Morning sunlight streamed through the windows of the Kent farmhouse, spreading warm golden light across the wooden floor. The quiet peace of the Kansas countryside lingered in the air, broken only by the faint sounds of morning chores and the distant rustle of wind through wheat fields.
"Come down for breakfast, David."
Martha Kent's voice floated up from downstairs with familiar urgency. "You and Clark are almost late for school."
"Right away, Mom."
Victor Kent finished washing up in the bathroom and answered casually before stepping back into his room. The sunlight poured across the floor as he changed out of his pajamas and pulled on his clothes.
Now seventeen years old, Victor had grown into a striking young man. His short black hair framed sharp, well-defined facial features, and his tall, lean frame carried the balanced proportions of someone both athletic and controlled. When he removed his shirt, the muscles across his body were lean and dense rather than bulky, giving him the quiet, sculpted look of a classical Greek statue.
He stepped in front of the mirror and flexed his hands slowly.
"Still not perfect…"
Beneath his skin, muscles contracted with tremendous force. The bones in his arms and shoulders tightened like compressed steel, and a terrifying power surged through his body—raw strength that felt like a dormant volcano ready to erupt.
A faint purple tone spread across his skin.
At the same time, hard ridges formed along his chin, deep grooves appearing like the rugged valleys carved into a mountainside. In the mirror, Victor suddenly looked far more imposing, like a silent king staring calmly at the world.
"The Thanos Template fusion is increasing steadily," he murmured quietly.
"But if I push my strength too far, the skin color still changes."
He relaxed his muscles.
The purple tone slowly faded as the energy settled back into his body.
Template Fusion Progress: 81%
After confirming the number, Victor finished dressing and walked downstairs with a faint look of resignation.
"Honestly… I guess that's what happens when your template is Thanos."
At least there were some advantages.
For example, he hadn't inherited Thanos's full appearance.
Victor glanced at his reflection one last time and ran a hand through his hair.
"Thankfully I'm not two meters sixty tall with a bald head and a chin like a purple potato."
As a high school student, that kind of appearance would have been unbearable.
Ding!
The crisp sound of the bread machine popped from the kitchen.
Victor stepped into the living room just as the smell of freshly baked bread filled the air. The scent drifted warmly through the house, instantly making the morning feel more alive.
Before he could reach the table, quick footsteps echoed behind him.
"Good morning, David."
Clark Kent appeared from the hallway, taller and broader than most boys his age. His bright blue eyes looked slightly sleepy as he headed straight for the refrigerator.
Opening it, he grabbed a large glass bottle of milk and glanced back over his shoulder.
"Want a few swigs to wake up?"
Without waiting for an answer, Clark tilted the bottle and took two long drinks directly from it.
Victor raised an eyebrow and walked calmly to the dining table, completely ignoring the offer.
"Clark, don't drink like that."
Martha appeared immediately, snatching the bottle from Clark's hands with a practiced motion.
"Milk tastes better cold," Clark said with a grin, raising both hands in surrender.
The future Superman, currently a lanky seventeen-year-old, looked thoroughly amused.
"Where did your table manners go, Clark?" Martha asked with a tired shake of her head.
Time had passed quietly over the years. A few gentle wrinkles now rested at the corners of her eyes, though her warmth remained unchanged.
"Sit down and eat, David," she added. "The school bus will be here soon."
"Good morning, you two sleepyheads."
Jonathan Kent entered the house just then, having finished feeding the cows outside. The tall farmer pulled off his jacket, which was speckled with bits of grass, and tossed it casually onto the sofa.
He took the milk bottle from Martha's hand.
Then he drank directly from it.
Two large gulps.
His actions were identical to Clark's earlier.
"Well," he said with satisfaction, wiping his mouth. "Now that's refreshing."
Martha stared at him in disbelief.
"Well… now I know where Clark learned that."
She pressed a hand to her forehead.
Victor calmly poured himself a glass of milk and took a bite of warm bread.
"Dad, I remember Mom telling you to shake your coat off outside before coming in after feeding the cows," he said casually.
As he spoke, a few pieces of grass fell from Jonathan's jacket onto the sofa.
Jonathan froze awkwardly and glanced toward his wife.
"Next time," he said quickly. "I'll remember next time."
He pulled out a chair at the table and sat down, coughing lightly.
"Actually," he added with forced seriousness, "I think buying a fabric sofa was a mistake. We live on a farm after all."
"There's finally someone on my side in this house."
Martha smiled warmly and rested her hands on Victor's shoulders.
Then she gave both Jonathan and Clark a meaningful look.
Clark rubbed his forehead in embarrassment.
He couldn't deny it.
Growing up on a farm had given him the same rough habits as his father, while Victor was much more careful about things like cleanliness.
"Helplessness from Superman Clark +3."
The familiar stream of information flashed briefly across Victor's vision.
He calmly took another bite of bread without even blinking.
Growing up alongside Clark had been incredibly convenient.
After all, Clark Kent was basically a walking gold mine of emotional energy.
Victor's rapid progress in fusing the Thanos Template was largely thanks to his older brother.
Technically speaking, Victor had arrived on Earth first.
However, Clark had traveled across space inside the Kryptonian ship for years before reaching Earth. Because of that, Clark was physically older despite arriving only days later.
So Clark became the eldest son.
Victor became the younger brother.
"What are you looking at, Clark?"
Martha noticed Clark staring at a piece of paper while eating and smiled curiously.
"Permission slip."
Clark quickly tried to fold the paper and hide it.
Jonathan paused while spreading jam on his bread.
"What kind of permission slip?"
"The football team is holding tryouts this afternoon," Victor said casually.
He attended the same school and the same class as Clark.
And if Victor didn't say it now, Clark would end up telling their parents honestly anyway.
"Clark…"
The atmosphere around the table instantly changed.
Martha and Jonathan exchanged a quiet glance.
Martha hesitated, unsure how to respond.
"What's wrong?" Clark asked nervously. "Dad, you played football when you were in school."
"But you're different, Clark."
Jonathan's expression became serious as he chose his words carefully.
"We all know that."
Years ago, when Jonathan had loaded the mysterious spaceship onto his pickup truck and brought Clark home, he and Martha had wondered whether the baby was truly an alien.
After all, Clark looked completely human.
He had no horns, no tail, and no strange skin color.
But that illusion had ended quickly.
"You lifted a pickup truck with one hand when you were seven."
Jonathan still remembered the moment clearly.
He had been repairing a car on the farm when the jack suddenly slipped. The one-ton vehicle tilted dangerously and began to fall.
Before Jonathan could react—
Clark lifted it.
The seven-year-old boy raised the car like it was nothing more than a plastic dinosaur toy and casually moved it aside.
What Jonathan didn't see at the time was that Victor had reached the car even faster.
Neither of them noticed.
To both boys, something weighing one ton had simply been too light.
"I'll control my strength," Clark said seriously now.
Looking into his parents' eyes, he spoke with determination.
"I promise I won't hurt anyone."
He hoped his sincerity would convince them.
"Sports are about competition," Victor said suddenly, sounding thoughtful.
"They're about testing yourself and enjoying the challenge."
He tilted his head slightly.
"But I don't quite understand something, dear brother."
Especially football.
A game built entirely around collisions, tackles, and players crashing into each other while charging across the field with the ball.
"What exactly do you gain from joining the school team?"
Compared to Clark's Kryptonian body, ordinary humans were practically fragile glass.
Clark would spend the entire game worrying about accidentally injuring someone.
"Dad, I'll be careful," Clark insisted.
But Jonathan's eyes became even more uncertain.
"Other families spoil their younger sons," Clark thought bitterly.
"In this house they worry about me instead."
His younger brother always spoke like he was helping—but somehow those words made things worse every time.
"I know you would," Jonathan said gently. "But what if something happens?"
Jonathan had played football himself.
He knew how violent the sport could be.
Players slammed into each other every few seconds.
"How can an elephant run through a field of kittens without hurting one eventually?"
"I…"
Clark hesitated.
Just like every other time, his father's calm but firm reasoning left him unable to argue.
"What if…"
"What if…"
"What if…"
Clark hated those words.
How could he possibly prove something wouldn't happen?
"Dad, I've had enough."
Frustration finally broke through.
Clark's voice rose slightly.
"I'm tired of avoiding everything," he said. "I'm tired of sitting quietly in the corner at school reading books while everyone else is out there living their lives."
He clenched his fists.
"I could be popular too, just like everyone else."