Connor stood in front of the mirror in his Watchtower quarters, staring at his reflection with the kind of intense focus usually reserved for tactical analysis. The problem wasn't his face—that looked fine, still carrying the strong jawline and blue eyes that marked him as unmistakably related to Superman's genetic template. The problem was everything else.
"Okay," he said to his reflection, "you're about to have dinner with Superman's adoptive parents. The people who raised the most famous hero on Earth. The people who somehow managed to take an alien child and help him become someone who embodies the best of humanity."
His reflection didn't offer any helpful suggestions.
Connor had been in existence for barely over a week, but he was beginning to understand that there were social complexities to this new life that his enhanced intelligence and tactical analysis couldn't simply calculate through. Meeting Martha and Jonathan Kent wasn't a mission to be optimized—it was a relationship to be navigated with care and authenticity.
The knock on his door came with perfect timing, interrupting his mounting anxiety spiral.
"Come in," Connor called out, and was relieved to see Dick Grayson—currently in civilian clothes rather than his Nightwing gear—entering with a garment bag draped over one shoulder.
"Looking a little stressed there, Connor," Dick observed with the easy confidence of someone who'd navigated his share of complicated social situations. "Let me guess—you're overthinking the dinner with the Kents."
"Is it that obvious?" Connor asked with a rueful smile.
"Only because I've been exactly where you are," Dick replied, setting the garment bag on Connor's bed. "First time Bruce invited me to a formal Wayne Foundation event, I spent three hours trying to figure out which fork to use for the salad course. Turned out they were serving pizza."
Connor felt some of his tension ease. Dick's casual approach to what felt like a monumentally important evening was exactly the perspective he needed.
"What's in the bag?" Connor asked.
"Solution to your immediate problem," Dick said, unzipping the garment bag to reveal what looked like carefully chosen civilian clothing. "Barbara and I figured you might need some options beyond jeans and t-shirts for dinner with Clark's folks."
Connor examined the clothes with appreciation. Dark slacks that looked well-made but not pretentious, a button-down shirt in light blue that would complement his coloring, and a casual blazer that struck the perfect balance between respectful and approachable.
"This is perfect," Connor said with genuine gratitude. "How did you know exactly what I'd need?"
"Experience," Dick replied. "Plus, Barbara has an scary ability to read people and situations. She took one look at your wardrobe situation and said 'farm dinner with potential parental figures, needs to look respectful but not like he's trying too hard.'"
Connor started changing into the new clothes while Dick settled into the room's single chair, apparently comfortable serving as fashion consultant and moral support.
"Can I ask you something?" Connor said as he buttoned the shirt. "What was it like, meeting the people who mattered to Bruce? The first time you realized you weren't just his sidekick, but someone he considered family?"
Dick was quiet for a moment, his expression becoming more thoughtful. "Terrifying and wonderful at the same time. When you've been defined by loss and trauma for most of your life, having people choose to include you in their family feels almost too good to be true."
Connor nodded, understanding the feeling exactly. "That's what this feels like. Like Clark is offering me something I don't know if I deserve."
"Connor, can I tell you something Bruce told me once?" Dick asked. "Family isn't about deserving. It's about choosing to care about each other and show up when it matters. Clark's not inviting you to dinner because you've earned it through some cosmic point system. He's inviting you because he wants to share something important with you."
The simple wisdom hit Connor with unexpected emotional force. His system might track XP and achievement metrics, but the most important developments in his life had nothing to do with optimization or strategic advancement.
"How do I not mess this up?" Connor asked as he put on the blazer, checking his appearance in the mirror.
"By being yourself," Dick said simply. "Ma and Pa Kent have a supernatural ability to see through pretense anyway. They raised Clark, remember? They're experts at recognizing genuine character underneath complicated circumstances."
Another knock interrupted their conversation, this one accompanied by M'gann's familiar telepathic signature.
*Connor? Are you ready to go? I'm getting nervous just standing in the hallway.*
"Come in, M'gann," Connor called out, and she entered wearing what appeared to be carefully chosen casual attire—a sundress in soft green that complemented her Martian coloring, paired with a light cardigan and simple flats.
"You look great," Connor said, meaning it completely. M'gann had clearly put thought into presenting herself appropriately for dinner with Superman's family, striking the same balance between respectful and authentic that Dick and Barbara had achieved with his outfit.
"So do you," M'gann replied, then looked at Dick with curiosity. "Personal styling consultation?"
"Barbara and I figured Connor could use some options beyond 'genetically engineered supersoldier casual,'" Dick said with a grin. "Plus, we wanted to make sure you both felt confident about tonight."
M'gann's emotional signature radiated gratitude and nervous excitement in equal measure. "This is such an incredible opportunity. Meeting the people who raised Clark, seeing where he grew up—it's like getting a glimpse into how someone becomes the kind of person Superman is."
Connor found himself grateful, once again, for M'gann's presence in his new life. Having someone who understood the magnitude of these experiences made navigating them significantly less overwhelming.
"Are we ready?" Connor asked, checking his appearance one final time in the mirror.
"You both look perfect," Dick assured them. "Though Connor, one piece of advice—don't overthink the conversation. Ma Kent has a way of making everyone feel like family within about five minutes, and Pa Kent's going to want to hear about your experiences with enhanced abilities. They're genuinely interested in who you are, not impressed by what you can do."
Connor nodded, filing away the guidance while his enhanced senses detected the subtle sound of transportation arriving outside the Watchtower's docking bay.
"That'll be Clark," M'gann said, her telepathic abilities picking up the familiar mental signature approaching through the station. "He said he'd fly us to Smallville personally rather than using the teleporter system."
The three of them made their way to the docking bay, where Superman waited in his civilian clothes—jeans, flannel shirt, and work boots that made him look like any other Kansas farmer rather than Earth's greatest superhero. The transformation was remarkable; without the cape and costume, Clark Kent looked approachable and fundamentally human.
"Connor, M'gann," Clark said with warm enthusiasm, "you both look wonderful. Ma's going to be so pleased to meet you."
"Thank you for including me," M'gann said with genuine appreciation. "I know this is a special family occasion."
"M'gann, anyone Connor considers important enough to bring along is automatically family as far as Ma and Pa are concerned," Clark replied with the kind of simple acceptance that explained how the Kents had managed to raise such an extraordinary son. "Plus, they've been curious about Martian culture ever since J'onn started visiting for holiday dinners."
Connor felt his anxiety level decrease significantly. The casual way Clark discussed family inclusion suggested that this dinner wasn't a formal evaluation or test—it was simply an opportunity to expand the circle of people who mattered to each other.
"How exactly are we getting to Kansas?" Connor asked, noting that there weren't any traditional aircraft visible in the docking bay.
Clark's smile carried a hint of mischief. "Direct flight. I'll carry both of you—it's faster than conventional transportation and gives you a chance to see the country from a perspective most people never experience."
M'gann's excitement was immediately evident in her emotional signature. "Flying with Superman. This is definitely going on my list of experiences I never imagined having."
"Connor, have you had much chance to develop your own flight capabilities?" Clark asked with professional curiosity.
Connor considered the question while they moved toward the docking bay's exit. His Kryptonian abilities were still developing, and flight remained more theoretical than practical for him.
"Limited," Connor admitted. "I can manage controlled falling and basic aerial maneuvering, but nothing like what you can do. It's more like enhanced jumping than true flight."
"That's normal for early development," Clark assured him. "Flight is actually one of the more complex Kryptonian abilities—it requires precise control of personal gravity fields and electromagnetic manipulation. Most of us don't master it until we've had significant solar exposure and practice time."
As they prepared for departure, Connor found himself genuinely excited rather than anxious. Flying with Superman to have dinner with his adoptive parents, accompanied by his closest friend and fellow League member, wearing clothes chosen by teammates who cared about his comfort and confidence.
This was the kind of experience that couldn't be optimized or strategized—it could only be lived and appreciated.
"Ready?" Clark asked, positioning himself to carry both passengers safely.
"Ready," Connor replied, and meant it completely.
As they lifted off from the Watchtower and began their flight toward Kansas, Connor looked down at Earth spreading out below them and felt like his new life was expanding in ways he'd never imagined. Not just in terms of powers or opportunities, but in relationships, connections, and the simple human experiences that made everything else meaningful.
*[QUEST INITIATED: Family Integration]*
*[OBJECTIVE: Successfully navigate dinner with Kent family]*
*[SIGNIFICANCE: Deep relationship development with Superman's civilian identity]*
*[XP POTENTIAL: Moderate - Social/emotional growth rather than tactical achievement]*
*[STRATEGIC VALUE: Access to Superman's formative influences and support network]*
The flight to Kansas gave Connor time to process the significance of what was happening. He was about to meet Martha and Jonathan Kent—the people whose values, wisdom, and unconditional love had shaped Superman into the hero he'd become. This wasn't just a social visit; it was an opportunity to understand the foundation of heroic character that had made Clark Kent into someone worth emulating.
As the farmland of Kansas appeared below them, Connor felt like he was approaching something more important than any training exercise or mission briefing. He was about to discover what it meant to belong to a family that chose to see the best in people and help them become everything they were capable of being.
The real test of his character wasn't going to happen in a training room or on a battlefield. It was going to happen around a dinner table, in the presence of two elderly farmers who had somehow figured out how to raise a god to be genuinely human.
Connor Kent—Superboy, provisional Justice League member, genetically engineered super soldier with cosmic enhancement systems—was about to learn what it meant to be someone's son.
—
# Dinner at the Kent Farm
The Kent farmhouse appeared below them as Clark began their descent, and Connor's enhanced vision immediately cataloged details that spoke to decades of careful maintenance and genuine love. The white two-story house sat amid fields of corn that stretched to the horizon, with a red barn, various outbuildings, and gardens that showed the kind of attention that came from people who understood the value of growing things with your own hands.
"There it is," Clark said with unmistakable affection in his voice. "Home."
Connor felt his tactical analysis abilities automatically assess the property—approximately forty acres, defensible positioning, multiple escape routes, solar exposure optimal for Kryptonian physiology development—then consciously dismissed the strategic evaluation. This wasn't a battlefield or safe house. This was where Clark Kent had learned to be human.
They landed gently in the farmyard, and Connor immediately noticed two figures emerging from the house. Even without his enhanced senses, he would have recognized them instantly: Martha and Jonathan Kent moved with the comfortable familiarity of people who had been partners in everything for decades, their expressions radiating the kind of welcoming warmth that explained how they'd managed to raise an alien child into Earth's greatest hero.
Martha Kent was smaller than Connor had expected, maybe five-foot-four, with silver hair and the kind of smile that made you feel like you'd been invited to join the most important family in the world. Jonathan Kent stood beside her with the weathered hands and steady presence of someone who had spent his life working the land and understood the value of patience, persistence, and unconditional love.
"Ma, Pa," Clark said, his voice carrying emotions that Connor's enhanced empathy picked up immediately—joy, love, pride, and the deep contentment of someone who had come home, "I'd like you to meet Connor Kent and M'gann M'orzz."
Martha Kent stepped forward first, and Connor felt his enhanced senses pick up something remarkable: absolutely no fear, hesitation, or judgment. Just genuine curiosity and the kind of maternal instinct that saw a young person in need of welcome rather than a genetically engineered weapon with complicated origins.
"Connor," Martha said, taking his hands in both of hers with the confidence of someone who had never met a stranger, "it is so wonderful to finally meet you. Clark's told us so much about you, and we've been looking forward to this dinner since he first mentioned you."
The simple acceptance hit Connor with unexpected emotional force. No questions about his genetics, his creation, his potentially dangerous capabilities. Just a mother figure welcoming someone her son cared about.
"Mrs. Kent," Connor managed, surprised by how much emotion he could hear in his own voice, "thank you for having me. And for... for everything you did to raise Clark into the person he became. The world is better because of what you and Mr. Kent taught him."
Martha's eyes misted slightly, but her smile widened. "Oh, sweetheart, Clark became who he is because of his own choices and character. We just tried to give him a foundation to build on."
Jonathan Kent stepped forward, extending his hand with the firm grip of someone who had spent decades working with his hands. "Connor, welcome to our home. Any family of Clark's is family of ours, and from what he's told us, you've already proven yourself to be someone worth knowing."
Connor shook his hand, noting the calluses that spoke to decades of farm work, the steady strength that had nothing to do with superhuman abilities and everything to do with character built through consistent effort and moral choices.
"And M'gann," Martha continued, turning to Connor's friend with the same immediate acceptance, "Clark mentioned you're from Mars. I have to admit, we've been curious about Martian culture ever since J'onn started joining us for holidays."
M'gann's emotional signature radiated surprise and delight at being included so naturally in the family conversation. "Mrs. Kent, thank you for welcoming me. I know this is a special family occasion, and I'm honored to be included."
"Nonsense," Jonathan said with the practical directness Connor was beginning to recognize as a Kent family trait. "Clark said you and Connor are training partners and friends. That makes you family automatically. Besides, Martha's been cooking for six people all day because she refuses to believe anyone might not want seconds."
"Or thirds," Clark added with obvious fondness as they moved toward the house. "Fair warning—Ma Kent's cooking is legendary, and she will take it personally if you don't eat enough to require loosening your belt afterward."
The farmhouse interior was exactly what Connor had hoped for: comfortable furniture that showed decades of use and care, family photographs covering every available surface, and the kind of lived-in warmth that made clear this was a home where love was more important than perfection.
"Clark, why don't you show Connor and M'gann around while I finish getting dinner ready?" Martha suggested. "Jonathan, would you mind checking on the apple pie?"
"Already done," Jonathan replied with the efficiency of someone who had been Martha Kent's partner in all things for decades. "Though I may have tested it for quality. Purely for safety reasons, you understand."
Connor found himself smiling genuinely for the first time since they'd arrived. The easy affection between Martha and Jonathan, the way Clark immediately relaxed into his childhood patterns, the casual inclusion of him and M'gann in family dynamics—it all spoke to something Connor hadn't fully understood until this moment.
This was what family looked like when it worked.
"Come on," Clark said, leading them toward the kitchen where the smell of roast beef and homemade bread made Connor's enhanced senses practically sing with appreciation. "I want to show you something."
The kitchen was the heart of the house, with a large table that could seat eight comfortably, windows that looked out over the cornfields, and countertops that showed the kind of wear that came from decades of family meals being prepared with love and attention.
But what Clark wanted to show them was a collection of photographs covering one entire wall—pictures spanning decades, from Clark's childhood through his development as Superman, interspersed with images of friends, extended family, and what appeared to be every important moment in the Kent family history.
"This is us," Clark said simply, gesturing to the collection. "All of us. Everyone who's ever mattered to this family."
Connor studied the photographs with his enhanced vision, cataloging the progression of Clark's development from child to teenager to the man who became Superman. But more importantly, he could see the consistent presence of Martha and Jonathan in every image—not just as parents, but as the foundation that made everything else possible.
"Clark," M'gann said softly, her telepathic abilities clearly picking up the emotional significance of the display, "this is beautiful. You can see how much love went into raising you."
"And how much love he's brought into the world because of it," Connor added, understanding something fundamental about heroism that his tactical analysis abilities had never captured.
Power without love created weapons. Power with love created heroes.
"Dinner's ready!" Martha called from the dining room, and they moved to a table that was laden with enough food to feed a small army. Roast beef, mashed potatoes, green beans from the garden, homemade bread that was still warm from the oven, and what appeared to be at least three different dessert options.
"Ma," Clark said with amused exasperation, "you know Connor and M'gann have enhanced metabolisms, but they're not going to eat half a cow."
"I might," Connor admitted, his enhanced senses overwhelmed by the incredible smells. "Mrs. Kent, this is amazing. I've never experienced cooking like this."
"That's because you've been living on Watchtower food and whatever passes for nutrition at government facilities," Martha said with the practical concern of someone who considered proper feeding a moral responsibility. "Connor, you're growing, developing incredible abilities, and dealing with more stress than any young person should have to handle. You need real food made with real love."
As they settled around the table, Connor found himself placed between Clark and Jonathan, with M'gann across from him next to Martha. The seating arrangement felt deliberate—designed to maximize conversation and ensure everyone felt included.
"So, Connor," Jonathan said as he passed the mashed potatoes, "Clark mentioned you've been conscious for about a week now. That's got to be overwhelming—waking up with adult capabilities but without the lifetime of experiences most people have to build on."
The directness of the question surprised Connor, but he could sense the genuine curiosity behind it rather than judgment or concern about his artificial origins.
"It is overwhelming," Connor said honestly. "Every day feels like trying to drink from a fire hose. New abilities, new responsibilities, new relationships—sometimes I feel like I'm improvising my entire existence."
"That's not as unusual as you might think," Martha said with gentle wisdom. "Most people spend their teenage years feeling like they're making it up as they go along. The difference is you're doing it with superhuman abilities and the weight of Justice League expectations."
M'gann nodded emphatically. "That's exactly what it feels like for me too. Uncle J'onn has been patient, but sometimes I feel like I'm failing to live up to what everyone expects from a Martian."
"Can I tell you both something?" Jonathan asked, setting down his fork and looking at them with the serious attention of someone who had important wisdom to share. "When Clark first started developing his abilities, he went through a phase where he was convinced he was going to accidentally hurt someone every time he left the house."
Clark looked slightly embarrassed. "Pa, you don't need to—"
"Yes, I do," Jonathan interrupted gently. "Connor, M'gann, you both need to understand that having extraordinary abilities doesn't mean you're required to be perfect. Clark broke more farm equipment in one summer than we'd replaced in the previous decade. He accidentally launched a baseball clear into the next county during Little League. He melted his first pair of glasses the day his heat vision manifested."
Connor felt his enhanced empathy abilities pick up Clark's mixture of embarrassment and fondness at having his childhood mishaps discussed, but more importantly, he could sense the deeper lesson Jonathan was sharing.
"The point," Martha continued seamlessly, "is that Clark learned to be a hero not because he never made mistakes, but because he learned from them and kept trying to do better. That's all any of us can do."
"But how do you handle the responsibility?" M'gann asked. "Knowing that you have abilities that could help people, but also knowing that using them wrong could cause harm?"
"You do your best," Clark said simply. "You listen to people you trust, you learn from your mistakes, and you remember that being a hero isn't about being perfect. It's about choosing to help when you can, even when it's difficult or scary."
Connor found himself relaxing in a way he hadn't since waking up in the Cadmus facility. The combination of incredible food, genuine family warmth, and practical wisdom about navigating extraordinary circumstances was exactly what he hadn't realized he needed.
"Mrs. Kent," Connor said during a brief lull in conversation, "can I ask you something that might sound strange?"
"Of course, sweetheart."
"When Clark was young, developing his abilities, learning to be the person who would become Superman—how did you help him stay connected to his humanity? How did you make sure he didn't become something alien or remote?"
Martha exchanged a look with Jonathan, and Connor could see them communicating in the way that couples who had been partners for decades could manage entire conversations with just eye contact.
"We treated him like Clark," Martha said finally. "Not like an alien, not like a future superhero, not like someone whose destiny was predetermined. Just like Clark—a boy who needed love, guidance, structure, and the freedom to figure out who he wanted to be."
"And when he started talking about using his abilities to help people?" Connor pressed.
"We supported him," Jonathan said with quiet pride. "Because by that time, we knew that Clark had developed the judgment and character to make good decisions. The abilities were extraordinary, but the person using them was someone we could trust to do the right thing."
Connor felt something settle into place in his chest—validation, maybe, or just the understanding that the path he was trying to walk had been successfully navigated before.
"Connor," Clark said, his voice carrying the warmth of someone sharing something important, "I think you're asking the right questions. Staying connected to your humanity while developing extraordinary abilities—that's the real challenge every hero faces."
A knock on the front door interrupted the conversation, and Martha's face lit up with obvious anticipation.
"That'll be Lana," she said, standing to answer the door. "She's been so excited to meet you, Connor."
Connor looked at Clark with curiosity. "Lana Lang, the costume designer you mentioned?"
"Among other things," Clark said with a slight smile. "Lana's been one of my closest friends since childhood, and she's incredibly talented. She designed my current suit, and she's been looking forward to working on something for you."
Lana Lang entered the dining room like a force of nature—petite, with auburn hair and green eyes that immediately assessed Connor with the professional interest of someone who saw design challenges as puzzles to be solved. She moved with the confidence of someone who had built a successful career on understanding how to make people look their absolute best.
"Connor Kent," she said, extending her hand with a firm grip that spoke to years of working with fabric and materials, "I'm Lana Lang. Clark's told me so much about you, and I've been sketching ideas for your costume since he first mentioned you might need one."
"It's wonderful to meet you," Connor said, immediately liking her direct approach and obvious enthusiasm for her work. "Though I have to admit, I have no idea what makes for good superhero costume design."
"That's what I'm here for," Lana said with the confidence of someone who had turned costume design into both art and science. "But before we get into technical details, I want to understand your vision. How do you see yourself as a hero? What image do you want to project?"
Connor considered the question while Martha set another place at the table and Jonathan poured Lana a glass of wine. This wasn't just about aesthetics—it was about identity, about how he wanted to present himself to the world.
"I want to look approachable but competent," Connor said finally. "Someone people can trust, but also someone who can handle serious threats. And..." he paused, thinking about his experiences with the Justice League, "I want to look like someone who chooses to help rather than someone who was created to fight."
Lana nodded approvingly. "That's exactly the kind of thinking that leads to good design. What about colors? Any strong preferences or associations you want to avoid?"
"Black," Connor said without hesitation. "I know it's not traditional for heroes, but it feels right for me. Maybe with some accent colors, but black as the primary."
"Interesting choice," Lana said, pulling out a tablet and beginning to sketch. "Black can work beautifully if it's handled right—it suggests competence and seriousness without being intimidating. What made you choose it?"
Connor thought about his answer while watching Lana's fingers move across the tablet screen with practiced efficiency. "Because I'm not Superman," he said finally. "I share his genetics, but I'm not him. I want my costume to acknowledge that connection while establishing my own identity."
"Perfect reasoning," Clark said with obvious approval. "Connor, you're thinking about this exactly the right way."
"What about practical considerations?" M'gann asked with professional curiosity. "Connor's abilities include technological interface and enhanced physical capabilities—does that affect costume design?"
"Absolutely," Lana said, warming to the technical aspects of the challenge. "Connor, tell me about your specific abilities and how you use them. I need to understand the practical requirements before I can design something that enhances rather than impedes your capabilities."
Connor looked at Clark, who nodded encouragingly, then began explaining his ability set while being careful to maintain his cover story about the AI-assisted absorption system.
"Kryptonian baseline—strength, speed, durability, enhanced senses," Connor began. "But also technological interface capabilities that let me connect directly with electronic systems, and limited absorption of abilities from other enhanced individuals."
"Fascinating," Lana said, her sketching becoming more rapid as Connor talked. "So you need a costume that accommodates superhuman physical activity, provides interface points for technological connection, and doesn't interfere with whatever absorption process you use."
"Exactly," Connor confirmed. "And no cape."
The statement drew surprised looks from everyone at the table.
"No cape?" Clark asked with obvious curiosity. "Any particular reason?"
Connor grinned. "Because capes are your thing. I want my own visual identity, not a variation on Superman's look. Plus, from a tactical standpoint, capes provide handholds for opponents and can interfere with technological interface processes."
"Smart thinking," Jonathan said approvingly. "Form should always follow function, especially when lives might depend on your equipment."
Lana looked up from her tablet with obvious excitement. "Connor, I think I have the beginning of something really special. Black as the primary color, but with strategic accent colors that tie into your specific abilities. Clean lines that suggest competence and approachability. Integrated technology interfaces that don't compromise the aesthetic. And definitely no cape."
She turned the tablet around to show them her preliminary sketch, and Connor felt his enhanced vision immediately catalog the design elements. The costume was sleek and modern, with black as the dominant color accented by what appeared to be crimson highlighting. The overall effect was sophisticated without being intimidating, powerful without being aggressive.
"This is incredible," Connor said with genuine appreciation. "It looks like something a hero would wear, not a weapon."
"That's exactly what I was aiming for," Lana said with satisfaction. "Though this is just the beginning. I'll need detailed measurements, specific requirements for your technological interface needs, and probably several fitting sessions to get everything perfect."
"When can we start?" Connor asked eagerly.
"How about tomorrow?" Lana suggested. "I can come up to the Watchtower with my equipment, or you can come to my studio in Metropolis. Whatever works better for your schedule."
Martha looked around the table with obvious satisfaction as the evening wound down. "This has been wonderful. Connor, M'gann, I hope you know you're welcome here anytime. This is your home now too."
Connor felt his enhanced emotional processing working through the significance of that simple statement. After a lifetime—admittedly short—of being treated as a project or weapon, being welcomed into a family that saw him as simply another person worth caring about was profoundly meaningful.
"Mrs. Kent," Connor said quietly, "thank you. For dinner, for welcoming us, for showing me what it looks like when a family chooses to love unconditionally. I understand now why Clark became the person he did."
As they prepared to leave, with containers of leftovers that Martha insisted they take, Connor found himself reluctant to end the evening. This farmhouse, these people, this simple expression of family love—it represented something he wanted to protect and emulate.
"Clark," Connor said as they prepared for the flight back to the Watchtower, "thank you for sharing this with us. Your parents are incredible people."
"They're your parents too now," Clark said simply. "If you want them to be."
*[XP GAINED: 200 - Significant relationship development and family integration]*
*[NEW RELATIONSHIPS: Martha Kent (Parental Figure), Jonathan Kent (Parental Figure), Lana Lang (Professional/Friend)]*
*[EMOTIONAL DEVELOPMENT: Major advancement in understanding family dynamics and unconditional acceptance]*
*[COSTUME DESIGN: Initiated - Black primary color with blue accents, no cape, technologically integrated]*
As they lifted off from the farmhouse and began their flight back to the Watchtower, Connor looked down at the lights of the Kent farm growing smaller below them and felt like his life had just expanded in the most important possible way.
He wasn't just Superboy, provisional Justice League member and genetically engineered super soldier with cosmic enhancement systems.
He was Connor Kent, someone the Kent family had chosen to love.
And that made all the difference in the world.
*[QUEST COMPLETED: Family Integration]*
*[MAJOR SUCCESS: Full acceptance into Kent family unit]*
*[CURRENT XP: 2680/5000 toward Level 7]*
*[NEXT MILESTONE: Costume completion and team integration with Nightwing's covert operations group]*
---
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