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I stared at the ceiling.
My heart was still racing, even though I was back in my apartment. The door was locked. The city was distant again, muffled through the walls. My jury-rigged disguise—a hoodie, goggles, and a torn-up paper mask—lay discarded on the floor like evidence at a crime scene.
I'd saved someone tonight.
That should've felt good. Right?
Instead, I felt… wrong.
Not because I acted—but how I did it.
I kept running it over and over in my head. The scream. The alley. The landing. The blur of motion. Two men down, the woman left standing in shock.
And me?
Gone. Like a ghost.
I didn't ask if she was okay. I didn't call the cops. Didn't stay until help arrived or give her a name to hold on to.
Hell, I barely said anything at all.
Just swooped in, wrecked shop, and vanished like some rooftop cryptid.
Was that what I wanted to be? Another shadow in the night? Batman probably would've given me a polite thumbs-up and then criticized my landing.
I rubbed my face, sighing.
That wasn't who I wanted to be.
I wasn't supposed to be a ghost in the dark. I was supposed to be… something more.
The Man of Tomorrow.
It sounded ridiculous when I said it in my head. Like something pulled from a Silver Age comic book. But still, the title stuck with me. It meant something.
Hope. Strength. Light in the dark. A symbol.
I looked down at my hands—hands that could bend steel or cradle someone gently enough not to bruise them. I clenched them into fists and let them fall to my sides.
"If I had to grade that rescue," I muttered aloud to no one, "I'd give it a C+."
Passing… but barely. Could've done better.
Should've done better.
But I didn't know what I was doing. Not really.
From the moment I'd woken up in this world—reborn as Clark Kent—I knew I was destined to walk a path that wasn't meant to be ordinary. I had powers, strength, speed, senses far beyond any normal person.
And with them came that expectation.
Superman.
The name loomed over me like a mantle and a monument. It wasn't just about powers or punching bad guys. It was about being someone better. Someone the world could look up to.
But how the hell was I supposed to do that?
Becoming Superman wasn't as simple as throwing on a cape and calling it a day. There were no manuals. No guidebooks. No "Heroism for Dummies" sitting on my nightstand.
Just… me.
A seventeen-year-old alien farm boy living in a New York apartment that smelled faintly of burnt toast and cheap floor cleaner, trying to figure out if I was supposed to change the world or survive it.
I stood up, paced the length of my small room, and stopped by the window. The moon was high above the city. Lights sparkled below like constellations flipped upside down. Life moved on—people working late, couples arguing on the sidewalk, a dog barking in the distance.
This world didn't know me.
Not yet.
But they would.
One day, I would get there.
I wasn't him yet—not Superman.
But I would be.
Eventually.
I felt a invisible weight on my shoulders I tied to ignore the sensation but it didn't work and the suddenly the smallness of my apartment became a problem.
I needed air.
Not city air—the kind thick with exhaust and noise and too many people moving in too many directions. I needed space. Room to breathe. Room to move.
So I left the city.
Took a cab to one of the city's many suburbs before walking once I was sure I wouldn't be noticed or if I was no one would belive what other said so I left into the air travling over mutiple buildings.
The sensation was liberating until I fell to the ground with a loud thud after a moment I jumped again the next landing softer.
"Better," I though but I needed more focus I needed practice and looking down I saw just the place a forest far from any highway or roads.
I floated down until my feet touched the ground and I was among the trees hidden from the world and I took a deep breath.
Here, I didn't have to worry about being seen.
Here, I could just… be.
The tall trees stretched skyward like natural towers, their bark dark and gnarled. I walked between them slowly, breathing in the crisp air. Then I stopped at one—an old pine, thick and wide, probably twice my age—and I raised a fist.
Time for control.
I pulled my punch trying to leave a dent but not break the tree.
*Bam!*
The trunk shook with a hollow thud, bark cracking slightly, but the tree held firm. No splinters. No crater. Good.
I hit it again—this time with just a little more force.
Thwack.
A few pinecones rained down, but the trunk didn't split. Still good.
This was the part most people didn't get. It wasn't just about being strong—it was about knowing how strong. I had to live my life in constant moderation, like balancing the throttle of a rocket engine while holding a feather in my hand.
I smiled at the memory.
"C'mon, son," Pa Kent had said one morning, back on the farm. "Let's see if you can catch this."
It was a fastball—only instead of a baseball, it was a bowling ball. We worked our way down over the summer. Baseball, basketball, tractor tire, chunk of concrete… even a porcelain cup from Ma's fine china set.
That one had gone surprisingly well—until Ma came outside and saw us.
"My mother's teacup?!" she'd shrieked.
The next few minutes had involved a broom waving high in the air and two cowards running for their lives.
I chuckled, the sound echoing off the trees.
Those were good days. Quiet. Simple.
But this wasn't Kansas. And I wasn't just Clark anymore.
Turning my eyes skyward, I took a deep breath. The canopy above filtered sunlight through green and gold, the branches swaying slightly in the breeze.
Time to try the next step.
Flying.
I'd done it before—sort of. More like leaping with style. Hovering for a few seconds at most. But I'd never truly flown with control or confidence.
I closed my eyes.
Focused.
Let go.
The ground fell away beneath me—soft, slow, natural. Wind rushed past my ears, rustling my hair. I hovered six feet in the air, heart pounding in my chest.
Then… forward.
At first, I drifted, barely moving faster than a jogger. But with each breath, each beat of concentration, I picked up speed. Trees whipped past me as I weaved between trunks and under branches, dipping, spinning, climbing.
The forest became a blur, transformed in my mind's eye into a cityscape. Each tree a skyscraper. Each boulder a parked car. Each bird or branch a possible obstacle.
This was it.
Not just strength. Not just speed.
Freedom.
I whooped aloud, grinning like an idiot as I soared through the trees. For the first time since arriving in this world—since waking up as Clark Kent—I didn't feel like I was borrowing someone else's story.
I felt like I was writing my own.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(Sometime Later)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The forest had quieted again.
A few birds chirped from high branches. The leaves whispered in the wind like a lullaby only the trees could hear. I stood at the edge of a small clearing, my breath steady, my limbs light. My heart still thumped with the afterglow of flight. Of control. Of something close to purpose.
This… this felt right.
For the first time since I arrived in this world, since I woke up as Clark Kent, I felt like I'd taken a real step toward becoming who I was meant to be.
Not just the boy from Kansas.
Not just the kid with powers.
But someone who could do something with them.
Still, before I took the next leap, I needed something else. A voice. A tether. A reminder.
I pulled out my phone—cheap, scratched, and barely holding a signal out here—but strong enough.
I tapped the contact labeled Ma and lifted it to my ear.
It only rang once.
"Clark!" she said, her voice practically glowing through the speaker. "I was just thinking about you! Everything alright, baby?"
I smiled, letting the sound of her voice settle my nerves. "Yeah, Ma. I'm okay. I just… needed to hear you."
She chuckled gently. "Well, I'm always here. So, how's the Big Apple treating my boy? Still got all your limbs? No mutant pigeons or weird subway rats stealing your lunch?"
I laughed, the tension in my chest loosening. "No, Ma. No mutant rats—yet. School's been good. I've actually started tutoring someone for extra credit."
There was a pause. I could almost hear her raise an eyebrow.
"Tutoring? Clark Joseph Kent, are you falling behind in your grades?"
I groaned softly. "No, Ma. My grades are fine. It's just something that looks good for college applications. Y'know—responsibility, community service, all that stuff."
"Hmph." She didn't sound entirely convinced, but her tone softened. "Well, I'm proud of you, sweetheart. Have you thought about where you wanna go yet? College-wise?"
"Metropolis University," I said without hesitation.
"Oh?" Her voice perked up, equal parts surprise and pride. "That's a big move."
"I liked the city when I passed through," I said, gazing up through the trees at the moonlit sky. "It felt… I don't know. Hopeful. Like something big could happen there. As for what I want to study… I haven't really decided yet. Journalism's been on my mind. Or maybe science. Engineering, even."
She was quiet for a moment.
Then, softly: "You've got a good head on your shoulders, Clark. And no matter what you decide… I know you'll do something special."
I felt the warmth swell in my chest again—until it mixed with nerves, and my voice tightened slightly.
"Ma… the reason I called—besides missing your voice—I wanted to tell you something."
A beat passed.
"You didn't get expelled, did you?"
"No," I laughed. "No! Nothing like that. I… I saved someone today."
The other end of the line went still.
I heard a faint shift—maybe her setting down a cup, or pausing mid-stitch.
"I heard a woman scream," I continued. "Two guys had her cornered in an alley. One had a gun. They were going through her stuff. I didn't think. I just—moved. Put on a hoodie, some goggles, a paper mask. Crude, but it hid my face. I dropped in. Took 'em down. Quick. Clean. Didn't stick around after."
She breathed out—long and slow.
Then, quietly: "You're not hurt?"
"No. I'm fine."
"And the woman?"
"She's okay. Shaken. I think she was in shock. But… she was safe."
Silence again.
Then: "Your father would've been proud."
My throat tightened.
"I am proud," she added, her voice rich with feeling. "You know… your pa and I—we tried to protect you. Keep your gifts hidden. Maybe we even pushed you too hard to blend in. But deep down, we always knew the truth."
I could hear her smile, soft and bittersweet.
"You weren't meant to blend in, Clark. You were meant for something more."
I closed my eyes, letting the words sink in. The guilt that had been clawing at me all night eased. The harsh self-critique faded, replaced by something else.
Accomplishment.
Fire.
Hope.
But then she continued—and her tone turned sharp.
"That said…"
Uh oh.
"...if you think for one second I'm letting my boy run around saving lives in a hoodie and paper mask, you've got another thing coming."
I blinked. "Wait, what?"
"I've been working on something. Just in case. Wasn't sure if you'd ever need it, but now? I'm putting it in the mail first thing tomorrow. You'll see."
"Ma…" I groaned.
"Nope! You get no say. If you're gonna do this hero business, you're not gonna look like a knocked-over mannequin in a wind tunnel."
I couldn't help but laugh. "You're not gonna tell me what it is, are you?"
"Where's the fun in that?" she teased. "Love you, baby. Be safe out there."
"Love you too, Ma."
The call ended.
The woods were quiet again.
But inside me, everything had changed.
The doubts, the fear, the questions—they hadn't vanished.
But they didn't rule me anymore.
I looked up at the sky, a breeze rustling through the trees around me, and smiled.
Let the world get ready.
I was on my way.