American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 110 Jonathan: I have something to tell you, but don't be afraid.

Park the Harley steadily in the backyard of the Sebrello repair shop.

Dior then took another shower to wash away the dust and grime of his journey.

As for Sebrello?

He was already fast asleep, snoring loudly. Only the watchdog lazily lifted its eyelids for a moment before continuing to doze off, unfazed by the late-night visitor.

After completing a series of disguises, Dior, carrying a suitcase and a cake box, set off on the country road home.

The moonlight cast a long shadow of his, making the convenience store logo on the cake box stand out prominently in the night.

He made a special detour to a 24-hour convenience store to buy this on his way back.

After all, he always needs to maintain the image of a good son in front of his father.

The road from the town to home is not far.

It takes only thirty minutes to get there.

Can.
As he pushed open the door, a strange intuition instantly seized him.

It's so quiet.

The television in the living room was dark; there was no light or sound.

This wasn't the usual tranquility after family members had fallen asleep; it was something else entirely.
An empty, deathly silence.

My father, who always waited for me to come home in the living room no matter what time it was, was surprisingly absent today.
"Father?"

Dior called out tentatively, his voice sounding particularly abrupt in the empty living room.

no respond.

Only the ticking of the old-fashioned wall clock, so dutiful and rhythmic, was unsettling.

He hurried upstairs and gently pushed open his father's bedroom door.

The bed was made so neatly that it looked as if no one had ever lain on it, and there was no faint smell of shaving lotion that my father usually used.

Dior frowned and turned to his brother's room:
"Sarafil?"

His voice rose unconsciously, carrying a hint of urgency that he himself was unaware of.

The boy's room was also empty.

The little dinosaur's blanket was neatly folded, and a half-finished animal drawing lay spread out on the table, the caps of the colored pencils still on.

Dior's brow furrowed deeper and deeper.

This is so abnormal.

Following my father's habit, no matter how big the matter was, he would always leave a note or send a text message.

Not to mention that they disappeared along with Salafir.
He instinctively gripped the handle of the suitcase.

The thirteen thousand knives in the box suddenly felt heavy.
He forced himself to calm down, walked to the second-floor window, and sharply scanned his own dark farm.

Until one could see in the distance, a lone light stubbornly shone in the thick darkness, like a tiny lighthouse.

"Let's go take a look first."

He muttered to himself, grabbed his coat, and turned to leave.

After a while.
Standing on the porch of Jonathan's house with a frown, Dio hesitated for a moment, his finger hovering in mid-air.

Finally, I gently knocked on the wooden door.

"Please come in."

Fortunately, the response from inside the house eased his tense nerves slightly.

The moment you push open the door, you are greeted by warm lights and the aroma of food.

Salafir was sitting at the table, his cheeks bulging, holding a fries covered in ketchup in his hand.

Upon seeing Dio enter, the little guy, with breadcrumbs still stuck to the corner of his mouth, mumbled "Brother."

This traitor
Dio glared at Salafel, who was grinning sullenly, and breathed a sigh of relief. He realized he had probably been overthinking things.

Father must have had to go out of his way, so he entrusted Salafir to Aunt Martha and Uncle Jonathan.
"Dio, you're back."

Jonathan's voice came from the living room, but his tone was different from usual, carrying a deliberately suppressed heaviness.

Dior's heart, which had just settled down, jumped again.

He noticed Jonathan sitting in an armchair, holding an empty coffee cup in his hand.

It seems something bad has happened?
"Where's Clark?"

Jonathan looked up, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes particularly deep under the light. "You two aren't together?"

"Later, in a bit..." Dio was about to reply.

"Dior!"

With a call, familiar footsteps came from behind him.

Clark peeked in with an awkward smile, a hint of caution gracing his sunny, cheerful face.
"What are you doing here...?"

You can't exactly settle scores with me tonight and then blow us up together, can you?!
He knew that Dio didn't want Uncle Locke to know, which is why he went to Gotham alone.

Surely they can't just try to take themselves down with them, can they?!

Clark nervously swallowed, trying to communicate with Dio through his eyes.

but.
The blond youth merely snorted, ignoring his gaze, and walked straight to the single sofa next to Jonathan, sitting down. "Hmm?"

Why aren't you scolding me?
Scratching the back of his head, Clark followed him in, puzzled.

However, they were stunned when they saw the scene in the living room.

The father stood with his hands crossed under his chin, his expression unusually serious. The mother gently wiped Salafir's mouth, but her eyes seemed slightly red.

The family members were all present, except for one person who was absent...

"Where is Uncle Locke?"

Clark sat down uneasily in the rocking chair.

"Now I'm going to talk."

Jonathan nodded heavily, took a deep breath, and his voice was so low it was almost unsettling:

"You must not be afraid."

"!!!"

The two young men straightened their backs and their expressions turned serious.

They were practically holding their breath in anticipation.

Could it be that the IRS finally couldn't resist and wanted to...
"you…"

Jonathan's gaze swept back and forth between the two men's faces, as if to confirm whether they were ready:

Do you know about people from the future?

"..."

Deathly silence.

The tension and worry that had been on Dior and Clark's faces instantly froze.

It slowly transformed into something indescribable...

Speechless.

"?"

A big question mark floated above Jonathan's head; he seemed bewildered by their overly calm reaction.

"That's a person from the future! Your uncle was taken away by a person from the future!"

He blurted it out almost out of the mouth, trying to emphasize the astonishing nature of the matter itself.

"."

Clark scratched his nose awkwardly and asked tentatively, "That time traveler... did he have a... donut on his head?"

"Still calling you grandpa."

Dior added detachedly from the side, his tone as flat as if stating a given fact.

"Bang!"

The coffee cup fell onto the carpet.

"All right."

Martha interrupted her husband's shock at just the right moment.

"Stop playing mysterious and scaring the children; they seem to have known for a long time." Her voice held a sigh. "It's poor Giorno, so young."

Before she could finish speaking, Martha turned to get a tissue, a hint of sadness flashing in her eyes.

Clark quickly got up to comfort his mother: "Okay, Mom, don't be sad. What happened?"

"Gioruno... him? What happened?"

"That kid is fine."

"I never expected that you little rascals would keep this from me."

Jonathan rubbed his temples and sat back in his chair, scratching his chin with a complicated expression.

"Martha and I were the last to find out."

He sighed. "Never mind, let's talk about Locke first. Just three hours ago..."

"boom!"

Before Jonathan could finish speaking, the door was suddenly pushed open.

A tall man walked into the living room, his face etched with exhaustion.

"Father!"

"father!"

"uncle?!"

"Locke?"

The five people exclaimed in surprise almost simultaneously.

"Give me some pie, please. I just traveled back from another world."

Locke smiled helplessly and said wearily, "We're really hungry right now."

(End of this chapter)