Darkseid was set to descend upon Earth in five years.
A burning Metropolis; starships blotting out the sky.
Ariel’s brow furrowed tightly.
Five years from now…
Which meant the year 2012.
It really was going to be the end of the world.
And if he was judging the timeline correctly, Clark would still be working as an intern reporter at the Daily Planet that year.
Meanwhile, the bat-enthusiast who called himself Nightwalk in the Dreaming was probably just crawling out of Ra’s al Ghul’s cave, busy stuffing all sorts of dark tech that violated the Geneva Conventions into his family basement.
And then they were supposed to face the King of the New Gods?
What kind of sick joke was this?!
The corner of Ariel’s mouth twitched.
Five years from now…
Was his destiny really to blow himself up at twenty-one years old alongside a grey stone giant who could shoot tracking M87 beams out of his eyes?
Just him alone?!
Was the future Justice League of this universe composed entirely of useless freeloaders?!
Then again…
Judging from the golden silhouette descending from the high heavens in five years to take the weight off Superman’s shoulders with one hand, he seemed to have no other template available besides King Hyperion.
After all, a prophetic dream was merely a projection of the future—a few winding tributaries branching out from the current timeline.
During these five years, he might be able to find other solutions…
Like unlocking a new template, or contacting the Green Lantern Corps in advance…
Forget it, contacting them would only guarantee a total party kill.
He’d be better off finding a way to block Apokolips’ Boom Tubes himself…
Or perhaps…
“Mr.
Kent.”
A gentle voice broke his train of thought, making Ariel’s pen pause.
A middle-aged man was standing beside his desk, looking at him with deep brown eyes through gold-rimmed glasses.
“While I don’t mind a student creating an abstract stone giant on the margin of his test paper that seems ahead of its time, I would much prefer you concentrate that remarkable imagination on what lies directly before you.”
“Sorry, Mr.
Black.” Ariel scribbled out the chibi drawing of Darkseid and let out an embarrassed smile.
Adam Black.
The history teacher who had just arrived at Smallville High today.
True to form, the very first thing this gentleman did upon taking the podium was hand down a stack of test papers with a smile.
No wonder Slade had told him to read his history books properly.
After all, the questions on this exam paper…
During the Great Plains Dust Bowl of the 1930s, certain agricultural communities formed voluntary mutual-aid networks, sharing seeds, water sources, and labor.
Other communities chose to fend for themselves, hoarding resources.
According to post-disaster statistics from the Department of Agriculture, there was no significant difference in the survival rate between the two community strategies.
Please answer: If you were the mayor of a certain town in Kansas back then, what measures would you take?
Ariel turned his head to look out the window.
Late August in Smallville was blanketed in sweltering heat.
To think the very first lesson on day one was teaching students to start from practical realities?
A moment later, the bell rang.
The students poured toward the doorway as if granted a general amnesty.
Ariel placed his test paper on the podium, his peripheral vision sweeping over Clark’s exam beside his.
That guy had actually written: As mayor, I would protect everyone.
He wasn’t even acting.
Ariel stepped aside to let a few classmates squeezing through the door pass, casually striking up a conversation with Clark, who was standing in the hallway.
“No classes this afternoon.
If you’re heading into town, help me mail the comic submission—”
“Mr.
Kent.”
“Are you interested in serving as my class representative?”
Mr.
Black spoke unhurriedly behind them.
“Mr.
Black, thank you for the invitation, but I’m already the biology class representative.”
“Of course, understandable.” Mr.
Black gave a slight nod.
“Then…
Mr.
Clark?”
“Are you interested?”
“Me…
me?” Clark was flattered and overwhelmed.
His eyes instinctively drifted toward Ariel, but Ariel merely gave him a heartless thumbs-up, turned around, and walked away.
Kent Farm.
The pastureland that had barely maintained a dull green in early July had now degraded into vast patches of greyish-brown, with only a few lonely sunflowers still persisting by the roadside.
His super-hearing could catch the continuous wails of water-deprived cattle coming from the surrounding ranches.
Ariel walked along the field ridge, his gaze flickering intermittently.
Simultaneously, pests on the cornstalks beside him were vaporized one by one.
This was Ariel’s daily heat vision patrol through the fields upon returning home—it hunted pests while training his fine control over his power.
Yet even with him manually exterminating pests every day…
The leaves of the human-height cornstalks remained curled.
Ariel crouched down and snapped one off at random, finding only dry corn fibers devoid of a single drop of moisture.
Clearly, this year’s harvest for the Kent Farm would only be about sixty percent of last year’s.
As for the seeds saved in the barn for next year’s planting, Ariel had counted them two nights ago—they were only enough to cover half the farmland.
If there weren’t enough seeds for the spring planting next year, the Kents would be forced to buy them on credit from seed companies.
And if next year’s climate remained abnormal…
The debt from buying on credit would snowball bigger and bigger.
This was the tragedy of farmers in this era.
Even if they were called farm owners, these small-to-medium family farms were nothing more than ordinary beasts of burden under the capitalists.
Ariel let out a sigh.
Standing on the field ridge, he looked around, only for two flyers swept up by the wind to blow past his face.
Flyers?
“SHIELD Risk Assessment: Your Guardian of Agricultural Safety!”
The corner of Ariel’s mouth twitched as he flipped over the next flyer.
“Greenfield Agrochemical…
Hiring Seasonal Workers!”
“Join us and find a way out through adversity!”
Ariel didn’t know much about the risk assessment company, but this chemical plant was famous in Kansas.
Their Smallville branch had lost a lawsuit last year over exceeding wastewater discharge limits and was fined two hundred thousand dollars by the EPA.
…
These vultures hadn’t come earlier—not a single one showed up when the drought was just beginning.
Now that the disaster was a certainty, they rushed right in to hawk their services and cheap labor, perfectly timing it for the exact moment when the farmers’ mental defenses were at their weakest due to loans and crop failures.
BUZZ—!
The flyers burned silently in his hand, turning into flying ash that drifted to the ground. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
“I’m sorry, honey.”
Before pushing open the front door of the farmhouse, Ariel caught Jonathan’s apology, scaring him so much he almost thought Kansas’s model couple was about to part ways over someone’s mistake.
After all, Jonathan Kent hadn’t apologized more than a handful of times in his whole life.
“Honey, you don’t need to…”
“But this is my decision,” Jonathan sighed.
“You’ve suffered too much with me over the years.”
CREAK!
The wooden door let out a squeak.
Both of them looked up at the same time and saw Ariel standing in the doorway.
Martha quickly composed her expression, standing up to pour Ariel a glass of water with natural movements.
Jonathan, however, patted the boy’s shoulder.
“Step outside for a moment.”
Forty pounds of corn seed, twelve jars of pickles, a few barrels of diesel, and a water pump.
This was the complete list of remaining reserves the Kent family possessed.
“I plan to let anyone in need sign up, while also logging what they can provide in return…
fixing generators, babysitting, hauling supplies, offering temporary labor.
Barter system, written in black and white.”
“Are you sure this system will work in a disaster year?”
“You think I shouldn’t do this?” Jonathan hauled a bag of corn seeds out from the corner of the barn.
“I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing, Dad,” Ariel sighed.
“These are our last remaining reserves.
If we share them out like this…
next year…”
“I know.” Jonathan offered a small smile, turning to look at his adopted son.
“Ariel, you know it too.
You’ve always been the child who understands my thoughts best.”
“Fine, as long as you’re happy…” Ariel stood up and walked toward the exit.
“I’ll go hang the sign by the gate for you.”
Dinner time.
To be honest, Ariel couldn’t remember the last time such silence had fallen over the Kent family dinner table.
The Kent family was never short on topics.
Clark always had an endless supply of high school anecdotes to share; Martha could always chime in with a comment or follow-up question; and while Jonathan didn’t speak much, he would occasionally drop a sharp commentary that had everyone laughing.
Even Joanna would occasionally laugh along with everyone.
But tonight was different…
Clark looked back and forth between his adoptive father and his perfect younger brother, having no idea what on earth had happened.
Ariel speared a piece of beef with his fork and stuffed it into his mouth.
“I’m planning to become a comic artist,” he said casually.
“…If you want to be a comic artist, we support you,” Jonathan said, bewildered.
“But why do you…”
“With great power comes great responsibility,” Ariel said in all seriousness.
“Uncle Ben’s teachings are engraved on my heart, Dad.
I think it’s time I contributed to this family.”
“I understand the logic, but I’m asking why you had to draw Benjamin.” The corner of Jonathan’s mouth twitched.
“Why did it have to be him?
Why couldn’t you draw my Captain America father?!”
“My assistant and I have already submitted the manuscript, and the publisher has already responded, hoping to publish it for me as soon as possible,” Ariel continued solemnly on his own track.
“When the first royalty check arrives, I’ll buy a cow for the family, then a tractor, a dress for Mom, a new set of pajamas for Joanna, and for me—”
“Are those the key points?” Jonathan laughed out of sheer exasperation.
“I’m asking why…”
“Why isn’t there a Clark?!” The town boy beside them looked like he was about to cry.
“My…”
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
Knocking at the door.
The cheerful atmosphere ground to a sudden halt, and everyone turned their eyes toward the entrance.
“I’ll get it.” Ariel put down his fork and stood up.
The door opened.
Two people were standing outside.
Leading them was Walter Thompson, and standing behind him was his eight-year-old son, Little Walter.
The Thompson family.
One of the neighbors who had bad blood with the Kent family.
Calling it “bad blood” was actually putting it politely…
Last autumn, this gentleman had gotten into a furious shouting match with Jonathan over a boundary dispute regarding an irrigation canal.
“If the Kents can’t even farm their own land properly, they might as well stop farming altogether!”
He had angered Jonathan so badly the old man nearly had a heart attack.
Yet right now, this man was standing at the Kents’ doorstep, his voice much quieter than Ariel expected.
“Is that Ariel?” Walter forced a strained smile onto his face.
“Is Jo…
is your dad home?”
Ariel narrowed his eyes, having no intention of stepping aside.
His super-vision had already seen it.
The bed of Thompson’s pickup truck was completely empty, and two equally empty plastic buckets were sitting in the back seat.
Combined with the mutual-aid ledger on Jonathan’s barn door, the answer was obvious.
“My dad isn’t—”
“Come on in and sit down, Walter.” Jonathan’s voice drifted over.
Ariel was speechless, but he stepped aside to let the Thompson father and son into the house.
“Have you eaten?” Martha stood up, intending to fetch dinner plates.
“Yes, we’ve…
we’ve eaten…” Walter lowered his head, avoiding everyone’s gaze.
“Martha, don’t trouble yourself…
I just…”
“Jonathan, I saw the ledger you wrote on the barn door.”
“What do you need?” Jonathan stood up naturally.
Jonathan Kent always knew how to make the most natural moves at the most appropriate moments.
After all, he truly believed from the bottom of his heart that asking for help was nothing to be ashamed of.
“The pump…
that deep-well water pump of yours, plus diesel, and seeds…
if you have any extra…”
“Sure,” Jonathan let out a hearty laugh.
“…What?”
Walter Thompson was visibly stunned.
He seemed never to have imagined that anyone in the world could be so generous.
“Boys, we need to haul the stuff out,” Jonathan called out loudly.
A moment later.
Little Walter had also been running back and forth to help open the tailgate of the truck bed.
The moment the water pump settled securely in the truck bed, the young boy suddenly turned around.
“Um…
Ariel…
Clark…”
Little Walter’s voice was muffled.
“Yeah?” Clark was wiping dust off his hands.
“My mom…
my mom asked me to bring this over.”
Little Walter pulled an item wrapped in wax paper out of his oversized jeans pocket.
“Blackberry jam.
The blackberries my mom planted at the base of the low wall in the backyard didn’t die early this year and bore a lot of fruit…
She said Mrs.
Martha could definitely use it…”
“This—”
A trace of hesitation flashed through Clark’s eyes.
He hadn’t forgotten the past grudges.
Accepting these things right now made him feel instinctively uncomfortable, as if they were using a water pump that originally belonged to their own home to trade for an apology…
“Take it, Clark,” Ariel’s voice came from beside him.
“Thank your mom for us, Little Walter.
Tell her my mom will use this to make the best blackberry pie in all of Smallville, and we’ll bring one over to your family when it’s done.”
Little Walter’s eyes lit up.
“R—really?
Then does that mean I can also…”
He abruptly shut his mouth, likely remembering that the unpleasant history between the two families shouldn’t be brought up at a moment like this, so he awkwardly swallowed the rest of his words back down.
The father and son’s truck drove out of the Kent Farm into the night.
Clark happily ran back into the house holding the jar of blackberry jam to report this major diplomatic victory to Martha, while Ariel stood in place a little longer, staring blankly at the star chart in the night sky.
Time flowed on.
During the days Ariel was rushing his comic manuscripts…
Time indeed proved a few things.
The first few days after the mutual-aid board was hung out, the situation wasn’t good.
There was even an instance where someone borrowed diesel and resold it the very next day to a passing long-haul trucker on the excuse of an emergency at home, charging double the market price.
Of course, this matter was later discovered by Old Thaddeus.
The enraged octogenarian charged into that family’s house and gave the male owner a brutal beating with his salted fish:
“If your great-grandfather saw you from heaven, I fucking bet he’d jump out and beat you to death, you unfilial bastard!”
This had caused Ariel, who had arrived in a rage, to burst out laughing first.
Furthermore, other positive developments were occurring.
The Thompson family returned the water pump as agreed.
Little Walter pushed a wheelbarrow behind the truck, carrying an old but well-maintained hand-cranked thresher.
Meanwhile, more handwriting began to appear on the cardboard ledger on the barn door.
Some was neat and proper, some was sloppy, and one line was even written, erased, and rewritten multiple times with a pencil…
Likely, the owner had hesitated for a long time when filling out what they could offer.
Every evening when Ariel returned home, he would use his super-vision to scan the new entries on the barn door.
For instance, the Ross family wrote in the remarks column:
“—Who has diesel?
Can trade with seeds.”
The next day, someone replied:
“—I still have diesel.
No need to trade seeds, just watch my kids for two days.
I have to go to Wichita to borrow money.”
Ariel shifted his gaze away from the mutual-aid board.
The October night sky over Kansas revealed a crystal-clear Milky Way visible to the naked eye.
“People desire goodness in their hearts, Ariel.”
Jonathan stepped out of the barn.
“They just need someone to take the first step?” Ariel asked.
“Of course.”
“But how do you know they’ll abide by this system?”
“I don’t know.” The corner of Jonathan’s mouth curved upward.
He sat down beside Ariel, looking up at the stars with his adopted son.
“I simply believe that inside everyone’s heart, there lives a desire to be a good person.”
Ariel fell silent, thoughts racing through his mind.
He recalled reading a comic issue in his past life where Martian Manhunter, facing the Joker, wanted to prove to the Spectre and the Phantom Stranger that even a lunatic like the Joker had the potential for redemption in his heart.
So, he opened the Joker’s mental space.
Sure enough, deep within the Joker’s heart was a colorful world where an innocent, happy clown lived.
Setting aside the fact that this was also a scheme by the Joker…
Perhaps Jonathan really wasn’t wrong.
“Dad, you know what?” Ariel couldn’t help but laugh.
“If you went to the Daily Planet, you could probably be an editorial writer.”
“You rascal.”
Jonathan gave a helpless, laughing scold.
“Ariel, I don’t expect you to fully understand me right now.
After all, you’re much smarter than me, and the world you see is far bigger and more complex than the one I see.”
“You know many things I don’t know, and you can achieve many things I can’t.”
“But precisely because of that, I want you and Clark to remember what happened this summer.”
“One day, you two will stand in places far larger than this cornfield.
When that time comes, the problems you face will be far greater than droughts and pest swarms, and the human hearts you encounter will be even more treacherous.”
“……Are you trying to say with great power comes great responsibility?” Ariel suddenly interjected.
“With great power comes great responsibility?” Jonathan was caught off guard, feeling a bit jealous.
“You’ve remembered your Uncle Ben’s nonsense for this long?
Yet you haven’t taken in a word of what I’ve said.”
“Nonsense?
Weren’t you quite fond of that phrase back then?” Ariel scratched his head.
“It depends on what you’re comparing it to,” Jonathan sighed helplessly.
“Compared to how he was as a kid, I was thanking high heaven that he understood any semblance of reason back then.”
Ariel couldn’t hold it in and burst out laughing.
“‘With great power comes great responsibility,'” Jonathan shook his head.
“I never believed that the morality of the mortal world could bind a metahuman who can flip a tractor with the flick of a finger.”
“What do you mean?”
“With great responsibility comes great power—that is the wisdom an old farmer possesses to answer even your questions.” Wrapping an arm around Ariel’s shoulder, which possessed power capable of destroying the world, Jonathan murmured as he looked up at the starry sky, “I never want you to be trapped by responsibility to save the world, my child.”
“My only heartfelt wish is that when you, Clark, and Joanna take on responsibility, magnificent power will follow, allowing you to believe, and to become beacons that ignite hope.”
Shifting his gaze from the mud on the ground to the same starry sky his adoptive father was gazing at, a helpless smile curved on Ariel’s lips.
Damn it…
just how terrifying was the future he had to face?
Following the prophetic dream, his third cheat turned out to be an idealist power-up buff his old man was trying to give him.