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

"What's wrong? Why do you look so upset after winning the game?"

In the bleachers, Peter walked over and sat beside Clark. The two faced the field in silence.

"I don't know why Dad left," Clark muttered gloomily.

"Your father had something to take care of at the farm, so he went back early," Peter offered as a plausible excuse before adding with encouragement, "You were amazing today, Clark."

"I already know why he left," Clark admitted, his voice tinged with resignation. "Dad's upset because I used my powers to win. But my abilities are inseparable from who I am. They're a part of me. Unless they were taken away, I can't just stop being who I am."

Clark looked down at his hands, his tone heavy with regret. "Now, it feels like this gift isn't just a mission. It's a curse."

Looking up at Peter with a sense of loss, he added, "Godfather, I wish I could live an ordinary life, free and unburdened."

Peter ruffled Clark's hair gently. "Everyone lives with some kind of chains, Clark. True freedom? No one really has that."

"Even if I give up my powers and ignore the great destiny Dad always talks about, I still can't be free?"

Peter felt a jolt of alarm at Clark's words.

Is this kid seriously considering giving up his powers? Losing interest in his mission to save the world?

This could be a dangerous mindset, and Peter knew he needed to steer Clark away from this despair.

"No, Clark. Even if you abandon your powers, you won't find true freedom," Peter said firmly.

"Really?" Clark's head drooped in dejection. After a pause, he looked back up. "Godfather, what kind of person do you want me to become?"

"Hmm… that's a complicated question," Peter mused, thinking carefully before answering. "I want you to become someone who, even when shackled by chains, still holds hope in his heart."

"Hope?" Clark repeated the word softly, as if trying to grasp its meaning.

"Yes, hope. It's the most important thing for you to have."

Peter's gaze wandered to the crowd on the field, and a story from a parallel DC universe surfaced in his mind. "Let me tell you a story, Clark. Want to hear it?"

Clark nodded eagerly. "Of course, Godfather."

Though he had outgrown bedtime stories, Clark still loved hearing Peter's tales.

"It's about a faraway planet where the people were enslaved by someone named Mongul," Peter began.

"Mongul used gladiator fights to control the people. The more battles they won, the more power they had over others."

Peter's storytelling drew Clark in completely.

"Then, a hero entered the arena. He overthrew Mongul, freed the slaves, and destroyed the entire power system. More and more slaves rose up, waving their chains in rebellion."

"Did he succeed, Godfather?"

"No. The hero was eventually captured. Do you know why he failed, Clark?"

Clark frowned in thought before asking, "Was it because he wasn't strong enough?"

"No. He was the strongest hero in the universe. But he still failed. His enemy wasn't a villain—it was an idea."

"An idea?" Clark echoed, puzzled.

Peter continued, "The slaves yearned for a hero to save them, but at the same time, they hated heroes."

"Why?" Clark asked, his confusion deepening.

"Because they had grown used to their chains," Peter explained. "They were addicted to the power games Mongul had created."

"A great ruler doesn't just control people with physical chains or violence. They use an oppressive atmosphere and endless lies to bind them."

"Chains are physical, but they're also conceptual. That sense of helplessness and despair—that's the hero's greatest enemy."

Peter paused, watching the setting sun, before continuing. "The slaves on that planet were trapped in their chains, not free. But they also hated the idea of true freedom. That's why, Clark, humans are always bound by some form of chain—whether willingly or not."

Clark listened intently, as if pieces of a larger puzzle were falling into place in his mind.

He took a deep breath and asked, "So, Godfather, what did the hero do in the end?"

Peter coughed lightly, then turned the question back on Clark. "If it were you, what would you do?"

In truth, Peter was telling Clark the story of Superman from an alternate universe. He wanted to see what Clark, as the future Superman, would choose to do.

"I think," Clark began, hesitant but resolute, "I would give the slaves hope and courage."

Peter stared at him in surprise.

This kid really does have the makings of a true hero.

"Good answer, Clark," Peter said, ruffling his hair again. "Later, the hero's friend tried to help him escape, but he refused."

Peter paused for dramatic effect, then continued, "His reason was: 'I'm here so I can talk to the remaining gladiators. Even if we win today, we can't save them. That depends on whether they truly want to escape. Otherwise, nothing will change. My job is to give them hope for freedom.'"

"Hope…" Clark murmured, captivated by the story.

"Yes, hope," Peter affirmed. "I want you to be someone who embodies hope, Clark. Someone who gives hope to others while holding on to it yourself."

As he spoke, Peter drew an "S" on Clark's chest with his finger.

"Let's go. It's getting late, and we need to head back."

Peter stood and clapped his hands, calling out to Star-Lord, who was playing on the field. "Star-Lord, come on up! Time to go home!"

Hearing his father's call, Star-Lord ran toward the bleachers at top speed.

Clark followed Peter out of the field, pausing at the gate to glance at the setting sun. Then he looked down at his chest, almost imagining a glowing "S" emblazoned there.

The next morning.

Clark and John left the farm early to head to school.

At Smallville High, students were busy buying class rings for the graduation dance.

Though underclassmen weren't allowed to attend the dance, they could still buy the rings—a long-standing tradition at Smallville High.

"This year's class rings are made with rare red gemstones," John said, sharing what he'd heard. "Apparently, the stones come from a rare meteorite."

As they chatted, they arrived at the booth selling the rings.

Seeing the long line in the hallway, Clark took a deep breath. "I guess everyone likes the class rings?"

John nodded. "Yup. I'm getting one too."

Clark looked at him in surprise. "Really? These rings cost $35. That's not cheap. Will your dad agree?"

"He should. I earned the money working on the farm, and Dad said I could spend it however I want."

John pulled out $35 and joined the line. "I want to buy one as a gift for my dad."

"Alright."

Clark thought for a moment, then checked his own pockets and got in line behind John.

"You're buying one too?" John asked, surprised.

"Yeah. I want to give one to my godfather. If I can, I'd like to have an 'S' engraved on it."

"Why an 'S'?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe it stands for hope. That's what my godfather said."

Clark pulled out his wallet as he spoke.

"You actually have money?" John was amazed. "How did you save it?"

"I earned it on the farm. And I borrowed some from my godfather."

"Shouldn't you borrow from your dad, Jonathan, instead of my dad?" John said, annoyed.

"I'll pay it back," Clark said, brushing off the comment.

When it was his turn, Clark asked the clerk if letters could be engraved on the ring.

After getting a positive answer, Clark excitedly requested an "S" to be added.

Once the rings were ready, both boys slipped them onto their fingers.

Clark examined the red gemstone curiously. "Is this a real gemstone?" he asked John.

"I don't know. Probably not too valuable, or it wouldn't be this cheap. I think the meteorite gemstones aren't worth much."

Clark nodded, finding the explanation reasonable, and shrugged as he adjusted the ring on his finger.

The moment the ring was on, a sudden chill swept through Clark's body.

Blood-red, web-like patterns appeared on the back of his hand, spreading through his veins.

Feeling the indescribable transformation within him, Clark stared at the ring.

In the next instant, his eyes turned a glowing, ruby red.

Meanwhile, Whitney, leading a group of friends, was in line behind them to buy rings.

Seeing Clark lingering at the front, someone shouted impatiently, "Hey! Move it! Get out of the way!"

But instead of leaving, Clark walked straight toward Whitney's group, his expression dark.

Stopping in front of a tall, burly student, Clark asked coldly, "What did you just say?"

"I said, get out of the way!"

The student, familiar with Clark's usually timid and "weak" demeanor, glared at him and repeated himself.

BANG!

In an instant, Clark shoved the student with a single hand.

The burly teen flew backward uncontrollably, crashing heavily into the metal lockers with a resounding thud.

The sudden outburst left the crowd gasping in shock!