Chapter 27: A Zu’s Enrollment Chronicles

A week later.

Homelander proudly showed off his birthday gift to Clark.

Clark had been discharged from the hospital that very same day, and with great magnanimity, he had forgiven Homelander for accidentally dropping a lawnmower on his head.

Dressed in a child-sized version of his past life's Homelander suit, the boy struck a pose, arms crossed firmly across his chest.

"Well? Pretty cool, right?"

"Uh..."

Clark looked at the flashy suit and asked, "Do you really like this outfit?"

"Of course, it was a gift from Dad."

Homelander insisted that he thought the suit was incredibly cool. "This is the exclusive Homelander set, that’s what Dad said."

Clark wasn't particularly interested in the "exclusive set." What he envied was that his godfather had taken Homelander to the amusement park and the museum on his birthday.

The amusement park had featured a performance by the Smallville High School band at 6:00 PM, along with a group called the "Happy Barber Shop" band. At 10:00 PM, the park had even hosted a grand fireworks display.

As for the museum, it was filled with the collection of Old Mike, the local librarian and amateur historian. Recently, the town's oldest family had even lent out their priceless heirlooms, including restaurant menus from the 1890s, lumberjack cables, axes, and peaveys from the 1880s, and toys from the 1920s.

However, word was that the Women’s Auxiliary had rejected some of Old Mike’s collection. Items like the infamous 1930s chair-shaped cage and several photographs of gangster shootouts had been disallowed by the committee.

"I wonder what Godfather will get me for my birthday," Clark began to fantasize, even though his own birthday was still eight months away.

Homelander, oblivious to Clark’s daydreams, had returned to a sullen state after his perfect birthday. "Dad told me to control my strength. He said the new school term is starting soon, and I have to learn to master myself before he drops you and me off."

Though Homelander longed for the school life he had never experienced, the thought of his father’s special training made his brows knit into a tight knot.

Hearing about the training, Clark felt a twinge of sympathy. Peter wasn't just training Homelander; he was training him, too. However, since Clark’s current abilities were limited to just being a bit stronger and having a "tough hide," the difficulty of his training was an order of magnitude lower than Homelander’s.

"Are you looking forward to school, Homelander?" Clark asked.

"A little, but I’d rather stay on the farm and be a cowboy."

Homelander declared that his current dream was to inherit his father’s farm. He glanced at Clark, feeling that the boy might eventually threaten his line of succession. Maybe not now, but what about in the future?

Whenever things were progressing normally, a third party always seemed to appear at the critical moment to ruin everything. This was a new conclusion Homelander had reached, inspired by the TV show *The Fugitive*, where the protagonists’ success was always thwarted by some interloper.

Homelander didn't voice his thoughts. He rubbed his itchy nose and asked, "What about you, Clark? Do you like the idea of school?"

"Yes, I’m looking forward to it."

Clark thought of Lana. She should be starting second grade soon, and he would finally be able to see her once he started school.

...

"Screech!"

Peter pulled the car up outside the school and said to Homelander and Clark in the back seat, "Alright, warriors, it’s time for the battlefield. Keep your spirits up; don't embarrass yourselves."

With the new term beginning, Homelander had largely learned to control his strength after emotional outbursts, and the Kents had finally agreed to Clark’s enrollment. They were arriving on the very last day of the registration period.

Clark swallowed hard and stepped out of the car, his backpack slung over his shoulders.

The iron gate of the school was topped with fleur-de-lis spikes that, to Clark, looked like rows of teeth. A hungry black dog bared its metal-looking fangs, making his already nervous heart beat even faster.

A guard stood at the entrance—an elderly Black man with eyes sunken behind skin that looked like crawling slugs, and pale, wire-brush-like stubble sprouting from his cheeks. To Clark, he looked like a demon guarding the gates of an evil castle.

Peter didn't realize that Clark had already envisioned the school as an evil fortress. After dropping them off, Jonathan had headed back to the farm, leaving Peter to handle the registration.

Peter led the two boys down the winding path. Just then, a woman approached from the opposite direction. She was a stunning beauty with a curvaceous figure, carrying a stack of books. As she brushed past Peter, she suddenly froze.

She turned around after a long moment, staring at Peter’s back.

Martha McDonald felt a storm brewing in her heart. As the woman who had witnessed Peter single-handedly take down a gang of mobsters during the Frank syndicate incident, she stood rooted to the spot, stunned.

Struggling with the trauma of her previous kidnapping, she had sought a fresh start and resigned from her old school to take a teaching position at the Smallville elementary school. She never expected to run into the man who had saved her!

Was she mistaken? No, it couldn't be. Even though he wasn't wearing glasses and his demeanor seemed completely different, she had been sensitive to human scents since she was a child. If she remembered a person’s scent profile, she could always identify them.

Should she follow him, or walk away as if nothing happened? After a moment of hesitation, she decided to follow.

Inside the principal's office, Peter was discussing the boys' enrollment when he suddenly turned his head toward the door.

"Is there a problem?" the principal, an elegant man in a leather jacket, asked. "Mr. Patrick?"

"No, my apologies, Principal. Let's continue."

After leaving the office, Peter glanced down the hallway. He had keenly sensed someone standing outside eavesdropping the moment they arrived. Was it that woman?

He had recognized her when they passed by earlier—she was the woman nearly brutalized by the Frank gang that night. She had been tailing him all the way to the principal's office.

Did she recognize him? He frowned slightly, a question rising in his mind. The night had been dark, and he had deliberately altered his physique and appearance. Could she possibly have identified him?

He looked down at Clark, who was wearing the black-rimmed glasses he had given him, and pinched the boy's cheek. This kid was the real master of disguise; a pair of glasses was all it took.

"Godfather?" Clark, confused by the gesture, looked up with a puzzled expression.