Damn it, I’m surrounded by those who kill their fathers!

Bruce quickly drove Peter to their destination.

Officer Chandler was leaning against his patrol car on the roadside. The moment he saw Peter arriving, he straightened up nervously.

"Is there another victim?"

Peter stepped out of the car and approached Chandler with Bruce.

Bruce, on the other hand, was a bit surprised upon seeing Chandler.

Isn't this the cop who ran out of the bar last night?

Chandler, oblivious to Bruce's reaction, greeted Peter enthusiastically and led the two toward a nearby villa.

"This time, the victim is Horace Hunter, a banker who came back to Smallville for a vacation, only to meet his untimely demise."

As they walked, Chandler gave them the details.

Peter observed the villa's luxurious decor. "Such a shame—so much money, but gone so early."

"Maybe it's all part of the Grim Reaper's script. Mortals can't rewrite it."

Their conversation ended as Chandler led them into the villa's living room, where an odd smell greeted their noses.

"That pile of ash on the sofa—that's the victim," Chandler said, pointing at the blackened remains.

Peter walked over to examine the scene. The sofa bore scorch marks, but there was no evidence of footprints or other clues nearby.

"No surveillance? Nothing at all?"

"Not here. He didn't install cameras in his own home like he would at a bank," Chandler shrugged, muttering under his breath, Could this be the work of demons?

He still hadn't forgotten the bizarre murder case he'd worked on with Peter before, and now he suspected a similar cause.

"Oh, right."

Chandler suddenly remembered something. "The victim had a Doberman. Strangely, the dog wasn't found at the scene. And..."

He pointed to the floor. "There are no signs of a struggle. Think about it—if something happened to its owner, wouldn't the Doberman have attacked? But there's nothing here."

"Maybe it wasn't on the scene at the time," Bruce suggested.

Chandler shook his head but didn't argue further.

Meanwhile, Peter used his super-vision to scan the room. Finally, he noticed something metallic behind the curtain.

Walking to the window, he pulled the curtain aside and found a small clump of dusty grime on the sill. He crouched and picked up the metallic object: a dog tag engraved with the word Buddy.

"I think I've found our cute Doberman," Peter said, showing the tag to Bruce and Chandler.

"Wait… Are you saying the pile of ash on the floor is the dog?" Bruce asked, stunned.

"Mm-hmm, I'm afraid so," Peter replied, handing the tag to Chandler, who was equally dumbfounded. "This wasn't just a case of spontaneous combustion. Even the dog wasn't spared."

Dusting off his hands, Peter addressed Chandler, "We'll need to keep in touch. Let me know if you find any new leads."

"Will do," Chandler replied, swallowing nervously.

On the drive back to the farm, Bruce remained silent, his brows furrowed.

"Something on your mind?" Peter asked as he drove.

"It's just… too strange," Bruce admitted. "If this were spontaneous human combustion, why would the dog also combust? Sir, I think it's likely not a fire or combustion incident at all."

"Something deliberate, then," Peter suggested, stopping the car at an intersection.

If this was the work of a Kryptonite-mutated individual, it could lead to another chance to recover green Kryptonite.

That evening, Bruce was out investigating the "spontaneous combustion" case and didn't return for dinner.

"Dad."

Star-Lord, lying on his bed, called out to Peter as he was about to leave the room. "Can you tell me about Bruce?"

"Of course." Peter sat on the edge of the bed. "Curious about Bruce's story?"

"Not exactly. I just want to know about your past with him."

"Well, it's a long story. Back then, Bruce wasn't this tall," Peter began, recounting how he had met Bruce in Metropolis.

When Peter finished, Star-Lord blinked and asked, "Does Bruce really have no parents?"

"Sadly, yes. They were shot in an alley when he was very young."

"That's tragic," Star-Lord said thoughtfully. "No wonder John is so hostile toward Bruce. He probably thinks Bruce is trying to steal you from him."

"Bruce isn't interested in that," Peter assured him, patting Star-Lord on the shoulder before standing up to leave.

"Dad," Star-Lord said suddenly, "I saw a fortune-teller near the Talon Club today."

"A fortune-teller?"

"Yes, a lady on South Street holding a sign: Psychic Readings, $10 to learn how you'll die."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Accurate?"

"I don't know. I just eavesdropped for a bit," Star-Lord admitted. "She told one guy he'd die in a jet-ski accident, another that a bear would eat him in his living room, and something about Ebola, monkey flu, and squirrel pox. I didn't catch the rest."

"Dad, can I borrow ten dollars to try?"

"You don't need to believe that stuff, Star-Lord," Peter said, shaking his head. "She's not a psychic, just a storyteller making things up to entertain people."

"Really? So she's lying?"

"Not maliciously," Peter explained. "Most people don't care about how they'll die. They just want to know how to live. Though they might not realize how connected the two are."

"Hmm."

Star-Lord nodded but then hesitated. "But Dad… she said if I don't lose weight, I'll choke to death on a cold cheesesteak. I kind of want her to check again."

"Uh…" Peter paused before offering, "She's just scaring you. If you want, I'll knock over her stand tomorrow, okay?"

"No, Dad. I think she has a point," Star-Lord said, lowering his voice. "I want to be as fit as Bruce."

"Wait…" Peter cut him off, scrutinizing him. "Are you lowering your voice on purpose?"

"No!" Star-Lord protested in an unnaturally deep tone. "This is just how I talk, Dad."

Peter sighed, deciding not to argue with him. "Fine. Just get some sleep, okay?"

"Goodnight, Dad," Star-Lord replied in an exaggeratedly deep voice.

Peter closed the door, muttering, "Unbelievable."

The next morning, Star-Lord and John stood in the living room, staring wide-eyed at Bruce, who had arrived with a stunning woman in tow.

Peter, coming downstairs, froze when he saw her.

'Wait... Isn't that Katie, the art teacher I met at school a few days ago?'

"When did Bruce get so close to her?"

Before Peter could process his thoughts, Bruce hurried over to introduce her. "Sir, this is my girlfriend, Katie Wisniewski."

Katie smiled warmly and extended her hand. "Mr. Podrick, it's nice to see you again."

"You know each other?" Bruce asked, surprised.

"Not for long," Katie explained. "We met recently about a school matter."

Peter was momentarily stunned. This kid's how old, and he's already dating?

Suppressing his misgivings, he asked Bruce, "Weren't you investigating the case? Is this your 'result'?"

Bruce explained, "I met Katie during the investigation. We talked and found we had a lot in common. It was love at first sight."

"Love at first sight?"

Peter gave Bruce a skeptical look but didn't press further. Something felt off.

Turning to Katie, he shook her hand. As their hands touched, an odd sensation coursed through him. Katie didn't seem to notice and smiled politely.

Releasing her hand, Peter glanced at Bruce.

"Bruce, I think… we need to talk."

...

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