Listen, I can give the money back to you."
He swallowed and hurriedly placed the bag on the table.
Family, work, friends... he could not accept everything he had built over the first half of his life vanishing from him.
"Was my money arranged like this to begin with?"
Luthor raised an eyebrow in surprise.
Nixson hurriedly took the money out of the bag with trembling hands and put it back in its original places, stack by stack. Wiping the cold sweat from his forehead, he looked at Luthor like a devil who could decide his life and death with a single sentence, forcing an ugly smile through his fear.
"Mr. Luthor..."
"You thought you could blackmail me?
You think I'm some spoiled rich kid who needs his daddy to protect him?"
Luthor rose slowly and forcefully, looking like a vicious demon about to devour someone. His voice suddenly rose, making Nixson tremble all over. He nearly dropped to his knees in fright.
"You're not the first person to think that, and the people I made disappear never showed up again!
What kind of people do you think run this country?"
"M-Mr. Luthor, what do you want me to do?"
As if facing a towering wave ready to crash down and smash him into pulp, Nixson was terrified. His voice shook as he begged for mercy.
"You're one of Metropolis's top reporters. Even I can't match your sources for news from the lower levels of society. I want you to secretly investigate some things for me!"
"P-Please tell me."
"There's a family named Kent in this town that runs farms."
Luthor turned and drew open the curtains. Light streamed inside, yet it could not penetrate the darkness in his eyes.
"I want information on them. Every last detail!"
"I'll do it."
Nixson nodded frantically. "I'll make sure it's handled to your satisfaction."
"And..."
"What else is it, Mr. Luthor?" When Luthor glanced back at him, he quickly lowered his head like a loyal servant.
"This is a magical town."
The corners of Luthor's mouth curled up as he looked out over the manor again, speaking softly and slowly.
"Though I've only been here for a few days, I've already glimpsed a corner of the mystery beneath her veil. I can't stop thinking about it."
First, there was Clark, who had been hit off a bridge by a sports car going two hundred miles per hour without a scratch, and had even saved his life.
Then came a high school girl who somehow could turn into his likeness and rob banks.
And there were all the strange incidents in town he had just read about online.
"I want to know everything about her mysteries!"
"Your wish will be granted, Mr. Luthor."
After sending away the reporter he had just taken in as a dog, Luthor watched him drive off. He slowly took a sip of wine and chuckled under his breath.
"Thank you, Nixson.
Fortunately, it was a fool and coward like you who discovered one of my weaknesses first, rather than someone more troublesome.
And when I happened to be short-handed, you delivered yourself right to my door."
"What are your names, gentlemen?"
At the Nursing Home, Cassandra, her eyes clouded white and her hair gray, smiled kindly.
"My name is Clark." "David Kent."
Clark gave his name first, and David spoke as well.
"The Kent brothers?
Come sit closer."
The gentle old woman pointed at the bed a short distance in front of her.
"Ma'am, I heard you can foresee the future?"
The two sat down. Clark glanced at his brother, believing that after encountering several Metahumans in a row, David now had the same thought as he did. Turning back, Clark hesitated before asking despite himself, "Is that true?"
Who wouldn't be curious about the future?
Especially when they knew that this ability to foresee the future might not be fake.
"When it first happened, I thought it was a curse, a hallucination.
Whenever I made physical contact with someone, uncontrollable fragments of events would appear before my eyes."
Cassandra smiled.
"Later, I realized it was a gift from heaven to make up for what I had lost."
Clark was surprised.
The old woman before him seemed not to care in the least about hiding her ability, casually telling people she had met for the first time.
He began to wonder whether she was really a Metahuman.
Only a fraud would be so eager to show off, speaking at length about herself.
But Pete's situation just now had proven that some miraculous things did exist.
"Clark, stop thinking such rude thoughts."
Unlike Clark, David was fairly certain that she truly could foresee the future. He spoke slowly.
"I think that by the time you reach Ms. Cassandra's age, you'll also become more detached about certain things."
Looking more closely again, Clark did sense a calmness upon the old woman, as though she had weathered the years. He suddenly understood and quickly apologized.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Cassandra."
"It's all right." The old woman smiled without concern.
"When did you first see the future?"
Clark had always suspected that every strange occurrence in town had happened after the meteor shower.
Could those Metahumans be connected to the Meteorites? He had an extremely strong feeling they were, but he had no evidence to confirm it.
"One morning, I woke up as usual. Then the Meteorites fell, striking the wheat field in front of my home. The doctors concluded that the flash had burned my optic nerves. In a single moment, my whole life changed."
"I'm sorry." Clark looked uncomfortable as he watched the old woman calmly recount the past, his voice heavy.
The meteor shower had arrived with him. He had brought disaster and changed many people's lives.
"It wasn't your fault, child."
Cassandra thought he was apologizing for making her mention her blindness, and she smiled.
"Kindness is a good thing."
Seeing the guilt in Clark's eyes, David said pointedly, "But there are some things in this world that you can't control, my brother."
He had been forcibly sent to Earth. He had not chosen to come here, so he should stop taking every burden upon himself.
Comforted by his brother, Clark felt a little better.
At the same time, he was puzzled. Why was his brother offering him comfort over such a minor emotion for once?
"After that, I could no longer see the present before my eyes, but I could glimpse the futures of others."
As she spoke, she gently and slowly held out her hand.
"Would you like to try, child?"
Looking at the old woman before him, Clark hesitated. Would using that ability consume her strength or something?
He had come here to volunteer and read to the elderly, not to make an old woman answer questions about his future.
At the same time, outside the room, a tall, beautiful black-haired figure moved without a sound. Like a hunter skilled at stalking through the jungle, she silently came to the door, pressed her back against the wall, and listened inside.
"Only by glimpsing others' futures can you occasionally see the light again."
David pondered aloud.
"That's why you often help people foresee their futures and guide them through their confusion, Ms. Cassandra?"
It was obvious that the old woman had an unusual enthusiasm for helping others see the future.
"Child, you're very smart."
Cassandra nodded approvingly in his direction.
"The world is so beautiful, so full of colors. Clouds white as cotton, lovely green grass, a deep blue sky.
Light is always better than darkness, especially for someone who once had sight."
Her voice was full of longing as she spoke.
Hearing that, Clark no longer hesitated and held out his hand toward the kind, blind old woman before him.
"Sorry to trouble you, ma'am."
The update was a little late. I wrote four or five hundred extra words.
Before you continue