Lex Luthor was destined to become one of Superman's greatest lifelong rivals.
From the moment he discovered the existence of Superman, he would dedicate himself to eliminating what he believed was the greatest threat to humanity. In his view, Superman's presence was a dangerous crutch. By protecting humanity from every disaster, Superman would trap mankind in a cradle of comfort, robbing them of the chance to grow stronger through adversity and weakening the true potential of the human race.
Yesterday, Clark had failed to save anyone.
If events had gone differently, Lex Luthor might have fallen into the river that day and died as a teenager. Instead, Clark had unknowingly saved one of the greatest enemies he would ever face.
"As long as you're happy, Clark," Victor said, spreading his hands casually.
"Of course I'm happy," Clark replied with a grin. He turned toward the house and called out, "Mom, where are the keys to the truck?"
Then he glanced back at his brother, the gloom that had hung over him for days finally lifting a little. "Victor, want to go for a ride with me?"
Clark could hardly contain his excitement. It would be the first car he had ever driven in his life. Considering their family's finances, he had always assumed he wouldn't own a vehicle until after he graduated and got a job.
"Clark…" Martha hesitated. "The key is with your father."
Across the yard, the steady rumble of machinery filled the air. Jonathan Kent stood beside the lawn mower, busy cutting hay from the fields.
"Dad—"
Clark eagerly grabbed Victor's arm and pulled him across the yard, clearly planning to ask for the keys right away.
Jonathan shut off the lawn mower the moment Clark opened his mouth. His expression grew serious, the cheerful mood fading from his face.
"I know you want that truck very much," Jonathan said slowly, "but you can't accept it."
Clark blinked in confusion.
Jonathan's mind drifted back to the scene from the previous day. He remembered the moment the wrecked car was dragged from the river and the way Lex Luthor had stared at the destroyed vehicle before turning his gaze toward the completely unharmed Clark.
The boy's expression had been strange—astonished, confused, and filled with curiosity. It was the look of someone witnessing something that defied common sense, something that should not exist in this world.
There had even been a faint glimmer of interest in his eyes.
The kind of look an ambitious businessman might give when discovering a brand-new project worth exploring.
Maybe it was just Jonathan's imagination, but the memory left him uneasy.
"Why not?" Clark asked. "I saved his life."
"That doesn't mean you can accept an expensive reward with a clear conscience."
Clark frowned and gestured toward the truck parked nearby. "Then let the new truck be yours, Dad. I'll just drive the old one."
"That's not the point," Jonathan said quickly when he saw the disappointment on his son's face.
"A pickup truck is nothing to the Luthor family," Clark insisted.
Victor nodded in agreement.
LuthorCorp was one of the world's largest business conglomerates. Even in Smallville—a small town on the outskirts of Metropolis—the Luthor family's fertilizer factory served as the backbone of the local economy. More than two thousand people in town worked directly or indirectly for the company.
Clark had saved Lex Luthor's life.
To the wealthy heir of a global empire, giving away a pickup truck was practically pocket change.
"Listen, son," Jonathan said patiently. "In life, we don't always get what we want. That's normal."
"Normal?" Clark suddenly snapped.
The frustration he had been carrying for days finally erupted, cutting his father off mid-sentence.
"I'm sick of being normal!"
His chest rose and fell as years of bottled-up emotions burst free. He knew what he was capable of. He knew he could do far more than simply stand by and watch.
Whenever something happened, he could help. He could save people. He could do things no one else could even imagine.
But to appear normal, he had to hide everything.
He had to pretend to be just another ordinary kid—another invisible face in the crowd.
He had stood on the sidelines at the school football field, forcing himself to act indifferent while watching the girl he secretly liked kiss someone else.
"Is that what you call normal?"
Clark brushed aside the hand Jonathan had tried to place on his shoulder. Anger burned in his eyes as he marched over to the lawn mower.
With a sharp motion, he started the machine.
The engine roared to life, its blades spinning rapidly with a loud mechanical buzz.
Then, without hesitation, Clark shoved his arm directly into the still-running cutting blades.
Crunch!
"Dad, tell me!"
The steel blades slammed into his arm like they had struck an indestructible block of metal. The cutting mechanism twisted and warped, the gears snapping under the pressure.
Within seconds, the mower sputtered violently. Thick black smoke poured from the engine before the machine died with a pathetic wheeze.
"Clark!"
Even though he knew his son's body was stronger than steel, Jonathan still shouted in alarm and rushed forward. He grabbed Clark's arm and pulled it out of the mangled machine.
Clark's sleeve had been shredded to pieces.
But the skin beneath it was flawless.
There wasn't even a red mark.
"I know you're impressive, Clark," Victor said calmly as he looked at the wrecked mower. "But have you considered that repairing farm equipment costs money?"
Clark had vented his frustration, but the only casualty had been the poor lawn mower.
"Dad, do you see now?" Clark said, his voice trembling with emotion. "I was never normal to begin with."
Hearing Victor's remark only irritated him further. His voice rose, filled with anger and helplessness as he struggled to accept the reality of his own existence.
Martha hurried out of the house after hearing the commotion.
The moment she saw the broken mower and Clark standing beside it, she understood what must have happened. She exchanged a worried glance with Jonathan.
Neither of them looked surprised.
Only sad.
"Maybe it's time, son," Jonathan said quietly after a long sigh.
He slowly removed his work gloves, the gesture carrying a strange sense of finality.
"I always knew this day would come."
"What day?" Clark asked, suddenly uneasy.
"Come with me."
Jonathan turned and began walking toward the barn with heavy steps, signaling for Clark to follow him.
After a moment, he glanced back at Victor as well.
"Victor… you should come too."
Jonathan hesitated briefly before continuing. "You're part of this family, and you deserve to know the truth as well."
Victor nodded calmly.
Although Victor was Jonathan and Martha's biological child while Clark had been an alien infant they found years ago, the couple had never treated them differently.
To them, both boys were equally their sons.
"I always knew I couldn't hide this from you forever," Jonathan said as they walked. "Especially after I realized that Clark… you were born extraordinary. The abilities you possess are far beyond anything humans should have."
…
Inside a shabby auto repair shop on the outskirts of town, a completely different scene was unfolding.
A muscular blond mechanic stood beside a car, blasting loud death rock music from a battered speaker. The aggressive rhythm filled the garage as he leaned through the driver's side window and twisted the ignition key.
The dashboard lit up instantly.
The engine roared to life.
The mechanic popped his gum with satisfaction and slammed the hood shut with a loud bang. He looked proud of himself as he stepped back to admire the car.
Just as he was about to take a break, he suddenly noticed something.
A thin figure stood silently in the shadows near the garage entrance.
The man hadn't made a sound.
He was just standing there.
"Damn it!" the mechanic swore, jumping slightly. "You're gonna scare me to death!"
After calming down, he squinted at the figure.
Something about the man looked familiar.
"Do I know you?"
The mechanic walked closer, trying to get a better look.
"You kind of look like that scarecrow kid," he muttered. "What was your name again… Jerome?"
The man standing in the shadows had black hair and a gaunt frame. His cheeks were sunken, giving his face a skeletal appearance.
Jerome stared at him coldly without saying a word.
"I heard you got hit during the meteor shower and ended up in a coma," the mechanic continued casually.
He used his greasy hand to wipe oil onto Jerome's clothes as he spoke, clearly showing no respect.
"Finally decided to get out of the hospital bed?"
The mechanic laughed mockingly as he looked Jerome up and down.
"With that scrawny little body of yours—"
Before he could finish his sentence, a violent surge of electricity erupted from the spot where his hand touched Jerome's shoulder.
A sharp smell of burning flesh filled the air.
The mechanic's body was blasted backward as if struck by lightning. He flew three or four meters through the air, crashed into a metal tool rack, and slammed hard onto the concrete floor.
"Monster!"
The mechanic scrambled backward, raising his charred and trembling hand. His expression had completely changed as pain shot through his arm.
"Listen… that was over ten years ago!"
Realization struck him instantly.
He understood why Jerome had come.
"It was just a game!" the mechanic shouted desperately, his voice trembling with fear and pain.
"A game?"