The bar was alive with noise.
Music thundered from the speakers while people laughed, drank, and danced under flashing lights. Couples spun across the crowded dance floor, bodies moving in rhythm with the pounding beat. At the booths along the wall, groups of friends shouted excitedly as they played drinking games, bottles clinking loudly with every round.
The place was overflowing with energy.
Clark Kent walked in like a ghost.
His steps were slow and unsteady, as if he barely knew where he was going. After running away from home, he had wandered aimlessly until he ended up here. Right now, he didn't want to think about anything.
He just wanted to drink.
Someone once told him that when people got drunk enough, they could forget everything.
Clark desperately hoped that was true.
"You're only eighteen," the bartender said after glancing at Clark's ID. He raised an eyebrow and pushed the card back across the counter. "State law says I can't sell you hard liquor."
The bartender studied Clark's pale face for a moment.
"Want a beer?"
"As long as it's alcohol," Clark muttered.
He grabbed his ID back and leaned against the counter, his voice carrying a hint of urgency.
"Just bring it."
The bartender shrugged and turned away to grab a bottle.
Behind Clark, the dance floor pulsed with excitement. Men and women laughed as they moved together, arms around each other's shoulders. Nearby, a group of college-aged kids cheered wildly as someone lost a drinking contest.
But none of it had anything to do with Clark.
The laughter sounded distant to him.
The lights seemed dim.
Even the music felt hollow.
Clark sat alone at the bar, feeling like a lone wolf that had somehow lost its pack.
An indescribable pain filled his chest.
"Was everything fake?"
Memories flooded through his mind.
The warm dinners at home.
His mother's apple pie.
Working on the farm with his father.
Riding the school bus with Victor every morning and arguing about the smallest things.
But now he knew the truth.
None of it really belonged to him.
He didn't belong to that family.
He didn't even belong to this planet.
When Clark was a child, he had often wondered why he was so different. Why other kids couldn't lift tractors the way he could, or why people got hurt from falls that didn't even scratch him.
His parents had always looked normal.
Victor had looked normal too.
Now he finally understood why.
Because they weren't actually related to him.
"I'm just… some alien thing they picked up."
Clark stared blankly at his ID card sitting on the bar.
The name printed on it—Clark Kent—suddenly felt foreign.
That wasn't really his name.
His last name wasn't Kent.
His real name probably sounded strange, something impossible for people on Earth to even pronounce.
Among the billions of people on this planet, not a single one shared his blood.
Not one person was truly his kin.
"Why?"
Clark's fists slowly clenched.
His emotions churned violently as anger and grief tangled together.
Was this some kind of cruel joke from God?
Why couldn't he just be human?
Why couldn't he simply be the biological son of the parents who raised him?
He wished—more than anything—that what his father had told him today was a lie.
If he could wake up tomorrow morning and smell his mother's apple pie baking in the kitchen…
If he could ride the school bus to school again with Victor and argue over stupid things…
If he could come home afterward and help his father with chores on the farm…
That quiet, ordinary life had once felt boring.
Now it felt priceless.
"Why did my life suddenly fall apart?"
Clark's breathing grew heavier as the emotions built inside him.
How could he return home after learning the truth?
How could he calmly accept his parents' love knowing he wasn't really their son?
The confusion and anger swirling inside him made Clark want to smash something—anything—just to release the pressure.
At that moment—
"Clark!"
A hand suddenly landed on his shoulder.
"Well, look who it is."
Clark turned around slowly.
Whitney stood behind him with several football teammates, each holding a beer. Their smiles were sharp and predatory, like a pack of hunting dogs that had just spotted a wounded rabbit.
"Clark," Whitney said casually, draping an arm around his neck. "Why are you drinking alone?"
The gesture looked friendly.
But the pressure in Whitney's arm told a different story.
"Whitney," Clark muttered. "Leave me alone."
Whitney froze for a second.
Clark's body didn't move at all.
Despite the force Whitney applied, Clark remained completely steady, as if his neck were made of solid steel.
Clark calmly removed Whitney's arm.
Whitney stumbled slightly, beer sloshing out of the bottle and splashing onto the floor.
Embarrassment flashed across his face.
In front of everyone, it looked like Clark had casually shrugged him off.
Whitney's expression darkened.
"I've got good news for you, Clark," he said coldly.
"I've decided that this year's scarecrow… will be you."
He shot a glance at the other football players.
They immediately set their beers down and moved forward to grab Clark.
"I told you not to mess with me," Clark snapped.
The loud rock music blasted through the bar speakers as he suddenly stood up and grabbed Whitney by the collar.
Anger burned in Clark's eyes.
For a moment, he nearly lost control.
But then something caught his attention.
Whitney's shirt had been pulled slightly open during the struggle.
A familiar green crystal necklace hung around his neck.
Kryptonite.
The moment Clark saw it, the radiation washed over him.
"Ah—"
His strength vanished instantly.
Pain shot through his body.
The hand closest to the necklace began trembling violently as green veins bulged beneath his skin like poison spreading through his bloodstream.
Clark's face turned pale.
Whitney didn't notice the change.
In the flashing lights of the bar, he simply assumed Clark had suddenly weakened.
Whitney punched him hard.
Clark collapsed to the floor.
Whitney straightened his clothes with a sneer.
"So what if I mess with you?"
He crouched down and grabbed Clark by the collar, his voice dripping with jealousy.
"I've seen the way you look at my girlfriend."
"I know exactly what you're thinking."
Whitney leaned closer, his expression twisted with anger.
"Whose girlfriend do you think she is?"
The high school football championship was coming soon.
Lana had given Whitney the meteor crystal necklace she had worn since childhood, hoping it would bring him luck and protect him during the game. She wanted him to overcome every obstacle, win the championship, and get noticed by professional scouts.
Instead, that necklace had become Clark's worst nightmare.
Whitney noticed Clark's gaze fixed on it.
"You want this necklace so badly?" Whitney mocked.
He assumed Clark was jealous.
Whitney yanked the necklace off and threw it around Clark's neck.
"Fine. You can have it."
He laughed cruelly.
"That's probably the closest you'll ever get to Lana."
Whitney stood up.
"Take him outside."
Several football players grabbed Clark and dragged him toward the back door.
Whitney had no intention of beating him here. Too many people were watching.
A quiet cornfield outside town would be much better.
"I'll teach you to stop dreaming about things that don't belong to you."
Just then—
"Where are you taking Clark, Whitney?"
The voice that spoke was calm.
Almost emotionless.
Whitney turned.
Victor walked slowly toward them with both hands tucked into the pockets of his brown jacket.
"Victor?" Whitney scoffed.
Then his lips curled into a sneer.
"Perfect timing."
"If you're dumb enough to walk right up to us, we'll take you along too."
Whitney wanted Clark to watch.
Watch as his stupid crush dragged his own brother into trouble.
Victor's expression didn't change.
It was as if he hadn't heard the threat at all.
"Victor, go!" Clark shouted weakly.
His body hung awkwardly between the two football players holding him. The kryptonite necklace drained his strength so badly that he could barely stand.
"You can't beat them!"
Whitney had four teammates with him.
Every one of them was a large, trained athlete.
Clark didn't want his younger brother getting hurt because of him.
[Eagerness from Clark +18]
[Regret +13]
Victor ignored the familiar emotional notifications that flickered in his mind.
"I originally thought," Victor said calmly, looking directly at Clark, "that today's events might push you down a darker path."
He raised an eyebrow slightly.
"But it seems I overestimated that possibility."
Even with kryptonite involved, Clark had still refused to hurt anyone.
Whitney clenched his teeth.
Victor's calm attitude made him furious.
"Get him!"
Two large football players charged forward like bulls, one from each side.
They swung their fists toward Victor.
The commotion finally caught the attention of the rest of the bar.
People turned their heads eagerly.
Several even started clapping.
"Alright! A fight!"
Bar fights weren't exactly rare.
Victor remained standing where he was.
He leaned slightly to the side, letting the first punch slide past his shoulder.
Then his fist shot forward.
Bang.
The football player's eyes bulged instantly. His face turned bright red like a boiled lobster as he clutched his stomach and collapsed to his knees, gagging.
The second player rushed forward immediately.
Victor spun smoothly.
His elbow drove backward in a sharp, clean strike.
The impact was brutal.
The player dropped to the ground instantly, unconscious.
The entire exchange lasted less than two seconds.
"Whoa!"
Several people in the bar jumped to their feet in excitement.
"Nice!"
Some even started applauding.
"Is that guy a professional fighter?"
Whitney froze.
He stared at his two teammates lying on the ground in disbelief.
Clark was equally stunned.
He had never seen this side of Victor before.
"Go together!" Whitney shouted angrily.
He charged forward with the remaining two players.
Victor moved lightly on his feet, dodging their attacks like a butterfly drifting through the air.
None of their punches even brushed his clothes.
Then Victor struck.
Three punches.
Three clean impacts.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The three attackers collapsed onto the floor with swollen faces and groans of pain.
"Impossible…" Whitney gasped.
He clutched his chest as he struggled to stand again. His ribs felt like they had cracked under the earlier blow.
Rage burned in his eyes.
Victor was just some quiet kid who never joined any school activities.
How could he be this strong?
Whitney staggered forward again.
Victor kicked him casually.
Whitney flipped backward and crashed onto the floor like a child knocked down by an adult.
"Just stay down, Whitney," Victor said calmly.
He stepped over Whitney and walked toward Clark.
"When I use too much strength," Victor said casually, "my skin tone changes."
"But against people like this… normal human strength is more than enough."
The crowd quickly stepped aside to clear a path as Victor approached.
No one wanted to get involved with someone who could beat five football players without breaking a sweat.
Clark stared at him in shock.
"Where did you learn to fight, V–Victor?"
The kryptonite necklace still hung around Clark's neck.
Blue veins bulged painfully along his throat as the radiation weakened him further.
"On TV," Victor replied simply.
He removed the necklace and slipped it into his pocket.
"On… TV?" Clark repeated weakly.
The answer stunned him.
Seeing that Victor was unharmed, Clark finally relaxed.
His eyes rolled back.
He fainted.
Victor lifted Clark over his shoulder with ease.
Then he calmly walked out of the bar.
No one dared stop him.
Even the bar owner stayed silent despite the damage to the place.
Several minutes later, Victor walked down a quiet country road under the pale moonlight.
Clark slowly regained consciousness.
When he realized where they were going, he struggled weakly.
"Put me down, Victor."
Clark's voice was hoarse.
"I don't want to go back."
He struggled again.
"Put me down, Victor. I don't want to go back!"