Son, It's Time

Lex Luthor, one of Superman's lifelong adversaries.

After discovering Superman, he dedicated himself to ridding the world of the Man of Steel's "threat." In his view, Superman caged humanity in a cozy cradle, denying them the chance to face crises and grow, thereby weakening the species' potential.

Yesterday, Clark hadn't saved anyone. In his youth, Lex Luthor would have likely drowned in the river.

Yet he himself had rescued one of his future greatest enemies.

"Clark, whatever makes you happy."

David shrugged.

"Of course I'm happy."

Clark grinned. "Mom, where are the keys to this truck?"

"David, wanna come for a ride with me?" He turned to his brother, the gloom of the past few days lifting slightly.

He couldn't wait to drive it—his first car ever. Given the family's finances, he'd thought he'd have to wait until he got a job.

"Clark..." Martha hesitated. "The keys are with your father."

Rumble rumble rumble.

By the hay chopper, Jonathan was busy processing the farm's hay.

"Dad..."

Clark bounded over with David in tow, eager to ask for the keys.

The young Superman had barely opened his mouth when Jonathan stopped the machine, his expression darkening. "I know you want it, but you can't accept it."

He was still replaying yesterday's scene: Lex Luthor studying the wrecked car pulled from the river, then turning to the unscathed Clark with a look of wonder and suspicion—as if beholding a miracle that defied all reason, something that shouldn't exist. The man's face had betrayed a hunger to probe and investigate.

Like an ambitious corporate boss discovering a one-of-a-kind new project.

Maybe it was just his imagination, but he had a bad feeling.

"Why not? I saved him." Clark was baffled.

"That doesn't mean you can just accept an expensive thank-you gift."

"Take the new truck, Dad. I'll drive the old one."

"This has nothing to do with that." Seeing his son's displeasure, Jonathan spoke quickly.

"A pickup truck? That's nothing to the Luthors."

David agreed with Clark on this one.

Luthor Group was one of the world's most famous conglomerates. Even Smallville, a backwater town near Metropolis, had a Luthor fertilizer plant as its economic backbone, with over two thousand locals working for the family.

Clark had saved Lex Luthor's life. A pickup truck was hardly a steep price for the heir to a fortune that rivaled nations.

"Listen, son. In life, we can't always get what we want. That's normal."

Jonathan tried to explain patiently.

"Normal? I'm sick of normal!"

Clark's pent-up frustration from the past few days finally boiled over, cutting his father off.

He could do so much. He didn't have to just watch. Whatever he put his hand to, he could excel at.

But to be normal, he had to hide himself, play the invisible nobody, stand bitterly by the school field while the girl he secretly loved was kissed passionately in someone else's arms.

"Is this normal?"

He dodged his father's attempt to put a hand on his shoulder, stormed over to the hay chopper, flipped it on, and shoved his arm straight into the whirring blades.

Crunch! Crunch!

"Tell me, Dad!"

As if hitting indestructible high-density alloy, the blades blunted, gears shattered, and the machine coughed out black smoke before grinding to a halt.

"Clark!"

Even knowing his son was made of steel, Jonathan still cried out, rushing over to yank the boy's arm free with effort.

Only the sleeve was shredded. Clark's arm didn't even have a red mark.

"Great, you're tough, Clark. Ever think fixing that chopper costs money?"

Watching his teenage brother, David commented dryly, hands in his pockets.

Clark had vented, and the only result was a broken hay chopper.

"Dad, you see that?"

"I was born abnormal." His brother's words only fueled Clark's anger, his voice shaking as he struggled to accept his own reality.

Martha heard the commotion and hurried over. Taking in the scene, she guessed what had happened and exchanged a worried look with Jonathan.

"Maybe... it's time, son."

Jonathan sighed, wearily pulling off his work gloves.

"This day was bound to come."

"What?" Clark suddenly had a bad feeling.

"Come with me." He turned with heavy steps, motioning for Clark to follow.

Then he glanced at his younger son, hesitating briefly. "David, you come too. As a member of this family, you also have the right to know the truth."

Even though David was his and Martha's biological son, and Clark was merely a foundling alien infant, of a different species entirely from the couple.

But kind-hearted Jonathan and Martha had never treated them differently—in his heart, both were his sons.

"I know some things can't be hidden from you forever, especially after discovering you, Clark, were born extraordinary, with strength beyond human imagination."

Inside a rundown auto repair shop.

A burly, blond-haired worker listened to pounding death metal, standing by a car as he reached in to turn the key.

The dashboard lit up, the engine roared to life. Chewing gum, the worker flashed a smug grin and slammed the hood shut.

Just as he was about to take a break, he suddenly noticed a gaunt figure standing like a ghost in the shadows at the shop entrance.

"Damn it, you trying to scare me to death?"

Muttering a curse, the worker felt a flicker of recognition from the figure in the dark.

"Do I know you?"

He squinted, identified the newcomer, and walked over.

"You look like that Scarecrow guy. What was his name... Jeremy?"

Black-haired, rail-thin Jeremy, his cheeks sunken like a skull, stared back coldly without a word.

"Heard you got your head messed up in that Meteor Shower, been in a coma..."

The worker, once a Smallville High School Football team member, wiped his greasy hand contemptuously on the other's clothes.

"Finally crawled out of bed?

Look at you, all skin and bones..."

Before he could finish, a jolt of powerful electricity shot from Jeremy's shoulder where he'd touched.

A burnt smell filled the air.

The worker flew backward three or four meters, crashing into a tool rack and slamming hard onto the floor.

"Monster!"

He raised his charred, searing hand, face pale as he scrambled backward.

"Listen, that was over a decade ago!"

Realizing why the man had come, the worker tried to quash any thoughts of revenge, shouting in pain.

"It was just a game!"

"A game?"