The Smallville High gym had been transformed into a sleek, sterile mobile clinic. Rows of white cots and "LuthorCorp Health Initiative" banners replaced the usual smell of floor wax and sweat with the sharp, biting scent of antiseptic.
Lex stood near the equipment table, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes tracking every movement in the room. He looked less like a donor and more like a general inspecting a front line. Below the basketball hoops, the football team—the Crows—were lined up in their varsity jackets.
At the center of the line stood Clark Kent. He looked profoundly uncomfortable, his eyes darting toward the exit, his shoulders hunched as if trying to make his large frame disappear into the shadows of the bleachers.
"They're nervous, Lex," a voice said beside him.
Lex didn't turn to look at Principal Reynolds. "It's a routine physical, Principal. These boys are the pride of the town. We need to ensure their hearts can handle the pressure of the state championships. A sudden cardiac event on the field would be a tragedy for everyone."
"And the blood draws?" Reynolds asked, squinting at the nurses in their high-tech, charcoal-grey scrubs—staff Lex had brought in specifically from Metropolis.
"Baseline metabolic panels," Lex lied smoothly, his voice a calm, dangerous velvet. "I'm investing in their futures. If one of these boys has a nutritional deficiency or a hidden ailment, I want to catch it before it ends a career."
…
Near the water cooler, Jonathan Kent stood like a wall of weathered granite. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, his eyes burning holes into the side of Lex's head. He had fought against Clark joining the team for years, fearing a misplaced tackle would lead to a secret being outed—or worse. Now, his fear had a new face: a billionaire with a clipboard.
"Clark," Jonathan warned in a low, gravelly vibration as his son approached the front of the line. "We don't have to do this. We can walk out of here."
"Dad, if I'm the only one who refuses, it looks even weirder," Clark whispered back, his voice tight with anxiety. "Lex has apologized for the bridge a dozen times. He says he was just stressed. If I walk out now, I'm just giving him a reason to wonder why."
"Lex Luthor doesn't do anything for 'routine' reasons," Jonathan muttered, but he stayed his hand, his knuckles white as he watched Clark step toward the cot.
…
"Everything alright, Clark?" Lex asked, his voice smooth and devoid of the jagged edge that had defined him on the bridge. He leaned casually against the equipment table, his hand resting inches from the sterile tray.
Clark looked up, his face pale. He wasn't reacting to a hidden toxin; he was reacting to the sheer, predatory intensity in Lex's eyes. It was the look of a man trying to solve a puzzle that didn't want to be solved. "I'm fine, Lex. Just... not a fan of needles. Never have been."
"None of us are," Lex said, his gaze never leaving Clark's inner elbow. "But sometimes, a small prick is the only way to see what's really going on beneath the surface. It's for the team, Clark. For the school's safety records."
The nurse, a cold-eyed professional Lex had brought in from a private clinic in Metropolis, swabbed Clark's skin. The sharp, clinical sting of the antiseptic filled the small space between them. She reached for the 21-gauge needle, the stainless steel gleaming with a wicked, silver light under the flickering gym fluorescents.
Lex leaned in closer, his pulse drumming against his ribs. He wasn't looking for a blood type. He was waiting for the physical reality of the moment—waiting to see if the metal would slide into the vein of a farm boy, or if the laws of physics would finally shatter in front of him.
The nurse gripped Clark's forearm, anchoring the skin. Clark closed his eyes tight, his jaw shifting as he braced himself for a contact he knew wouldn't draw blood—only suspicion.
The needle descended. It was an inch from the skin, the silver tip poised to strike.
"That's enough."
The voice was like a crack of thunder in the quiet gym. Before the needle could make contact, a calloused, powerful hand clamped down on the nurse's wrist, stopping her mid-air.
Jonathan Kent stood over the cot like a wall of weathered granite, his shadow completely eclipsing his son. His eyes weren't on the nurse; they were locked onto Lex with a terrifying, protective ferocity.
"Mr. Kent," Lex said, straightening up slowly, his expression shifting into one of practiced innocence. "We're just finishing the baseline physicals. It's mandatory for the team."
"Not for my son, it isn't," Jonathan growled, his grip on the nurse's wrist firm but careful not to hurt her. He gently but firmly pushed her hand back toward the tray. "We have our own family doctor in town. We don't need LuthorCorp's 'charity' to tell us Clark is healthy."
"I'm sure Dr. Bryce is very capable," Lex countered, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low register. "But these are specialized tests, Jonathan. Why the sudden hostility? It's just a blood draw. Unless, of course, there's a reason you don't want Clark's blood in a lab."
The gym went silent. The other football players paused, sensing the shift in the room. Clark looked between his father and Lex, his heart hammering against his ribs—a sound he was sure Lex could hear if he just listened closely enough.
"The reason," Jonathan said, stepping into Lex's personal space, "is that I don't trust you, Lex. I've seen what happens when people get too close to your family. They get burned. My son isn't going to be one of your experiments."
Jonathan turned to Clark, his hand gripping his son's shoulder. "Get your bag, Clark. We're going home."
"Jonathan, if he leaves now, he's off the team," Lex warned, though his eyes weren't angry—they were dancing with a dark, satisfied curiosity. The father's panic was just as telling as a broken needle would have been.
Jonathan halted. He slowly turned back, his hand still resting protectively on Clark's shoulder. The air around him seemed to thicken with the heat of his suppressed rage.
"On whose authority?" Jonathan's voice was a low, dangerous rumble that seemed to vibrate the very floorboards of the gym.
Lex didn't flinch. He straightened his cuffs, the silk of his suit catching the harsh overhead light. "Mine, Jonathan. Let's not be naive. LuthorCorp didn't just donate new jerseys and a scoreboard. I've subsidized the insurance premiums for every high-impact sport in this district. I've funded the new training facility. In the eyes of the school board, my 'generous donations' carry a certain... weight."
He took a step closer to the Kents, his gaze flickering briefly to Clark before locking back onto Jonathan's weathered face.
"I have the authority to decide who is a liability and who is an asset," Lex continued, his tone clinical. "A student-athlete who refuses a standard medical screening? That's a liability I can't personally underwrite. If Clark walks out that door without completing this physical, his eligibility is revoked. Effective immediately."
Jonathan's jaw tightened so hard a muscle in his cheek began to twitch. "You're buying the team just to get to my son? Is that what this is? You've got all the money in the world, Lex, but you've got no soul."
"I'm protecting my investment," Lex countered, a thin, sharp smile touching his lips. "And I'm protecting the other boys on that field. If Clark is as 'healthy' as you say, what are you so afraid of? It's a needle, Jonathan. Not a silver bullet."
Clark looked between them, his heart hammering. He could see the conflict in his father's eyes—the desire to protect Clark's secret versus the pain of watching his son's dreams be bought out from under him.
"Dad," Clark whispered, his voice cracking. "It's okay. I don't need the team."
Jonathan didn't look at Clark. He kept his eyes on Lex, his voice dropping to a whisper that felt like a death threat. "Keep your money, Lex. And keep your 'authority.' But stay away from my family. Because if you cross that fence line again, you'll find out exactly what a man with 'no soul' is capable of."
Jonathan turned on his heel, guided Clark toward the exit, and didn't look back.
Lex stood alone by the medical tray, the silence of the gym rushing back in. He picked up the sterile syringe, turning it over in his hands. He had just cost the Smallville Crows their star player, but as he watched the heavy double doors swing shut, he knew he had just bought the most valuable lead of his life.