"I see."
After regaining some of his strength, Clark looked slightly resentful as he took two slow, steady breaths. The irritation on his face wasn't directed at anger so much as embarrassment, the kind that lingered when someone realized they had been carefully outmaneuvered by someone they trusted.
He could more or less guess why his brother hadn't told him earlier.
Most likely, sometime in the future, when he was absolutely certain Clark couldn't stop him, Victor would suddenly pull out that secret and wave it around like a trump card. Clark could already imagine the humiliating result—him collapsing to the ground in front of everyone, helpless and powerless. Even an eighty-year-old grandfather would lose his confidence if something like that happened.
Of course, there was another possibility.
Maybe Victor was worried that if Clark encountered another Red Meteor, his personality might change drastically again. If that happened, the hidden trump card could be used to control him before things got out of hand.
"I'll be careful," Clark said quietly.
No matter the reason, he didn't want to dwell on it anymore. After all, he had hidden things too. His super hearing was still a secret from his brother, something he had never mentioned.
Seeing Clark nod seriously, Victor seemed satisfied. With Clark aware of the risk now, the chances of something going disastrously wrong should be much lower.
Victor turned and headed downstairs, preparing to go to bed.
In truth, Victor believed Clark still had one major weakness—something far more dangerous than kryptonite in the long run. But even if he pointed it out, Clark probably wouldn't avoid it anyway.
…
After being away for so long, Victor decided to spend several days resting at home.
His recent trip had taken him all the way to the North Sea. Between capturing Paradise Island and fighting Ares, the God of War, he had burned through a massive amount of energy.
The following month hadn't been relaxing either. The Amazons had been relentlessly training, and he had personally pushed them to practice dance as part of their discipline and coordination training.
Watching hundreds of Amazons practicing their dance routines every day was definitely not relaxation. If anything, it was exhausting in its own unique way.
Meanwhile, Clark still had work to do.
He balanced two lives—his job as Chloe's assistant helping with reporting work, and his responsibilities as Superman.
"Superman…"
Thinking about that title, the one given to him by Chloe's famous journalist cousin, Lois Lane, Clark couldn't help thinking about someone else.
Lana.
In the apartment Chloe rented, Clark leaned against a desk beside the window while organizing audio transcripts from recent interviews. As he sorted the files, he occasionally looked out into the distance, a trace of nostalgia flickering across his face.
He remembered the moment vividly.
Back then, he had been embarrassed in front of Lana because of the meteorite necklace she wore. She had picked up his fallen copy of Nietzsche and asked him a simple question.
Was he an ordinary person?
Or a superman?
"Who would've thought," Clark murmured softly, "that I'd actually become Superman."
He didn't reject the title anymore. In fact, it felt strangely fitting, as though fate had quietly pushed him toward it all along.
He wondered whether Lois had simply seen his abilities and labeled him a superhuman, or whether the name had been inspired by Nietzsche's philosophy.
"Superman is the leader among humans," Clark whispered thoughtfully. "An absolute spiritual powerhouse… someone who surpasses himself. The Superman becomes the measure of truth and morality, the creator of values and meaning."
The words felt heavy as they left his mouth.
For a moment, Clark wondered if he could truly carry that title. Could he live up to the hopes of the people who believed in him?
Could he become the symbol they needed?
Suddenly, his ears twitched slightly.
Clark frowned.
Across the city, inside a prison.
"This city failed me!"
The voice was furious and hoarse, vibrating with restrained rage.
"Those idiots actually had the nerve to throw their Mr. Metropolitan in prison!"
Glen Morgan was no longer the calm, composed businessman people once knew. Sitting in the prison visitation room, he leaned toward the glass like a coiled king cobra ready to strike. His voice was low, but it carried an unmistakable edge of madness.
"All because I was connected to gangs? Because I killed people? Sold drugs? Bribed officials?!"
His lips curled in contempt.
"Don't they see the money I give this city? Do they even understand how much I donate to charity every year?"
His eyes burned with fury.
"I want this city to learn the price of betraying me. I want them to feel pain… a hundred times worse than what I've suffered!"
On the other side of the glass sat a cold-faced man.
"Is everything ready, Olson?" Morgan asked.
"Anytime, sir," the man replied calmly. "The train arrives at seven."
"Good."
Morgan leaned back in his chair, a twisted smile forming.
"When I return to my cell tonight, it'll be dinner time. I plan to enjoy a box of top-quality caviar while watching the evening news."
He chuckled darkly.
"You understand what I mean."
"Of course, sir," Olson said with a small nod.
After the call ended, Olson calmly left the prison and began contacting his subordinates.
Clark's super hearing followed every word.
At first he listened with curiosity.
Then concern.
Then growing alarm.
And finally, pure shock.
When the plan was fully revealed, Clark shot to his feet. His chair slid violently backward, scraping across the floor with a harsh sound.
"What's wrong, Clark?"
In the bedroom, Chloe had just returned from an interview and was resting. Hearing the sudden noise, she sat up in confusion.
"I have something urgent," Clark said quickly. "I have to go out."
He glanced at his watch.
6:50 PM.
Without offering further explanation, he grabbed his jacket and rushed out the door.
Somewhere in the city, a high-speed train—and possibly an entire neighborhood full of innocent lives—was waiting to be saved.
Only ten minutes remained.
But first he needed to find out which train had been rigged with the sensor bomb.
…
Boom!
King's Platform stood under the fading light of dusk.
A sixteen-car high-speed urban train nearly a mile long had just left the station.
Several blocks away, a red-caped figure shot into the air.
Clark leapt from the rooftop of a tall building, soaring across multiple city blocks with the force of wind and thunder. Carrying the roar of rushing air behind him, he landed beside the platform with explosive force.
Chunks of pavement flew outward as spiderweb cracks spread across the ground.
"It's Superman!"
People waiting on the platform had been idly scrolling through their phones, bored while waiting for the train. Now many of them froze in shock.
Some stared with their mouths wide open.
One man dropped his phone entirely.
"Everyone get out of here!" Clark shouted. "There's a bomb! Move to a safe place immediately!"
Without waiting for their reaction, he forced open the sealed safety gate.
The thick steel door bent outward under his grip, warping as if crushed by invisible pressure.
Clark jumped down onto the track and sprinted down the railway corridor.
"Bomb?"
"Superman, wait!"
The crowd recovered from their shock and shouted warnings after him.
But a red-and-blue blur had already vanished from sight.
Ahead of him raced the train.
The sleek steel body looked like a massive bullet as it sped along the tracks at four hundred kilometers per hour, slicing through the wind.
Clark caught up easily.
Time seemed to slow around him.
He ripped open the roof panel of one carriage and dropped inside.
"Where is it?" he muttered urgently. "Where's the bomb?"
Before arriving, he had tracked down Olson and interrogated him—several trips to the top of the tallest building in Metropolis had convinced the man to cooperate quickly.
Olson had revealed which train was targeted.
But he didn't know exactly where the bomb had been hidden.
And the gang member responsible for planting it couldn't be reached.
"There's not enough time."
Clark carefully used the force field surrounding his body to push passengers aside without harming them while he searched beneath their seats.
But the process was painfully slow.
And the bomb might not even be under a seat.
It could be hidden anywhere.
Meanwhile, the faint ticking sound he had heard earlier was now drowned out by the rushing wind and roaring steel.
The attackers' plan was terrifyingly simple.
A sensor device had been placed on the next platform. The moment the train passed by, the bomb would detect the signal and detonate.
Thousands could die.
Clark clenched his fists.
He shot out of the train and arrived at the next platform in an instant.
Standing dozens of meters away from the edge, he swallowed hard.
The train was already approaching.
From the darkness of the tunnel, it rushed forward like a steel python, moving at four hundred kilometers per hour.
Clark turned and faced it directly.
"Then I'll stop it… before it reaches the platform."
Glen Morgan had gone to prison because Clark exposed his crimes.
This revenge attack was aimed at the entire city.
But Clark couldn't ignore the truth.
It was because of him.
"Come on!" Clark shouted.
"No one's getting hurt!"
The wind screamed past his ears as the train roared closer. His vision darkened slightly from the pressure, but he gritted his teeth and braced himself.
This wasn't simply a matter of stopping a several-hundred-ton machine traveling at four hundred kilometers per hour.
He had to use the force field around his body to protect the entire train.
Otherwise, the sudden stop would send catastrophic force through every carriage.
Steel walls would crumple like paper.
Cars might derail.
Passengers would die.
And the bomb might explode.
The train was almost here.
There was no more time to think.
The massive steel vehicle, hundreds of meters long, thundered forward with the unstoppable force of a mountain avalanche.
Clark roared and planted his feet into the ground.
Then he lunged forward and grabbed the front of the train.
Boom!
A violent shockwave exploded outward, kicking up dust and debris that swallowed the platform.
…
Back at home, dinner was nearly ready.
The warm smell of food drifted through the house as Martha finished cooking a simple meal—beef stew with potatoes.
In the living room, Victor and Jonathan sat on the couch watching television while waiting for Clark to return.
Suddenly, the news anchor's voice trembled with urgency as an emergency broadcast interrupted the program.
Both men immediately sat up.
"Breaking news," the host announced. "Moments ago, Superman appeared at King's Platform and warned civilians waiting for the city's high-speed train about a bomb threat."
The camera cut to live footage.
"Superman then chased down train AZ187 and stopped it with incredible force just before it reached the platform. However, he collapsed unconscious afterward."
Victor and Jonathan's expressions darkened.
"Please watch the live coverage."
The camera moved past heavily armed soldiers guarding the scene.
The train had stopped abruptly.
The front carriage was severely deformed, twisted like rippling metal waves. The tremendous force that had traveled through the steel body was clearly visible.
And yet something impossible had occurred.
Only the front section was crushed.
The hundreds of meters of train behind it sat safely on the tracks.
Passengers were disembarking in shock.
At the very front of the train were two enormous footprints.
The railway sleepers beneath them had been shattered and sunk more than ten inches into the ground.
Nearby, several technicians in protective suits were carefully collecting something from the ground.
It appeared to be sweat.
There should have been someone standing there.
But that person was gone.
The anchor continued speaking.
"Regardless of whether a bomb was actually found, Superman has saved hundreds of lives in this city over the past month."
"It is reported that the unconscious Superman was taken away by a military helicopter before authorities arrived."
"We hope the military will release him once the investigation is complete."
The room fell silent.
Buzz.
"Clark?"
Hearing the news, Victor suddenly stood up from the sofa and stepped forward.
His eyes locked onto the blocked-off scene on the television as his expression darkened.
....
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