The blazing sun hung high in the sky, and the wheat fields shimmered with rolling waves of heat.
A tractor rattled and chugged across the fields, its exhaust pipe spewing diesel fumes mixed with dust, leaving behind gray-black ruts in the earth.
When the tractor finally reached the end of the ridge, the man on it immediately cut the throttle, took off his worn, frayed cowboy hat, and fanned himself before turning his gaze toward the grain silo.
He thought: so this is what people call the joy of a good harvest?
After all…
The freshly harvested oats in his silo were enough to pile up into a golden little mountain!
"Rumble!"
"Hey!! Locke!"
A rough voice cut through the scorching heat, like a blunt knife slicing open the stagnant air.
Locke squinted and saw an old red tractor rolling across the stubble fields toward him. At the wheel sat none other than his cousin—Jonathan Kent.
Jonathan waved vigorously, the muscles bulging on his red-and-white checkered arm.
A perfect example of an American strongman.
"This year's wheat— even God himself would be jealous!"
"Hahahaha!"
Jonathan stomped on the brakes, and the tractor tires crushed a few stray grains of wheat, making faint popping sounds.
He jumped down, grabbed two bottles of chilled beer from the back seat, and as the hot air met the icy glass, beads of condensation sparkled in the sunlight.
"Here—let's toast to the harvest!"
With a helpless smile, Locke couldn't refuse his cousin's hospitality. He took the bottle, popped the cap, and gulped down a big swig.
"Jonathan, my brother, you've really helped me a lot."
He said it with genuine gratitude.
If not for this man, he figured he would probably be begging on the streets by now.
"Brother, what's the point of saying that?" Jonathan scoffed, gulping down his beer in great swigs. "As long as you don't tell Martha I sneaked a drink or two, I'm satisfied."
"You rascal."
Locke couldn't help but laugh. Honestly, in his past life, he would've never imagined that Superman's foster father had this side to him.
"Enough chatting, Martha's already nagging me to head home and rest." Jonathan stuffed his empty bottle into Locke's tractor with a sigh. "You know how it is… I've got another rough night ahead."
Locke stifled a laugh and stayed silent.
Such was the sorrow of middle-aged men. But then again—
His cousin still didn't have a child.
Probably only after Clark arrived would Jonathan's miserable nightly "suffering" finally come to an end.
Locke looked out at the roaring harvesters in the distance, the golden waves of wheat swaying in the hot wind.
He tilted back, staring up at the sun in the sky.
He was Locke Kent.
And he had been sent here for twenty-five years.
From the moment he learned that this world had Gotham… and Metropolis…
From that moment, he had been waiting for his grand and glorious destiny.
But reality had other plans. No "golden finger" (cheat ability) ever came. What came instead was the life of a farm owner.
And not even the kind of farm life he had imagined—no wealth, no leisure. After inheriting his late father's run-down farm, his dream of becoming a landowner lasted less than two days before America's endless high taxes hit him like a hammer.
"Property tax, agricultural tax, fuel tax, equipment usage tax…"
He muttered the words silently—those very names that had been gnawing away at his flesh and blood all these years.
During his very first harvest, men from the IRS had driven shiny sedans across his muddy fields, wearing suits expensive enough to buy half his oat harvest, and recited figures from their calculators in tones colder than the eulogies they had spoken at his father's funeral.
Fortunately, the couple who lived right next to his farm were Jonathan and Martha.
Whenever the taxes and droughts threatened to crush him, the two of them quietly lent him their shoulders once again.
From then on, Locke let go of his fantasies about a "golden finger."
In fact, to him, his golden finger in this life was never some system or superpower—
It was that on a sweltering summer afternoon, someone was willing to walk across forty acres of wheat and hand him their meager savings.
Lying on the wheat stubble, Locke's thoughts drifted away with the bubbles in the beer bottle beside him.
Once the wheat sold this year, he would find some excuse to repay Jonathan—and secretly slip in a little extra.
After all, Jonathan hardly had any private savings left.
Sigh. He didn't know when Clark would arrive. It had already been half a year since he and Jonathan had their "old men's night gatherings."
Hmm… right. Once Clark arrived, he had to make him recognize himself as godfather. Only then could…
Squinting under the sunlight, Locke felt his eyelids grow heavier and heavier.
"Forget it… I'll sleep a bit first… let the wheat grow for another night."
"What time is it?"
Groggily sitting up, Locke looked up at the moon that had quietly risen, then raised his wrist to check the time.
But—
BOOM!!!
A deafening explosion erupted, shaking the ground itself!
Locke jolted upright, his heart pounding wildly.
"Aliens are invading?!"
His first thought was that some superpowered being was fighting nearby—or maybe the military was testing some insane weapon.
But when he frantically looked around, his face went pale—
From the direction of the Kent farm, thick smoke was billowing upward!
"Jonathan?! Martha?!"
Did something go wrong with Krypton's spaceship landing site?!
How could it crash straight into the farm and start a fire?!
Locke instantly sobered up. He scrambled toward his tractor, didn't even bother with the keys—just yanked out two wires and jammed them together—
Chug-chug-chug!!!
The tractor roared forward. Locke gripped the steering wheel tightly as the stubble fields flew by beneath the wheels.
"Please, nothing bad happen… please, nothing bad happen…"
His throat tightened as countless terrifying possibilities flashed through his mind.
What if it wasn't the Kryptonian ship?
An accident? A gas explosion? An electrical short circuit?
Or—
An attack?
This world was far from safe. What if some villain had already set their sights on Superman's future foster parents?
The tractor barreled over the ridges. Locke could now see the shape of the flames.
The Kent family's barn was on fire!
Thick smoke surged into the sky, sparks scattering everywhere, waves of heat rushing into his face.
And in the midst of those flames—
A shadowy figure staggered out!
Locke's heart nearly stopped.
"Jonathan?!"
He slammed the gas pedal. The tractor roared into the farm, and before it even stopped, Locke leapt off, nearly tumbling into the dirt.
But when he stumbled closer, he realized—
That wasn't Jonathan.
It was a ragged middle-aged man, his black hair disheveled, face smeared with dust, clutching a baby tightly in his arms.
The moment he saw Locke, he hurriedly tossed both the baby and a strange object straight toward him.
And then—before Locke's very eyes—the man dissolved into ash and vanished.
[Ding~]
[Adoption successful.]
[Current adopted character: Dio Brando]
[Please assist in his growth—mind, body, spirit, and labor—toward a great destiny.]
[Parental privilege granted: The Joestar Family's Golden Body.]
[Countdown to next adoption: 9 years]
The golden finger had arrived.
But Locke felt no joy.
He stared down at the blond infant in his arms, the star-shaped birthmark on his neck, and the stone mask in his other hand—falling into heavy thought.
All he could say was: So it's you, Dio?
First appearance and you already burned down my cousin's farm?
Evil through and through.
"Locke!"
"Locke!"
Two frantic shouts rang out behind him. Jonathan and Martha came running, faces filled with panic.
But the most striking thing…
Was the baby they were each holding in their arms.
[PS:]
New author, new book. Please, brothers, after finishing a chapter, scroll all the way down and click read more.
During the new book period, those "continued reads" are really important.
If you're waiting to binge, just add to favorites and still scroll down to click "read more."
Thank you all sincerely.
orz!
Bang bang bang!
The "mutants" subplot is a pit I'll fill later.
This world is DC. Aside from a few well-known mutants, there are no Marvel characters.
Other mutants in this world are not native—they are alien species that randomly invaded.
I know my own limits. Blending Marvel and DC is way too big for me, and I'm not foolish enough to think I could handle that. The author knows his place.
orz.
Finally, please give me those "read more" clicks. Much gratitude!