Early in the morning, Old Jen arrived at a hospital in the capital. He carried a small bundle of food in his hands and greeted a few passersby along the way. But without much pause, he hurried into the ward. No one found it strange—everyone was long used to seeing him like this.
Old Jen was the director of an orphanage. In his younger years, he had no children of his own. Later in life, he established the orphanage, pouring all his savings into it without a single word of complaint. Whether he ever regretted it, no one knew, but one often saw a smile on his face. It seemed he truly loved the path he had chosen.
Creak— The door opened. Inside the ward, there were few people left. Where once several patients had stayed, most were gone now. Life, after all, was unpredictable.
At the very end of the ward lay a boy. Sunlight streamed through the window, filling the room with a fragile warmth. He wasn't short, not really—but his face was deathly pale, without the faintest trace of color. If not for his illness, he would have grown into a handsome young man.
"Director, you're here."
Old Jen set down the food container. "Yes, I'm here. How are you today? We recently received some donations—the doctors say we can try conservative treatment."
The young man forced a smile, one he hoped would put others at ease. But on his bloodless face, the expression only looked strained, almost grotesque.
"Director… I don't want to continue treatment. I'm afraid of the pain."
Old Jen sat by the bed in silence. His right hand clutched the dangling bedsheet so tightly his knuckles turned white, though he still kept a smile on his face. The boy understood well enough what was in his heart.
"Director… the doctors already told me earlier. I don't have much time left. Before I go, I want to see the sea. Is that possible? I've never seen it—not once. Our homeland is so vast, yet I've barely been anywhere."
Old Jen released the sheet and forced back the tears gathering in his eyes. He spoke softly, as if cradling the boy's last wish with his voice.
"Of course. We'll go see the sea. The sea is vast—years ago, I saw it once myself…"
The two of them spoke quietly of mountains, rivers, and the beauty of their homeland. At the doorway, a young doctor stood silently. He neither knocked nor interrupted, only watched. He was the boy's attending physician—the very one who had signed his critical condition notice. Life and death, he had seen it countless times before.
With a sigh, the doctor turned away. Such scenes were all too common in a hospital. Later that day, Old Jen handled the discharge papers. He would take the boy to see the sea. After all, the boy was nearly eighteen—and had never laid eyes on it.
Three days later, they reached the shore. On a public beach, free of charge, the boy no longer wore his patient's gown. He looked much more spirited.
"Director, can you take me to the place where you first found me?"
Old Jen froze. "You don't want to see the sea anymore?"
The boy chuckled. "The sea is too vast—you can never finish looking at it."
The boy's name was Jon, a name Old Jen had given him. From the day he was found, his health had been frail. Later, doctors discovered the tumor inside him had already spread.
The next morning, Old Jen carried Jon on his back to the desolate mountain where he had once found him, at the foot of its slopes. Now, they had returned. The path was still cloaked in early morning darkness. But Jon's wasted body was so light now that Old Jen did not feel the weight.
Though Old Jen's frame still looked tall and strong, illness had long hollowed Jon out from the inside. He was little more than a skeleton. Still, with hurried steps, they reached the mountaintop just as the sun rose.
"Old Jen… thank you."
Jon lay on the ground. Old Jen adjusted his clothes for him, but dared not look into his eyes—those eyes that clung to life with such yearning. He did not curse fate. But how cruel, how unjust it was, that such a child should wither before ever blooming.
"Jon, today is your birthday. I have a gift for you."
From his pack, Old Jen carefully took out a wildflower, freshly plucked from the roadside, soil still clinging to its stem. Jon no longer had the strength to lift his hands, so Old Jen placed it gently in his palm.
It was his first birthday gift—and would be his last. Jon gazed at the blazing sunrise. The sun is so warm…
"Old Jen, can I… not be cremated? I'm afraid of the pain. Back in the hospital, the doctors always said injections wouldn't hurt—but they always did. Each time, I endured it without crying out. Was I… brave?"
Old Jen's voice broke. "Of course. Our Jon is the bravest of all. Whatever you say—it's true."
"…Thank you, Old Jen…"
With a faint smile, Jon closed his eyes. He had left this world once before, and now he returned to where it began. Old Jen's tears flowed silently as he arranged the boy's clothes. His voice was a lullaby.
"Sleep now… sleep, and the pain will end. We're going home."
On the mountain, a small mound of earth rose, marked only with a wooden tablet and stones. Jon had once said he loved sunflowers—that no matter the time, they always faced the sun, forever basking in its warmth.
Months later, the desolate slope bloomed with sunflowers. At every sunrise, they opened, and at every sunset, they folded back into the night. Day after day.
…
"So this is supposed to be Krypton, huh? What a mess."
Jon stared down at his much smaller body in amazement.
He never expected heaven to give him another chance at life. To be reborn was one thing—but to be born here, of all places… now that was unsettling.
For this was Krypton—the world he remembered only from stories. In the DC Universe, beings who could wipe out entire planets wandered casually. Even among Kryptonians, one was never safe. And this planet… this planet was doomed to destruction.
A civilization that had thrived for hundreds of thousands of years would one day die on its very own soil. The irony was bitter. What could drive an entire people to ignore a looming catastrophe? Was it truly beyond their ability to stop—or was there something else?
If they had the ability but chose not to act, then the truth behind it all was far more disturbing.
A super-civilization could not possibly fail to detect its planet's crisis. Even if ordinary Kryptonians knew nothing, how could the Elders—beings who had lived tens of thousands of years—not know? Especially with their advanced Science Council in place?
"Compared to humans on Earth, who can calculate the lifespan of stars and planets with their current technology, there's no way Kryptonians could have missed it."
And yet, the scientists had kept silent. The Elders too. Even at the very end, no warning.
What's more, the red sun was hardly kind to Kryptonians. In thousands of years, not one had encountered a yellow sun or another star? Why abandon the chance to grow stronger? Was it truly arrogance—that they had reached the peak of evolution and had no need for more?
Even so… would they all really choose to perish together?
"Life is selfish. Even Kryptonians are selfish. No living being willingly surrenders its own life—that instinct is written into the genes."
Jon frowned. Something was wrong. The Elders and the scientists must have known something he didn't.
Even in his old world, without much knowledge of DC comics, he had never understood Krypton's behavior.
No living race would voluntarily throw itself into extinction.
Unless… there was a reason. Unless not dying meant something worse. Unless Krypton's survival meant the death of every Kryptonian.
"In that case… who was behind it? A Lantern? Darkseid? Or an even greater enemy?"
From his family's castle, Jon gazed out. Jagged mountains, beasts roaring in the distance, the crushing gravity of Krypton shaping all life into giants.
But more important than that—was his family.
In this life, his name was Jon H'el. He was no ordinary Kryptonian. He was one of the Super-Kryptonians, different in body, different in power.
Even under the red sun, they stood at the very limits of Kryptonian ability. Under a yellow sun, they alone could wield extraordinary gifts—teleportation, mind-projection, feats beyond the norm.
His father, Yab H'el, was Chief Commander of Krypton's defense forces. Unlike General Zod, who held little authority in peacetime, Yab truly commanded power. Later, it would even be Yab who personally arrested Zod after his rebellion.
His grandfather, Karaka H'el, was a sitting member of the Council of Elders.
"So I'm basically born with cheats? Shame I was modeled after a scientist. Even as a Super-Kryptonian, fate won't be easy to change."
He laughed bitterly. In another life, such an identity would have been perfect—like being born into wealth and privilege. But this was Krypton. A dying world. And he had no intention of dying with it.
"By now, Jor-El must have discovered Earth. He's probably already planning to send his son there. Should I hitch a ride?"
But there was a problem. Jor-El's thinking had grown strange. To him, embedding the Codex—the genetic Code of Krypton—into his own child was the only way for Kryptonian life to continue. That was no natural idea of his own. Jon was certain Jor-El had been influenced—misled into such selfish folly.
There was no way the scientists had detected Krypton's destruction only at the last minute. No—someone had suppressed the truth. Someone had hidden it. And Jor-El had chosen to gamble everything on his son.
"Hey, Jon, how are you today?"
An older man entered the castle, smiling broadly when he saw Jon standing there. It was his father, Yab H'el.
"Father, all is well. Why are you home so early?"
"Hahaha! My son, no matter how far I go, no matter who I face, I always want to return home early… well, except your grandfather." Yab smirked at the mention, clearly recalling unpleasant memories.
From what Jon remembered, even now Yab often found himself scolded by his own father, despite being grown and a commander.
"You dare speak of Grandfather like that? Aren't you afraid he'll find out?"
Yab shrugged. "He's not here. And you wouldn't betray me, would you?"
"Oh, wouldn't I? Grandfather, did you hear what Father just said?" Jon called toward the doorway, pretending Karaka stood there.
Yab spun around, only to find no one. Of course, he knew he'd been tricked—but he wasn't angry. From the day his son was born, he had sensed something extraordinary about him. And as Jon grew, that feeling only deepened.
"Come on, don't tease me. Let's call it our little secret, shall we?" Yab ruffled his son's hair with a laugh.
"Mm… I heard there's a beast in the Wastelands that tastes delicious."
Yab winced. "I knew you wouldn't let me off so easily. But remember—you can't go out there yet. The Wastelands are still too dangerous for you."
"Of course, Father."
That evening, the two enjoyed roasted meat together. If anyone wondered whether Superman could barbecue, Jon now had the answer—yes, and it was pretty good. Though he thought it would taste even better with chili peppers.
"Seems when I get to Earth, I'll need to bring some Eastern spices. When it comes to food, we Orientals know best."
"Moose, has Father left?"
A voice replied from outside the room. "Yes, young master. The clan leader has returned to the capital for some matters."
Moose was the H'el family's butler. He had served loyally since before Karaka joined the Council. Nearly everything in the household passed through his hands, and he was especially fond of Jon. He was, without question, a pillar of the family.
"Good. I'll rest for a while. Don't let anyone disturb me."
"Yes, young master."
Moose departed. In his place, a younger man stood guard at the door—Kal H'el, captain of the H'el family's guard.
But rest? That was the last thing on Jon's mind. Kryptonians could stay awake for days on end without issue, even under the red sun.
He had a secret. A secret no one could know.
And no, it wasn't gaming marathons. Please. If he did that, he'd need at least ten or twenty computers. He was the son of a noble house, after all.
Not that it mattered—he was only a teenager. Even Kal-El, the future Superman, hadn't been born yet.
"The greatest cheat I have is this rebirth itself. At least I won't have to perish with Krypton."
"But… I need to plan carefully. I don't believe I'll get a third chance."
The Codex—that was the key. A hurdle no one could ignore.
The Codex held the genetic imprint of every Kryptonian. In the original story, this was why Zod wanted it so badly.
With it, unlimited Kryptonians could be created—so long as there was enough energy and a Genesis Chamber to host them.
Like a genetic archive. Like Earth's Human Genome Project.
That project, proposed in 1985, sought to map the three billion base pairs of human DNA. Even with countless scientists, it took until 2001 just to complete one percent of the task. Its difficulty was immense. For Kryptonians, unraveling their own genetic mysteries would be no easier.
After all, Kryptonians and humans might look alike, but fundamentally, they were different. Kryptonians could absorb radiation, altering themselves in ways no human could.
Once, in his old world, he had seen a movie—Doom. In it, scientists on Mars discovered a species resembling humans but genetically distinct. Their remains revealed twenty-four pairs of chromosomes, while humans had only twenty-three. That single extra pair gave them immense strength, intelligence, resilience. Their cells divided fifty times faster, making wounds heal in moments—and illness nearly impossible.
The implications were staggering.