Damn it, I’m surrounded by those who worry about their fathers!

"No, I'm here to be your teacher, a home tutor," Martian Manhunter shrugged. "Your father invited me."

Hearing this, Clark and Azu looked at each other in surprise.

Clark couldn't help but worry about Peter's wallet. Tutoring is known to be expensive, let alone hiring a Martian to teach them!

Their godfather must have paid a hefty price.

What Clark didn't know was that Peter convinced Martian Manhunter with just a box of Oreos. According to Peter's memories from a past life, Martian Manhunter seemed to have a particular fondness for Oreos. So, Peter brought a box when he visited, and with little effort, he managed to persuade him.

In Martian Manhunter's words though, he wasn't convinced by the cookies but felt that John and Clark needed more professional guidance.

"What can you teach us, Mr. Jones?" Azu asked curiously.

At first, he was a bit wary of the stranger, but learning he was Martian eased his concerns considerably. Whether Martian Manhunter counted as an alien was something he chose to ignore for now.

"I can teach you proper flying techniques, John. This is your only chance," Martian Manhunter said seriously. "Your abilities are showing, but you don't know how to use them correctly."

"And you too, Clark." He looked at Clark. "Your potential is unmatched. I can help you better understand the changes in your body."

Clark and Azu exchanged a look, suddenly having a sinking feeling that life wouldn't be so easy from now on. It was already overwhelming keeping up with school teachers, and now they had a private tutor, too.

Azu immediately frowned. He had to balance his time between playing and working on the farm for pocket money. How could he fit in lessons with a private tutor?

Later that evening...

Peter stared in shock at the feast before them.

Clark and Azu were also bewildered, staring at the table laden with fragrant, mouth-watering food. Could this really be their dinner?

There were two tender fried eggs, two large buttermilk pancakes the size of manhole covers, four sausages, whole wheat toast, and a cinnamon roll on a separate plate. Everything except the cinnamon roll was drenched in maple syrup.

With a delighted expression, Clark took a bite of the sausage, which was coated in pure maple syrup. The savory sausage and rich syrup filled his taste buds with bliss.

His eyes lit up. This syrup tasted as if it had come straight from a tree, not like the kind you sneakily buy at a grocery store that upsets your stomach.

(Clark often got Azu to sneak to the store to buy maple syrup.)

"Ahem!" Peter tore his gaze from the food and said to the two ravenous kids, "John, Clark, chew slowly, don't eat like lumberjacks."

Both boys nodded, though they didn't stop eating.

Peter glanced at Martian Manhunter, who had removed his apron and sat at the table. He couldn't resist asking, "Mr. Jones, have you worked as a chef in a restaurant before?"

"No, I just like experimenting with cooking," Martian Manhunter replied, elegantly cutting his egg. "Actually, I'm better at making cookies."

Peter nodded, looking around the immaculately clean house and then at the delicious sausage on his plate.

Had he actually hired a professional housekeeper? If he didn't know this was the real Martian Manhunter, he would have thought he was a something like an expert chef.

After dinner, Martian Manhunter took Azu outside under the night sky for flying lessons. Meanwhile, Clark sat on the couch, watching TV to pass the time. On the screen, a show called An American Werewolf in London was playing.

In the dramatic climax, the werewolf went on a rampage in London's Piccadilly Circus. Chaos erupted, cars honked, and people screamed as the creature tore through the crowd.

"Click!" Peter turned off the TV with the remote. "That's not a show for you, Clark."

Clark scratched his head, "But Azu said it was good."

Peter sighed.

Azu was acting up again—indulging his love for horror and even trying to drag Clark into it.

Peter sat on the couch and coughed, "It's not suitable for you at this age, Clark."

"Actually…I didn't really enjoy it," Clark admitted. "The werewolf seemed mindless, hurting innocent people without reason."

Peter asked, "So you think he's a bad guy, this werewolf?"

"Yes, godfather. He's the villain, even if he's the main character," Clark answered.

Peter nodded, "But sometimes, we can't control ourselves. Take that parasite from the other day—it controlled Dr. David. If a parasite took control of you, Clark, and you started hurting people, what would you want others to do?"

Clark thought for a moment, then answered with determination, "I wouldn't let that happen, but if it did…"

He clenched his fists. "Dad, remember that green rock? The one in Lana's necklace?"

Peter nodded.

"If I ever became dangerous, like Dr. David or that werewolf," Clark said bravely, "you could use that rock against me, like Azu did the other day."

Peter was taken aback by Clark's maturity.

Was this why you entrusted kryptonite to Batman when you grew up? Did you not know he'd be ruthless with it?

Peter shook his head to clear his thoughts and assured Clark, "You won't ever be like that, Clark. I'll protect you."

"Thank you, godfather. And I won't let a parasite take me over."

Clark then seemed to remember something, his face falling, "Godfather, are you sure I won't get radiation poisoning?"

Peter had already explained to him that he was immune to radiation, but Clark was still nervous.

"Yes, your body is immune to radiation, Clark," Peter said seriously. "But you shouldn't have agreed to Mr. Jones's suggestion. If you weren't immune, imagine what could have happened. You're not ready to be a savior yet."

"I understand, godfather. But…making choices is hard. Every time I choose, I feel like I lose something, like this time. I thought doing the right thing would expose me to radiation," Clark said, dejectedly.

Peter blinked, surprised. "What do you mean?"