"Come down for breakfast, David."
His mother Martha's voice called from downstairs, "You and Clark are going to be late for school."
"Coming, Mother."
The golden morning sun poured through the window into the house. David, having just finished washing up, replied and changed out of his pajamas.
With short, jet-black hair, deep and sculpted features, and a tall, slender build, his clothes revealed a body of lean muscle when removed, giving off a clean and steady impression, like a silent, ancient Greek sculpture.
"What a shame..."
As he stood before the mirror, David clenched his fist. His bones and muscles, stronger than high-density alloys, tensed and exerted force, a terrifying power akin to a volcanic eruption surging within him.
His skin rapidly turned purple, and his jawline hardened into rugged lines like geological ravines, imparting an unspoken majesty. In the mirror, he resembled a silent king gazing intently.
"The progress of the Thanos fusion template keeps rising, but whenever I exert too much force, the skin color issue still hasn't improved."
Template Fusion Progress: 81%
He glanced at the progress. As he relaxed, his skin color gradually faded, and he put on his clothes.
A hint of helplessness on his face, he walked down the stairs.
"What is this supposed to be?
Am I retaining a bit of the original to know I'm merging with the Thanos template?"
Still, at least he didn't end up like Thanos, standing two meters sixty-seven, with beady eyes and a bald head like a purple sweet potato.
David touched his hair, sighing inwardly.
He, a high schooler, really couldn't handle that kind of strongman hairstyle.
Ding!
The crisp sound of the toaster.
In the living room downstairs, the aroma of toasted bread wafted into his nose.
Tap, tap, tap!
As David descended the stairs, light footsteps followed behind him.
"Good morning, David."
Clark, taller than his younger brother and with striking blue eyes, entered the living room. Feeling thirsty, he casually opened the refrigerator and looked back. "Want some milk to wake you up?"
As he spoke, he took out a large bottle of milk, drank a couple of gulps directly from it.
David's eyebrows shot up. He walked towards the dining table, ignoring his foolish older brother.
"You can't drink it like that, Clark."
His mother Martha quickly came over, snatching the cold milk from his hand.
"Milk straight from the fridge tastes better," the future Superman, still just a seventeen or eighteen-year-old youth, said with a smile, raising his hand.
"What about our household manners, Clark?"
Martha, having just finished preparing breakfast, spoke with a headache.
Over the past decade, a few fine lines had subtly appeared at the corners of the mother's eyes.
"Sit down and eat breakfast, David, or you'll miss the school bus."
"Morning, you two sleepyheads."
Jonathan, a burly man who had just finished milking the cows on the farm, entered the house, took off his hay-dusted coat, and draped it over the sofa.
He took the milk bottle from his wife and naturally took a couple of swigs, commenting on his two sons who had just woken up.
His actions were almost identical to Clark's just moments before.
"Alright, I know where our household manners went."
Seeing this, Martha covered her forehead.
"Remember after we got the new sofa, Mother told you to brush yourself off outside after milking the cows before coming inside, Dad."
Taking the bottle from his father, David poured himself a glass of milk, took a bite of the steaming bread, and said unhurriedly.
Some hay from his coat had gotten on the living room sofa.
"Next time, I'll definitely remember next time."
Jonathan, accustomed to his rough hands, looked back at his wife with a hint of embarrassment.
He pulled out a chair by the dining table, sat down, coughed a couple of times, and said solemnly.
"Actually, I think choosing this fabric sofa that's hard to clean was a mistake.
We do live on a farm, after all."
"At least there's someone else in this Kent household who's like me."
Martha, the gentle one, didn't get angry about the sofa getting dirty. She placed a hand on her younger son's shoulder, who was speaking up for her, and raised her eyebrows with relief at the two men.
Clark rubbed his forehead to hide his face, unable to deny it. Having been born and raised on a farm, he, like his father, rarely paid attention to household cleanliness, while his younger brother David was more meticulous.
"A helpless sigh from Superman Clark +3."
Information streams flashed before his eyes, but David didn't even lift an eyelid, taking another bite of his bread.
He had to admit, it was precisely because he grew up with Clark, a walking gold mine, that his Thanos template fused so quickly, granting him power unimaginable to ordinary people.
In terms of age, David was the one who arrived first for the Kent couple.
But unfortunately, the son of Krypton had traveled in space for a while before reaching Earth, so he looked noticeably older than David, who had only been born a few days ago.
Thus, the son of Krypton became the older brother, and David became the younger son.
"What are you looking at, Clark?"
Martha sat down and took a sip of milk. Seeing her elder son staring at a piece of paper while eating, lost in happy thoughts, she couldn't help but smile.
"A permission slip."
Clark, flustered, tried to quickly put the slip away.
"A permission slip for what?" Jonathan, his father, paused his action of picking up the jam knife and cast his gaze over.
"The school's football team. Tryouts are this afternoon," David, who was in the same class as Clark at the same school, added casually.
If he hadn't said anything, his honest Kryptonian brother would have told their loving adoptive parents the truth anyway.
"Clark..."
Upon hearing about the football team tryouts, the atmosphere at the dinner table shifted. It suddenly became quiet, with only David continuing to eat nonchalantly.
The couple exchanged a look; Martha seemed to want to say something but hesitated.
"What's wrong? Dad, you played football on the school team too."
Clark, eager to join the football team, felt a sense of unease and looked at his father, the head of the household.
"But you're different, Clark. We both know that."
Jonathan's expression turned serious. He tried to soften his tone when speaking to his teenage son.
After using his pickup truck to transport the spaceship and bring Clark home, the couple had wondered if this foundling baby was truly an alien.
He looked exactly like a human, with no horns on his head, no tail on his back, and no strange skin color.
"You could lift a pickup truck with one hand when you were little."
This realization came one day when Clark was seven. He was fixing a car on the farm when the jack slipped, and the car, weighing over a ton, was about to crush him.
Beside him, a young and innocent Clark, exhibiting unimaginable strength, held up the car and moved it aside as if lifting a plastic dinosaur toy.
However—Jonathan, who was so shocked his eyes widened, didn't see that his biological younger son had already reached out faster.
Clark also hadn't noticed, as anything weighing over a ton was incredibly light for both of them.
"I'll try to hold back my strength on the field," Clark promised earnestly, looking at his parents, wanting to sway his father.
"The charm of sports lies in the exhilarating competition with others and surpassing yourself," David suddenly interjected, feigning confusion. "I don't quite understand, my dear brother..."
Especially in football, or American football, with its intense physical contact, where players charge around the field carrying the ball.
"Joining the school football team, what part of that can you experience?"
Compared to the young son of Krypton, a human's body was like fragile glass that would shatter at the slightest touch. On the field, he would likely be so focused on controlling his strength that he wouldn't be able to enjoy anything else.
"Dad, I promise I'll be careful."
Hearing his younger brother call him "dear brother" repeatedly, yet his words made his parents' eyes turn suspicious, Clark felt deeply frustrated.
It was probably because other families doted on their younger sons, while theirs unusually paid more attention to their elder son. This younger brother of his always targeted him, claiming it was for his own good.
"I know you will, but what if, I mean, what if an accident happens?"
Precisely because he had played football, Jonathan knew that the football field was a constant scene of running and collisions.
How could an elephant, while running at full speed, avoid injuring a kitten every time it bumped into one?
"I..."
As always, sensing the seriousness and firmness hidden within his father's gentle words, Clark dejectedly conceded.
It was always like this; as soon as they spoke, it was "what if," "in case," "if only..."
With that said, how could he possibly refute them?
"Dad, I've had enough."
Young Clark felt increasingly aggrieved the more he thought about it, his voice rising slightly with emotion.
"I've had enough of hiding from all activities, sitting in a corner of the campus reading quietly, unable to do anything. Even though I could be more popular like others..."
Thank you all for your collections and follow-ups. I'm rushing to organize the plot, and once I get the contract, I'll start updating twice a day.
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