[Third Person's PoV]
5 years later…
A deep red light bathed the entire training room, submerging everything in a radiant, almost suffocating glow. At the center stood a teenage boy—tall and lean with long, wavy hair that swayed slightly with every movement. His hands were wrapped in fingerless gloves, his breathing slow and controlled, despite the chaos surrounding him.
That boy was Clark.
Encircling him from all sides were robotic assailants, each programmed to strike with ruthless precision. One by one, they charged at him, their mechanical limbs whirring, eyes glowing with artificial menace. Clark danced between them, weaving through their strikes with fluid agility. The effects of the simulated red sun above bore down on him, dulling his powers, stripping away the ease granted by Earth's yellow sun.
But he didn't need powers. Not today.
With sheer physical skill and determination, he countered the robots' attacks. He slammed one over his shoulder, sending it crashing into two more. He punched another repeatedly until its outer shell crumpled under the pressure, then ducked beneath a swinging limb and retaliated with a spinning kick that sent sparks flying.
Sweat clung to his skin. His chest rose and fell with each heavy breath. Finally, after disabling the last of them, Clark dropped to the floor with a grunt, exhausted, letting his muscles relax. He looked older now—taller, broader-shouldered, with a more defined jawline. His once boyish face had hardened into something more mature, more resolute. The wavy strands of hair partially obscured his bright blue eyes, now glowing faintly with intensity.
"Cut the light," he said between breaths.
Instantly, the red hue vanished, returning the room to its neutral tone. A flicker of blue light sparked beside him as a tall, regal hologram materialized—Jor-El, or at least a simulation of him. His hands rested behind his back, the image of calm wisdom.
"I believe you may be the first and only Kryptonian to use the red sun's depowering effects as a method of training," Jor-El noted with amusement.
Clark scoffed as he stood up, peeling off his gloves. His knuckles were wrapped tightly in bandages, the fabric stained and frayed from repeated blows. "Doubt it," he replied simply, revealing the wear on his hands as he unraveled the bandages.
"You've made remarkable progress, Kal-El," Jor-El continued, tone proud. "The speed at which you've grown, both in strength and in discipline, is nothing short of astonishing. If you were raised on Krypton, you'd have surpassed many of our elite warriors by now."
Clark shrugged as he tossed the bandages aside. "Probably helps that they weren't bathed in yellow sun radiation their whole lives. Not to mention I would probably be dead by now If I was truly raised there"
"You know that's not what I mean. The way you control your abilities, how carefully you wield your strength—it surpasses our projections by years."
"Alright, alright," Clark muttered, rolling his eyes as he started walking toward the exit. "You can stop kissing my ass. I'm going to shower. Don't follow me."
Jor-El let out a long-suffering sigh as the projection faded. "Teenagers…"
…
Later that evening, Clark sat cross-legged before a gleaming crystal terminal inside the heart of the Fortress of Solitude. His damp hair clung to his forehead, and his eyes were focused, serious. Before him, the AI Sol flickered into existence, his tone calm and precise.
"Sol… what's the time left on Project Superman?" Clark asked, resting his chin on his knuckles.
"The timer reads: 24 hours, 23 minutes, and 32 seconds… 31… 30…" Sol began counting down.
"No need to keep going," Clark interrupted with a sigh. "That means it's time. I guess we'd better finally get started on building the suit."
He leaned back slightly, staring at the ceiling. This moment had weighed on him for months. He had trained, studied, fought, and even meditated on what it meant to be a hero. But designing his suit—that symbol—felt like the final step. The point of no return. Once it was made, his path would be set.
He had procrastinated. Told himself there was still time. Focused on everything else but that. But now, the moment had arrived, and there was no turning away.
"Sol—"
"There's no need to build your supersuit, Ka-El," Sol said gently, his voice tinged with a warmth that bordered on pride.
Clark blinked. "What do you mean?"
"The suit has already been completed. It has been waiting for you," Sol replied. "Your grandmother anticipated this day—the day you would step forward to embrace your destiny. She reached out to me long ago to ensure you would have what you needed when the time came."
Clark sat in stunned silence, the realization sinking in. "Wait… You mean she—"
"Yes," Sol confirmed. "She worked with me in secret. She said she couldn't do much, but she wanted to do what she could. To protect you. To give you something worthy of the hero you're becoming. She is… an extraordinary woman."
Clark lowered his gaze, a soft smile curling on his lips. "Yeah… she really is. I'm lucky it was her who found me."
He stood slowly, the quiet weight of the moment grounding him. "I'll be back," he said softly, stepping away from the crystalline computer and heading toward the exit of the Fortress.
As he stepped into the frigid Arctic night, the wind rustled his hair. He looked up at the vast sky, exhaled, and chuckled.
"Seriously… how did she even manage to pull that off?"
Then, without hesitation, Clark's feet lifted from the snowy ground. With a thunderous crack, he rocketed into the sky, parting the clouds above as he set his course for Japan.
Clark landed squarely in the middle of the shrine courtyard, where Momo had been meticulously sweeping away dust and fallen leaves. A gust of wind exploded outward from his arrival, undoing hours of her diligent work in an instant.
She froze mid-sweep, staring at the chaos with wide, twitching eyes.
"ARGHHHH!! You absolute bastard!" she shrieked, swinging her rake overhead and slamming it down onto his head. The wooden handle snapped in two upon impact with a sharp crack.
Without missing a beat, Momo summoned a massive green spectral fist beside her. She flung it at Clark with fierce momentum. But Clark merely raised a single finger and flicked at the air. The glowing construct shattered like fragile glass, crumbling in a flash of green energy.
He grinned at her reaction, unfazed. "Where's grams?" he asked nonchalantly, as though nothing had happened.
Momo stood there seething, her breath coming in sharp puffs. "Why are you asking me like you don't already know the answer?"
Clark shrugged, pouting his lips playfully. "Just making conversation."
Momo responded with both middle fingers, glaring.
"You're cleaning this up for me. Got that? All of it!" she snapped.
"Yeah, yeah," Clark muttered with a wave of his hand. "I'm gonna go find grams."
Before she could reply, he vanished in a blur of wind and color. Inside the shrine, he found his grandmother dressed in her ceremonial priestess robes, kneeling before the altar, her hands pressed together in solemn prayer.
Clark tilted his head, curious. "What are you doing?"
"Praying for you," Seiko replied softly without turning around. "Asking the gods to watch over you on whatever journey awaits. It's one of the few things left that I can do for you."
Clark stepped closer, his expression softening. "I think you've already done more than enough," he said quietly. The truth was, he wouldn't have made it this far without her. Her support, her belief—it made carrying the weight of his destiny just a little easier.
Seiko clapped her hands twice, signaling the end of her prayer, then stood and blew out the candles. "Come with me," she said, leading him outside.
Momo watched them curiously from a distance, arms crossed and brow raised.
Seiko made her way to a locked shed at the far end of the shrine grounds. With a simple twist of a key, the door creaked open, revealing a covered object inside. She motioned toward it.
"Under that tarp," she said. "Your suit is there. That's what you came early for, isn't it?"
Clark nodded silently and stepped forward. He grabbed the edge of the tarp and yanked it off—only to stop dead in his tracks.
It wasn't a suit beneath the tarp.
It was a pod. His pod—the very one that had carried him from the dying world of Krypton all those years ago.
He turned to Seiko, confused. She merely smiled and gestured. "Place your hand on it."
Clark hesitated, then slowly reached out and placed his palm against the pod's surface.
"User biometric signature confirmed," a voice announced from within. "Host: Kal-El."
In an instant, the pod began to hum and glow. Then, like melting glass, it dissolved into millions of crimson, lava-like particles. They rose into the air and swirled around Clark in a whirlwind of brilliant energy. He took a step back, alarmed—but the particles clung to him, drawn to him with magnetic purpose.
They burned—not with heat, but with potential. With power.
First came the boots, molten orange-red constructs forming over his feet, solidifying into sleek, living metal that pulsed with energy. As he floated just above the ground, trails of heat shimmered beneath him.
Then came the legs, wrapped in a luminous white alloy etched with magma-like seams. The suit climbed upward, encasing his body in plates of dynamic, form-fitting armor that molded to his physique perfectly.
Over his chest, the S-shield emerged—carved from glowing red stone, its core alive with yellow embers. The sigil of the House of El.
His arms were the last. Streams of swirling magma formed bracers around his forearms, the power within them held back by containment gauntlets that hissed with restrained energy.
Finally, his cape erupted outward from his shoulders—not made of fabric, but of flowing crimson sand, ever-shifting, shaped by the same force that had once carried him across the stars.
His eyes glowed red with restrained force. He hovered above the ground, radiant and transformed.
Seiko stepped forward, placing her hand gently over the crest on his chest. Her voice was warm, reverent.
"The pod that brought you to us protected you once. I pray that it will continue to protect you now."
Clark stared down at her, awestruck. "You… made something like this?"
She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "What do you take me for? Of course not. According to Sol, it was your mother's creation—It was what the pod was made from. They're practically the ashes of Krypton. I just helped design the outer look of it and worked with Sol to customize it for you. Everything you need… it's all built in."
A voice chimed in gently from within the suit: "Master Kal-El, you never need to face anything alone. I will remain at your side, always—your trusted companion."
Clark felt a lump in his throat as he walked forward and pulled Seiko into a hug.
She blinked in surprise. Physical affection was rare from Clark, and she knew it. But she wrapped her arms around him, smiling softly.
She looked up at him—so tall now. She remembered when, not long ago, he'd only come up to her waist, running around the shrine, pranking Momo.
Now he towered above her, radiant like the sun.
With closed eyes and a full heart, she whispered, "Since when did you grow up so much?"
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