Kent Farm.
Adrian and Clark sat at the dining table, waiting as Martha worked with flour and sugar in front of the fireplace, baking cookies that filled the room with warmth.
Rachel sat in her high chair nearby, her bright eyes fixed on her two older brothers. She was still small, but her gaze was unblinking, curious, and from time to time she reached out her tiny hand as though she had discovered something wondrous.
"State Councilor?" Adrian frowned slightly, turning his attention to Jonathan. "Dad, why do you suddenly want to run for State Councilor?"
Jonathan, seated comfortably at the head of the table, spoke with calm resolve. "It was suggested by members of the state government. After careful consideration, I agreed. If I can do something for Smallville, running for State Councilor is a challenge — but not an impossible one."
Martha listened and smiled, pulling her gloves on as she prepared to take the freshly baked cookies from the hearth.
"Let me help," Jonathan said, rising to assist.
"No need," Martha replied with a tender smile. "I can manage this much. What you should be thinking about now is how you're going to win."
Jonathan chuckled and reached for a cookie, but it was too hot.
"Ouch!" he yelped, instinctively pulling his hand back.
Martha laughed softly. "You deserved that, Jonathan! And we already have enough politicians with their hands in the cookie jar."
Jonathan shrugged with good humor. "So that means you're urging me to run?"
"No," Martha said, arranging the cookies on a plate, "I just hope you succeed."
Jonathan took a seat and picked up a cookie, savoring its warmth. "I'll do my best. But right now, I just want to enjoy the holiday and spend time with family."
"President's Day, right?" Martha replied. "If it weren't for schools and services being closed, I doubt anyone would celebrate it. After all, it has little to do with us."
Today was February 22, President's Day — a federal holiday in the United States honoring George Washington's memory. Although many stores held sales, everyday life in Smallville hummed on.
"As long as I get to spend this day with family," Jonathan said, taking a bite, "it's memorable enough for me."
Rachel's eyes gleamed at the sight of his cookie. Jonathan broke off a small piece and gently brought it toward her mouth. Curious and smiling, Rachel leaned forward, ready to taste it.
But Martha quickly intervened. "Jonathan, no. You can't feed Rachel that — she's allergic to peanut butter. The doctor warned us."
Jonathan looked embarrassed. "Sorry, I just wanted to see her reaction."
Martha picked Rachel up and cradled her in her arms. "Children her age are curious about everything. You remember when Clark was very young? He loved swallowing crayons. If we hadn't stopped him, who knows how many boxes we would have found inside him."
Clark blushed at the memory. "Did I? I don't remember that."
"Oh yes," Martha replied, checking little Rachel's mouth gently. "Adrian used to draw with crayons, and you always watched him. Sometimes you'd grab one and try to taste it. If Jonathan and I hadn't noticed early, you probably would have eaten the whole box."
"Maybe, but I don't remember that," Clark said with a sheepish smile, glancing at Adrian.
"Hmm, I remember," Adrian affirmed casually. "Besides eating crayons, Clark's favorite childhood activity was somersaults."
Rachel giggled, and Clark just smiled awkwardly.
After tasting a cookie himself, Adrian stood and walked toward Martha.
"Can I hold her, Mom?" he asked gently.
"Of course," Martha said, passing little Rachel to Adrian with a serene smile.
Cradling Rachel in his arms, Adrian noticed her bright eyes and the small red dot on her forehead — a birthmark that seemed almost symbolic of her vibrant energy. Rachel snuggled comfortably against him, as though sensing a warm presence within him.
She reached up and grasped Adrian's clothes, soon closing her eyes and drifting into a peaceful sleep. Her trust warmed something deep within him.
Adrian reached out and gently stroked the red dot between her eyebrows. A powerful warmth flowed through his fingers into his chest, settling some of the violent emotion he carried. For someone like Adrian, this gentle energy was unexpected, soothing something unresolved within him.
But Rachel shifted in his arms, frowning briefly, sensing the complex emotions she could not fully name. She turned, released her hold on his robes, and clasped his hand that brushed her forehead.
"I think Rachel can see things we can't," Martha said softly. "She feels emotions deeply. When I'm happy, she is. When I'm sad, she shares my sadness."
Martha watched little Rachel sleep in Adrian's arms, then said, "Maybe she sees emotions like colors, things we overlook."
"Maybe," Adrian said quietly, gazing at her tranquil face. "She's always been special."
Clark, finishing a cookie nearby, remembered something and asked Jonathan, "Dad, do you have any competitors?"
Jonathan nodded. "Yes. Lex Luthor is also running for State Councilor. In a sense, we are now rivals."
"Lex?" Clark said, surprised at first, then thoughtful as he considered Lex's ambition.
Although Lex was Clark's friend in many ways, loyalty to his father's campaign took precedence now, and Clark silently resolved to support them.
Elsewhere, in a Dark Alley
In a deserted street in Metropolis, Lex Luthor exited his car and entered a quiet alley. A tall black man awaited him.
"I don't understand why we need to meet here," Lex said coolly.
"You know I don't make house calls," the man replied in an unhurried tone. "If you need my help, you meet me here."
Lex regarded him evenly. "So you have something that helps me beat Jonathan Kent?"
"Not yet," the man said. "But I have something that influences opinions, shapes reputations, ruins opponents. Public perception is everything."
Lex knew exactly what that meant — digging up dirt, scandal, and feeding it into the media machine.
"I'll think about it," Lex said, reluctant but calculating, before departing the alley.
Later at Luthor Manor, Lex found his father Lionel waiting in an armchair, watching him with a calm expression.
"You seem troubled, Lex," Lionel remarked. "Choosing your path often shows on your face."
Lex offered a curt smirk. "Generally, I reserve my anger for people I don't like. You're hardly welcome here, Lionel."
But Lionel neither bristled nor recoiled. Instead he stood and spoke with a sincere tone.
"I know you've held resentment toward me. I regret what happened between us," Lionel began, referring to past betrayals. "I want to make amends."
"And how do you plan to do that?" Lex asked skeptically.
"My life was limited, and through fear I made desperate choices. But after our bodies were switched and my liver healed, doctors said it was impossible," Lionel said. "Now I've established a children's fund to help those in need."
Lex raised an eyebrow. "Foundations are easy for wealthy men. Whether it's tax avoidance or networking, I'm not sure why I'd believe this is sincere."
"I am trying to atone," Lionel insisted.
Lex gave a long exhale before finally saying, "You're free to stay. Choose any room in the manor."
Lionel thanked him and turned to leave, then paused.
"Are you running for State Councilor, Lex?"
"Yes," Lex said, eyes fixed on his purpose. "It's a stepping stone to larger goals. I assume you'll support me, father?"
Lionel hesitated, then simply said, "You will succeed," and walked away.
Left alone, Lex pondered Lionel's words. Whether they were sincere or a facade did not concern him. His focus was the campaign — no distraction could derail it.
Jonathan Kent was his rival, and Lex intended to win.
Lex moved to his safe and retrieved a sealed document he had acquired earlier — top‑secret files related to the vampire incident at Metropolis University. Though many records were scrubbed by unseen forces, he had obtained some materials through his means, including an infected vampire blood sample.
He studied the vial, red and unsettling, and narrowed his eyes.
If this blood could infect even those with special abilities, the consequences for humanity were profound.
His gaze darkened, myriad thoughts racing through his mind.