No, I'm here to be your teacher, a private tutor.
Martian Manhunter shrugged, "Your father invited me."
Listening to him, Clark and Mark exchanged glances.
Clark was a little worried about Peter's wallet.
As everyone knows, tutoring is very expensive.
Not to mention inviting a Martian to be a teacher for himself and Mark.
His godfather must have paid a great price.
What Clark didn't know was that Peter had gotten him with just a box of Oreos.
According to Peter's memories from his previous life, Martian Manhunter seemed particularly fond of Oreos.
So he brought a box of Oreos to visit, and he successfully persuaded him without any effort.
In Martian Manhunter's words, he wasn't persuaded by the cookies but felt that John and Clark needed more professional guidance.
"What can you teach us, Mr. Jones?"
Mark asked him curiously.
He was initially a bit resistant, thinking the other person was Black, but now that he knew the other person was a Martian, most of the animosity in his heart disappeared.
As for whether Martian Manhunter counted as an alien, he had automatically ignored it.
Anyway, he had just been talking nonsense to Clark.
"I can teach you proper flying techniques, John; this is your only chance."
Martian Manhunter said with a serious expression, "Your talent is now showing, but you don't know how to use it correctly."
"And you, Clark."
Saying that, he looked at Clark, "Your talent is unparalleled, and I can guide you to more easily discover the changes happening in your body."
Clark and Mark exchanged glances, and a bad premonition suddenly arose in their hearts: their future lives would probably not be so easy.
Just dealing with school teachers was already overwhelming; now there was an additional private tutor.
Mark immediately looked distressed; he had to make time to play and also earn pocket money on the farm, so how could he have time for private tutoring?
Night.
Peter looked at the sumptuous dinner in front of him in shock.
Clark and Mark were also wide-eyed and bewildered.
Was the table full of fragrant delicacies really their dinner?
Two tender eggs fried on both sides, two buttermilk pancakes as big as manhole covers, four sausage links, whole-wheat toast, and a baked cinnamon bun on a separate plate.
Except for the cinnamon bun, everything else was covered in maple syrup.
With a surprised feeling, Clark took a bite of the sausage; the genuine, authentic maple syrup wrapped around it, combined with the meaty flavor of the sausage, immediately filled Clark's taste buds.
His eyes lit up; this maple syrup was like it was taken directly from a tree, not the kind from the grocery store that would make one's stomach uncomfortable.
(Clark was often instigated by Mark to secretly buy maple syrup from the grocery store.)
"Ahem..."
Peter shifted his gaze from the food and said to the two ravenously eating rascals, "John, Clark, eat slowly and chew your food thoroughly; don't eat like lumberjacks."
The two nodded repeatedly, but their actions showed no sign of stopping.
Peter looked at Martian Manhunter, who had taken off his apron and was sitting at the dining table, and couldn't help but ask, "Mr. Jones, have you ever worked as a chef in a restaurant?"
"No, I just like to research cooking techniques."
Martian Manhunter elegantly cut the tender egg with a knife and fork and said, "Actually, I'm better at making cookies."
Peter nodded and looked around the clean and tidy room, then lowered his head to look at the sausages on his plate.
He wondered if he had really hired a professional nanny?!
If he didn't know this guy was really Martian Manhunter, he would have thought he was some kind of domestic expert.
After a pleasant dinner, Martian Manhunter took advantage of the night to specifically coach Mark on flying techniques.
Clark, meanwhile, sat in front of the sofa, watching TV to pass the time.
A TV series called "An American Werewolf in London" was playing on TV.
At the climax of the plot, the titular werewolf rampaged wildly through Piccadilly Circus in London.
Maimed chaos, car horns, and screams.
The Beast tore fearful pedestrians apart and then flung them into the crowd.
"Click!"
Peter pressed the remote control and turned off the TV, "This isn't a TV show for you to watch, Clark."
Seeing the TV turned off, Clark scratched his head and said to him, "Godfather, Mark said this TV show is very good."
Peter: "..."
It seemed Mark was itching for a beating again.
Not only did he not curb his love for horror movies, but he also tried to spread this bad habit to Clark.
Sitting on the sofa, Peter coughed, "This isn't suitable for your age, Clark."
Although yesterday, Clark had just pulverized an alien parasite.
"Hmm, actually... I also think it's just average."
Clark couldn't help but complain to Peter, "The werewolf looks like a mindless fool and harms innocent people wantonly."
Peter asked him, "So you think he's a bad guy? This werewolf."
"Yes, Godfather, he's a bad guy, even though he's the protagonist."
Peter nodded and said, "But sometimes, we can't control ourselves, just like this parasite; it controlled Dr. David. If you were also controlled by a parasite and went to harm others, what would you want others to do? Clark."
Clark lowered his head and thought for a while, then looked up and said with a firm expression, "I won't do that, but if it really happens."
He clenched his fists and exhaled, "Dad, do you remember that green stone? The one from Lana's necklace."
"Uh-huh."
Peter nodded.
Clark said with great awareness, "If I really go crazy and harm my family like Dr. David or the werewolf, Godfather, you can hit me with that stone, just like Mark did to me that day."
Peter was slightly stunned.
He hadn't expected Clark to be so aware.
Is this why, when you grew up, you gave Kryptonite to Batman for safekeeping?
Don't you know that kid was really trying to kill you when he used Kryptonite against you?
Shaking his head, Peter suppressed the thoughts in his mind and comforted Clark, "No, you won't. Godfather will protect you and not let any of this happen."
"Thank you, Godfather, and I won't be parasitized by a parasite either."
Clark said with great confidence.
Soon he thought of something else, and his small face immediately drooped, "Godfather, will I really not be radiated?"
Although Peter had already explained to him about his immunity to nuclear radiation, Clark was still quite concerned.
"Yes, your body is immune to radiation, Clark."
Peter's expression became serious, "But Clark, you shouldn't have agreed to John Jones at that time. If you didn't have the ability to be immune to radiation, what do you think would happen? Clark, you are not ready to be a savior yet."
"I... I understand, Godfather. Mr. Jones let me choose. Actually... I don't like choices. It seems like every choice I make, I lose something, just like this time, I thought choosing to do it would mean being exposed to nuclear radiation."
Clark said dejectedly, "But, Godfather, you told me that we are always in choices, like the rats and monkeys in the lab."
Peter was slightly stunned, "What rats and monkeys?"