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

"No, that won't happen, Star-Lord. You'll definitely outlive your dad—live a long, long life."

Peter was stunned for a few seconds. Taking a deep breath, he asked, "Why would you think that?"

"Because I don't want to feel what it's like to lose you, Dad," Star-Lord replied in a low voice. "Dad, do you remember the mixtape I gave you?"

"I do."

"There's a song on it by a British singer," Star-Lord said softly, reciting a lyric:

"I want to die before you, so I never, never see the glory of this perfect day fade or disappear!"

"If I die before you, Dad, I won't have to experience the perfect day's glory fading or vanishing."

Peter didn't expect Star-Lord's heart to be so sensitive and delicate. Feeling a mix of emotions, he pulled his son close to his chest. "That won't happen. I won't let it. You'll never die before me."

His thoughts suddenly drifted to a conversation he'd had with John about birthdays. He had once thought of birthdays as revolving doors, taking him farther and deeper into life, until one day they became an inevitability, devoid of meaning.

But now, holding Star-Lord, birthdays seemed to take on a new significance.

He gazed out at the dark night through the window, the silvery moonlight casting a soft glow across the ground.

The next morning, Peter called Officer Chandler to inquire about the incident at the Smallville Orphanage.

After the "Lucifer" incident, Chandler maintained a cautious distance from Peter, fully aware of his fearsome potential and dreading the possibility of displeasing him.

"Ahem," Chandler coughed, trying to sound calm. "The police are investigating, but so far, we have no solid leads. However, it reminds me of something from a few years back—do you remember? People and livestock in the town had their blood drained. But..."

He hesitated before continuing, "This time, it's different. The bodies look like they've been naturally desiccated."

"I see." Peter nodded.

Incidents like this had happened in Smallville multiple times, usually caused by humans mutated by green kryptonite. This town frequently unearthed fragments of kryptonite—and kryptonite-infected mutants.

Martian Manhunter had it right: Clark's healthy upbringing was nothing short of miraculous.

"Clark!" Peter called out to the young man hammering nails outside after hanging up the phone. "It's getting late. You should head to school."

Scratching his head, Clark replied, "Godfather, I don't feel like going to school today."

"Why not?"

"I want to help fix the farm."

Clark felt it was his responsibility to repair the damage, knowing it wouldn't have happened if he hadn't worn the red kryptonite ring.

"I think these workers will handle it just fine." Peter gestured to the busy laborers nearby. "Now off to school."

Clark wanted to argue but relented when he saw Peter's firm expression. With a resigned face, he nodded and left.

Smallville – Talon Club

Chandler exhaled in relief after hanging up with Peter. Talking to Peter always left him on edge.

"Maybe I should apply for early retirement," he muttered, draining his glass.

Sitting beside him was a young man in a baseball cap and a black wool coat. If John were here, he'd immediately recognize this down-and-out youth—Bruce Wayne.

Having eavesdropped on Chandler's conversation, Bruce stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. As he approached a vending machine to grab a drink, a cry for help caught his attention.

Turning, he saw a group of bikers harassing a waitress.

"Hey! Don't you know there's a cop here?" Bruce pointed toward Chandler, only to realize the officer had disappeared.

"A cop? You scrawny punk, are you looking for trouble?" the biker gang leader sneered.

"Honestly, I'd rather avoid it—but it seems inevitable."

Seeing the cop was useless, Bruce decided to handle it himself.

The gang leader's veins bulged in anger. "Fine! Let's see if you're still this cocky later."

At his signal, the bikers charged at Bruce.

Bruce deftly sidestepped the first attacker, a burly Black man, and kicked him from behind. The man tumbled into a table, smashing it and spilling drinks everywhere. Without pausing, Bruce turned to the next assailant, dodging his punch and delivering a powerful blow to his nose, knocking him unconscious.

"Damn it! Get him!" the gang leader roared, even angrier that his men were being overpowered.

Realizing he was outnumbered, Bruce retreated toward the emergency exit.

The gang leader, built like a bull, charged after him, knocking over customers and tables in his path. The bar descended into chaos.

Escaping into an alley, Bruce found himself cornered in a dead end.

"Figures," he muttered, setting down his bag and cracking his knuckles.

The gang leader rushed at him like a freight train. Bruce landed a solid punch to his face, but it barely fazed the man. The brute grabbed Bruce in a bear hug, squeezing with terrifying strength.

Feeling his head pounding and his senses dulling, Bruce remained calm. With all his strength, he slammed his forehead into the man's nose. The sudden blow made the gang leader howl in pain, loosening his grip. Seizing the moment, Bruce elbowed him hard in the face, sending the hulking man crashing to the ground.

Half an Hour Later

Bruce stood at the farm's entrance, staring in disbelief at the wreckage.

"Did Mr. Podrick's farm get hit by a bomb? Or did I get the address wrong?" He double-checked the paper in his hand.

"Hey, Mr. Podrick!" Bruce called out as Peter emerged from the house. Seeing Peter for the first time in years, Bruce couldn't contain his excitement.

Peter looked at the tall, handsome young man before him, unsure. "Are you... Bruce Wayne?"

"Yes, sir. It's me, Bruce Wayne," Bruce confirmed, hugging him. "I can't believe you haven't aged a day!"

Peter chuckled. "I'm not that old."

Though Bruce had written him letters over the years, they hadn't seen each other in person.

"I can't believe how much you've grown," Peter remarked. "Are you an adult now, Bruce?"

"Seventeen—almost there," Bruce replied with a smile.

Peter eyed his bag. "So... running away from home?"

"Not exactly. I'm past that phase," Bruce assured him.

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Really? The Bruce Wayne I remember was a headstrong, rebellious kid."

"This time, my rebellion has a purpose. I'm planning to travel the world, learning from people and experiences to achieve my goals."

Peter nodded. "And your first stop is here?"

"This is my starting point," Bruce admitted, glancing awkwardly at the farm's state. "Um, can I stay here for a few days?"

Star-Lord eyed Bruce suspiciously as he helped with the repairs. "Dad, is he a homeless guy?"

"Technically, he's about to become one," Peter quipped.

Star-Lord's expression softened with pity. "Oh, so he doesn't have parents anymore?"

...

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