Eyes red, Dio huddled in Martha's arms, his little face scrunched up in grievance.
Clark stood awkwardly nearby, clutching the book now smeared with pig slop.
"Uncle Locke!" The moment Clark spotted Locke, he bolted toward him like a drowning man grabbing at a lifeline. His blue eyes brimmed with panic. "Please listen to me, I wasn't trying to bully Dio!"
At those words, Dio buried his face deeper into Martha's apron. His small shoulders trembled, and he let out faint sobs.
Locke raised a brow, his gaze flicking between the two boys.
As the children had grown, scenes like this had played out far too many times.
Dio always managed to appear utterly innocent, cornering Clark until he couldn't explain himself no matter what.
Locke had no idea why Dio did this. Every time he tried to ask, the boy would just grumble and pull the blanket over his head, refusing to speak.
It was exhausting.
Is a person's nature truly unchangeable from birth?
"Clark?" Locke deliberately drew out the name, squatting down to meet Clark's eyes. "Tell me—what happened?"
Clark's face flushed bright red.
"I just wanted to see what Dio was reading, but maybe I… well, I guess I accidentally slipped?" He lowered his head, full of regret. "I'm sorry. I forgot to control my strength, and the book flew into the pig trough."
"So it was an accident?" Locke asked.
"Yes! It really was an accident!" Clark nodded furiously, then added gloomily, "But Dio said I did it on purpose."
"But—"
Only then did Dio lift his head from Martha's arms. Tear drops still clung to his long lashes. His voice was soft as a mosquito's buzz: "That book… Dad just bought it for me last week."
A perfect retreat to advance.
Locke sighed inwardly. Dio could've simply tattled, but instead chose to highlight the book's sentimental value, practically writing on his face: I'm a good boy, but I've been wronged.
And sure enough—
"Oh, poor Dio." Martha immediately hugged him tighter. "Clark really does need to learn to control his strength."
"I didn't!"
Clark stomped his feet in desperation, the floorboards groaning under his weight.
Before things spiraled further out of control, Locke cleared his throat.
"Clark, what should you do if you damage someone else's belongings?"
"…Apologize." Clark pouted, then turned to Dio. "Sorry, Dio. I'll help you wash the book later."
Blinking his tear-bright eyes, Dio gave a smile as angelic as it was flawless.
"It's okay, Brother Clark. I know you didn't mean it."
—The speed of that face change left even Locke in awe.
Is this really a seven-year-old child?
"Oh! Looks like everything's resolved." Jonathan, returning from who-knows-where, clapped his hands in relief. "Alright kids, time for dinner."
"Martha made apple pie, and Locke's slow-roasted beef brisket should be ready too!"
"Then I'll sit with Dad!"
Dio hopped off Martha's lap, trotted to Locke's side, and sweetly grabbed his hand. He even turned back to Clark with a sunny smile. "Come too, Brother!"
"?"
Clark stood frozen, dazed, his face written all over with what just happened?
Locke rubbed his temples.
Bending down, he whispered in Dio's ear—quiet enough for only the two of them to hear:
"Know when to stop, little devil."
"What are you saying, Dad?" Dio's smile didn't waver in the slightest. He whispered back just as softly: "I really just want to get along with my brother."
"…"
"Alright then, dinner time. Clark, come with me and we'll check on the brisket."
"Yay! Brisket!"
Left standing alone, Dio watched Locke lead Clark outside. Slowly, his obedient smile hardened into something else.
He unconsciously tugged at the hem of his clothes, a shadow flickering in those ruby-red eyes.
"Damn Clark!"
He gnashed his teeth in his heart. Always playing the pitiful act to win Dad's sympathy.
It was clearly a situation he had carefully set up, yet the moment that big oaf showed that clueless look, Dad's attention would instantly be drawn to him instead.
Dio's gaze lingered on Clark's back—specifically, on the plaid shirt covered in grass clippings.
He remembered that shirt. Dad had bought it for him, but he had always thought it looked too rustic and refused to wear it.
And now—it was on Clark!
...
The setting sun stretched the oven's shadow long across the ground.
As Locke lifted the heavy iron lid, the thick aroma of roasted meat mixed with the smoky sweetness of fruitwood surged out.
Clark stood beside him, staring at the oven, though his expression was still gloomy.
"Still sulking?"
Locke prodded the coals with an iron hook, sparks snapping in the fire.
"I really didn't mean it." Clark kicked at a pebble, then, under Locke's helpless gaze, accidentally sent it flying up into the clouds. "That book—"
"I know."
Locke cut him off, pulling a small knife from his pocket. "Bend down."
When Clark tilted his head in confusion, Locke used the knife tip to peel back a corner of foil. Amber-colored juices gushed out, gleaming temptingly in the firelight.
He quickly sliced off a caramelized piece of meat and shoved it, steaming hot, into Clark's mouth.
?!
Clark's eyes went wide as saucers.
The crispy skin shattered between his teeth, the tender meat melted on his tongue, and the sweetness of maple syrup fused with the bite of black pepper, exploding across his palate.
He instinctively covered his mouth, as though afraid the flavor would escape.
"Good?" Locke winked.
Clark nodded furiously, cheeks puffed out like a hamster.
"This," Locke whispered as he rewrapped the foil, "is called getting rich quietly, Clark. Instead of arguing, it's better to just enjoy the benefits."
Half-understanding, Clark swallowed the meat, a trace of sauce still at the corner of his lips.
Locke reached out to wipe it away, continuing, "Dio's personality might be… a little different. But he's actually a good kid. Try to be more understanding."
The evening breeze ruffled Clark's curly black hair, carrying the fresh scent of alfalfa fields.
"I know. He's my brother, after all." Clark lowered his head, staring at his dirt-caked work boots, then hesitated before whispering, "Uncle Locke… can I have another piece?"
Locke chuckled, cutting him an even bigger slice on the sly.
"Chew slowly."
"Mmm! Mmm!"
This time Clark was careful, crouching behind the oven like a little bear hoarding honey, savoring each bite of the brisket.
His blue eyes sparkled in the twilight, all trace of his earlier gloom long gone.
Just then, Martha's voice called from the house, summoning them for dinner.
"Come on." Locke patted Clark's shoulder. "You're a man who can lift haystacks, remember?"
Clark nodded hard, then suddenly threw his arms around Locke in a firm hug—quickly easing his strength, afraid of a repeat of last time when he'd nearly cracked his uncle's ribs.
When the two returned inside, Dio was already seated neatly at the table, carefully folding napkins for everyone.
His gaze lingered for just a second on the shiny smear at the corner of Clark's mouth. His crimson pupils narrowed slightly.
"Brother Clark, I think you've got something on your lips," Dio said sweetly.