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

Wayne Manor.

Bruce stood at the door, hesitating, unable to bring himself to enter.

Glancing back at Peter, who stood behind him with an encouraging gaze, Bruce finally pressed the doorbell with some trepidation.

The chime rang, and Alfred opened the door, stepping out.

When Alfred saw Bruce standing outside, their eyes met, and a flash of astonishment crossed Alfred's face. He quickly walked forward.

"Bruce!"

Bruce looked at Alfred nervously. He knew there might be another Bruce inside the manor and wasn't sure if Alfred could tell them apart.

Before Bruce's thoughts could settle, Alfred clasped his hands with an emotional expression.

"Master Bruce, you're back at last!"

Bruce stared blankly at Alfred and stammered, "Alfred... you—you know about the fake Bruce?"

"Yes, I know. Although he impersonated you well, he eventually slipped up. That call from Metropolis earlier—was that from you, Master Bruce?"

"Yes, it was."

Bruce gripped Alfred's hands, feeling the familiar warmth he had missed for so long. His heart surged with mixed emotions.

After a moment, he raised his head and asked, "Where is the fake Bruce now, Alfred?"

"He's gone," Alfred said with a hint of regret.

After a brief conversation about the imposter, Alfred asked Bruce about his recent experiences.

"It was Mr. Podrick who brought me back," Bruce said, pointing to where Peter had been standing—only to find the spot empty.

Peter was gone.

The place where he had stood was now vacant. The slender, fragile pine needles whispered in the wind, and shadows of the trees swayed as though Peter might step out at any moment and greet them.

But Bruce knew Peter would probably never emerge from those shadows again.

"I..."

Taking a deep breath, Bruce said to Alfred, "I've been in Metropolis these past days. I met a man who took care of me all this time."

"Who was he?" Alfred asked curiously.

"Peter Podrick," Bruce replied, his tone lightening as he continued. "Alfred, do you remember that Christmas outfit I had custom-made? The one made of space-grade material, with a small gold plaque on the chest? What if... we replaced the plaque with a bat symbol?"

Alfred looked puzzled. "That suit still exists, Master Bruce. But what do you plan to do with it?"

"I... I want to become something like Mr. Podrick—a figure of fear in the night," Bruce said, looking out at the street beyond the manor.

"The chaos out there hasn't stopped, Alfred. We can do something to help prevent more terrible things from happening. You'll support me, won't you?"

Alfred stared at Bruce in stunned silence. For a moment, he felt that the young master had grown up.

Finally, he nodded. "Of course, Master Bruce."

The Next Day.

With the wildfire gradually extinguished, the fire alarm for Smallville was lifted.

Peter and the Kent family drove back to their farm.

Podrick Farm.

"Life's like rolling dice," Azu suddenly remarked.

Clark, who was helping organize the farm tools, looked at him in confusion.

"Are you tired, John?"

"No, I just didn't expect us to return so soon—and for the farm to have escaped the fire."

Azu set a pitchfork aside, his mood visibly light. "When I come of age, I'll inherit Dad's farm."

"Don't you want to go to college?" Clark asked, puzzled.

"No, I don't."

"But Godfather said we'd all go to college."

Azu shrugged. "Bruce didn't."

"He's... unique," Clark replied.

"Unique? He's just rich. If not for Dad, he'd have been kidnapped by traffickers ages ago," Azu said dismissively.

Clark, curious about Azu's animosity toward Bruce, asked, "Do you hate Bruce, John?"

"Yes. And I'm sure he hates me too," Azu replied nonchalantly.

"Maybe he's secretly planning how to deal with me," Azu added with a smirk. "My skull could make a nice candy dish—or maybe a lamp."

Clark stared at Azu, stunned by his macabre imagination.

Recently, Azu had probably been watching too many horror movies. Making a candy dish out of a skull? That was absurd!

Azu, oblivious to Clark's shock, continued, "Have you seen Mexico's Day of the Dead, Clark? The colorful altars—bananas, pan de muerto, marigolds, mangoes, red ribbons, yellow ribbons."

"But what stood out most were the sugar skulls. Hard meringue skulls symbolizing death, decorated with candies to form eyes and mouths. They probably taste amazing. I need to ask Dad to buy me some."

Clark, overwhelmed by Azu's vivid descriptions of the festival, began to worry.

He resolved to tell their godfather about Azu's growing obsession with sugar skulls.

That Evening.

Peter was in the living room, talking with Martian Manhunter.

Manhunter hadn't returned to Smallville but was still in Metropolis, following Peter's instructions to establish an orphanage.

The orphanage housed the street kids who had helped Bruce in Metropolis, escapees from the Owl Lab, and others.

Peter wasn't doing it out of pure goodwill; it was part of his future plans. The firestarter, whose memory had been sealed and normalcy restored by Manhunter, was a safety net for potential use later.

After hanging up, the doorbell rang.

Peter opened the door to find a federal courier outside.

"Mr. Podrick?"

"Yes."

"There's a package for you. Please sign here."

Peter, surprised, took the package, went upstairs, and opened it.

Inside were a $20,000 check and a deed of ownership for a Metropolis bar. The document listed his name as the new owner.

"That was fast," Peter muttered, amused at Bruce's quick actions.

As he packed the items away, a sound caught his attention.

A watch, sleek and elegant, fell from the package.

Peter picked it up, inspecting the intricate patterns on its surface.

Bruce had insisted on sending him the watch, after all.

Peter shook his head and glanced at the system watch on his wrist.

Unfortunately, the system watch was irremovable, so Bruce's gift would remain a collectible for now.

He extended his arm and stared at the system watch's slow-moving hands, which were nearing their endpoint.

Was this a sign that the second child was about to arrive?

Lost in thought, Peter rose and gazed out at the darkening sky.

...

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