The silence in the studio stretched, growing thick and heavy enough to have its own gravitational pull. For a full ten seconds, the only sound was the faint, asthmatic hum of the studio's overtaxed air conditioning system. On millions of screens across the globe, the world watched, utterly captivated by the sight of the planet's greatest detective seemingly at a loss for words. It was a historic moment, a glitch in the matrix of Batman's terrifying competence.
Kai held his ground, his posture a carefully constructed performance of calm he absolutely did not feel. Inside, his heart was trying to beat its way out of his ribcage like a trapped bird. This was it. He had poked the bear. No, he'd walked up to the mythical, 800-pound gorilla of tactical brooding, looked it deep in its soulless white lenses, and asked it to consider the philosophical implications of its own irrelevance.
Finally, the gravelly, modulated voice of the Bat returned, cutting through the tension with the subtlety of a chainsaw. "Your hypothesis is built on a foundation of hypotheticals, Mr. Kenta." The words were a dismissal, a verbal pat on the head. "It's an interesting thought experiment, nothing more. There is no evidence to suggest such a being ever existed or could exist."
Kai had anticipated this. It was the Bat-Signal for 'I don't have a file on this, therefore it isn't real.' He didn't flinch.
"With all due respect, Batman," Kai countered, his voice smooth and steady, "the absence of evidence isn't evidence of absence. That's Logic 101. We didn't have evidence of Kryptonians until a rocket slammed into a field in Kansas. We didn't have evidence of Amazonians until Diana of Themyscira decided to leave her island paradise for… well, for this." He gestured vaguely, encompassing the general chaos of the modern world. "The universe has a nasty little habit of introducing variables we haven't accounted for."
He leaned back in his chair, adopting a more casual posture, as if they were just two guys in a bar discussing the finer points of sportsball and not, in fact, the potential existence of a being that could erase reality with a burp.
"Let's just follow the logic, for a second," Kai continued, feeling that strange, exhilarating hum again, a buzzing energy that made the hot studio lights feel like a warm summer sun. "Every species with a large enough population has genetic outliers. Mutations. Aberrations. Why would Kryptonians be the sole exception in the known universe? To assume they were a genetically homogenous race with zero potential for mutation is, statistically speaking, fucking improbable."
In his Metropolis apartment, Clark Kent was now pacing a trench in his hardwood floor. His super-hearing, a cacophony he had spent a lifetime learning to filter into manageable streams, was now laser-focused on the single, terrifyingly logical voice coming from his television.
Statistically improbable. The phrase ricocheted around his skull. He thought of the stories he'd gleaned from the Fortress, the fragmented histories of his lost world. He saw images of scientists, politicians, soldiers. But were they all the same? He thought of his own parents, Jor-El and Lara. They were brilliant scientists, leaders on Krypton. But were they… average? Was he the product of an average lineage, or was there a history, lost to the planet's destruction, of Kryptonians who were… different?
The idea that his people were not just a monolith, a race of potential sun-gods, but had their own spectrum of power, their own outliers, was staggering. It made him feel smaller, more fragile. And it made the universe feel infinitely larger and more dangerous.
"You're creating a bogeyman," Batman retorted, his voice dropping even lower, a clear and deliberate warning shot across Kai's journalistic bow. "You're speculating on a threat level that is, for all intents and purposes, entirely theoretical."
"Am I?" Kai challenged, his own tone hardening just a fraction. He leaned forward again, closing the distance between them. "Or am I pointing out a potential blind spot in the Justice League's threat assessment? You, of all people, prepare for everything. Contingency plans for rogue members, alien invasions, mystical cataclysms. You have, I'm absolutely certain, a goddamn file cabinet overflowing with beautifully laminated, color-coded plans to stop Superman if he ever went bad."
Batman's lack of denial was a confirmation so loud it was practically a scream.
"But do you have a plan," Kai continued, his voice resonating with a quiet, intense fire, "for a Kryptonian who can move faster than Superman can think? A Kryptonian who could rewrite the laws of physics with a stray thought? You're preparing for the god you know, Batman. I'm asking if you're prepared for the one you can't even begin to imagine."
The interview was no longer about accountability; it had become a direct challenge to the core philosophy of the Justice League. It was a reporter, a seemingly ordinary man, forcing the planet's greatest protector to consider an enemy that might be truly, absolutely, pants-shittingly unstoppable.
For the first time all night, Batman broke his rigid posture. He leaned forward, just an inch. The movement was barely perceptible, but it was laden with menace, the subtle coiling of a predator about to strike. "The Justice League is prepared for any threat."
The words were a shield, a rote response from a man who had none.
"I hope so," Kai said, his expression turning deadly serious, the journalistic mask falling away to reveal a flicker of genuine, profound concern. "Because history has shown us, time and time again, that what is theoretical today often becomes the crisis of tomorrow. Thank you for your time, Batman."
He turned to the main camera, his professional demeanor snapping back into place like a rubber band. His heart was a frantic drum against his ribs, but his voice was pure, unshakable broadcaster. "When we come back, a look at the rising sea levels and their impact on coastal cities. Don't go away."
The red 'On Air' light blinked off. The tension in the studio didn't just dissipate; it solidified, turning the air to lead. Batman stood, a towering figure of black and grey kevlar, and gave Kai a long, unreadable stare through his white lenses. He didn't say another word. He didn't need to. He simply turned and melted back into the shadows from which he had emerged, leaving Kai alone under the hot, unforgiving lights.
Kai let out a slow breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. His heart was pounding, but it wasn't just the thrill of the interview. It was something else. That strange, buzzing surge of energy was still there, a feeling he'd had before during moments of high stress—a flash of impossible clarity, a sense of the world slowing down to a manageable pace. He dismissed it as a massive adrenaline dump, the biological fallout of pissing off the most dangerous man on the planet.
He had no idea that his words had not only planted a seed of doubt in the mind of the Bat but had also sent a shockwave through the heart of the last son of Krypton, a man who was, at that very moment, staring at his own reflection in a dark window, wondering if he was, in fact, nothing special at all.
The world had changed in the last fifteen minutes. Nobody knew it yet, but the first domino had just been tipped over.