Chapter Seven: The Crumpled Paper Basketball Game

“Dad?”

“Something on your mind, John?”

On the farm, after dinner, Peter and Azur were playing a game of crumpled paper basketball.

They competed to see who could toss their balled-up paper into the wastebasket first.

For Peter, who was gradually becoming a superhuman, this posed no difficulty at all.

But to keep the game interesting, he deliberately aimed slightly off-target instead of landing perfect shots.

“I do have something. Clark and I had a fight,” Azur said gloomily, tossing his paper ball toward the bin.

With a soft “plop,” it landed inside, but because he threw it too hard, it quickly bounced back out.

This only worsened his mood.

In the past, when playing this game with his father, he had always been able to control his strength precisely.

He knew he had a tendency to use too much force, so with his father’s help, he had learned to regulate it.

“A fight? What were you two arguing about?”

Peter balled up another sheet of newspaper and turned to face young Azur.

Azur looked a bit guilty as he said, “I said some harsh things.”

“So you think you hurt him, right?”

“A little.”

Peter casually tossed the paper ball forward, and with a crisp “snap,” it obediently landed in the wastebasket.

He clapped his hands. “Seems like I’m luckier tonight—I’ve scored three already.”

He knew why Azur had quarreled with Clark.

Clark tended to cling to him, sharing every little thing that happened.

This time, Clark had played the little snitch, telling Peter about Azur nearly cutting a car in half with his heat vision.

Peter wasn’t surprised that Azur had done something like that.

After all, the boy liked to cause trouble with his heat vision—he once shot a chicken with it in a past life, and as a child, he had even split a gunman down the middle.

Peter also noticed that Azur’s personality had some issues.

Though not as severe as in his previous life, he wasn’t as steady as Clark.

For example, the past Azur had suffered from a lack of love, craving acceptance and obsessing over others’ opinions.

The current Azur showed similar signs—sensitive and yearning for affection.

If Peter paid Clark a bit more attention, Azur immediately felt abandoned.

In his past life, Azur was mercurial, prone to shooting someone in the head one moment and smiling calmly the next.

The boy still had such traits.

One moment he was laughing and playing games; the next, he’d push down and violently beat a kid who was whispering bad things about him.

Now, the issue wasn’t just personality—it had escalated to attempted murder.

He was planning to take out the hooked-nose man who threatened him, though he didn’t want to do it so blatantly.

After all, that approach was not only risky but easy to trace.

Still, Peter approved of Azur’s desire to protect himself.

His mind racing with thoughts, Peter cleared his throat and said to the dejected Azur, “If you think you hurt Clark and realize your mistake, then it means you don’t want this friendship to end, right?”

Azur blinked. “Right.”

“So what do you think is the best way to handle it?”

“I… should apologize to Clark?”

“Exactly.”

“But…” Azur hesitated, “Won’t that make me look bad? Like I’m wrong?”

He cared deeply about how others perceived him.

Peter tousled Azur’s golden hair, sensing what he wanted to say. “No, it will actually make you seem more mature than Clark.”

Azur’s eyes lit up immediately. “Dad, you really think I’m more mature than Clark?”

“Of course.”

Azur’s gloomy mood lifted at once.

“Except when it comes to apologizing.”

Peter asked him, “Is there anything else you want to tell me, John?”

Azur hesitated. “No, nothing.”

“Really?”

Under Peter’s sharp gaze, he grew uneasy.

“I think… maybe I did something wrong.”

Though he wanted to hide it, he faltered under Peter’s scrutiny.

Peter didn’t only teach him gently; sometimes he punished him.

Like banning TV for a day or forcing him to eat vegetarian for three days.

Though not physical punishment, these were even scarier.

Azur would rather take a beating—he was tough and barely felt pain.

So cautiously, he confessed about how his heat vision caused the hooked-nose man’s car accident.

“Did I do something wrong? Dad, Clark said I did.”

Confused, Azur asked Peter.

“No, it’s not about right or wrong,” Peter said.

“You hurt him because he tried to hurt us, right?”

“Yes.”

Azur nodded repeatedly. “He wanted to hurt you, Dad.”

“Yes, they should be punished. But not like this.”

Peter tried to teach Azur to be more thoughtful.

“Not everyone in that car deserved death, and besides, this way you’re too easily discovered.”

Peter said, “Until you have enough control, Azur, you must never expose your power.”

“I… I understand, Dad.”

Azur nodded, half understanding.

“Good. Now go rest.”

“Good night, Dad.”

After saying good night, Azur headed upstairs.

“Don’t forget your milk—drink it all before bed,” Peter reminded him.

“Okay, Dad.”

Azur ran up the stairs with quick steps.

Drinking milk seemed etched into Azur’s very genes.

Growing up on the farm, he had a strange passion for milk.

Even without Peter reminding him, he would gulp it all down in one go.

After Azur went upstairs, Peter sat down and casually pulled out the mail from the mailbox.

It was mostly flyers from the Christian Fellowship and bank investment ads.

Skimming through, he picked out a funeral notice.

“Louis Wilson?”

Peter furrowed his brow as he looked at the sender’s name.

This seemed to be his original body’s cousin.

Since inhabiting this body, he rarely contacted distant relatives; their memories had grown fuzzy.

Opening the notice, he saw that his cousin also lived in Smallville.

The cousin’s youngest son had died in a car accident, and the funeral was set for the day after tomorrow.

They hoped Peter would attend.

Attend the funeral?

Peter set the letter down and gazed out into the night.