American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 160 Claudio – Discussing Heroes by Boiling Grapes in Water.

Pick up that warm, smooth cat's-eye stone.

Dior could feel a subtle yet powerful connection being established between him and the entire bustling museum.

He closed his eyes slightly, his thoughts stirring subtly.

"Om-"

An invisible wave emanated from him.

The noisy and bustling maze returned to the solemnity and tranquility that a museum should have within seconds.

Selena stared in disbelief at the almost miraculous scene.

She instinctively took a step away from Dio and the strange stone in his hand.

Dior slowly opened his eyes, a hint of satisfaction in control flashing deep within his wine-red pupils.

He weighed the cat's-eye stone in his hand, his tone carrying its usual mockery, yet also revealing a hint of genuine pleasure more than usual:

"It seems the game is over."

He didn't even glance at Selena, as if she were just an insignificant decoration in the scene.

The next moment, he appeared in the main hall of the museum.

Almost simultaneously, from the shadows of the other corridor, Clark emerged somewhat bewildered. He brushed a few specks of dust from his hair, his blue eyes still reflecting the weariness of breaking the illusion.

Shen Du, with his arms crossed, also emerged from an archway, his little face expressionless.

And Locke.
He then held Salafir's hand and stood leisurely in the center of the hall.

It was as if they had only left midway to admire other exhibits.

However, Salafir was holding a music box that kept changing its rainbow colors like a precious treasure.

This is the reward for completing his simple little game.

Dio's gaze swept across the entire room, finally landing on Locke's face. A knowing smile curved his lips as he raised the cat's eye stone in his hand.

"It seems someone has reached the finish line."

Locke chuckled softly, his tone revealing no emotion, but the fleeting approval in his eyes did not escape Dio's notice.

Looking at the stone in Dior's hand, and then at the museum around him that had completely returned to normal, Clark asked curiously:

"Dio, where did this come from? Did you solve the problem here?"

“A talking cat brought it to me,” Dio replied lazily, his tone half-serious and half-joking.

“.Bang!”

A slight, strange noise came from the ceiling, as if something had run by quickly.

"Is this the cat?"

Noticing the fleeting black shadow, Clark exclaimed, "It's huge!"

"."

Shen Du snorted coldly, glanced at the cat's eye stone in Dio's hand, and a hint of disdain flashed across her small face. She seemed to think that the shiny thing was a bit tacky and not nearly as profound as the "Book of Eternity" that she had swallowed.

But he didn't say anything, he just floated over to Salafir and poked the music box.

Salafir immediately handed over the music box like a precious treasure: "Look, God! It can sing the song of the stars!"

"Low," Shen Du commented.

"?"

Salafir's face darkened. "Then what's yours?"

"Hehe." Shen Du smiled without saying a word and turned his head away.

"?! Tell me quickly!"

"."

Looking at the noisy yet inexplicably harmonious scene before him, especially Dio's seemingly arrogant but actually smug look, Locke's helplessness caused by the unexpected situation completely dissipated.

He cleared his throat and glanced at the four children:
"So, you've had your fun? How's the material gathering for Salafir's report coming along?"

Salafir immediately snapped out of her argument with the god, nodding vigorously: "Enough, enough! Daddy, I saw moving armor, singing portraits! And Dio fighting a giant dinosaur! You can write all of that in!"

He gestured excitedly.

Dio: “…”

Where did this kid see this?

Ruffling his youngest son's hair, Locke said gently:
"That's good. It seems everyone has gained a lot from this trip to Gotham."

"I don't like this kind of stone."

Dior casually stuffed the cat's eye stone into Locke's pocket.

"Now that you have achieved your goal, Father, let's go."

He turned around first and walked towards the museum exit.

"This boy"

Locke squeezed the stone in his pocket, feeling the lingering warmth, and couldn't help but chuckle.

"boom!"

Push open the door.

As the group walked out of the heavy doors of the Gotham City Museum, the cool evening breeze immediately enveloped them.

The bizarre and fantastical aspects of the museum were left behind.

As the city lights begin to twinkle and neon signs flicker, there's a somewhat unreal sense of bustling activity.

Locke stopped and turned to look at the people beside him.

Dio, in particular, the blond boy was casually adjusting the collar of his trench coat, his profile clearly visible in the afterglow of the setting sun, seemingly not taking what had just happened as a big deal at all.

"Dior."

He spoke, his voice carrying a barely perceptible hint of amusement:

"Is there anything you want? Consider it a reward for completing the game."

Upon hearing this, Dior paused in adjusting his collar.

"Let's talk about it another time, Father."

“I don’t need it for now. I’ll just write it down.” He casually tapped his temple with his finger, a shrewd glint in his eyes. “I’ll save it for when I really need it.”

"."

"You idiot, are you treating Father's promise like some kind of wish-granting machine?!"

The tone suggested that his promises were so valuable that they could only be fulfilled at the most crucial moment.

"Humph."

Dior gave a soft snort, neither confirming nor denying, but his determined expression said it all.

Looking at his calculating expression, Locke was both annoyed and amused.

He knew perfectly well what was going on in Dio's mind; the kid would never waste any opportunity to gain an advantage.

"Whatever. Don't regret it if it expires." Locke shook his head, turned to Clark, and said gently, "Clark, what about you? This time... cough cough, it seems you didn't get any reward."

The scene from before naturally did not escape his eyes.

The Book of Eternity was taken away by the gods by a twist of fate.

"Mine"

Clark opened his mouth, but then scratched his head a little embarrassedly.

My reward suddenly disappeared
How can I bring myself to say it?

It sounds too much like making excuses for one's failure.

If Dio hears this, he'll laugh at me again, saying I must have failed the trial and made something out of nothing.

"Speak up!"

Locke waved his hand dismissively, his tone cheerful, trying to dispel his concerns, "Uncle will grant you one wish. Just say it!"

"Um"

Upon hearing this, Clark's face also showed a serious expression of thought.

He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something.
But just as that syllable was about to be uttered from his throat—

"Clark."

Dior's voice suddenly interrupted.

He had somehow walked up to Clark's side, and one hand was casually placed on the back of Clark's neck.

The gesture didn't resemble the arm-in-arm between brothers; rather, it looked more like a hunter lifting a large dog by the scruff of its neck.

Clark was immediately silenced, and turned to look at Dio in confusion.

Dio didn't look at him, but instead spoke to Locke in his usual tone, too lazy to explain much:

"Clark and I will go get the car first. It's closer this way."

He was concise and to the point, not even giving Locke time to ask further questions or object.

The hand resting on the back of Clark's neck tightened slightly.

Holding his still bewildered brother, he turned and walked in the other direction of the street corner.

At the same time, he casually waved his other hand at Locke as a farewell, leaving behind a remark:
"Father, we'll be home a little later tonight."

Clark was caught off guard and stumbled a step by Dio. He looked at Locke blankly, then at Dio, his mouth still half-open. The "simple wish" he hadn't had a chance to say was stillborn.

"Dio? We're going to..."

His confused voice gradually faded as Dio ruthlessly dragged him into the surging crowds and deep shadows of Gotham in the evening.

Locke stood there, speechless for a moment, and could only shake his head and laugh helplessly.

"This boy"

He muttered under his breath, but there was little blame in his tone.

In the end, he simply waved in the direction Clark had disappeared, and mouthed silently:
"Tell your uncle next time."

He then opened the car door, sat in the driver's seat, and let the old pickup truck make its familiar sounds.

I also saw the two people in the back seat through the rearview mirror.

Shen Du looked at Salafell, who was still enthusiastically fiddling with the rainbow music box, with an arrogant and disdainful expression.

A fragmented, ethereal, and strange melody is flowing from the music box.

This is a magical item that even he doesn't understand.

It may seem like just a decoration, but it also seems to hold something more.

But to say it's truly useful, judging from the difficulty of the Salafir level, it seems far too easy.

Perhaps it really was just Merlin's bedtime music box?
A simple and unadorned decoration.

Locke chuckled softly, drove the pickup truck slowly away from the curb, and merged into the sparse traffic of the evening.

Outside the car window.

The neon lights began to illuminate, outlining the sharp silhouettes of the skyscrapers.

However, many alleys remain unfathomably deep, as if hiding countless secrets.

The car was quiet for a moment, except for the tinkling of the music box.

After a while, Locke seemed to suddenly remember something, his gaze still fixed on the road ahead, and he spoke casually, his voice drowning out the music: "You two little guys did alright."

"So, what about you guys?"

"Is there anything you want? Consider it... a reward for this extracurricular activity."

Locke's tone carried an air of arrogance.

Although his expression looked like he was about to suffer a major hemorrhage and was feeling a bit heartbroken.

Upon hearing this, Salafir looked up from the music box.

She blinked her big eyes and began to think seriously.

She tilted her little head, looked out the window, then at the capital city beside her, and finally at the back of her father's head, her little face full of confusion.

"Um"

"Let's talk about it next time, Dad! I want to save it for when I want it most!"

He eventually announced that he felt the opportunity was too precious to be wasted. Locke: "..."

"Agree."

The faint light rippled around Shen Du, and he spoke with an arrogant tone: "How could such mundane things be worthy of my attention? I'll take my leave next time."

He tried to imitate Dior's tone, but his childish voice only sounded more arrogant:
"Maybe I'll say something interesting later."

Hearing his two younger sons' answers, Locke's temple throbbed slightly.

He snorted irritably and glared at them through the mirror: "You've learned to hoard wish-granting opportunities from your brother, haven't you? Don't cry when they expire."

However, the barely concealed smile on his lips betrayed him.

He was already thankful that the children didn't take advantage of the chaos and make any demands to destroy the house.

The pickup truck drove smoothly, gradually leaving the bizarre and dazzling nightscape of downtown Gotham City behind, heading towards the interstate highway leading out of the city. The atmosphere inside the truck quieted down again, tinged with the weariness of an adventure that had just ended.

The lights illuminate the road ahead, and home lies at the end.
-
the other side.

Rocman was already waiting, bowing low, next to a stretch Lincoln.

Seeing Dio bring Clark over, he familiarly opened the car door for the two of them.

Dio naturally bent down and went inside, then looked at Clark outside who was hesitating somewhat, and clicked his tongue in annoyance:
"Come in."

"Oh."

Clark nodded and awkwardly followed him inside.

However, the spacious carriage still left him somewhat at a loss for what to do.

The vehicle started smoothly, and Rocman, who was temporarily acting as the driver, immediately raised the soundproof glass between the front and rear seats, trying to shrink himself into a transparent background.

Then, Dior naturally and elegantly opened the car's refrigerator, took out a dark bottle of Clark liquor with a label he couldn't read at all, and poured himself a small half-glass of purplish-red liquid.

I gently swirled the glass, watching the juice cling to it, before taking a sip.

There was no indication that Clark wanted to drink or not.

The car fell silent for a moment.

Only when the flowing halo of Gotham's neon lights outside the window illuminated Dio's profile, making it appear more distinct and even colder, did he swallow his first sip and put down his wine glass.

"Snapped--"

The bottom of the cup gently tapped against the marble surface, producing a crisp sound that broke the silence in the carriage.

"You want your father to help you, right? To help you find... a path where you can use your own power with peace of mind?"

Dior turned his gaze to Clark, his expression one of detached indifference, as if he had already seen through everything.

"Clark, you rely too much on your father."

His tone was ambiguous, neither sarcastic nor declarative, but rather more like stating an obvious fact.

It even carried a subtle sense of superiority.

“Look at me. Clark.”

"Uncontrollable power is no different from the claws of a beast; it only brings chaos and destruction."

“If it cannot be used to build order and dominate reality, then it is just the lowest level of destruction. Therefore, I have chosen a path that allows power to be used to its fullest potential.”

"—To take control of the situation and dominate everything I can reach."

“Instead of being dragged down by power.” His gaze swept over Clark, as if examining an imperfect work of art: “Become its slave. My brother.”

“You can’t expect your father to plan everything for you on the farm and then stuff the path and answers into your mouth in the future.”

"To make you like an obedient sheep."

Upon hearing this, Clark did not deny it; he simply looked out the window in silence.

The gray, gloomy streetscape of Gotham flashed by, much like his chaotic thoughts at that moment.

Dior stopped looking at him, swirled the wine in his glass with satisfaction, took another sip, and savored the rich, sweet flavor, as if his earlier remarks had been just a casual comment.

The car fell silent again, with only the faint sound of the air conditioner blowing air.

When Clark spoke again, his voice was somewhat distant: "Dio."

"Hmm?" Dio responded lazily.

"You were secretly drinking."

Clark turned his head, looked at the cup in his hand, and said in a serious tone, "I'm going to report you to my uncle."

"Your dark will has broken the law."

"..."

Dior's lips twitched, and he almost couldn't help but spit out the liquid in his mouth.

He glared at Clark with annoyance, his tone full of disdain:
"This is 100% grape juice! You big oaf with your head full of corn stalks! Rocman! Tell him this isn't wine!"

Upon hearing this, Rocman in the front seat twitched almost imperceptibly, his voice coming through the glass in a muffled manner:
"...Yes, Lord Dior. This is top-quality non-alcoholic grape juice from Bordeaux that I have prepared for you..."

Clark chuckled inwardly.

Of course he could smell it; the aroma of grapes couldn't be hidden from him at all.

But seeing Dior trying so hard to maintain his elegance but almost losing it, he couldn't help himself.

After all, his brother always does this, liking to make everything seem like an elegant drama.

"hey-hey."

He chuckled softly, as if he had finally won back a point, albeit in a somewhat childish way.

Then, he turned his face and looked out the window again.

The flowing night and city lights cast flickering shadows in his clear blue eyes.

“Dio,” he spoke again, his voice much lower, “this is what I thought before I came here.”

“I know that being afraid is useless, and hiding back in the cornfield won’t solve the problem.”

"So I think... I think maybe I should listen to my uncle's advice."

"But after visiting the museum, I discovered—"

He paused.

It's as if I'm reliving the crushed apple and the subsequent collapse of the false answer in that illusion.

“Dio, you’re right,” Clark admitted with a smile. “Some roads you have to walk yourself. And some answers you can only find yourself.”

He stopped looking out the window and turned his head away.

For the first time since that earth-shattering battle in Gotham, he openly met Dio's red eyes.

The confusion and avoidance of the past were gone.

Only with a steadfast determination born from struggle.

"My uncle might be able to stop me from destroying myself when I lose control."

Clark said slowly, "But he can't choose for me how I should 'exist'."

“Someone gave me a seemingly perfect answer before, a path and an identity, but I still crushed it.” He subconsciously made a slight clenching of his fist. “After all, the end of a shortcut is only a greater loss.”

As he spoke, Clark's gaze swept over Dio.

Looking out the car window again at the ordinary vehicles driving by and the pedestrians hurrying past.

Those lives that make up this city, to him, are as fragile and ordinary as paper.

"This power...it might make me seem like an outsider."

"but"

He abruptly changed the subject, and a glimmer seemed to appear in his blue eyes.

"It also gave me a possibility—"

"Perhaps... perhaps this power isn't entirely a curse. It's dangerous, to me and to others. But... if, I mean if, I could learn to truly control it, instead of being controlled by it... is there any possibility?"

"It can also be used... to prevent bad things from happening? To... alleviate some people's suffering?"

Looking out the window at Gotham, Clark spoke softly:
"Perhaps... this is the only meaning of my brute strength."

There was no heroic fervor in his tone, nor any self-important desire to save others; Clark's words contained only a simple, instinctive question.

It's as if we've glimpsed the starting point of a long road.

Although the path ahead is still shrouded in mist, a tentative step has already been taken.

Even if it's heavier than you can imagine?

Dior raised an eyebrow, his tone still carrying his usual sarcasm.

but.
He actually picked up the wine bottle and poured the purplish-red grape juice into the empty glass in front of Clark.

Clark paused for a moment when he saw the glass of juice that had suddenly been pushed in front of him, then chuckled softly, reached out and grasped the handle, feeling the cool touch on his fingertips.

He didn't drink it, he just held it.

Even if it is heavier than you can imagine.

He repeated, his tone calm, yet with a sense of composure.

"This road may be lonely, even futile. It's like trying to stop a raging flood with your bare hands."

"Big dummy, that's stupid."

Dior swirled his wine glass and stated the matter in a calm voice.

"I know."

Clark nodded, looking at the calm surface of the liquid in the glass:
"I know this might sound silly."

“But this is no longer fear, Dio. Do you remember? Uncle told us a long time ago that power is just a tool, while choice…choice brings responsibility.”

He raised his head and looked at Dio again:
"So, since I've chosen to try to grasp it instead of forever running away from it..."

"Then it's my responsibility... to try and do something with it. At least, try to block some of it."

"Things I can block."

Dio didn't reply, but simply looked quietly at Clark's profile.

The flowing light and shadow outside the car window swept across Clark's eyes like a silent river.

This brother always seems easy to fool, even a little silly.
Perhaps... he's much more stubborn than he imagined.

Although Dior always felt that these words, coming from this big, silly guy's mouth, carried a kind of naivety.

After all, in his dictionary, responsibility means absolute accountability for one's own power and the order one has built; it is the inevitable price of control, the weight of the crown, and its core is 'domination'.

What Clark said sounded more like a burden?

This kind of self-sacrificing shackle is the most foolish and boring argument in the world.

but
Golden Spirit?

Dark will?

I was reminded of that birthday from my childhood.

Dior suddenly let out a very soft chuckle, the meaning of which was unclear.

"Suit yourself, you big oaf."

He ended the conversation with just three lazy words.

Silence fell again in the carriage, but a silent understanding was already flowing between the two.

Clark finally picked up the glass of grape juice Dior had poured for him and took a small sip. It was very sweet.

Unfortunately, he didn't have time to savor it.
"Gentlemen."

"arrive."

Rocman's voice trembled slightly, and he seemed somewhat weak.

Dior nodded and got out of the car.

Clark followed closely behind, still reluctant to take the unfinished glass of grape juice with him.

but
Looking at the magnificent Iceberg Club in front of me.

Dio, however, was somewhat puzzled. He raised an eyebrow and looked to the side.

"Rocoman?"

Why are you covered in sweat?

(End of this chapter)