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

The hotel restaurant.

The television continued broadcasting the wildfire news.

"As of the evening of the 16th, only 2% of the 'Carl' wildfire has been contained. The Kansas Fire Department reports that the hot weather, steep terrain, and gusty winds have hindered firefighting efforts. Over 20,000 residents have already evacuated their homes."

Jonathan sighed as he watched the blazing inferno on the screen. Turning to his wife, he said, "I hope the fire doesn't spread to Smallville."

Looking toward Peter, he noticed a well-dressed young man suddenly seated beside him.

"Who's that?" Jonathan asked Martha in surprise.

"A homeless boy Peter recently took in," Martha replied, her gaze settling on Bruce, who was calmly eating his meal. "Jones says he's quite special."

At the table, John narrowed his eyes at Bruce. "So, do you not go to school?"

Clark, sitting nearby, stared curiously at the boy with the aristocratic demeanor. He couldn't understand how, overnight, his godfather had gained a new companion.

"No, I follow my own learning schedule," Bruce replied, setting down his toast. "I have private tutors—or rather," he glanced at Peter, "I used to. Not anymore."

John leaned forward, his tone probing. "Have you ever kissed a girl?"

"Hey, John!" Peter snapped, immediately shutting him down. This kid must be itching for trouble.

"Sorry, Dad," John said, feigning contrition. "But Bruce claims he used to be rich, and I thought rich people did stuff like that—things we can't do."

Bruce shook his head awkwardly. "No, I haven't."

John smirked. "Then you're the strangest guy I've ever met."

Bruce rubbed his nose, thinking, Right back at you, kid. You're the strangest brat I've ever met.

Between being labeled a "poor kid" and a "weird rich guy," Bruce realized he couldn't win in John's eyes, no matter his background.

Peter addressed John sternly. "Whether you're rich or not, John, kissing girls at your age is absolutely out of the question."

John nodded, turning his gaze to Clark. "You should watch Clark, Dad. He likes Lana."

Clark froze, shocked that John had ratted him out.

"No, I don't—I mean, I've never even thought about that!" he stammered, blushing furiously as Peter looked at him skeptically. "Lana and I are just friends."

Clark glared at John, mentally cursing him for being a snitch.

After breakfast, John and Clark stayed in their room while Peter and the Martian Manhunter went out.

"Clark, black or vampire red—pick one."

Clark blinked. "Pick what?"

John held up two pairs of child-sized sunglasses. "Sunglasses. Dad got us matching pairs. Do you want the black lenses or the vampire red ones?"

"I don't really care. Either is fine."

John frowned. "Dad says your reluctance to make choices is a bad habit, Clark."

He put on the vampire red sunglasses. "Let's think this through. Vampires are cool, right? Modern ones, at least. They wear black, look pale and intimidating, and can fly. My skin is pale, and I can fly too. But aside from that, we don't have much in common."

Switching to the black pair, John continued, "Now, black is sleek, like a starling—a very cool bird. In mythology, starlings symbolize death and are said to be messengers for the grim reaper. But, on the downside, they're pitch black, and I often confuse them with crows, which are kind of lame. So, never mind."

Clark, bewildered, asked, "Where did you learn all that?"

"Dad told me," John said proudly.

Realizing Clark still wouldn't choose, John sighed dramatically. "Clark, listen. Right now, you have the power to change history. Choose wisely—the fate of humanity may rest on this decision."

Clark stared at him, deadpan. Why does this feel like we're deciding the world's fate instead of just picking sunglasses?

"Fine," Clark said finally. "Vampire red."

"Ha!" John scoffed. "Vampire red? No way. Black is the obvious choice."

Grinning mischievously, he added, "I already decided on black, Clark. You can't fight destiny. See? You always choose wrong."

Clark froze, stunned at how ridiculous and cunning John could be.

As John stood at the window, wearing his sunglasses and surveying the scene outside, he spotted a familiar figure sneaking out of the hotel.

"Bruce Wayne?!"

Seeing Bruce leave so stealthily, John frowned. He had never trusted the "poor boy who borrowed money from Dad."

Beyond that, he felt an odd sense of competition, as if Bruce's presence somehow threatened his relationship with Peter.

"I'm going out," John declared, removing his sunglasses. "If Dad asks, tell him I'll be right back."

Watching him leave, Clark picked up the vampire red sunglasses. "Actually, I kind of like red," he muttered.

Elsewhere.

Bruce wove through the labyrinthine streets of the city, eventually reaching a remote area. The roads were cracked and uneven, crisscrossing like a drunken spider's web.

He soon found the group of orphans he had met the day before.

Just as they started talking, a loud bang startled them. Turning around, they saw John standing behind them, arms crossed and smirking.

"Bruce, your lies have been exposed," John declared triumphantly, stepping forward. "You say you're rich, but look at this. These must be your siblings, right? What would Dad think if he knew you were a fraud?"

The orphans exchanged nervous glances as John grinned wickedly.

"You don't want Dad to find out you're a liar, do you, Bruce?"

...

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