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"Then go to hell!"
A senior student wearing a ring threw a punch at Clark.
With enhanced dynamic vision, Clark easily caught the student's wrist.
Although he wanted to do as his godfather said and punch this annoying guy in the face, he remembered his father's words: "Hide your abilities."
Clark, torn between anger and restraint, accidentally applied too much pressure on the student's wrist, causing him to scream in pain.
"Ah! Damn it! Let go! Let me go!"
The student struggled to free his wrist from Clark's grip, but no matter how he tried, it was as if his hand was set in stone.
The scream brought Clark back to his senses, and he immediately released his grip.
The student, looking at his sore and swollen wrist, was shocked and angry. He hadn't expected Clark to be so strong.
Bang!
One of the student's friends, seeing his leader humiliated, aggressively pushed Clark.
Clark fell hard to the ground, hitting the metal fence with a dull thud.
Just as the group prepared to gang up on Clark, the injured student stopped them.
"Forget it. Let's go."
"But, Don, your hand…"
Don glanced at his red, swollen wrist, and, wary of Clark, said, "Lucky break for the kid. We've got other things to do. Let's go."
Though they were reluctant, the others left with mutters of frustration.
Meanwhile, Adrian, the classmate Clark had saved, slipped away in fear after witnessing Clark's strength.
Leaning against the wall, Clark took a deep breath to calm himself.
"You alright?"
A somewhat unfamiliar voice appeared as someone extended a hand to Clark.
Clark looked up in surprise to see a freckle-faced chubby kid.
"Dahl?"
It was the same Dahl who'd bullied him before and was pushed off the slide by Azu.
Dahl awkwardly extended his hand to help Clark up.
"That was Don Haggerty. He's in fifth grade. I saw him kick a kid into the street once."
After they walked together for a few minutes, Dahl, keeping his head down, told Clark, "I heard he wears two big rings on his right hand. One's his brother's high school graduation ring, and the other's one he made himself in shop class. He likes using them to bust people's lips."
"Dahl, I… I don't understand."
Clark wanted to ask why Dahl had helped him up.
Dahl stopped, exhaled, and looked at Clark. "I… I saw you and John push the school bus to the shore."
Clark froze at Dahl's words.
"I haven't told anyone. Not even my mom."
Dahl looked at him with a mix of awe and gratitude. "Claire's mom said you were a miracle from God, a divine sign. She looked terrifyingly intense when she said it."
Dahl stammered, "But it wasn't a miracle. You and John saved us. I don't think people should thank God; they should thank you."
"Don't worry, Clark. I'll keep your secret. I swear."
Sensing Clark's concern, Dahl promised to keep his and John's secret forever.
Though flustered, Clark still thanked him. "Thank you, Dahl."
At Night...
Don Haggerty pedaled his bike home.
The evening had yet to fully set in, and the road was dimly visible.
As he rode, he glanced at the ring on his right hand, the one he'd made in shop class. It was engraved with the initials "DB," short for Dead Bugs, his favorite heavy metal band.
Moving his gaze to his swollen wrist, his good mood soured.
He planned to dig up some dirt on this "Clark" guy before dealing with him again.
The night wind blew across his back, bringing a chill that filled him with unease. He felt as if something dark was following him.
His heartbeat thudded loudly in his chest, ringing in his ears and throbbing in his wrist, making him tense. Sometimes it felt less like a pump and more like a high-speed tachometer needle nearing the red danger zone.
He stopped his bike and nervously looked back.
Nothing was there.
Swallowing hard, he turned and resumed pedaling.
To calm his sudden fear, he took out his lighter, intending to smoke.
Though only a fifth-grader, he'd already taught himself to smoke.
Click!
The lighter's flame cut through the darkness.
The next moment, a dark figure lunged at him.
Bang!
Without a chance to scream, Don Haggerty was knocked to the ground with a dull thud.
Soon, the heavy scent of blood filled the air.
"Is something on your mind, Clark?"
At Podrick Farm, Peter, who was eating dinner, looked at a distracted Clark.
"I… I nearly got into a fight, godfather."
Clark put down his knife, looking up as he explained, "I know I'm supposed to restrain myself and ignore others' troubles, but I just can't. I feel like I'm constantly disappointing people, godfather."
Peter exchanged a puzzled glance with Azu, who seemed equally unaware of Clark's struggles.
"Saving others isn't wrong, Clark."
"But I don't understand why my dad wants me to look away."
Lost in thought about the day's events, Clark was torn between agreeing with his father's advice to "hide his abilities" and wondering if helping others was worth the risk.
Peter asked, "So you think Jonathan's advice is wrong, do you, Clark?"
"No, I just…"
Clark struggled to find the words.
"Your father is, first and foremost, a father. He's also human and a devoted believer. He has desires, fears, and doubts. And so do I, Clark."
"As a father, he understands your kindness, and he accepts your gifts. But for others, those who fear, desire, or act selfishly, what do you think your power would mean?"
Though he found Jonathan's rigidity frustrating, Peter acknowledged him as a responsible father.
"Because of your abilities, people might worship you as a god, revere you, and place blind faith in you."
"But at the same time, your power might also make you a target. People may fear you, resent you, distrust you without reason. And most of them won't bother to understand you."
"The more love you receive without understanding, the more hatred you'll receive as well."
Peter paused, locking eyes with both boys before continuing.
"Sometimes, to avoid greater chaos and loss, we're forced to ignore certain things. That's what Jonathan wants to teach you, Clark. Just like if you hadn't pushed the bus, there wouldn't have been a later hostage situation."
The two boys, hearing Peter speak at such length for the first time, felt a small shock.
After a while, Clark asked, "Do you believe the same thing, godfather?"
Peter shook his head. "Not entirely."
He raised his coffee and told them, "I wouldn't ask you to sacrifice yourselves, nor do I want you to become gods who are both loved and hated."
He wasn't prepared to demand such sacrifices.
"Dad."
Azu suddenly looked up, speaking firmly. "If necessary, I'm willing to make sacrifices for you."