Clark polished off a breakfast meant for three people. Of course, for someone his age who was still growing, that amount of food really wasn't much at all. After all, he was Kryptonian.
At the same time, he filed away what Ben and May had mentioned about that criminal in high-tech armor.
He had noticed it for a while now. With Tony Stark missing and different factions beginning to move beneath the surface, New York's underworld was starting to get restless.
All kinds of criminals far beyond the scope of ordinary police work were beginning to emerge.
But in this world, for now, there were still no superheroes.
Clark had no interest in being some kind of savior. He didn't exactly have a burning obsession with protecting world peace, or rather, not yet. Who could say what the future might bring?
For now, his bottom line was simple: if anyone caused trouble in this neighborhood, or threatened his family and friends, he would absolutely use his powers to break them apart piece by piece and dump them in a hospital bed afterward.
Once outside, the sunlight poured over Clark's body. In that instant, he could clearly feel every cell in him singing with energy, converting it into strength. He even had the sense that if he wanted to, he could break free from gravity right then and there.
"Hey! Nerds! Wait up!"
A bright, clear voice snapped Clark out of his thoughts.
Mary Jane Watson came running out from the yard next door, all red hair and restless energy. Wearing a fitted denim jacket and carrying a backpack, she rushed over like a gust of wind.
"No, MJ, I've officially rebranded," Clark protested, raising a hand and pointing at himself. "I'm a healthy guy now, not a nerd. Peter still counts, though. Look, no glasses."
"Fine, but I still like Nerdy Pete better," Mary Jane said, drifting right over to Peter's side.
A moment later, another figure came strolling up behind her.
It was Eddie Brock, broad-shouldered, buzz-cut, with a hard look in his eyes. Eddie had a short fuse and got into trouble on the street more often than he should, but when it came to Clark and Peter, the two best friends he had grown up with, his loyalty was absolute.
"You pull another all-nighter playing video games, Eddie?" Clark asked, noticing the dark circles under his eyes.
"No. The owner at the garage docked my pay last night, so I returned the favor and took a few tires off his cars." Eddie shrugged like it was nothing, then walked over and vigorously ruffled Peter's curly hair. "Listen, Peter, high school isn't middle school. It's packed with hormone-poisoned barbarians. If anybody messes with you, you tell me, and I'll introduce their face to a toilet."
"Thanks, Eddie, but I'd rather solve things by talking them out," Peter said helplessly, pushing Eddie's hand away and adjusting his glasses.
The four of them headed off together toward Midtown High.
Some people might suddenly wonder: wait, weren't there five kids in the backyard before?
So where had Gwen Stacy gone?
Well... everyone was about to see her soon enough, so no need to rush.
Midtown High, one of New York City's top public schools, was known not only for strong academics, but also for its wildly complicated student hierarchy.
The moment they stepped into the hallway, they were hit by the crash of locker doors, the laughter of cheerleaders, and the loud, swaggering noise of football players.
Yes, it was classic.
Exactly like the kind of American high school scene that always showed up in teen dramas.
But there was no helping it. Movies and television always drew from real life, didn't they?
So...
As you can see.
Trouble always arrived faster than expected.
Just as Peter was opening his locker, a huge guy in a blue-and-gold varsity football jacket stepped into his path with several hangers-on at his back.
Eugene "Flash" Thompson.
"Well, well, look who it is," Flash said, staring down at Peter. "If it isn't our famous little middle-school genius, Tiny Parker."
He reached out and knocked the thick science books Peter was carrying right out of his arms.
They hit the floor with a loud smack, scattering in every direction.
Students immediately began gathering around to watch. The top and bottom of the high school food chain colliding on the very first day of school was always the sort of show people loved.
And Flash, of course, was Peter's old nemesis at school. They had known each other since elementary school, and it always seemed to go like this.
Peter frowned but said nothing. He crouched down to pick up his books, only for Flash to deliberately block him with one foot.
"Move your filthy shoe, Thompson."
Before Peter could react, Eddie was already charging forward like an enraged bulldog. He grabbed Flash by the front of his jacket, eyes blazing.
"If you don't want to spend the rest of your life drinking meals through a straw, apologize to him. Right now."
Flash was half a head taller than Eddie. He let out a cold laugh and grabbed Eddie's wrist in return. "Brock, you little neighborhood punk never go away, do you? Been trying to play hero around here for years. But now I'm starting varsity."
The two of them were one second away from throwing punches in the hallway, and any teacher could appear at any moment and slap them both with detention.
Standing in the back, Clark let out a sigh.
Flash was such a brainless idiot. Every single time, it was the same routine. No creativity at all. Like some scripted NPC, if Peter was there, Flash automatically had to bully him.
And every single time, Eddie was the first one to charge in and start yelling, followed by Clark, or MJ, or Gwen dragging the two of them apart.
Although usually, if Clark got involved, he preferred Flash to pay at least a little price first.
So he casually stepped forward, sliding himself between Eddie and Flash like a peacemaker.
"All right, everybody calm down. It's the first day. No need for this..."
At the same time he was speaking, Clark's right foot seemed to brush Flash's ankle by accident.
Then he applied the tiniest bit of force.
Flash instantly lost his balance and toppled backward in a completely ridiculous sprawl.
With a thunderous bang, the two-hundred-pound football star crashed flat onto his back, then actually slid several feet across the floor before slamming into the lockers behind him.
The hallway erupted with laughter no one could hold back anymore.
"Oh man, sorry," Clark said with an almost painfully gentle smile, bending down to help Peter gather his books. His face was pure innocence and apology. "Guess the janitors waxed the floor this morning. It's really slippery."
Eddie looked at Flash sprawled on the ground, then at Clark and his apparently terrible coordination, and burst out laughing.
"Looks like even God's against you, Thompson. Come on, Peter."
And just like that, the whole incident ended in a weirdly perfect way. Nobody thought Clark had done anything. Everyone just assumed Flash had been dumb enough to trip over his own feet.
After all, whenever Clark got involved, this was the sort of thing that always happened to Flash.
It had practically become common knowledge by now.
Clark was Flash's natural kryptonite.
Usually nothing happened. But if Flash went after Peter, Eddie stepped in, and then Clark entered the scene, it was basically the natural order of things that Flash's day was about to get worse.
The whole thing felt absurdly dramatic and comedic, like they were all trapped inside a movie scene.