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"That's truly surprising, Mr. Luther. Though your reputation isn't the best, you've changed my opinion of you today."
Peter took another look at this entrepreneur with a poor reputation. He certainly didn't believe this man was some philanthropist with a heart of gold.
"The people of Smallville might have misunderstood me," Lionel Luther shrugged with a smile.
After chatting briefly with him, Peter noticed Clark and Azu waving at him. He said to Lionel, "Sorry, I have to excuse myself for a moment."
Lionel smiled and stepped aside, watching as Peter walked toward the two children.
"Sir," one of Lionel's subordinates approached and asked, "Should we temporarily halt the chemical plant project? This would be a big loss for us."
"Yes, temporarily stop it," Lionel said, his expression growing more serious. "Because—I've found something even more valuable."
He had already uncovered that the person wielding the katana and cutting down zombies that night was Peter Podrick.
"Erase all related video footage, and have the PR department take action. The official story is that the attackers were deranged terrorists. I don't want to hear any mention of zombies," Lionel ordered his subordinate.
Meanwhile, Peter walked over to Clark and Azu and asked, "What's wrong?"
"Clark needs to go to the bathroom," Azu said.
"Are you nervous?" Peter asked Clark as they walked toward the restroom, hand in hand.
Clark let out a breath, his mind seemingly elsewhere, "I don't know. Earlier, I saw Mom shaking hands and hugging strangers. Their tears soaked her collar and sleeves, and the whole room smelled of flowers. I felt like I couldn't breathe, godfather."
"I counted. They said 'He wasn't hurt and passed quickly' about thirty-two times and 'God works in mysterious ways' twenty-five times," Clark added, looking up at Peter. "Why do people keep repeating the same things?"
Peter was surprised at Clark's sensitivity. He didn't expect the boy to be so thoughtful and empathetic.
It seemed Clark had the potential to become a true saint!
After some thought, Peter replied, "Because every repeated phrase makes those who have lost a loved one a little bit stronger."
"Oh," Clark nodded.
After the funeral, Peter drove Clark and Azu home. Clark seemed a bit down, likely due to the atmosphere of the funeral.
Azu, on the other hand, wasn't as affected by the shadow of death. He asked Peter, "Dad, why did Uncle Louis turn into a zombie?"
He was clearly more interested in the zombies.
"Because Louis and Vanessa did something wrong. Overcome with grief, they tried to bring their son back to life by making a wish to a demon. As a result, they were punished," Peter explained as simply as possible, so the boys could understand.
"I get it," Clark suddenly said from the back seat. "It's like in The Monkey's Paw—the Whites made a mistake because of their grief."
"Grief isn't a stupid excuse, Clark. While there's a difference between the two, life and death are serious matters," Peter said, his mind drifting to that dried-up swamp.
That land, contaminated by kryptonite, still held magical power.
How should he deal with that land?
Perhaps he could talk to the mayor and buy the rights to that land, preventing anyone from entering it.
That swamp might come in handy someday.
With that thought, Peter made up his mind to purchase the land.
Back home, Peter checked his savings.
The average cost of land in the U.S. is about $4,100 per acre, meaning that owning 1,000 acres would cost around $4.7 million. Kansas land was relatively cheaper, at about $3,500 per acre.
The swamp covered about 100 acres, so he'd need to prepare $350,000 to buy it.
Peter frowned as he looked at his bank card.
Although he had raided quite a few gangs in Metropolis, raising two kids meant hefty expenses.
Now, his account balance was down to less than $200,000.
"Looks like I'll have to make another supply run to Metropolis," Peter sighed, putting his card away.
He could have Nell look after Clark and Azu for the time being. If things went smoothly, he'd be back in just one night.
But first, he needed to make some preparations.
"Dad," Azu approached him just as he was planning his trip to Metropolis.
"What's up?"
"I want to hear a story," Azu said, making it clear he wanted a bedtime story.
"Alright, what story would you like? Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, or The Little Mermaid?"
"Dad," Azu pouted, "I'm not Clark. I'm not interested in those childish stories."
"Oh?" Peter raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Then what kind of story do you want to hear?"
"About zombies," Azu said.
"You're still a kid. It's not appropriate for you to hear about those things," Peter immediately rejected the request.
This kid had even darker tastes than Peter did.
Azu looked disappointed after being refused.
"Your birthday is in a few days, Azu. Maybe you can look forward to that instead," Peter said, trying to cheer him up by mentioning Azu's upcoming birthday.
Azu's mood brightened instantly at the mention of his birthday.
"Can I make a request, Dad? For my birthday present?" he asked excitedly.
"It's better not to. Birthdays are meant to be full of surprises," Peter replied. "A birthday means endless possibilities—like a piñata full of candy or a box of toys tipped over on the floor. These could all be surprises."
Azu's eyes lit up at that, but then he remembered something and asked, "Dad, when's your birthday?"
"My birthday?" Peter paused, caught off guard by the question.
When was his birthday?
Since coming to this world, was his birthday his previous life's, his current body's, or the day he transmigrated here?
"I'm past the age for birthdays," Peter finally said.
"Why?" Azu asked, full of curiosity.
Peter gently patted Azu's head and said softly, "Because as you grow older, you'll find that each birthday is like a revolving door, taking you further and deeper. One day, birthdays stop being about possibilities and become something inevitable."
Coughing slightly, realizing he might have said too much, Peter patted Azu's head again. "It's late. You should head upstairs and get to sleep."