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

Nighttime, Podrick Farm.

Peter was on a call with Jonathan.

He glanced at Clark, who was sitting with Star-Lord in the living room, and said, "Yes, don't worry, Clark seems fine."

"That's good."

Jonathan couldn't help but complain to Peter, "I don't know why he's so stubborn. I wasn't like this at his age."

Peter nodded and shifted his position. "Yeah, Martha mentioned that. You were a model son who always listened to your father. You definitely didn't run away one summer to join the Metropolis Sharks."

Jonathan cleared his throat at Peter's teasing. "When did you switch sides, Peter?"

"I'm not on anyone's side, Jonathan. Clark can't do normal things. Apart from John and Star-Lord, he has no friends. He can't join a little league team because you're afraid he might hurt someone. He's growing up, Jonathan. You should give him a chance."

"His abilities come with responsibilities, Peter."

"It's not just about ability; it's about trust. You're telling Clark you don't believe in him."

Jonathan's voice grew firm over the phone. "Of course, I trust him. But what if he draws suspicion? Like with that old Horace or whatever his name was the last time. I don't want anyone coming to the farm and taking Clark away."

Peter switched the receiver to his other ear. "If you don't trust him, Jonathan, he'll end up leaving on his own."

Jonathan fell silent at Peter's remark.

"Anyway, Clark has a game this Friday. I'm sure he'd love to see you cheering for him on the field."

After a brief pause, the conversation ended.

Back in the living room, Clark thanked Peter, "Thank you, Godfather. Thank you for signing the permission slip."

"You're welcome. I'm looking forward to seeing you play, but remember to control your strength."

"I will," Clark promised.

He then asked excitedly, "Godfather, will you come to watch me play?"

"Of course. This is your first game—I wouldn't miss it."

"Great!" Clark exclaimed, punching the air. "I'm going to win for sure!"

Star-Lord, sitting nearby, caught Clark's excitement and chimed in, "I want to join too, Dad!"

"With your build? No chance, unless you go on a diet. And with your willpower, that's never going to happen," John teased mercilessly, not looking up from the TV.

"My build is perfect for football," Star-Lord replied, unbothered.

In his words, he wasn't overweight—he was "comfortably chubby."

"Well, you can try. You'll be knocked around like a bowling pin," John retorted, already imagining Star-Lord being tackled left and right.

But John quickly remembered something important. "Dad, aren't we going hunting in the woods on Friday?"

John had been looking forward to the hunt all week.

"Maybe we can reschedule. Hunting can happen any time, but Clark's game is a one-time event," Peter replied.

"Dad, are there deer in the woods?" Star-Lord asked curiously.

"Of course," Peter said, patting his head. "You might even see a moose. They won't bother you unless it's mating season. Then they get a little edgy and like to chase people."

"What's mating season, Dad?" Star-Lord asked innocently.

"You don't need to know about that," Peter said, clearing his throat. "And remember, don't wander into the woods alone. There are poisonous vines and oak trees. If you touch them, Star-Lord, you'll be stuck taking medicated baths for three weeks."

Hearing this, Star-Lord immediately decided to behave.

"There's also the forest banshee," John added mischievously, trying to scare Star-Lord.

"She has a cow's tail and sings enchanting songs to lure woodcutters, imprisoning them forever."

He looked at Star-Lord. "If you go into the forest, she might trap you too."

Star-Lord blinked, deep in thought.

"She has a cow's tail? Then she can probably plow fields, right?"

"Uh…" John was momentarily speechless. "Maybe?"

"If she can plow fields, I'd capture her and make her work on the farm. That way, Dad wouldn't have to work so hard," Star-Lord said earnestly.

John froze, stunned by his younger brother's unexpected comment.

This kid, though young, was already a master at flattering their father!

Seeing Peter's pleased expression, John clenched his fork in frustration.

This little chubby boy was clearly his greatest rival!

After dinner, Star-Lord was in the upstairs storage room, tinkering with his collection of odd gadgets.

Despite his young age, he loved inventing things, like a telescope capable of observing outer space.

His fascination with the cosmos drove his passion for these space-related projects.

With a new lens from the convenience store, he adjusted the telescope, aiming to maximize its visibility.

One day, he dreamed of building a spaceship to take the farm—and Peter—on a cosmic tour, leaving John behind.

His secret base also had a music player for relaxation.

"Click!"

In high spirits, Star-Lord pressed play, and music filled the room.

As he worked to the rhythm, the music drifted out the window and reached John's ears.

Reading a horror novel in his room, John scowled and threw the book onto his bed.

Already annoyed by music, he couldn't stand Star-Lord's loud playlist.

"Whoosh!"

In a flash, John flew out the window.

Inside the "secret base," Star-Lord was focused on his telescope when he caught a glimpse of a shadow outside.

The next second, the music stopped with a crackling sound.

He turned to see smoke rising from the player, two tiny holes in its casing.

By Friday, the Smallville Elementary sports field buzzed with energy.

"Alright, boys, move it! I want you to knock them flat. Let's make them fear us!" the coach roared, firing up the team.

Clark, half-listening, scanned the stands for familiar faces.

He spotted Peter and Star-Lord and ran over during a break.

"Thanks, Godfather. I'm so glad you came—it means a lot to me."

"Of course I wouldn't miss it, Clark. Now go out there and crush them!"

"I will!" Clark said confidently.

Just then, Jonathan arrived, his expression grim.

"Dad, you came too?!" Clark exclaimed, surprised and hopeful.

But Jonathan's next words dampened his spirits.

"I still don't support your decision, Clark. I'm here to make sure no one gets hurt."

Peter nudged Jonathan, cutting him off before he could further deflate Clark's morale.

"Go on, Clark. Remember, win this game!"

Clark lined up, bent forward, and focused as the game began.

"Blue Rabbits, 3-2-1, go!"

With the whistle, Clark charged, but he was tackled after just two steps, hitting the ground hard.

"Focus, Kent! Your dad isn't the coach—I am!" the coach barked.

Clark nodded, determined.

The next play began. This time, Clark powered through, knocking opponents down as he charged forward, scoring a touchdown with lightning speed.

The stands erupted in cheers.

But as Clark scanned the crowd, he saw Jonathan leaving.

His excitement cooled like water on flames.

As his teammates celebrated, Clark glanced at Peter, who gave him a reassuring thumbs-up.

For a fleeting moment, Clark thought, If only Godfather were my real dad.

...

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