American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 174 Bruce: Coach, I want revenge!
Kent Farm.

Locke, who was eating, only twitched his ears slightly before catching the approaching footsteps outside the door, a mix of steady steps, light leaps, and...

Unfamiliar footsteps, barely concealing weariness?
He put down his fork, gave Jonathan and Martha a suggestive look toward the door, and then got up and walked away.

"squeak--!"

The door hinges sighed softly, and the warmth and aroma of food instantly enveloped the three people returning from the snowstorm outside.

Locke's gaze first fell on Clark and Chloe, then moved past them and settled on the young man behind them, who was wearing a black trench coat and had a tall and straight figure but could not hide the signs of hardship.

His lips twitched slightly.

...So you've already personally come to my door so quickly?

He had originally thought he could go up the hillside and retrieve a frozen bat in a few days.

However, Locke didn't show any extra expression on his face. He simply stepped aside to make way and chuckled, "Looks like Clark brought a new friend today. Come on in, it's cold outside."

"thank you, sir."

Without the slightest hint of timidity, Bruce simply nodded slightly, his posture exuding an elegance etched into his very bones. He gently stepped into the farmhouse, took off his snow-covered trench coat, and casually hung it on the coat rack, placing it side by side with Jonathan's old jacket covered in hay dust.

It feels completely natural.
after all
Isn't that the trench coat Locke wore?

“I am Bruce, Bruce Wayne.”

The young man introduced himself as he entered the living room and was naturally invited to sit down for dinner.

Um.
Then, that last shred of dignity crumbled quickly when faced with a table full of seemingly ordinary yet enticing farm-fresh dishes.

Martha warmly served him a large bowl of stew, while Jonathan pushed over a basket of golden, crispy bread.

At first, Bruce maintained his elegance in using a knife and fork.

The silver fork deftly slices through the stew, the knife slices off a thin piece of bread, and then a small piece of root vegetable soaked in the gravy is placed in the mouth—

Time stood still at that moment.

The pupils suddenly dilated.

It's an indescribable deliciousness; the meat is tender and flavorful, and the vegetables have absorbed all the broth—a simple yet soul-stirring delicacy.

After a moment of silence, Bruce took another bite of the tomato in the salad next to him.

The crisp juice burst forth instantly, carrying the sweet and sour taste of sunshine, washing away the last trace of the chemical sweetness left by the synthetic vegetable oil in his mouth.

He took another bite of the roasted potato, letting the crispy outer shell crackle in his mouth, savoring the soft, fluffy interior, and the rich flavor of basil and olive oil...

The situation is out of control.

The silver knife was temporarily set aside, and Bruce noticeably sped up his fork movements, devouring the food on his plate almost in a whirlwind.

He ate with such focus, almost with a kind of reverent eagerness, that he didn't notice the table gradually quieting down and the several blank stares that fell on him.

Jonathan held his fork suspended in mid-air, a potato swaying slightly above it, forgetting to put it in his mouth.

Clark was somewhat embarrassed.

If I had known this guy could eat so much, I wouldn't have invited him.

"Clark" Chloe's eyes widened, and she whispered to Clark, "Did we bring back a glutton? His appetite is almost as big as yours!"

But Bruce didn't care about any of that.

He felt his stomach, which had longed for warmth and satisfaction, being rapidly filled by the food.

God knows how he survived these past few days in the snow on energy bars and compressed biscuits!

Moreover, these seemingly ordinary farm dishes tasted surprisingly amazing, and every bite made his tired body and mind leap with joy.

Could it be that something special was added to it? Or was it enchanted?

The thought flashed through my mind, but was immediately suppressed by an even stronger appetite.

Bruce reached out and picked up another piece of blueberry pie.

The pie crust is crispy, the filling is perfectly balanced between sweet and tart, and the blueberries burst with juice...

He was so satisfied he almost sighed.

If he had known the food at Kent Farm was this good, he would have changed his damn observation plan to a plan to freeload at their farm!
Damn, this place is practically Eden.

“Mr. Wayne…” Martha looked at him with some concern as he wolfed down his food, “Eat slowly, there’s still some left in the pot. Shall I get you some more stew?”

Hearing this, Bruce snapped out of his reverie and realized his lapse in composure. He swallowed hard, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and tried to regain his composure, but a heartfelt exclamation still escaped his lips:

"Mrs. Kent, please accept my sincerest praise. This dinner... is the most delicious food I have ever eaten in my life. The vegetables and fruits are simply extraordinary."

“Mr. Wayne really knows how to talk,” Martha said, beaming at the exaggerated praise. She stood up cheerfully and said, “Eat as much as you like! I’ll go get you a bowl of freshly made soup and some rice! Plenty to go around!”

"Oh, this really brings back the feeling of having Lex around. I was wondering why I haven't been enjoying meals lately; it turns out it's because I'm missing people with such good taste like you two."

Martha chuckled and turned to disappear back into the fragrant kitchen.

Jonathan, Locke, and Clark were left staring at each other, exchanging accusatory glances.

Clark: Dad, it's all because you didn't praise Mom more.

Jonathan: So you're just responsible for eating?

Locke: Quiet down, I don't want to only have roasted corn for dinner.

"."

"Three people?"

"Sorry," Bruce said, somewhat puzzled. "Was my praise a bit exaggerated? Did I eat too much?"

"Cough cough."

Seeing this, Jonathan quickly tried to smooth things over and divert attention from the slightly awkward situation: "It's nothing, Mr. Wayne."

"When guests come to visit, it's only right to prepare some home-cooked meals. Putting aside everything else, the food we grow on our farm really tastes great."

"Yes."

Bruce nodded readily, the warmth and satisfaction in his stomach putting him in a good mood. He looked at Jonathan very seriously and made a request from the bottom of his heart:

“Mr. Jonathan, you’re right. So… may I come here often in the future?”

"?"

Jonathan's smile froze instantly.

A genuine question mark unconsciously appeared on his face.

Do you come here often? Do you treat this place like your cafeteria?
Lex left, and now Bruce's here?!
"cough."

Locke cleared his throat, intervening in the conversation at the opportune moment, his gaze calmly fixed on Bruce:

“Mr. Wayne, thank you. Clark told me that you generously gave them the memory cards with the beautiful photos you took, and I haven’t had a chance to thank them on their behalf.”

"It should."

Bruce shrugged, trying to appear casual, but his gaze unconsciously drifted to the tempting plate of roasted corn on the table: "It was just a small favor, no need to be polite."

As he spoke, he started eating another roasted corn.

Let the corn kernels burst between your teeth, filling your mouth with sweet juice mixed with a caramelized aroma.

After lunch, the living room was briefly lively.

But as Clark and Chloe rushed upstairs to discuss topics for the school newspaper, Jonathan and Martha began clearing away the dishes in perfect unison.

The only sounds in the living room were the rushing water and the television from the kitchen.

Locke leaned back on the sofa, glanced at the young master Wayne beside him who showed no intention of leaving and even chuckled along with the boring talk show on TV, and shook his head helplessly.

This kid, with his thick skin, no wonder he's a man who can become a Batman.

In the future, I will wear a bat cloak and continue to cosplay for so many years without getting tired of it.

Standing up, Locke stretched his shoulders, speaking casually as if talking to himself:

"I'm a bit full. I'll go check the barn area again and see if there are any places I haven't finished fixing this afternoon."

He finished speaking and didn't wait for Bruce's response.

He put on his coat, pushed open the door, and stepped into the snowstorm outside.

The living room suddenly fell into an eerie silence.

The cheap laughter on the television sounded particularly jarring.

Bruce's relaxed smile also began to fade.

He quickly glanced around the empty living room, a slight smile playing on his lips.

Plans are in place! The timing is perfect.

This is the moment he's been waiting for!
Bruce got up briskly and slipped out of the room silently, following Locke at a distance.

Locke walked at a leisurely pace, the snow crunching softly beneath his feet.

He had long sensed the cautious presence following him behind him, and found it somewhat amusing, but he didn't point it out.

Young people, after all, can't keep secrets.

He stopped when he reached the tool shed next to the barn, turning his back to the way he came, as if checking the reinforcement of the eaves.

But the sound was exceptionally clear in front of the silent barn.

"You've been following me all this way, aren't you cold, Mr. Wayne?"

Stepping out of the shadows, Bruce stood a few steps behind Locke, no longer bothering to hide his intentions, and went straight to the point:

“Mr. Kent.” His voice lost the lightness he had maintained at the dinner table, becoming deep and serious. “I know it’s you.”

"Know what?" Locke asked with a light laugh.

“Your name and the farm’s address are on the hat and clothes.” Bruce took a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to disturb your life.”

“But on that rainy night in Gotham, you saved me, and you saved Alfred.” He stated directly, his gaze fixed on Locke. “I want to thank you.”

"That night in Gotham?" He almost forgot that Martha had sewn her name onto his hat, but Locke just shrugged, his expression unchanged: "It was the DEO's arrangement. Don't worry about such trivial matters."

"I know it might be DEO who asked you to defeat that superhuman."

"But this is no small matter!"

Bruce took a sudden step forward, his boots sinking deep into the snow and splashing up tiny ice crystals.

“The man you saved, Alfred Pennyworth, he was…very important to me. Far more than my own life.” He took a deep breath, the cold air making him even more alert. “I will remember this kindness.”

Seeing the gratitude almost bursting forth in the young man's eyes, Locke remained silent for a moment.

He looked up at the sky, as if recalling something, and then said softly:
“Bruce, a man once told me, ‘The hand that gives roses will have a lasting fragrance.’ Helping those in need should not be done with any expectation of reward.”

"That night, anyone with a conscience would have made the same choice."

The hand that gives roses retains its fragrance for a long time.

These words struck Bruce like a thunderbolt.

He froze, his face filled with disbelief and bewilderment.

"you?"

This phrase... this phrase was something his father, Thomas Wayne, often used to teach him! How could this man so coincidentally say the same thing?

Could it be that? !

“Don’t misunderstand.” Seeing Bruce’s strong reaction, Locke waved his hand and explained calmly, “Have you forgotten? Eight years ago, we actually met briefly at the Metropolitan Exposition. I lost a bottle of water, which you and your father found and even chased after to return it to us.”

"Mr. Thomas said that when he handed me the kettle. Do you remember? You were probably... around ten years old then, wearing a little suit." "."

Locke's words pulled Bruce back to his distant childhood memories.

There was one time when my father did help a farmer-looking man with a little boy retrieve something...

But that farmer…

It was Locke Kent right in front of him!
The coincidence of fate made Bruce feel dizzy.

It turns out that they had such a small connection many years ago.

And his father's words, in this way, echoed in his ears on this very day.

This strange connection, coupled with the life-saving grace on that rainy night and his observations of the Kent family's hidden power over the past few days, stirred up a multitude of emotions in Bruce's heart.

Looking at the seemingly ordinary farmer before him, who possessed godlike power and noble character, the long-suppressed desire in his heart finally erupted.

Bruce took a sudden step forward and, on the snow-covered ground, bowed deeply to Locke, his voice trembling as he said:
"Mr. Locke! I beg you! Please help me, help me become stronger!"

He raised his head, his eyes burning with an indomitable flame.

It was as if they wanted to burn away all the powerlessness they had felt in the past.

"I don't want to experience that despair again, like that rainy night! I don't want to watch helplessly as the people I care about fall in front of me while I'm powerless to help them! I don't want to have to rely on luck and the pity of others to survive!"

"Please...train me! Whatever the cost! I will bear it all! As long as these powerless chains can be broken!"

The young man's plea echoed through the silent farm, carrying the weight of a do-or-die situation.

The snow fell silently.

Locke looked at the young man before him, who seemed to have poured his entire life's determination into this plea, and felt a real headache coming on.

Training a future hero?
His own abilities are mostly bestowed by the system or strengthened as he awakens with the children he has adopted. There is no systematic training method involved.

His strength lies in beating people down in real combat or solving problems with sheer force, not in being a patient and persuasive mentor.

Locke was very self-aware in these respects.

He sighed, organizing his thoughts, and was about to politely decline, suggesting that perhaps finding a more professional martial arts master or military instructor would be more appropriate for Bruce.

XZ's farm is pretty good, isn't it?
However, Bruce seemed to see through his hesitation and spoke first:
“Mr. Locke! I know this is presumptuous! But even just three or four months would be fine! Look at those hills over there—”

He pointed to the snow-capped peaks at the edge of the farm, gleaming silver in the moonlight.

“I have already bought it. As long as you agree to guide me for three or four months, regardless of the outcome, this land will be given to Kent Farm as a small token of my gratitude!”

That brings me back to the point.

Locke swallowed the words of refusal that were on the tip of his tongue.

He looked in the direction Bruce pointed. Although those mountains weren't towering, they covered a considerable area, with abundant forest resources and potential for land expansion…

Ok.

He admitted that the temptation was very real for a farmer.

This kid really knows how to please people.
"Cough cough."

Locke cleared his throat, his casual expression turning serious.

He re-examined Bruce, his gaze sharp and penetrating:

"Bruce, then tell me, what exactly are you striving to become stronger for? Judging from what you just said, is it just for power?"

To protect!

Bruce almost blurted out the perfectly legitimate reasons he had rehearsed countless times in his mind.

To protect innocent people like Afu.

To stop the crimes happening in Gotham, in order to…

His words stopped abruptly.

Because he met Locke's eyes.

In those seemingly gentle eyes, there seemed to be subtle thunder brewing deep in the clouds, devoid of any judgment, yet carrying a calm that understood everything.

It seems to reflect all the truths hidden beneath the grand facade.

He fell silent.

The image of that rainy night in the alleyway uncontrollably surged into my mind.

The pearl necklace lost its luster, and the figures of parents lying in a pool of blood.

That night on the coastal street.
Afu's fallen figure.

The helplessness of reaching out to the void time and time again in vain, only to grasp nothing...

Anger, sadness, and...

A dark impulse to crush the one who inflicts pain
In fact, it had long been rooted in his heart.

He lowered his head, his hands unconsciously clenching together.

After a long while, he spoke slowly in a voice that was almost inaudible yet exceptionally clear, with a hint of resigned honesty:
“I have been weakly delaying for five years, Mr. Locke.”

"My parents left me in that alley."

"I... did it for revenge."

As soon as he finished speaking, the chill seemed to grow even heavier.

Bruce was prepared to hear rejection, admonitions, and grand pronouncements about power and responsibility.
After all, how could a hero with such power condone such dark motives?

Surprisingly.
He heard a soft laugh.

Startled, Bruce looked up and saw that Locke's serious expression had melted away, leaving a subtle, enigmatic curve.

"It's good to have goals."

Locke's voice was calm, "Whether it's revenge, protection, or simply wanting to beat up everyone you don't like, that's fine. What's most frightening is not even knowing why you threw a punch."

“Since you’re so determined, Mr. Bruce, and have even shown such ‘sincerity’…” He paused deliberately, “then my training methods will not be easy, nor will they show any mercy. The rancher’s training may be quite different from the fighting techniques you’re imagining.”

"Yes! I understand!"

A stubborn flame blazed in his eyes, and Bruce's voice trembled with excitement. He straightened his chest and declared, "No matter how hard or tiring it is, I will never complain! I will persevere!"

He paused and added:
"Also, please just call me Bruce."

He patted Bruce on the shoulder, the pressure neither too light nor too heavy.

Locke could be said to have acknowledged his determination.

However, he didn't immediately impart any advanced techniques or concoct any strange stories to fool Bruce. He simply pointed to a snow-covered clearing next to the barn.

“Very good, Bruce. So, the first lesson…”

Locke said calmly, "See that clearing area? Go and clear the snow there. The goal is to expose the original ground, and pile the snow in the designated area. The tools are over there."

He pointed to the shovel and snowplow in the corner.

Bruce was visibly taken aback.

Clearing snow? That's what he expected.
Not to mention learning that powerful lightning magic, even the arduous physical training and combat sparring...
There are also some differences.

This is not magic. It's not martial arts. It's not technology.

This seems to be purely manual labor.
However, the hesitation in Bruce's eyes lasted only a moment before it was replaced by an even more determined light.

He had no objections, only nodded emphatically: "Yes, Mr. Locke!"

As he spoke, he strode to the corner of the wall, picked out the sturdiest-looking shovel, took a deep breath of the cold air, and walked towards the snow-covered clearing.

They shoveled away the heavy snow, one shovelful at a time, and carried it to the location Locke had indicated.

The movements were a little clumsy at first, but they quickly became focused and powerful.

And watching Bruce struggle to shovel in the snow.
A slightly frail yet exceptionally resolute figure from behind.

Locke shook his head helplessly, but a faint smile appeared on his lips.

“Taking gifts and not doing anything about them is not my style, Locke Kent…”

He chuckled softly.

Immediately, he flicked his right finger, which was hidden behind his back.

From a distance of more than ten meters, a bolt of lightning energy was precisely launched and silently entered Bruce's body as he was working.

The aura of thunder.

It is not a surge of violent power, but a gentle seed.

As long as Bruce continues to engage in high-intensity physical exertion on the farm, it will slowly release a weak bio-current, constantly stimulating and activating his cells, subtly enhancing his endurance, recovery ability, and even muscle strength.

This is a gentle tempering.

It is far more efficient and in-depth than any brutal physical training.

With his hands behind his back, Locke stood in the shadows under the eaves, quietly watching the young man who would become the Dark Knight in the future.

correct
Locke was somewhat puzzled.

"Bruce, why did you buy the hilltop so far away?"

Actually, he preferred the surrounding hills.

Bruce didn't pause for a moment, not even turning his head. The shovel dug deep into the snow, the sound of his breathing clear and distinct.
"Oh, because... the other hilltops that were nearby and had good views were all bought up by a guy named Luther. I had no choice but to settle for those less desirable ones."

"."

Lex, you bastard.
Having eaten at my house for so many days, he actually concealed the fact that he owns a mountain stronghold.

Uncle! Uncle! I'm so disappointed!
"Ah Qiu!"

Thousands of miles away, a bald young man standing on the top floor of a building in Europe, overlooking the city, sneezed.

"Boss? You have a cold?"

The assistant in a suit and tie next to him immediately handed him a tissue.

"It's nothing. Maybe someone's been talking about me."

He chuckled softly, his tone languid.

She then gracefully took the tissue and wiped herself meticulously, as if the loud noise had never happened.

"Give the order to continue investing in or starting those unassuming but crucial small tech companies." But he quickly composed himself and gave instructions to his assistant: "Be sure to focus on algorithms, encrypted communications, new materials, and renewable energy."

"But," the assistant hesitated, "if that happens..."

"Individually, they are indeed as fragile as ants."

Lex turned around and said coldly:

"But once connected to the network, it can form a highly efficient, covert, and difficult-to-destroy decentralized network."

"This is the true skeleton of our future invisible empire."

"It is the best way to fight against that which is entrenched deep in the heart of America, against that state within a state."

"It is the most elegant, and also the most deadly weapon."

"Also, bring me a moon chocolate pie later."

(End of this chapter)