Trouble, Madam

Chapter 30: Trouble, Ma'am

"Don't worry, Mr. Jack."

In the estate office, Lex Luthor leaned forward, hands clasped, like a prehistoric crocodile finally baring its bloody maw. He sneered, "A wonderful new life awaits you."

"I... my name is Nixson."

"That's in the past. I'll give you a new identity. Surname Jack. What should the first name be? Baker? Benson? Let's just go with Johnson."

His tone was as casual as deciding what to have for lunch, weaving the rest of Nixson's life on a whim. Nixson plummeted into an abyss, a chill crawling up his spine.

"What profession? Hitman, drug dealer, gang enforcer, or terrorist?"

Every single one was a label that came with a murder charge and a warrant.

"Listen, I can give your money back."

He swallowed hard and hurriedly set the bag on the desk. Family, job, friends... he couldn't accept everything he'd built in the first half of his life slipping away.

"Was my money like this to begin with?"

Luthor raised an eyebrow in surprise.

Nixson's hands trembled as he pulled the cash from the bag, stacking it back neatly. He wiped the cold sweat from his brow, looking at Luthor like a demon who could decide his life and death with a single word. Terrified, he forced an ugly smile.

"Mr. Luthor..."

"You think you can blackmail me? You think I'm some spoiled brat who needs his daddy's protection?"

Luthor rose slowly and powerfully, his expression like a ravenous fiend about to devour its prey. His voice suddenly boomed, making Nixson shudder and nearly drop to his knees in fear.

"You're not the first to think that. The people I've made disappear never showed up again! Who do you think runs this country?"

"L-Luthor, sir... what do you want from me?"

As if facing a monstrous wave that could crash down and crush him to pulp, Nixson was petrified, his voice quivering in plea.

"You're one of the top reporters in Metropolis. Your underground sources are even better than mine. I need you to secretly investigate some things for me!"

"P-Please, go ahead."

"There's a family named Kent running a farm in this town."

Luthor turned and pulled open the curtains. Light flooded in, but it couldn't pierce the darkness in his eyes.

"I want their information. Every last detail!"

"I will."

Nixson nodded frantically. "I'll get it done for you."

"And..."

"And what else, Mr. Luthor?" Seeing Luthor glance back, he quickly lowered his head like a loyal servant.

"This is a strange little town."

Luthor's lips curled into a smile as he gazed out at the estate again, speaking slowly and softly.

"I've only been here a few days, and I've already glimpsed a corner of her mysterious veil. It haunts me."

First, there was Clark—hit off a bridge by a two-hundred-mile-per-hour sports car, unscathed, and even saving his life.

Then, a high school girl with some trick to transform into him and rob a bank.

And now, all the bizarre stories from this town he'd just seen online.

"I want to know everything about her mystery!"

"You will have your wish, Mr. Luthor."

After dismissing the reporter he'd just taken on as his dog, Luthor watched him drive away, slowly sipped his drink, and chuckled to himself.

"Thank you, Nixson. Lucky it was a fool like you who found my loophole first, and not someone more troublesome. And right when I needed a man, you walked right in."

"What are your names, gentlemen?"

In the Nursing Home, Cassandra, her eyes clouded with white film and hair silver, smiled kindly.

"I'm Clark." "David Kent."

Clark gave his name first, and David followed.

"The Kent brothers?"

"Come sit closer."

The gentle, refined elderly woman pointed to the bed not far in front of her.

"Ma'am, I heard you can see the future?"

The two sat down. Clark glanced at his brother, believing that after encountering several Metahumans in a row, he now shared the same thought. He turned his head, hesitated for a moment, then couldn't help asking, "Is it true?"

Who wouldn't be curious about the future?

Especially knowing that this glimpse of the future might not be fake.

"When it first happened, I thought it was a curse, a hallucination.

Whenever I touched someone with my skin, uncontrollable fragments of events would flash before my eyes."

Cassandra smiled.

"Later I realized it was a gift from heaven to make up for my loss."

Clark was startled.

The old woman before him seemed completely unconcerned about hiding her ability, casually telling it to someone she'd just met.

He began to doubt—was she really a Metahuman?

Only a liar would be so eager to show off and talk endlessly.

But then, what just happened with Pete proved something extraordinary.

"Clark, stop thinking such rude thoughts."

Unlike Clark, David confirmed that she was most likely truly able to foresee the future, speaking slowly.

"I think when you reach Cassandra's age, you'll take some things more lightly."

Looking again, the old woman truly gave off a sense of calm like flowing water after weathering the years. Clark came to his senses and quickly apologized.

"Sorry, Cassandra."

"It's fine." The old woman smiled, unconcerned.

"When was your first prediction?"

Clark had always had a hunch—that all the strange things in town seemed to happen after the Meteor Shower.

Could those Metahumans be connected to the meteor? He had a very strong premonition, but no evidence to confirm it.

"One morning, I woke up like usual, and then the meteor fell, hitting the wheat field in front of my house. The doctor determined that the flash burned out my optic nerves. In an instant, my whole life changed."

"Sorry." Watching the old woman calmly recount the past, Clark's expression stiffened, his voice heavy.

The Meteor Shower came with him—he brought the disaster, changing many people's lives.

"It's not your fault, child."

Cassandra thought he was apologizing for making her mention her blindness, and smiled.

"Kindness is a good thing."

Seeing the guilt in Clark's eyes, David said meaningfully, "But there are some things in this world you can't control, my brother."

He was sent to Earth against his will, not by choice—don't keep shouldering burdens that aren't yours.

Comforted by his brother, Clark felt a little better.

At the same time, he was puzzled—why would his brother, for once, comfort him over such a small emotion?

"After that, I could no longer see my own present, but I could glimpse others' futures."

As she spoke, her voice gentle, she slowly extended her hand.

"Child, would you like to try?"

Looking at the old woman before him, Clark hesitated. Would using that ability drain her energy or something?

He was here as a volunteer to read to the elderly, not to have her solve his future.

Meanwhile, outside the room, a tall, beautiful figure with black hair moved silently, like a hunter skilled in stalking through the jungle. She quietly arrived at the door, pressed her back against the wall, and listened.

"Occasionally glimpsing light again, only in others' futures."

David mused.

"So that's why you often help people predict the future and guide them, Cassandra?"

It was clear this old woman had an oddly proactive attitude toward helping others see the future.

"Child, you're very sharp."

Cassandra nodded approvingly in his direction.

"The world is so beautiful, so colorful—clouds white as cotton, lovely green grass, the azure sky.

Light is always better than darkness, especially for someone who once had sight."

Her voice was full of nostalgia as she spoke.

Hearing this, Clark no longer hesitated. He reached out his hand toward the kind, blind old woman.

"Please, ma'am."

A bit late on the update, added four or five hundred extra words.