Chapter 440

"Wait, this doesn't seem related to superpowers at all." Clark suddenly realized, and added:

"Isn't this just another way of saying 'think about the consequences of your actions'?"

"Yes, but I think your parents have told you countless times to 'think about the consequences of your actions'—did you ever listen?"

Clark opened his mouth, his face twisting into a complex expression—he clearly recalled some unpleasant memories. He sighed deeply, then said: "Yes, my parents have stressed that phrase to me over and over, but I…"

"Back then, I just felt they didn't understand me at all. I thought they refused to see things from my perspective, didn't realize how much I'd sacrificed, didn't know I was hurting too. I felt wronged—I even ran away from home because of it."

"But this decision really does seem like my own. Weighing whether the reward justifies the cost, judging the reward by the cost paid—it doesn't seem to involve superpowers at all… then what was I even agonizing over?"

"What do you think superpowers are? Are they your core self?"

"Of course not. I'm me. I'm Clark."

"Or perhaps this explanation would satisfy you: your personality is shaped by your upbringing and environment, while your superpowers are merely a tool you possess."

"I guess so," Clark replied, uncertain.

"Then what's the difference between it and any other tool? Your father fell in love with your mother, married her, raised you, educated you, got along with neighbors—did any of that have anything to do with the pitchfork he used for farming?"

Before Clark could answer, Schiller said: "Maybe it had a little to do with it—if he hadn't had that pitchfork, he might not have been able to work, couldn't have earned money to support the family. But that tool certainly didn't decide whether he proposed to your mother, did it?"

Clark suddenly laughed, as if recalling some amusing moment between his parents. After a moment, he exhaled slowly, looked at Schiller, and said with sincere gratitude:

"Thank you, Professor. Just saying all this out loud and hearing your advice has made me feel so much better."

With that breath, Clark seemed to relax all at once. He flopped onto the bed, rested his head on the soft pillow, placed his hand on his chest, and said: "God, no one knows how miserable I've been lately."

He covered his eyes with his arm and added: "I'm afraid of running into track team members everywhere, worried they'll tell my roommates bad things about me, terrified that quitting the meet will disappoint the coach, and always feel like some kind of cheating fraud…"

"That's completely normal. Anyone at your age goes through similar troubles—about relationships, life paths, all of it. It's part of forming your personality."

Schiller suddenly seemed to remember someone. He said: "Even people with far more mature personalities feel this way at this stage."

Clark seemed to catch who he meant. He glanced at the door and asked: "You mean those two guys just now? Who are they? I get the feeling they're dangerous."

"It's hard to explain now. Once you spend some time with them, you'll realize—they'll play a crucial role in your future."

"Really? You mean I'll become friends with them?"

"In a sense, yes. They'll be the ones who understand you best—and whom you understand best."

"No way?!" Clark sat up again, frowning at Schiller. "Don't tell me you have precognition, Professor. Those two just strike me as weird."

"Of course not necessarily. Right now, it seems they're closer to each other."

"Closer…? But I feel…"

Clark's expression grew hesitant. Then he lowered his voice to Schiller: "Let me be clear—I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I have a special ability. I can sense what's happening outside the wall."

"I heard one of them tell the other something about a treasure, and that there's a secret beneath the mayor's estate…"

"Beneath?" Schiller frowned, but quickly added: "Still, it's none of my business. I'm going to bed."

He stood up, picked up his umbrella, and before leaving, told Clark: "At your age, you can stay awake all night over a small problem. I can't."

"Tonight, I've slept less than two hours. According to your theory, the price I'm willing to pay for a good night's sleep right now is beyond anyone's imagination."

With that, Schiller left. Clark rolled over, still pondering Schiller's questions. He hadn't been sleeping well lately, and as he thought, he slowly drifted into sleep.

After returning to his guest room, Schiller changed into his pajamas, preparing to sleep. Though it was daytime, heavy snow continued outside, and the sky remained gloomy—perfect for sleeping.

No sooner had he changed than, as expected, someone knocked on the guest room door. Schiller sighed without surprise, stood, and opened it. Outside stood Lex Luthor.

"What do you want?" Schiller asked directly.

Lex stared at Schiller in silence for a moment, then asked: "Why do you always seem to be watching me?"

"Aren't you worth watching?"

"I just don't understand…" Lex kept his eyes fixed on Schiller's, but found no discernible emotion there. He continued:

"Bruce is your student. You know him better, so you favor him—I get that. But why do you trust that Clark guy so much?"

Lex frowned: "If it had been him instead of me, would you have let him enter first?"

"Your judgment of us seems to rely on something beyond facts. What is it?" Lex asked.

Schiller fell silent under the question. After a long pause, he stepped aside and said to Lex: "Come in. Let's talk."

Lex entered, and heard Schiller close the door behind him: "It's… a bias I can't easily explain."

Then he heard Schiller sigh deeply. After shutting the door, Schiller turned and said: "What do you really want?"

"I just want to ask—are you truly amnesiac?" Lex stood with his hands hanging, staring at Schiller.

Schiller stood opposite him and nodded. Lex frowned: "You really don't remember meeting me?"

Schiller narrowed his eyes. He had to admit—he still hadn't fully learned from past lessons. He still viewed real people through the lens of their original roles.

For instance, he'd always held positive views of Bruce and Clark because they were protagonists in the source material. But he'd remained wary of Luthor.

Though Lex's question had made him aware of this bias, when Lex spoke those words, Schiller still suspected he was plotting something.

"You're not going to tell me you once saved me, are you?" Schiller asked Lex.

"On the contrary," Lex's answer surprised Schiller. He continued: "You saved me. Right here."

"Two years ago, I was still under my father's drug control. I was young, powerless, completely at his mercy. To monitor me, he never left my side—even when we came here for the banquet, he brought me along."

"I don't know what happened in between, but then Lionel brought you to my room, saying he'd treat me. You knocked him out, gave me a mysterious liquid, and restored my sanity."

"Wait—a mysterious liquid? What was it?"

"I don't know." Lex shook his head. "I only remember a moment of excruciating pain, and wild hallucinations—some still haunt my dreams, though they've faded over time, nearly vanished now."

"Can you describe the liquid's appearance?"

"You pulled out a test tube—probably the smallest size. There was some liquid at the bottom, color indistinguishable. But when you opened the cap, I smelled a strong, rich wine aroma."

Schiller's brow deepened. He had to repeatedly confirm with Lex, but Lex's description never changed: indistinct color, wine scent, induced violent hallucinations…

"Wine?" Schiller murmured softly, his tone full of doubt: "How could my past self have had wine? That wasn't in the basement of Gotham Cathedral… had I been to Gotham before?"

"I know you don't trust me. Even setting aside your bizarre bias, if I walked up to a stranger and said you once knew me, no one would believe me…"

"No." To Lex's surprise, Schiller denied it. He explained: "What you just described—that's evidence."

Schiller believed it was unlikely Lex had encountered the Wine God Factor and fabricated this lie. It was even less likely he'd randomly invent a few lies that perfectly matched the Wine God Factor's properties.

Moreover, if this were true, Lex's earlier attacks on Benjamin and Bruce made sense. So his story was likely genuine.

"Alright. But since you've lost your memory, I think I should tell you…"

"From what I know, you left in a hurry—but left something behind."

"I don't know if it's connected to the treasure beneath the estate, but I've already gotten the key to Bruce. He'll scout ahead for us."

"How do you know he's scouting? What if he just takes the treasure for himself?"

Lex shook his head: "It's not that simple. That treasure isn't coins piled in a chest like in fairy tales. It's likely dangerous."

"Besides, I don't care if he takes it. I just want to help you recover what you left behind."

Lex sighed: "Lionel wants that treasure because he heard it enhances intelligence. But obviously…"

"Enhance intelligence? I don't need that."

"What if… I don't really want to recover my old things either?" Schiller sat on the bed and sighed.

"You don't seem to care about your amnesia?" Lex asked, puzzled. "Don't you want to know how this happened?"

"Do you know what I want to do right now?"

"... What?" Lex suddenly had a bad feeling. He felt a chill down his spine and stepped back slightly.

Then he heard Schiller's voice—tired, cold:

"I just want to sleep."