Clark learned a fourth important fact: if you built anything good in a small town, someone would eventually show up with a clipboard to measure how profitable your goodness could be.

  The “trade day” didn’t start as a grand announcement. It started the way most rural revolutions started—quietly, with a whiteboard and someone pretending it was just a practical solution to an annoying problem. Koji “borrowed” the co-op’s old whiteboard (which meant he took it while making aggressive eye contact with anyone who might object), and Clark wrote at the top in neat characters that felt half like his handwriting and half like Takumi’s muscle memory:

  LABOR EXCHANGE — HELP LIST (NO MONEY)

  Koji stared at the title and said, “This looks illegal.” Clark, marker in hand, said, “It’s not.” Koji crossed his arms. “That’s what illegal things always say.” Clark drew a simple grid. “Name,” he said. “Need,” he added. “Can offer,” he finished. Then, after a second, he wrote one more column: “Done.”

  Koji leaned in. “What’s ‘Done’ for?” Clark capped the marker. “Closure,” he said. Koji blinked. “This is farming,” Koji said. “We don’t get closure. We get weather.”

  Still, by noon, the board had its first entry. Not because people wanted to ask for help—no one wanted to do that—but because Clark framed it as favors owed. “Sato-san’s greenhouse,” Clark said casually to a man at the shed. “He owes half the village now.” The man grunted, then wrote his name under “Can offer.” Another woman came by and added, “I can cook for five.” A younger guy wrote, “I can drive,” then immediately crossed it out and replaced it with, “I can drive carefully,” because Koji was watching and apparently had a reputation.

  Clark didn’t celebrate. He didn’t even smile too wide. He just kept it moving, asking people for tasks “for him,” letting them sign up without feeling like they’d admitted weakness. The board filled slowly, like water rising behind a dam. Not fast enough to be suspicious. Not slow enough to be useless.

  And then, inevitably, the clean smile arrived.

  He came in a compact car that looked too polished for the mud-splashed road. He stepped out wearing slacks and a light jacket, hair neatly combed, shoes that had never known fertilizer. He moved like someone trained to appear nonthreatening, which Clark had learned was often the first warning sign. Koji saw him first and immediately muttered, “Oh no.” Clark followed Koji’s gaze and felt the air shift.

  The man approached the shed with a practiced friendliness. “Good afternoon,” he said, bowing. “Shibata Takumi-san, correct?” Clark’s stomach tightened at the sound of his borrowed name spoken in that professional tone. “Yes,” Clark said. Koji stepped half a foot closer, not subtle about it. The man’s eyes flicked briefly to Koji, then back to Clark with a smile that could have been warm if it didn’t feel like it had been laminated. “Kobayashi,” the man said, offering a business card with both hands. “Kawasaki Office. Land Consultation and Assistance.” Clark took the card the way he’d taken suspect documents in Metropolis: gently, carefully, as if fingerprints mattered. The card was crisp. The font was clean. The logo was the same.

  Koji did not take a card. Koji did not bow. Koji did, however, glare hard enough that if glaring were a power system, Koji would have been legendary.

  Kobayashi’s smile widened as if he found Koji charming. “I heard about your… incident,” he said to Clark. “Very admirable. The village is lucky to have you.” Clark’s mouth tightened. Compliments with hooks. “Thank you,” Clark said neutrally. Kobayashi’s gaze drifted to the whiteboard behind Clark, the one that now had fifteen names on it and three separate arguments written in the margins about who owed whom tomatoes. Kobayashi’s eyes brightened. “Oh,” he said. “How wonderful. Community initiative.”

  Koji muttered, “Don’t,” under his breath, but Clark wasn’t sure who it was directed at—Kobayashi, the universe, or his own blood pressure.

  Kobayashi stepped closer to the board, careful not to touch it, like a man visiting a shrine. “This is very… efficient,” he said, tone appreciative. “It’s rare to see people organize like this without prompting.” Clark held his gaze. “We’re just helping each other,” Clark said. Kobayashi nodded slowly. “Of course,” he said. “Of course. But you know, systems are powerful. Systems can be supported.” He turned back to Clark, smile polished. “That’s why I came.”

  Koji’s shoulders went rigid. “You came because you smell opportunity,” Koji snapped.

  Kobayashi’s smile didn’t waver. “I came because I care,” he said smoothly. “And because Shibata-san has certain… burdens.” Clark felt the word land like a thumb on a bruise. Burdens. Not problems. Not circumstances. Burdens. Something you carried until someone offered to take it—for a price.

  Clark did not let his expression change. “If you’re here about my debt,” Clark said calmly, “we can discuss it in writing.” Kobayashi’s eyes flickered, almost amused. “Naturally,” he said. “In writing is always safest. That said…” He glanced at Koji. “Some matters are best handled privately.” Koji barked a laugh. “No,” Koji said, blunt and final.

  Kobayashi held up both hands. “No pressure,” he said. “No pressure. I’m not here to threaten anyone.” Clark’s mind flashed to the messages: It would be a shame if burdens made that difficult. Kobayashi continued, voice gentle. “I’m simply offering options. You understand, Shibata-san, that refusing assistance doesn’t make the burden disappear.”

  Clark nodded slowly. “I understand,” he said. “And I also understand that your options involve land rights.” Kobayashi’s smile sharpened. “Land use rights,” he corrected softly, as if correcting vocabulary rather than power. “A partnership. A way to protect you from uncertainty.” Koji stepped forward half a step. “Protect?” Koji snapped. “You people show up when someone is desperate and call it protection.” Kobayashi’s gaze slid to Koji again, still smiling. “It’s business,” he said. “And business is how we keep things stable.”

  Clark felt something old and hot stir in his chest—anger, yes, but also the familiar clarity of a reporter recognizing a script. The man wasn’t here to negotiate fairly. He was here to define the frame: you are weak, we are help, signing is responsibility, refusing is foolish pride. Clark had seen Lex Luthor do the same thing with different words and better suits.

  Clark inhaled slowly. He couldn’t punch the suit. He couldn’t intimidate with power. But he could do what he’d always done when someone tried to reshape the truth.

  He could ask better questions.

  “How many families have you offered this to?” Clark asked.

  Kobayashi blinked—just once, quick—then recovered. “We offer assistance broadly,” he said. “We don’t single anyone out.” Clark nodded as if that was an answer. “How many accepted?” Clark asked.

  Koji’s eyes widened slightly. The farmers nearby went quiet, pretending not to listen while absolutely listening.

  Kobayashi’s smile stayed fixed. “It depends,” he said. “Some people are reasonable, some aren’t.” Clark’s tone stayed calm. “Reasonable how?” Clark asked. “Is ‘reasonable’ signing away land use rights at a discounted valuation because someone is under time pressure?”

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  A murmur rippled through the shed like wind through rice.

  Kobayashi’s eyes cooled a fraction. “Shibata-san,” he said softly, “you seem stressed. Perhaps you should rest more. In your condition, it might be difficult to understand long-term planning.” The words were polite. The meaning was a slap: You’re fragile. You’re not competent. Let adults handle it.

  Koji’s fists clenched. Clark placed a subtle hand on Koji’s sleeve, a small signal: not yet.

  Clark smiled—small, controlled, friendly. Reporter smile. “Maybe,” Clark said. “Then put the details in writing. Full terms. Full valuation. Full timeline. And provide references—names of families who consent to being references.”

  Kobayashi’s smile did not reach his eyes. “Privacy is important,” he said.

  “So is transparency,” Clark replied.

  For a heartbeat, the shed went very quiet.

  Then Kobayashi chuckled softly, as if Clark had made an endearing joke. “Of course,” he said. “I’ll prepare a packet.” He bowed. “I’ll also remind you: deadlines are real. Pride is expensive.” He looked directly at Koji when he said it, like he wanted Koji to feel responsible for whatever happened next.

  Koji took a step forward, ready to explode.

  Clark squeezed Koji’s sleeve. Koji froze, trembling with restraint.

  Kobayashi bowed again to the group, all friendliness. “Thank you for your time,” he said. “It’s wonderful to see community spirit.” His eyes flicked to the whiteboard again. “Careful,” he added lightly. “Informal systems can create misunderstandings. Misunderstandings can become… disputes.” He smiled. “We wouldn’t want the village divided, would we?”

  And then he left, stepping back into his polished car like he had simply stopped by to deliver cookies instead of threats.

  ◆

  The moment the car disappeared down the road, the shed exhaled. People spoke again, but quieter now. Someone muttered, “I don’t like that.” Another said, “He’s right about disputes,” and immediately got glared at by three grandmothers, which ended that conversation.

  Koji turned on Clark the second they were alone enough. “What was that?” Koji demanded. “You just—” He gestured wildly. “—you just poked the bear. Politely. With paperwork.”

  Clark’s shoulder throbbed, but his mind was steady. “He’s already a bear,” Clark said. “We didn’t create anything. We just showed we’re not alone.” Koji’s jaw worked like he was chewing anger. “He’s going to retaliate,” Koji said.

  Clark nodded. “Probably,” he admitted. Koji stared at him. “You’re too calm,” Koji accused. Clark’s mouth twitched, but his eyes stayed serious. “I’m not calm,” Clark said quietly. “I’m focused.” He looked at the whiteboard. “He wants the village isolated. He wants each family to feel like they’re the only one failing.” Clark tapped the “Done” column with his finger. “So we keep making proof that they’re not alone.”

  Koji rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay,” Koji muttered. “So what now?”

  Clark pulled Kobayashi’s business card from his pocket and stared at it. Clean logo. Clean font. Clean lie. Then he turned it over. There was a handwritten note on the back, faint but visible.

  Call me directly. Not through the office. —Kobayashi

  Clark’s stomach tightened. That wasn’t an offer. That was a hook.

  Koji leaned in, saw it, and swore again. “He’s trying to separate you,” Koji said. Clark nodded. “Yes,” Clark said. Then he slipped the card into his wallet like evidence. “So we do the opposite,” Clark said.

  Koji frowned. “Which is?”

  Clark looked up at the shed, the board, the people pretending not to be afraid. “We make this bigger than me,” Clark said. “We make it routine. Normal. So it can’t be singled out as ‘Takumi’s thing.’” Koji stared. “You mean… everyone uses it,” Koji said slowly. Clark nodded. “Yes,” Clark said. “And we keep records.”

  Koji’s eyes narrowed. “Records,” he repeated. “Takumi,” he said suspiciously, “why are you suddenly obsessed with records?” Clark hesitated just long enough for the truth to brush his tongue—because truth is what predators hate; because light is what they avoid; because I used to be able to shine it across the whole world and now I have to do it one page at a time. He swallowed it back and offered something simpler. “Because memory lies,” Clark said. “Paper doesn’t.”

  Koji stared at him for a moment, then muttered, “That’s… annoyingly true.”

  Clark’s phone buzzed. Not a message. A call. Unknown number.

  Clark looked at Koji. Koji looked back. Both of them already knew.

  Clark answered, putting it on speaker without comment. “Shibata Takumi speaking,” he said.

  Kobayashi’s voice flowed out smooth as ever. “Shibata-san,” he said warmly. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. I apologize if my visit felt… intrusive. My intention is simply to help.” Clark’s eyes stayed on the whiteboard. “Then send the packet,” Clark said. Kobayashi chuckled softly. “I will,” he said. “But I wanted to offer a more… human conversation. You’ve been under strain. It’s natural to resist. It’s natural to cling to pride.” Koji’s fists clenched.

  Clark’s voice stayed calm. “What do you want?” he asked.

  A pause. Just a breath.

  Then Kobayashi smiled through the line. “I want you to stop making trouble,” he said, still polite. “Your little board… it makes people feel brave. Brave people make foolish decisions. And foolish decisions create suffering.” His tone stayed gentle, as if he was explaining weather again. “You don’t want suffering, do you?”

  Clark’s jaw tightened. “No,” Clark said.

  “Then be reasonable,” Kobayashi said. “Meet me. Alone. Tonight.”

  Koji leaned toward the phone like he was about to bite it. “No,” Koji said loudly.

  Kobayashi’s voice remained smooth. “Ah,” he said. “Koji-san is with you. Of course.” Koji froze. “How do you know—” Koji started. Kobayashi ignored him. “Shibata-san,” Kobayashi continued, “if you insist on involving others, that’s your choice. But understand: choices have consequences. Your mother,” he added lightly, “would prefer you to make wise choices.”

  Clark’s blood went cold.

  Koji’s face went pale. “He just—” Koji whispered, horrified.

  Clark kept his voice steady with effort. “Don’t talk about my mother,” Clark said.

  Kobayashi sighed, like he was disappointed in Clark’s stubbornness. “I’m not threatening her,” he said. “I’m simply reminding you that you have responsibilities. A deadline. A family.” His tone softened again. “Meet me tonight, Shibata-san. We’ll talk like adults. If you don’t…” He paused. “Well. Paper can be very unforgiving.”

  The call ended.

  Koji stared at the phone like it had just tried to kill them. “He knows about your mother,” Koji said, voice tight. “He knows where you live. He knows—”

  “He knows the basics,” Clark said, voice low. “Because that’s how he hunts.”

  Koji’s eyes flashed. “Then we don’t go,” Koji said.

  Clark stared at the board, at the names, at the small fragile system they’d built. He thought of Sato-san refusing help until it was disguised. He thought of the older farmer who’d said, “Now don’t ask again.” He thought of how quickly people could retreat back into silence if fear touched them the wrong way.

  If Clark didn’t meet Kobayashi, Kobayashi would escalate somewhere else. Not with fists. With paperwork. With pressure. With “misunderstandings.”

  Clark exhaled slowly. “We go,” Clark said.

  Koji’s head snapped toward him. “What?!” Koji snapped. “No! We don’t go into the spider’s web!”

  Clark met his eyes. “We don’t go alone,” Clark said.

  Koji blinked. “That’s still going,” Koji argued.

  Clark nodded. “Yes,” Clark said. “But we choose the place.” Koji’s brow furrowed. Clark continued. “Public. Neutral. Somewhere with witnesses. Somewhere with cameras if possible.” Koji stared like Clark had just pulled a rabbit out of a hat. “You think this town has cameras?” Koji demanded. Clark’s mouth twitched faintly. “You have a phone,” Clark said. “So do I. So does half the co-op. That’s enough.”

  Koji’s jaw clenched. “He’ll hate that,” Koji said.

  Clark nodded. “Good,” Clark said. “Predators hate daylight.”

  Koji stared at him for a long moment, then blew out a breath. “Okay,” Koji muttered. “Fine. We do it your way.” He jabbed a finger at Clark. “But if you faint, I swear—”

  “I won’t,” Clark said.

  Koji narrowed his eyes. “You said that last time.”

  Clark hesitated, then said quietly, “This time I mean it.”

  ◆

  That night, Clark sat at the kitchen table while Mrs. Shibata made tea with hands that moved a little too quickly. She didn’t ask what was wrong—she didn’t need to. She simply placed a cup in front of him and said, “Don’t carry everything alone.” Clark’s throat tightened. “I’m trying not to,” he said softly.

  Koji arrived ten minutes later, jacket on, hair still damp like he’d showered out of anger. He carried his phone charger like it was a weapon. “Ready?” Koji asked.

  Clark nodded.

  They stepped out into the night.

  The village was quiet. Streetlights hummed. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once and then decided it wasn’t worth it.

  As they walked toward the public location Koji had chosen—a small roadside ramen shop with a wide window and a stubborn owner who hated “business types”—Clark felt the weight of Takumi’s life pressing down, and beneath it, his own old weight pressing up from the inside.

  No cape. No flight. No invulnerability.

  Just a fragile shoulder, a borrowed name, and a clean smile waiting in the light.

  And Clark, even human, even tired, still knew what to do when someone tried to take hope away with polite words.

  He would stand in the way.