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

Podrick Farm.

Peter retrieved an old magic book, long left to gather dust, and compared it with Nancy's sketched magic circle. It didn't take him long to identify it—a Summoning Circle. Such circles allow the summoner to call upon infernal beings, granting them supernatural powers through contracts.

However, the summoner also risks being devoured by the summoned entity.

Closing the book, Peter furrowed his brow and fell into deep thought.

Could Nancy's spiritual practices have stemmed from a contract with a demon? And could her death be tied to demonic backlash?

After a while, he regretfully shook his head, tossing the book onto the desk. Rising, he gazed out the window.

What a pity—I don't understand magic.

If only I had a mage by my side.

Morning.

The school bus arrived. As Clark stepped aboard, his eyes darted to the back row.

Lana sat alone by the window, resting her chin on her hand and gazing outside. She looked both youthful and serene.

Not far from her, John sat alone as well.

Clark hesitated. Then, choosing between the two, he ultimately walked toward the seat beside John and sat down.

As he sat, Clark quickly glanced at Lana before fixing his gaze straight ahead.

Although he and John had clashed the previous day, their godfather's intervention that morning had reconciled them. Even so, Clark still didn't fully agree with John's extreme views.

"You should have sat with her, Clark," John remarked, his sharp observation skills catching Clark's small actions.

Feeling embarrassed, Clark placed his bag in front of him and mumbled, "I'd rather sit with you. I mean... I've never spoken to Lana before."

He glanced at Lana again, this time as if worried she might overhear.

John could see right through him. "You're lying, Clark. You lack courage."

"No, I don't! It's just... this has nothing to do with courage!" Clark's protest lacked conviction.

John decided to encourage him. It had been weeks since school started, yet Clark had never initiated a conversation with Lana.

"Don't you watch romance dramas? The protagonist always says, 'Love is a flower growing on the edge of a cliff. To pick it, you need courage.'"

Clark was stunned. "Wait... You watch those?"

Blushing, he hurriedly explained, "This isn't love! I just think Lana's a nice person."

To John, Clark's explanation was as unconvincing as a baby claiming it didn't like milk.

Eyes twinkling, John leaned in conspiratorially. "Fair enough. The world is full of nice girls. I believe your reasons. But if you want to talk to her, you'll need to take the first step. Sitting beside her and saying hi would be a good start."

"No. I can't," Clark said, flustered, waving his hands before slumping in defeat. "I'm too nervous."

John patted his shoulder. "If you don't try, you'll never get the chance."

"Really?"

"Really. I believe in you."

Clark took a deep breath, summoning his courage. Finally, he stood and walked toward Lana.

As Clark made his way down the aisle, John tapped the shoulder of Sam, a fellow student seated in front.

"I'm betting five steps before he trips," John whispered smugly.

Sam grinned. "Seven steps. My luck's better than yours."

The two quietly began counting Clark's strides.

"One... Two... Three..."

Clark's steps grew steadier. A faint smile appeared on his lips as he mentally rehearsed his opening line.

"Five!"

At that moment, Clark's foot slipped. He stumbled and fell flat in front of Lana's seat with a loud thud.

Books tumbled from his bag, scattering around Lana's feet.

The sudden noise drew everyone's attention. The bus erupted into laughter at Clark's expense.

Lana quickly bent down to help him. Picking up a thick book, she read the title—Nietzsche.

"Are you okay, Clark?" she asked, handing it back to him with genuine concern.

"Y-yes, I'm fine." Clark wished he could disappear, his earlier confidence entirely gone.

Meanwhile, John smirked and snatched five dollars from Sam. "Told you I'd win."

Sam, begrudgingly handing over the money, grumbled, "Next time, I'll win for sure."

Clark, unaware his embarrassing moment had become the subject of John and Sam's wager, returned to his seat, humiliated. John and Sam exchanged glances, barely containing their laughter.

Smallville Middle School.

As they walked onto campus, John consoled the disheartened Clark.

"It's just one failure, Clark. You'll get it next time."

Clark, oblivious to John's ulterior motive of betting with Sam again, felt grateful. "Thanks, John."

"Don't mention it. We're brothers, right?"

Walking past the flowerbeds, they noticed a group of girls surrounding a fifth-grader—Allison Mack. Clark recognized her from around Lana's neighborhood.

Allison stood drenched, her wet hair clinging to her face. She looked like a lamb to the slaughter, her head bowed as the older girls splashed her with water and laughed cruelly.

"Hey! What are you doing?!" Clark shouted, his blood boiling.

The bullies turned to him, their expressions darkening.

"This isn't your business, kid. Walk away if you don't want trouble."

Clark stood his ground, his fiery gaze meeting theirs.

Seeing Clark in potential danger, John stepped forward. "If it's a fight you want, I'm game."

Some of the girls recognized John and whispered among themselves. After a moment, they glared at Clark before leaving in a huff.

When they were gone, Clark helped Allison to her feet.

"Are you okay?" he asked gently.

"Y-yes. Thank you," she stammered, trembling slightly.

As Allison walked away, John remarked, "You shouldn't have interfered, Clark."

"Why not?" Clark was confused.

"Girls' bullying isn't the same as boys'. By helping her now, you've made her situation worse."

Clark looked puzzled. "How do you know that?"

"I just do. That's Allison Mack. Everyone bullies her. They've put snakes in her shoes, dunked her in water, tripped her in the hallways, and much more."

Listening to John's recounting, Clark felt his heart ache.

"Why would they do that?"

"Dad says people tend to destroy what they don't understand or despise about themselves," John replied.

Clark thought about their argument from the previous day and sighed.

"Don't they have any empathy?"

John shrugged. "Dad says humans rarely empathize with others."

That evening, Allison stood alone, holding a shard of broken glass from her bag. As blood dripped from her hand, she stared at the piece blankly.

Nightfall.

Smallville Salon Club.

"Hey, Todd!" Officer Chandler knocked the edge of his glass against the bar with a sharp clink. "I need you to fix this sorry excuse for a drink. Another Long Island Iced Tea—better than this disaster, alright?"

Todd, the bartender, nodded casually. "Got it." He moved over to the mixing station with practiced ease.

Sitting beside Chandler, Peter watched the bartender work as he asked, "So, has the police department uncovered the cause of Charles Boone's death?"

Charles Boone, the recently deceased farmer whose body had been grotesquely torn apart, had sent shockwaves through the community.

"Not yet. We're still in the dark," Chandler admitted, shaking his head. "The wounds don't look like anything a human could do. They seem… torn, ripped open. There are plenty of questions, but no answers."

He swirled the liquid in his glass before continuing, "We looked into his finances, too. Turns out his farm was buried in debt. So whoever killed him wasn't after money—that much we can rule out."

Peter nodded thoughtfully. "And Nancy? Any progress on her case?"

"Nothing. No evidence, no leads. It's as if she just… vanished. Honestly, the whole thing gives me the creeps."

Chandler set his glass down and leaned closer. "To be honest, Peter, there's something about you I can't quite figure out. How did you know Nancy was dead before anyone else?"

Peter's expression didn't waver as he replied, "I went to her place for a reading, that's all."

But as he glanced toward the club's entrance, Peter's face tightened, his thoughts momentarily derailed.