American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 155 Let's go to Gotham?

Lunchtime at Kent Farm is always lively.

The long wooden table was laden with Martha's signature roast beef, mashed potatoes with gravy, and fresh vegetable salad.

Locke looked around, his eyes meeting only his family.

Clark was focused on working on a bone-in rib.

He ate very quickly, but his movements remained strangely precise, without making a single extra sound.

Dior
Dior, unusually early, was slowly and methodically cutting his steak, his elegant posture completely out of place with the surrounding farm atmosphere.

Lex sat at the table, his food portion no less than Clark's. The intense farm work this month seemed to have completely washed away the superficiality he had developed in the metropolis, leaving him with a more robust physique.

But... isn't this silhouette a little too solid?

Locke was puzzled
Is it a genetic mutation caused by radiation? The muscle definition he developed in just one month is already comparable to that of Jonathan, who works hard all year round.

but
He's a loser after all, which makes sense.

Finally, his gaze fell on his youngest son, Salafir.

The child was poking at the small mountain of mashed potatoes in the plate with a spoon, doing so intermittently.

Her brows were slightly furrowed, and she looked preoccupied.

However, before Locke could speak...

"What's wrong, little angel?"

Martha noticed his unusual behavior and asked gently, "Don't you like the mashed potatoes?"

As if she had finally been waiting for this question, Salafir immediately looked up, blinked her big eyes, and dropped a bombshell in a soft, sweet voice: "Auntie... our school's 'City History and Culture' week requires us to visit city cultural sites and make reports..."

"Oh? This is a great practical activity."

Locke swallowed the roasted meat in his mouth and nodded in support. "Do you have any plans to go to any city? Dad can take you there next weekend."

“Next weekend…” Salafir’s eyes began to dart around guiltily, her little hands nervously twisting the hem of her clothes. “Um… that… report… is due tomorrow, Monday morning…”

The dining table fell silent for a moment.

"tomorrow?"

Locke put down his fork, wondering if he had misheard:

"Why didn't you say that when the teacher assigned the task a few days ago?"

"Uh……"

Salafir's face flushed slightly, her eyes darting back and forth between the ceiling, the window, and Lex's bald head. "It's...that...I...I thought there was plenty of time..."

"There is indeed plenty of time."

A childish voice, tinged with obvious sarcasm, suddenly rang out:
“Father, it’s just that my brother has been having too much fun with his new ‘wolf friend’ these past few days.”

"He was either running wildly up the mountain or catching fish in the river, getting so dirty that he looked like a wolf cub who had rolled in the mud. How could he remember anything about museums or homework? Don't blame him, he was just too happy."

The voice of Shen Du was full of sarcasm, as if he didn't mind making things worse.

You bastard from God Capital
Salafir's face instantly darkened.

My immediate thought was to refute this in my mind, but there were clearly more important things to do right now.

He immediately changed tactics and looked up.

Her dark eyes were filled with glistening tears, and her small mouth was slightly pursed.

He looked at Locke with a gaze that could melt even the hardest heart, his voice tinged with a hint of tears and boundless expectation:

"dad……"

Locke: “…”

Looking at his youngest son's pitiful expression, he felt nothing and even wanted to laugh.

Salafir used this move too often; he had long since become immune to it.

So Locke put on a serious face, ready to give a thorough explanation of the importance of "time management" and "responsibility"—

But then a soft sound was heard.

Three brand-new Franklins were slapped onto the wooden table.

The one who made the move was none other than...
It's Jonathan Kent, who's usually very stingy and would split a coin in half to make money!
Locke looked over in shock.

"Jonathan? Are you out of your mind?"

"Locke...the education of children is of paramount importance and must not be neglected."

Jonathan's expression was solemn, and his tone was deep, "You know, the thing you and I regret most is that we didn't..."

"Come on," Martha interrupted him with a merciless laugh. "You're clearly hoping Locke will take Salafir out so you can sneak into the barn and tinker with your precious robot in peace!"

"You've been secretly working on it for days. Honestly... Salafil always helps you finish it much faster, and you're still not happy about it..."

"Honey! We promised not to mention this!"

Jonathan blushed and quickly stopped Martha, his expression turning embarrassed.

He turned to Salafir, trying to salvage the situation:

“Sarafil, don’t listen to your aunt’s nonsense. Uncle Jonathan definitely didn’t secretly play behind your back… no, he’s just purely supporting your studies!”

He actually played some kind of high-high game behind my back!

In short
Uncle Jonathan, you're being a little naughty.

Salafir blinked, but still said knowingly:

"Yes! I know Uncle Jonathan is the best!"

"Really..."

Watching this scene of the old and young working together, Locke sighed helplessly and rubbed his temples.

The problem is the time and the long journey; money isn't an issue. Right?
After forcibly pulling the three Franklins from Jonathan's men, Locke cleared his throat and, seeing Jonathan's distress, said:
"Alright, alright... how about we go to the museum? Let's leave now, we should be back by evening."

"A museum?" Clark looked up and enthusiastically suggested, "Uncle, the Metropolitan Museum of Art is fantastic, with a rich collection of exhibits!"

Salafir immediately nodded vigorously in agreement.

However.
A calm voice interrupted their plan.

"I'm sorry, Uncle."

Lex put down his knife and fork, elegantly wiped his mouth with a napkin, and then habitually stacked the four or five empty plates in front of him neatly.

"If I remember the schedule correctly."

His tone was calm:

"The Metropolitan Museum of Art closes this afternoon every year for a full inspection and internal adjustments in preparation for next week's Thanksgiving celebration."

The dining table fell silent again.

Locke stroked his chin.

He almost forgot that there was a local from the metropolis sitting there.
Really.
Lately, all I've seen is this kid wielding a hoe in the fields and carrying sacks in the barn; he's gotten as tanned as an ordinary farm boy.

I almost forgot that he's actually a loser at heart.

To be fair, Lex's farming skills and stamina have indeed improved significantly recently, and the rate of progress is almost comparable to...

Locke's gaze unconsciously drifted to Dio at the other end of the table.

The guy was using his knife and fork to precisely separate the connective tissue from the steak, showing no intention of joining the discussion.

"?"

Dio keenly sensed his father's meaningful glance, and raised his eyes with a hint of displeasure.

What about me?
"."

Could it be that.
Are they asking for my opinion?

Oh ~
So it turns out I'm the one who has to make the final decision.

Since that's the case, Dior put down his knife and fork, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and said as if making a casual suggestion:

"...Since we can't go to Metropolis, how about Gotham?"

Gotham?

This word seems to have magic.

Martha frowned in concern, and Jonathan paused, his fork still in his hand.

Clark nearly choked, and even Lex raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by the suggestion.

To everyone's surprise, after a brief silence, Locke slowly nodded:
"……also."

After all, there are only these two decent large museums nearby.

The drive there isn't too far. We can't really let Salafil not hand in his homework tomorrow, can we?
He looked at Salafir, whose eyes had suddenly lit up, and finally made the decision: "Alright, Salafir."

"We're going to the Gotham City Museum. I heard their... well... medieval armor collection and early Gotham historical exhibits are quite... unique."

Locke tried to dig out some relatively positive information about the museum from the corners of his memory.

Trying to convince myself and others that the decision wasn't so bad.

Then, he looked around: "Anyone else want to come along? Clark? Dio? Lex?"

Glancing at Clark beside him, Dior picked up his knife and fork again and leaned back lazily in his chair.

"I'll pass. I have absolutely no interest in those dusty, dilapidated exhibits, and besides..."

"I need to submit it this afternoon."

Seeing that Dio wasn't going, Clark paused for a moment, then followed up with:
"Hmm, I need to go and fix up the barn later!"

"The weather forecast says it might snow heavily in a few days, so we need to reinforce the structure in advance!"

Lex glanced suspiciously at Dio, then at Clark, and then continued:

"Since you're taking Salafir to Gotham today, Uncle, I'll make time for myself today as well."

"The data center is scheduled to undergo security upgrades and debugging this afternoon, so I should go there in person."

"Ok."

Seeing that the three young men were all busy with their own affairs, Locke did not insist.

"Then the house and the farm are in your hands."

He nodded, quickly finished the last bit of food on his plate, and stood up.
"Sarafil, go change into your outdoor clothes. We'll be leaving in ten minutes."

"Yay! Daddy's the best!"

Salafir cheered, jumped off the chair, and ran upstairs.

The morning thus came to an end with this unexpected Gotham Museum adventure.

Locke watched Salafir's excited figure disappear, then subconsciously glanced out the window towards the southeast.

—A smile, a mixture of helplessness and indulgence, appeared on his face.

ten minutes later.

The weathered pickup truck roared out of the farmyard.

The tires rolled over the gravel road in front of the door, kicking up a small, familiar cloud of dust. Inside the car, Salafil knelt on the passenger seat, her small face almost pressed against the window.

I gazed expectantly at the fields rushing past the window, filled with curiosity about my upcoming trip to Gotham.

Behind him, Shen Du floated in a semi-transparent phantom form, arms crossed, his small face expressionless.

"boom!"

The old pickup truck quickly merged into the traffic on Interstate 70.

We drove southeast toward the city shrouded in rumors and shadows.

Behind them, at the farm gate, the blond boy stood tall with his hands in the pockets of his expensive custom-made trousers, watching indifferently as the pickup truck's taillights shrank to a red dot and disappeared around the corner at the end of the road.

He shook his head, offering no comment on his father's "spoiling" of his younger brother.

But he still casually took out his phone, dialed a number, and gave a few instructions in a calm tone.

After saying that, he hung up the phone and turned to walk towards the small barn, which was opposite to the main house.

"Dior."

Clark, who was on his way to the tool shed, saw the direction he was heading and couldn't help but call out to him:

"Where are you going? Want to come help me repair the barn?"

He pointed to the larger, more in need of repair barn next to the smaller one.

Dior didn't stop walking, nor did he turn his head; he simply uttered two words lazily:
"Work."

is it?

Clark shrugged helplessly as he watched Dior's figure disappear behind the door of the smaller barn.

"Bam—!"

The door to the small barn was opened a crack.

Dior's handsome face peeked in.

Then it was filled with impatience.

He stared at Clark, who was already wearing a helmet and sitting on his Harley, his brow furrowed: "Where are you going to repair the barn?"

"Cough cough."

Clark was taken aback by the question, his face flushed slightly under his helmet, and he gave an awkward smile:
"Uh...yes, I'm going to town...to buy some...um...special reinforcement materials!"

His voice sounded muffled through the helmet.

"..."

I still couldn't fool this big, dumb guy.
Dior gave a cold snort, "You'd better be."

He didn't bother to investigate further, then got on his silver Harley and rode away.

Listening to the roar of the motorcycle, Clark sighed helplessly.

Really.
This guy is definitely still holding a grudge, isn't he?

Gripping the Harley's handlebars tightly, Clark took a deep breath and stared intently through the helmet visor at the southeast, toward the highway leading to Gotham.

Uncle Locke's words echoed in his mind again:
“Running away from fear and responsibility will not make you truly strong.”

He could no longer run away.

He cannot forever regard that city as a forbidden zone simply because he once lost control and caused destruction there.

He needs to go back, to see for himself, and to confront the situation.

And today is a great opportunity. My uncle will be in Gotham, perhaps…

Perhaps after he has finished exploring the museum in Sarafiel, he can muster the courage to ask his uncle to accompany him to see the outskirts of the city.

Go see that city that once trembled under the shadow of your power, go see…

With my strength, besides destruction, is there anything else I can do...?

Even the smallest, most insignificant thing.

With a low growl from the engine, the Harley-Davidson motorcycle, carrying the determined young man from the small town, sped off toward Gotham.

Behind him, the farm gradually quieted down.

Only the sound of Lex's black sedan engine faded into the distance, heading towards the data center outside town.
-
As the traffic flowed, the pickup truck slowly drove into Gotham City.

This entry.
It was as if passing through an invisible membrane, making the surrounding light seem to dim a bit.

The sky was shrouded in the gray haze of industry, and even the sunlight seemed weak, struggling to penetrate the thick clouds and casting sparse patches of light between the towering buildings in the valley.

Salafir was practically pressed against the car window, his nose almost flattened.

His dark eyes sparkled with excitement and curiosity as he kept asking questions about the steel jungle outside the window, a place so different from the familiar Smallville.

"Daddy, Daddy! Those buildings are so tall! Will they collapse?"

"No, their foundations are very deep and solid. They also have some special metals added." Locke held the steering wheel steadily, his gaze sweeping over the buildings that blended Gothic spires with modern glass curtain walls, and answered patiently.

"Dad, look! That statue! That shiny person holding a torch!"

He pointed to a landmark statue at the entrance to a bridge in the distance.

"That was one of the founders of Gotham, it's said that Wayne..."

"Dad! Why is it so dark downstairs? It looks like it's been burned."

"Hmm... that was newly built. There were indeed some... accidents that happened before."

Locke glanced at the familiar skyscraper, his tone evasive.

"Dad! There's a huge amusement park there! But those eerie plants look a little scary..."

“…That’s Robinson Park, it is…never mind, it’s a bit scary, let’s not look at that.”

Locke quickly changed the subject.

"Dad! There are so many people on the street wearing strange clothes and walking around like they're acting!"

“That’s… Gotham’s unique artistic atmosphere, yes, performance art,” Locke explained without changing his expression.

"dad…"

“Brother, your question is foolish and noisy, like the clamor of cicadas in summer.”

Shen Du finally couldn't help but speak, his voice tinged with impatience, "The energy in this city is tainted and chaotic, the buildings are ugly and filthy, and it's filled with the restlessness of base desires. I really don't understand what you're excited about."

Despite being teased by her younger brother, Salafir wasn't angry; instead, she just smiled and said:
"But the capital city is so lively here! It's completely different from the farm!"

Where's the excitement?

Shen Du snorted coldly, turned his face away, and couldn't be bothered to pay any more attention to his easily satisfied older brother.

The pickup truck continued driving along the main road toward the municipal museum.

Just as they were about to reach their destination, passing through an open square, Salafir suddenly pointed out the window and shouted:

"Dad, look! Gotham's police chief is working so hard!"

Locke was taken aback by what he heard and subconsciously glanced at the rearview mirror.

On the street to the side and behind, a middle-aged man in a brown trench coat with slightly disheveled hair was running wildly in an extremely disheveled but desperate manner. A dozen meters behind him, several people in uniform or plainclothes were indeed chasing after him, shouting and yelling.

The scene was quite lively.

And the man at the very front.
This looks more like a fugitive suspect, doesn't it?
Locke was momentarily confused: "Sarafil...how did you know the one being chased was the police chief?"

Before Salafir could answer, the floating god beside him raised his little hand impatiently and pointed to the huge electronic screen hanging on one side of the square.

A news clip was playing on a loop on the screen.

In the center of the image is a middle-aged man with a resolute face, wearing glasses and a police uniform, giving a speech:
"I pledge to revitalize the GCPD, fight crime, and restore order to Gotham!"

Locke: “…”

Gordon is still Gordon
He smiled helplessly and sighed.

"Uh...maybe...maybe there really isn't enough manpower after Chief Gordon took office."

After saying that, he quickly stepped on the gas and sped up.

Pickup truck turned a corner, leaving that absurd scene of everyday life in Gotham City behind.

The grand but somewhat somber silhouette of the Gotham City Museum comes into view not far ahead.

After a while.
Locke parked the car.

I led the two little ones toward the museum building.

He subconsciously became more alert, his gaze habitually sweeping across his surroundings.

then
My gaze was fixed on the tall stone pillar at the entrance of the museum.

Two figures
It couldn't be more familiar.

He stood out from the Gotham citizens around him, who carried black umbrellas, hurried along, and seemed to want to bury their faces in their collars.

The two of them were standing there in an extremely abrupt and conspicuous manner.

What made him both laugh and cry was...

The two of them seemed to be trying their best to put on an act.

—The appearance of "complete strangers" and "just happened to stop here".

One of them.
The robust, sunny young man was wearing a simple gray work jacket and faded jeans.

He was standing somewhat awkwardly to the side, his gaze drifting to the weathered stone carvings on the museum walls, seemingly studying something.

This is Clark.

The other one is more conspicuous.
He was like a painting in a museum that had been hung outside.

It is an existence outlined with the brightest oil paint on a gray canvas.

Wearing a perfectly tailored, expensive black trench coat, her figure appeared even more upright.

Even under the sunless sky of Gotham, his blond hair still shone as brightly as molten gold.

He crossed his arms and leaned lazily against the cold stone pillar.

He put on an arrogant expression.

The sight of these two conspicuous figures caused Locke, who was carrying Salafir and the God of the City, to stop in his tracks.

He watched the awkward encounter unfold before him with a blank expression.

His face darkened with anger.

OK…

One said he needed to reinforce the farm, the other said he had an important part-time job…

The result was that they were all scheming against each other.
In the end, only Lex told the truth.
Is that correct?
PS:

The new monitor will arrive the day after tomorrow. Right now, I can barely type 1000 words an hour on my phone.

The next chapter will still be in the morning.

Brothers, go to sleep early.

(﹏)
(End of this chapter)