A lion crouched in the abyss, its molten copper eyes fixed on him.
“ROAR—!”
Its loud roar jerked the young man awake from his sleep.
Touching the burning pendant against his chest, Ariel walked into the bathroom and looked into the mirror in front of him.
Standing in the mirror was a sixteen-year-old blonde youth.
Beneath prominent brow bones were a pair of amber eyes, which seemed to reflect a silver-white lion in their depths.
For eight years, this thing had neither flared up nor receded.
It sat in his status window hogging a slot just like a debuff in a video game.
Sometimes Ariel felt he should probably go find a sorcerer to check it out.
Kryptonians were weak to magic, so if this thing happened to be some kind of mental parasite…
Wait a second…
He wasn’t a Kryptonian anymore.
[First Slot — King Hyperion] Roleplay Conditions:
— You are the truth; you do not compromise.
— Your thoughts do not tolerate error.
— You will make the world better.
Defeat the entire wrong world with the power of one person.
Roleplay Progress: 38%
The corners of Ariel’s mouth twitched twice.
This thirty-eight percent had been ground out by sunbathing.
Bathing in the sunlight for at least six hours a day had only dragged the roleplay progress from zero up to thirty-eight.
And increasing the roleplay progress was clearly not as simple as soaking in the sun; it required…
Becoming that character.
But how on earth was he supposed to single-handedly defeat the entire wrong world in a place like Smallville?
Did overthrowing the mandatory corn chowder served Monday through Friday in the school cafeteria count?
Or dismantling the town’s only slot machine with his bare hands?
With his current small physique, if he took a casual stroll around Gotham, a Wrath of God could jump out from the curb to judge him at any moment.
Right now, he was still ten thousand miles away from true invincibility.
Ariel took a deep breath.
Endure.
Sunbathe until every single cell undergoes nuclear fusion, and you’ll be King Hyperion!
Spitting out the cold water in his mouth, Ariel pulled down a towel.
“?!”
His heart skipped a violent beat.
Someone had silently appeared at the bathroom door.
Barefoot, the girl leaned against the doorframe, her blonde hair falling loosely over her shoulders.
Her sky-blue eyes stared cold and unblinking at him.
Speaking of which, Joanna had some truly bizarre habits.
As long as she felt safe on the Kent farm, her feet were never bound by anything.
She was like this when she was eight, and she was still like this at sixteen…
Well, in a sense, Joanna was exactly the same as she was eight years ago, except now she possessed the face of an angel coupled with the glare of a wild beast…
Wait, the glare of a wild beast?
Was she looking down on him?
The thought left Ariel feeling somewhat helpless.
Whenever Joanna found something disagreeable, she wore this exact expression.
She looked at stray dogs on the side of the road with this face, and she looked at him with it too.
“…Morning,” he offered a sheepish smile.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Take it off,” she said.
“Aunt Martha sent me to gather dirty laundry,” Joanna said, her brow furrowing slightly.
“Oh.”
Ariel glanced down at the shirt he had slept in all night, then looked back up at Joanna’s impassive face.
He pulled off his shirt.
Shifting his body slightly to the side, he casually let his muscle lines show.
“How’s that?” He grinned at her.
Joanna: “…”
The disgust on the girl’s face was completely undisguised.
Ariel fell silent.
“…Here,” he handed the shirt over with a look of regret.
Joanna took the clothes deftly and turned to leave, her fluttering blonde hair carrying a subtle fragrance of apples.
Ariel let out a sigh.
When exactly had their relationship turned out like this?
During the autumn festival when they were eight, she had taken the initiative to help him push that giant pumpkin onto the display stand.
When they were ten, she would sit on the grass beside him while he sunbathed.
When they were twelve, she would cling to him, constantly calling out his name…
And after that?
Thirteen?
Fourteen?
He couldn’t remember the exact day, but Joanna’s gaze toward him grew colder and colder, and she became quieter with each passing day, until she eventually became the way she was today…
Forget it.
Ariel shook his head and pushed his emotions aside.
Compared to the adolescent psychology of a teenage girl, he had far more important matters to worry about.
For eight whole years, the people from Vought International had never shown up.
No black SUVs had suddenly pulled up in front of the farm, nor had suited agents paid a friendly visit.
It was as if everyone had forgotten that an escaped test subject was residing on a corn farm in Smallville, Kansas.
Ariel didn’t know what Uncle Ben had actually done.
Perhaps he really had a top-tier assassin friend who had somehow permanently wiped the tracking files.
Whatever the case…
These eight years of calm had granted Ariel one thing.
Time.
He stood before the window as the first rays of morning sunlight passed through the slats of the blinds, falling across his bare upper body.
Cellular fusion…
A golden glint surged within the young man’s pupils.
His amber eyes flickered continuously.
If they didn’t come, then so be it.
If they came…
The golden light in his eyes faded away.
Ariel pulled a clean shirt from the closet and slipped it on, running a hand through his hair in front of the mirror to confirm he had turned back into the completely ordinary middle child of the Kent family.
Humming an out-of-tune country ballad, he pushed open his bedroom door and stepped outside.
Truth be told, he was a guy with no grand desires.
He only wanted to live his life in peace and tranquility, enjoying eight hours of baby-like sleep every day and living a healthy life that even doctors would approve of.
Winning, losing, competing—those were things he disliked dwelling on the most, as they only brought trouble and enemies to himself and the farm.
He was a content person, and that was his outlook on life.
However, if he ever truly had to make a move…
Ariel Kent would not lose to anyone.
Take his most pressing matter at hand, for instance: Ariel felt he should figure out how to repair his relationship with his icy adopted sister.
The laundry room was at the end of the first floor.
The washing machine was bought four years ago.
That autumn, Clark had won a sports scholarship, Ariel had won an academic scholarship, and Joanna had received an award for overall excellence in character and academics—an award she still didn’t understand why they had given her…
Combining the three scholarships, Ariel had extravagantly bought this front-loading washing machine.
Ariel had shouted that he wanted to give Martha a surprise.
Clark had tried to hold in the surprise, but he kept bending over with laughter anyway.
The sunlight was brilliant.
Everything was good.
Joanna held Ariel’s clothes in her hands.
No.
She couldn’t keep doing this.
She was Joanna Kent.
Ariel said she was a calm and restrained person.
She couldn’t…
The fabric crumpled tightly in her hands.
Just one last time.
She raised the undershirt and buried her cool face into it.
The sun.
His clothes always smelled like the sun.
Joanna’s shoulders relaxed, her eyelashes drooping slightly as her brow smoothed out.
She took a deep breath, her sky-blue eyes veiling over with a hazy, mist-like dreaminess.
Only at this moment did she finally look like a sixteen-year-old girl.
“Ariel…” she murmured softly.
Clack—!
Her ears twitched slightly.
When Clark walked into the laundry room with a yawn, what he saw was his sister standing beside the washing machine with an expressionless face.
“Hey, Joanna.”
Clark rubbed his eyes and tossed a wad of crumpled clothes onto the washing machine.
“Washing Ariel’s clothes again today?”
Looking at the clothes that had landed on top of Ariel’s, Joanna pressed her lips tightly together.
“How about you wash mine too…”
She turned and walked away.
A flash of golden hair caught the morning light, and she vanished around the corner.
Did she seriously just use super speed to get away from him?
Clark stood in the laundry room, the corners of his mouth twitching.
He was the big brother, right?
He was the oldest child in this house, wasn’t he?!
Why did Joanna never help him wash his clothes?!
Why did his clothes always have to be stuffed into the drum by himself, only for him to forget to press the start button until they turned moldy three days later and Martha chased him around to beat him!
Fuming, Clark grabbed his clothes and shoved them forcefully into the washing machine.
Then he paused for a moment and, with a sense of petty revenge, reached out and dragged Ariel’s clothes into the drum as well, mixing them with his own.
If they’re getting washed, we’re washing them together!
Ariel!
Stain yourself with your big brother’s scent!
Clark let out a wicked laugh.
“What are you doing…?”
A familiar, eerie voice sounded from behind him.
“A…
Ariel…?”
Clark broke into a cold sweat.