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POV: Clark Kent
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I sat on my couch, boots off, costume still on—cape draped behind me like a worn-out towel—and a half-warm TV dinner balanced on my lap. I'd been staring at the TV for the past five minutes without really seeing it… until my face filled the screen. Or, well, Superman's face.
A blurry freeze-frame from someone's phone caught me mid-flight—soaring out of a smoke-filled apartment building with two people in my arms. The news anchors were talking a mile a minute about "the mystery hero" and "savior in a cape." I felt… a weird mix of pride and embarrassment.
The screen switched. CCTV footage. Grainy black-and-white. A convenience store. A man with a ski mask shouting and waving a pistol at a terrified woman behind the counter. Glass shattered everywhere.
I remembered that moment. I'd been flying overhead and heard the scream.
In a single heartbeat, I was inside.
The footage barely caught it. One second, the guy was threatening her. The next, he was sprawled on the ground, groaning and tied up with a bike lock and chain. In the far corner of the footage, my cape fluttered before I stepped out of view.
The channel cut to a street reporter standing outside the store. The same cashier stood next to him, clutching a coffee cup like it was her last anchor to reality.
"What was going through your mind during the incident?" the reporter asked.
She gave a nervous laugh. "That I wasn't even supposed to be working today. I was going to hang out with friends. Instead... I had a gun in my face."
The fear in her voice was real. I'd heard it up close. But she tried to stay chipper, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear like it helped keep the memory away.
"And what about the man who saved you?" the reporter pressed gently.
Her whole demeanor changed. She straightened, eyes shining just a little.
"I—I don't know how to explain it," she said, smiling now. "One moment, it felt like everything was over, and then… he was just there. This guy in blue and red, with an 'S' on his chest. Calm, like nothing scared him. He didn't just stop the robber—he talked to me. Made sure I was okay."
The reporter leaned in. "Did he tell you his name?"
She nodded. "Yeah. I asked. He said…" She glanced at the camera. "He said to call him Superman."
The TV flashed back to that same CCTV footage. The part where I nodded to her before flying away. My cape trailing behind me like a flag.
I leaned back on the couch, dinner forgotten as I watched the news play and report interviewed people I had saved and helped.
A old woman speaks about how I stopped a purse snatched from even making it halfway down the street.
Another was a young man talking about how he was about to be assaulted when I appeared floating above scaring his assailants away.
A couple spoke about how they got a flat on the highway but I floated down and helped them change their tire and even got them gas.
More and more people I saved and helped spoke and told their stories.
It felt unreal. But this was real. I wasn't just Clark Kent anymore. I am Superman.
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The Morning After
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The sun was shining over New York, casting golden light over the streets below. Clark walked with a calm rhythm, backpack slung over one shoulder as he made his way toward Midtown High. The morning air was brisk, but he didn't mind. After last night, it was oddly refreshing to just be… normal again. At least, for a little while.
Up ahead, he spotted Peter Parker and Ned Leeds already chatting animatedly at the school's front steps. As he approached, he caught their conversation mid-sentence.
"…He just flew into the building. No hesitation," Peter said, wide-eyed. "I mean, he flew, Ned. That guy—Superman—he's the real deal."
Ned nodded rapidly. "Forget the flying, man! Did you see the way he blew out the fire like a candle? Or was it ice breath? Something frosted up those windows before the fire went out. How do you even get powers like that?"
Clark chuckled as he reached them. "Maybe he's just built different."
Peter turned, smiling. "Clark! Morning, man. You see the footage online? Superman saved, like, twenty people. And he didn't even stick around for the press."
Clark gave a small smile. "Yeah… saw some of it. Looks like he's helped a lot of people already." He kept his voice casual, but inside, his thoughts were already racing.
Peter hasn't been bitten yet.
He'd been watching closely since he arrived in this world. Waiting. Hoping. In the comics, Peter Parker became Spider-Man around this age, but so far? Nothing. No wall-crawling, no enhanced strength, no spider-sense. And no other heroes either—just myths and rumors.
But in a univers with elements of Marvel and DC i expected to see or hear of oth3r hero but nothing.
Stark was still a playboy and weapons manufacturer.
Hulk or Bruce Banner was missing so hes probably somewhere in South America or Navada.
Gotham exists but its just normal crime so far and Bruce is gone.
Wonder Woman isn't anywhere except in the history books.
Captain America… still frozen, probably. He sighed internally. If I'm the only one out here, then I need to be more careful. More present.
"…Right, Clark?" Ned's voice pulled him back.
"Huh?" Clark blinked.
"I said, he might be an mutant. I mean, nobody normal can be that fast, that strong, and can fly. Unless you're a mutant," Ned said, gesturing as if it were obvious.
Clark laughed nervously. "Yeah, I guess that'd explain a lot…"
Before Peter could reply, he stopped mid-step, staring at something across the courtyard. "What the—?"
Clark followed their gaze and saw Flash Thompson holding up a plain blue shirt, freshly spray-painted with a bright red and yellow 'S' in the center.
"Where did he get that?" Clark muttered, eyes drifting further. It wasn't just Flash. A dozen other students were wearing makeshift Superman shirts—some red, some black, others just taped on or drawn with markers.
Peter spoke what Clark was thinking. "It's only been one day. That symbol's already everywhere."
A voice behind them answered. "Me and some of the art club kids painted them last night. Thought it'd be cool to show some appreciation."
The trio turned. Gwen Stacy stood there, arms crossed and smiling lightly.
Clark blinked. "Oh. Hey."
Peter and Ned stared at him.
"You know Gwen Stacy?" Ned whispered.
Clark scratched the back of his head, sheepish. "We talked once or twice…"
"Hi, Clark," Gwen said with a small smile, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Mind introducing me to your friends?"
Clark cleared his throat. "Right, uh—this is Peter Parker, and that's Ned Leeds."
Gwen nodded at them. "I already know Peter."
Peter blinked. "You do?"
She nodded. "You're the smartest guy in the school. The only person with better grades than me."
Peter turned beet red. "How do you know that?"
Gwen only smiled. "I have my ways."
Ned leaned in. "She hacked the school's network."
Everyone turned to stare at him.
"What? Just a guess," Ned said quickly, raising his hands in surrender. "She's the daughter of the famous Detective George Stacy. Probably picked up a few tricks."
Gwen arched an eyebrow, then shrugged. "Smart guess."
She turned her attention back to Clark. "Hey, you mind if we talk? Just the two of us?"
Clark glanced at Peter and Ned. "Uh… sure. Yeah."
Peter and Ned gave him a look. But Clark just shrugged at the pair than followed Gwen.
Gwen didn't waste time once we found a quiet spot in the hallway just before the lunch bell rang.
"I was thinking," she said, tapping her fingers against her phone. "About Liz… and how she's been falling behind in chemistry."
I nodded. "Yeah, I've been helping her out after school when I can. Just basic tutoring stuff."
"Well," she smiled, "I thought we could do it together. Divide and conquer. I take science, you take math. That way she doesn't fall behind in either."
"That sounds fine to me," I said. "It'll probably help her more anyway. Two heads and all."
Gwen grinned at that and handed me her phone. "Here—put your number in. That way we can coordinate when and where."
I hesitated for just a moment—funny how something so simple still felt new—but I took the phone and typed in my number. She texted me a quick "hi" so I'd have hers too. "There. Now we're officially co-tutors."
She gave me a wink and turned to head toward her class.
"See you after school, Kent."
I gave a small wave. "Yeah. See you."
Not five seconds after she disappeared around the corner, I heard the familiar voices of Peter and Ned as they rushed up beside me.
"Dude." Ned leaned in with wide eyes. "What was that?"
"What?" I asked.
Peter elbowed me lightly. "You and Gwen. You were talking. Alone. Smiling. That's not nothing."
"We're tutoring Liz together after school," I explained, casually slinging my bag over my shoulder.
There was a long pause. Both of them stared at me with open mouths like I'd just casually mentioned I was flying to Mars after school.
"You're what?" Ned nearly shouted.
"Clark, do you realize what this means?" Peter asked.
I blinked. "That… Liz will be better prepared for finals?"
"No!" Ned flailed dramatically. "You literally have the phone numbers of two of the hottest girls in school. You hang out with them—after school. Regularly!"
I frowned. "It's not like that. I only have their numbers because I'm tutoring Liz, and Gwen just happens to be helping in science. That's all."
Peter stared at me like I was from another planet. Which… well, they're not wrong, but still.
"Clark," Ned said, slinging an arm around my shoulder. "You're either the smoothest guy we've ever met… or the most oblivious."
"Definitely oblivious," Peter added with a grin.
I rolled my eyes and kept walking toward the cafeteria, but a small part of me couldn't help smiling.
The school day had ended hours ago, and the sky had begun shifting to that warm golden hue that signaled dusk. I stepped out of Midtown High, the cool breeze brushing my face as I waved goodbye to Gwen and Liz. Gwen smiled, her usual confident smirk softening a little as she turned to walk in the opposite direction, earbuds already back in.
Liz offered a more reserved goodbye, her shoulder bag bouncing at her side as she made her way down the street toward her neighborhood.
It was just me now, walking the cracked sidewalks of Queens with my backpack slung over one shoulder and my mind occupied with thoughts I couldn't say aloud. Not to anyone. Not yet.
I'd barely made it two blocks when a sharp, panicked scream pierced the air.
It was like a sonar ping in my brain. My entire body froze as I focused. Another scream followed—a woman's voice—and then shouts, the clatter of movement, the unmistakable click of a gun being racked.
I snapped my head in the direction of the sound. My eyes narrowed. In less than a heartbeat, my vision zoomed in like a high-powered lens—there. Half a dozen civilians huddled outside a jewelry store, hands raised. Inside, masked figures with assault rifles barked orders, one of them shoving a trembling cashier to the floor.
A robbery. Coordinated. Military precision. The way they moved—it wasn't amateur. They weren't just robbing the store; they were corralling hostages. Professional. Dangerous.
I could already hear sirens in the distance, maybe ten blocks out. But the way these guys were operating, they'd be long gone by the time the cops showed up. It'd turn into a city-wide chase. People could get hurt. Or worse.
I looked around.
The street near me was quiet. No one watching. No one who'd see.
I ducked into a narrow alley between two apartment buildings, heart hammering in my chest.
I dropped my backpack and unzipped it quickly, pulling back the flap and revealing the symbol.
That iconic 'S' stared back at me in crimson and gold, the blue suit folded neatly inside.
I pulled it free.
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