American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 100 Clark: Franklin, you think you can just throw him away like that? Who are you if not Dior?!
Saturday's sunlight lazily streamed into the Kent family's living room.

Clark and Salafell, on the other hand, looked like two sun-baked cats, curled up on the sofa without any regard for their image.

The TV was playing a melodramatic Peninsula soap opera, with the female lead crying her eyes out and the male lead roaring at the sea.

"You two."

Locke stood at the door, hoe in hand, watching the two brothers completely engrossed in this melodramatic plot. He sighed helplessly, "Didn't you say there was an important match to watch today? Why are you so absorbed in this again?"

"what?!"

Clark seemed to snap out of a daze, slapping his forehead and nearly jumping off the sofa:
"Oh no! The Monarchs' baseball game! I forgot!"

He frantically grabbed the remote and quickly switched channels.

Salafir pouted in dissatisfaction, but still obediently moved aside to make room for the baseball game.

Locke couldn't help but shake his head with a smile: "You guys take care of yourselves for lunch. The harvest festival is coming soon, and several families in town have a lot of work to do. Jonathan and I have to go help out, and Martha is going to the community center to volunteer today."

"So," he gestured toward the kitchen, "there are some leftovers in the fridge. You can just heat them up and eat them, remember..."

The voice hasn't fallen
Suddenly, the television broadcast erupted in thunderous cheers and the commentator's voice cracked with excitement:
"A home run! A stunning home run!"

"My God! The number 12 swinger! He's an alien! That ball went so high and so far!!"

Clark and Salafir simultaneously sprang to their feet from the sofa, raising their hands in a cheer:

"yeah!"

Salafir even accidentally punched Clark in the face.

Locke smiled, shook his head, and pushed open the door to leave.

The sunlight cast a long shadow behind him, which quickly disappeared into the farm path.

Time slipped away quietly amidst the fierce back-and-forth.

As the whistle blew to end the top of the ninth inning, the game entered the halftime break, and the commercial break began.

Clark stretched and was about to go to the kitchen to find some Dior snacks, however...
But then the TV screen suddenly switched images, catching his eye.

"Summer Memories! Classic Returns! Honeydew Melon Sundae is Here for a Limited Time!"

Hami melon sundae?
He blinked.

On the screen, a vibrant green ice cream, resembling fresh melon pulp, is elegantly scooped up, drizzled with crystal-clear golden honey, generously sprinkled with crunchy nut pieces, and finally, a plump, bright red cherry, seemingly dripping with juice, is firmly placed on top of the sundae.

So cool and tempting!
but.
Clark couldn't help but laugh out loud, turning to look at his younger brother while making a sarcastic remark:
"Which dessert shop would offer sundaes in the fall? Salafir, don't you think so?"

The sound stopped suddenly.

Salafir practically lunged into the television set, her tiny nose almost touching the screen.

His eyes were wide open, staring intently at the bowl of emerald green sundae. His small mouth was slightly open, and a glistening strand of saliva was uncontrollably dripping from the corner of his mouth, leaving a silvery trail.

"Sarafil?"

Clark waved his hand vigorously in front of his eyes, trying to wake the little glutton who had been captivated by the dessert:

"Hey! Buddy! You need to snap out of it!"

"Brother Clark!"

Salafell suddenly turned her head, her small hands gripping Clark's clothes tightly like iron clamps, her bright black eyes flashing with an astonishingly eager light, "Town! Is there such a shop in town?! It's that big sign!"

Clark scratched his head, looking somewhat embarrassed.
"There is such a store...but..."

My gaze unconsciously drifted to the inconspicuous line of small print at the very bottom of the advertising screen—

Special price: $78 per serving

The boy gasped at the number: "That's almost half a month's allowance! So..."

“Stare—” Salafir looked up, her big, wet eyes sparkling as if stars were twinkling.

Clark felt a sudden, intense dizziness, as if he had been struck by some kind of mental attack.

He swallowed hard, trying to hold his ground:

"No...no! Salafir, this is too expensive! If I eat this, I'll be..."

"Clark."

A cold voice came from the stairs, interrupting Clark's words.

Dio appeared at the top of the stairs at some point, his blond hair disheveled, clearly having just been woken up.

"Di...Dio?"

Clark gave an awkward smile, a little guilty. "You're awake? Did I disturb you?"

With a cold snort, Dio crossed his arms and looked down at him condescendingly:
"You're really getting worse as you get older." His tone was full of undisguised disdain.

"You don't have any savings at all?"

As he spoke, Dio casually pulled a crisp green banknote from his bathrobe pocket, without even glancing at Clark, and flicked his wrist—

Franklin traced a graceful arc in the air and landed precisely on Clark's face.

"Franklin?!"

Clark's jaw nearly dropped to the floor. "Dio, what are you doing?"

“Take our stupid little brother to eat his stupid sundae.” Dio interrupted him impatiently, as if every second was torture, and turned to walk into the room. “Don’t disturb my sleep with your noise.”

"Uh...oh...okay..."

Clark nodded blankly, as if the hundred-dollar bill in his hand had suddenly become incredibly heavy.

"Wuhu~! Dior is the best!"

Meanwhile, Salafir beside him was jumping up and down happily, a bright smile spreading across her little face.

On the television, the commentator's excited voice rang out at just the right moment, as if echoing this dramatic scene:
"Wow! Look at that shot! Player number 17's value has undoubtedly been greatly increased by this perfect pitch!"

Watching Saraphiel run off to change his shoes with great joy, Clark looked at the brand-new Franklin in his hand.

I just feel like this world is a bit magical.

Dior
Is it possessed by something?!
The midday sun streamed generously through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the wooden tables and chairs in a warm golden hue.

Clark rested his chin on his hand, looking at the restless Salafir across from him with a mixture of helplessness and amusement.

The little guy's eyes were fixed on the kitchen curtain, as if he wanted to stare the cantaloupe sundae out of his face.

“Sarafil.”

Clark couldn't help but laugh, "Staring like that won't magically produce ice cream."

"Clark? Salafell?"

A clear, pleasant female voice, tinged with surprise, suddenly came from behind.

Om-!
A cantaloupe sundae has appeared?

No, that's not right, it's even more wonderful.
Clark froze, a familiar feeling of weakness washing over him.

He slowly turned his head and saw the familiar girl standing in front of their table with a tray in her hand. Her chestnut hair was tied into a neat ponytail, and her white uniform made her skin look even whiter.

Sure enough it was her.

(End of this chapter)