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Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Clark had woken up from a—rather painful daze.

Not the kind of pain he'd experience like punch in the gut, sending him several miles away—with the wind knocked out of him. Nowhere near the magnitude of getting shot by a bullet at max velocity laced with kryptonite or impaled directly by a spear tipped with the same deadly compound—the former sending him into the Watch Tower's equivalent to an ER for days.

Count his blessings Lois wasn't there to witness that injury and aftermath unfold. She'd probably never let him live it down. Not as a nagging spouse, but more akin to witnessing a loved one ding-dong-ditching at death's door.

Rather, it was genuine discomfort through his body he couldn't just seem to shake off; as if he had woken up on the cosmic wrong side of the bed—all night long—in an awkward position. Or decided to entertain a thought experiment with J'onn in a game of mental arm wrestling—see who would be the first to figuratively cry uncle. No Krypto to 'persuade' him into getting up either.

'...What in the world happened?' the man of steel quietly groaned to himself.

He had recalled his last moments before arriving to this current predicament:

In orbit on the Watch Tower.
Him, Victor, and several other League members observing a contained item from what should've been a safe distance.

Researching what appeared to be... some kind of... Motherbox?

Designs. They shared no resemblance to Apokolips, nor New Genesis.

No magical presence observed from Diana either.

Several lines of the same cryptic code repeating on their monitoring screens.

Over.
And over.
And over again.

Unknown bursts of energy radiated from the chamber.

Moving everyone out of the way.

Shielding himself and attempting to activate the emergency failsafe.

...

Only to be enveloped by this blinding light himself.

Like a preschooler asking for '10 more minutes to snooze' only to get dragged out of bed, Clark had reluctantly got up and eventually began to survey his surroundings after brushing himself off and gathering his bearings.

He appeared to be lying in a patch, or rather, trail of dirt in a grassy park with plenty of trees for shade. Not too dissimilar to ones found on Metropolis. No. What surprised him was what he saw beyond the arboreous plants.

A futuristic cityscape alone wouldn't be a surprise to him, were it not for the fact that it looks nothing like any of Earth's major cities. Last time he saw, which had been less than a day ago, Metropolis, Star City, or even Gotham never had any kind of giant halo in their sky.

"Toto," he sighed to himself. "We're not in Kansas anymore..."

Three days.

That's all it took for everything to spiral out of control in Kivotos.

A week had passed since the mysterious disappearance of the GSC President—without warning, without a trace. All that remained was a letter addressed to "Rinny," and whatever scraps of information could be salvaged from her now-abandoned office.

Nanagami Rin was not having a good day. Not one bit.

Several students had already barged into her office demanding answers—answers she didn't have. Yuuka from Seminar was first, furious that Millennium's wind generators had gone offline due to the ongoing crisis. Hinomiya Chinatsu of the Perfect Team followed, warning that the chaos was stretching their forces dangerously thin across Gehenna. Then came Hanekawa Hasumi from Justice Task Force and Morizuki Suzuki from Vigilante Crew, both confirming the worst: a number of field guns—and a Crusader tank—had been stolen from Trinity.

And all this before noon. Confirming to all of them that the President was, indeed, missing.

Rin's mind was already fraying from the shouting matches and status updates, made worse by the news that the Schale clubroom had been completely overrun by criminals, complicating any effort to restore function of the Sanctum Tower.

To top it off, both the GSC and Valkyrie Police School had confirmed something even more troubling: the Fox of Calamity—one of seven suspended students who escaped from the Correction Bureau's maximum security—had reappeared in the chaos.

Her only sliver of hope? A desperate plan spearheaded by four brave students. The same ones demanding answers from her. They had volunteered, perhaps out of sheer anger of taking things into their own hands, to regroup with KSPD and mount an assault to retake Schale HQ. It was a long shot at best—Valkyrie's forces were stretched thin, and the city was in full-blown crisis mode—but it was the only option they had left.

However, desperate times had called for desperate measures.

And yet still, no word on the supposed "sensei" that to expect. No arrival. No messages. All Rin had was a cryptic note held in her hand from her best friend—the now-absent President—claiming that a haloless sensei with "otherworldly powers" would come bearing a "symbol of hope" for Kivotos.

Whatever the hell that meant.

Then, her feed buzzed.

One of her fellow GSC members had just relayed a report from KSPD ground forces.

A man—an adult man—was assisting in the field. No halo. No visible weapons. Dressed in blue and red.

He had stopped a live RPG with his bare hands. No. He caught it with his bare hands.

Another report claimed he had torn open the top of a Crusader tank like it was a tin can.

And a third: witnesses saw him flying over the city, carrying wounded students and civilians to safety.

Rin blinked. Her eyes skimmed the reports again.

'A haloless... adult male... flying... barehanded tank disarmament... Could this be the sensei we were waiting for?'

She didn't hesitate.

Rin snatched her comm and dialed the transportation office.

"Heya, Vice-Prez. What's up?" came the nonchalant drawl of Momoka, her voice muffled slightly by the sound of a crinkling chip bag on the other end.

"Momoka-san. I need a transport helicopter, now. To the rally point outside Schale HQ. Prepare for immediate lift-off."

"Ouch, yeah, no can-do chief," Momoka replied, mid-chew. "Whole district's a warzone. Flak fire's so thick it'd shred anything before it cou—hold on..."

Her voice trailed off, distracted by something on her other screen. Real-time news feeds. Something had changed.

There was a pause. The unmistakable sound of her chip bag hitting the floor followed.

Oh, Rin would've paid very good money to see the smug, lazy smirk wiped off her face. But imagining her shocked expression would suffice enough, for now.

"…Oooookay, nevermind," Momoka muttered, stunned. "Looks like the situation... cleared up? I guess? All the AA emplacements just went quiet. Sending a chopper your way. ETA ten."

Then, back to her usual tone: "So... uhh... anyway, my food's almost here, so call me if you need anything else. Kay-thanks-bye~!"

The line went dead.

For once, Rin found herself surprisingly satisfied with one of Momoka's half-useful conversations. Maybe—just maybe—she was finally catching a break.

But if the reports were even halfway accurate, then something extraordinary had entered their world.

And she was going to see this "super man" for herself.

"This is Superman to League Watchtower, can anyone read me?"

...

No answer. Static. Clark's brow furrowed.

"Superman to Green Lantern, can you read me? Over."

...

Still no answer.

"Superman to Batman. I repeat. Superman to Batman."

...

Nothing.

"Manhunter. This is Superman. Are you able to hear me?"

...

Silence.

All this was concerning to Kal.

Had he been boom-tubed to a place outside the reaches of Earth? Perhaps the New Gods' domain? Or even another Earth or universe entirely for that matter.

After several minutes of moving to different vantages points—in an attempt to get a better signal—all to no avail, Clark's next plan was to survey this place's inhabitants from afar. Hopefully he can ask someone for directions, or at best, a better way to contact the League.

What he saw particularly surprised him, with what appeared to be a number of people with halos above their heads—running away from what was likely a frantic riot.

Tuning out the clearly (if rather, endearingly) non-human bystanders—androids and bipedal, talking animals, Clark's eyes scanned the crowd with calm efficiency. All seemingly not paying attention to the human sized elephant in the room (or open streets, in this case). He couldn't blame them, they were clearly trying to escape a dangerous situation. The panic was real, but so was the strangeness.

Animal ears—some pointed like a doberman's, others twitching like a rabbits. A pair of girls crawling behind a knocked over vending machine had feathered wings folded behind their backs and heads, not quite angelic, but not too far off either. More biblical than biomechanical— like Shayera, if she'd come from out a Renaissance painting, instead of Thanagar.

'Okay... so not Thanagarian, probably not metahuman, and definitely not Kyptonian.'

He was still cataloging all these phenotypic peculiarities when a memory bubbled up from a random briefing between Billy and Jamie. Something the two had once exchanged while scaring down fries during monitor duty, much of which Clark had only half-listened at the time to.

"You've ever seen an MMO cosplay convention? Man, some of those ladies had, like elf ears, like they rolled a nat-20 in dex. And dude, don't even get even get me started on the babes with neko ears and tails! Pretty sure they came straight out of Akihabara in some idol group or whatever!"

If that weren't enough, he could see adolescents in a mix of school uniforms and law enforcement outfits with live firearms securing the frenzied crowd. Anything used by a contemporary paramilitary they appeared to wield; sidearms, carbines, rifles, machine guns, and so on. Shazam and Beetle's words rang oddly relevant.

Upon further observation, it was as if they were trying to escort some of the masses to safety. In fact, a portion of these students were even running towards the danger and firefight up ahead, as if to buy some time for the others, vaulting over some makeshift barricades with military precision.

Looking ahead and based off the overhead chatter and crowded commotion, he inferred that it must be their city's law enforcement trying to fortify a perimeter and setup a forward position.

At a quick glance, Clark could easily tell that many of them were woefully unprepared for this kind of disaster, with the exception of one canine-eared woman trying and struggling to hold things together.

They definitely needed help. And he definitely needed answers. Perhaps they'd be a good place to start.

"...Should've refilled my coffee before stepping into this crap."

That was Kanna Ogata's first thought upon seeing the sorry state of her forces.

The not-so-distant crack of gunfire didn't faze the Chief of the Public Security Bureau. Her German Shepherd ears twitched in annoyance, sharp teeth gritting as another explosive shell shook the outpost. The shockwave made her navy-blue coat whip in the wind, blonde hair fluttering behind her—an image of stoic authority.

Unfortunately, her fellow KSPD troops didn't carry that same composure. Cadets scrambled from cover to cover, knocked off their feet by the blasts. A few cowered behind barricades meant more for show than function.

At least they were holding the line. For now.

Her orders had been simple in theory: secure a perimeter and rendezvous with a volunteer strike team—student reps from the other academies, appointed by the vice-president, no, acting-president of the GSC. Together, they were to mount a joint spearhead campaign and retake control of the Sanctum Tower, hopefully restoring some level of peace in Kivotos.

Emphasis on the part: simple in theory.

The area was way too hot. Several AA entrenchments—flak guns—made any nearby LZ impossible without getting torn completely to shreds. It was a miracle that the acting-president's squad, her so-called B-team, had managed to secure some kind of landing zone at all. Several clicks away, from what Kanna could make out between bursts of background gunfire, explosions, and frantic shouting on the comms.

Worse yet, however, intel from forward scouts confirmed a Crusader tank, the same one stolen by bandits in Trinity, was quickly barreling toward this B-team's position.

Kanna, known begrudgingly as "The Mad Dog of Kivotos," a nickname which she greatly disliked, could wait for reinforcements and try a coordinated push. But time wasn't on their side. The longer they stalled, the more civilians were caught in the crossfire along with the risk of a counterattack by the criminals. And somewhere between her and the B-team's position was an even bigger threat:

Wakamo.

The goddamned Fox of Calamity had escaped custody not long ago. If she was in the vicinity, things could spiral further into chaos in minutes.

No, seconds—if they were unlucky enough.

To put it bluntly, the situation was a disaster—wedged between enemy fire, a tank, and a walking war crime.

Still, as Chief, Kanna knew more than just the frontlines. Being this high up in Valkyrie's chain of command, she wasn't exactly oblivious to rumors. But from what she'd been told off the grapevine by top-brass, the General Student Council was suffering an administrative nightmare ever since the sudden disappearance of their leader. How or why, her guess was as good as anyone else.

Rather. What came after was more bothersome. Her department in Valkyrie downsized, while their sister organization, SRT Academy, began to shut down without any notice.

While Kanna wasn't directly involved with SRT's affairs, being in Valkyrie level of authority had her privy in their woes. First it started with halting incoming student applications. Then came the closure of their 'recreational' clubs. After that, the voluntary buyouts or transfers sponsored by the GSC. And then the frozen assets.

Worse for her, the influx of questions from her own ranks in Valkyrie—uncertain if they're going to follow the same trajectory as SRT. Or worse still, if it was planned for Valkyrie to take on an unprecedented level of responsibility across Kivotos, one her forces were never designed to handle in the first place.

And then at the present, there was... all this.

With everything in mind, morale across the civil service took a nosedive, as did civilian trust. And yet, help had come from a strange place: Kaya.

The GSC's defense chief. She stepped in with several proposals that kept KSPD afloat.

Helpful, sure. Definitely brought much needed relief to Valkyrie.

Specifically Valkyrie. Not a single mention of SRT, oddly enough.

But then came the Kaiser reps. Always watching. Always circling. Always prying their robotic noses into every meeting. They smiled like salesmen. Talked like politicians. And carried themselves like wolves in suits.

Kanna smelled red flags from a mile away. Were they angling for a defense contract with Valkyrie? Knowing the corporation's less than savory reputation, this spelled a major conflict of interest at best.

Not that it mattered right now.

An explosion cracked nearby. Her focus snapped back to the present. Just ahead, she caught sight of a young civilian girl tripping in the rubble—clutching an oversized teddy bear that slipped from her grasp as she hit the ground.

Kanna instinctively moved toward her, but hesitated. The last thing she wanted was to scare another child with her... well, 'Mad Dog' face.

But someone else got to the girl first.

A tall man—definitely not one of hers—knelt beside the girl. Broad-shouldered, calm, eyes like steel but voice like a lullaby.

"Hey... there you go," he said gently, handing the bear back. "Don't worry."

He pointed toward one of the officers across the compound.

"Follow the kind lady over there. She'll get you to safety."

The girl nodded and scampered off.

Only then did the man, about a head or two taller, turn to Kanna.

No fear in his eyes. No judgment.

Most people would've flinched (even a tiny bit) at her resting glare, or tried to match her gaze. This guy?

He looked... oddly comforted or reassured by her. Like he'd seen others with the same weight on their shoulders; to instill fear in one's worse enemies. Like her.

Like Bruce.

"You're in charge around here, I take it?" he asked—not condescending, not casual. Just... honest.

"That I am," Kanna replied, raising her half-empty thermos and taking a sip. Her voice was dry. Measured. "Ogata Kanna. Chief of the Public Security Bureau. At your service."

She said the last part with a flat tone that hinted at how very much not in the mood she was for formalities.

"And you are?"

"Kal-El," he replied, shaking her hand firmly. "I guess you could say I'm a little lost."

Kanna snorted faintly. "Aren't we all?"

She gave him a once-over. Definitely didn't look like a local. Not with that outfit—tight suit, cape, bold color scheme.

If this guy was a cosplayer, he was taking it a bit far.

"...That explains the fashion choice," she added. "You're not from Kivotos. That much is obvious."

"Kivotos," he echoed. "So that's the name of this city."

Then, turning back to her:

"Tell me, Chief Ogata—do you happen to know of Metropolis? Gotham City? Star City?"

She blinked. "Nope. Doesn't ring a bell."

"How about Oa by chance? Themyscira? ...Kahndaq?"

Black Adam's territory was the last place Clark wanted to be anywhere near, knowing just how protective the antivillian was of his homeland. Not that he really considered it a possible destination to begin with. Worth asking, however, just to be safe.

"Still nothing, I'm afraid," Kanna replied, shrugging. "You really are lost, huh?"

He looked away for a second. Just a moment. But there was a subtle flicker of something behind his eyes—melancholy, maybe. Or resolve.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Seems I'm a long way from home after all."

Then he looked back at her, steady again. "Got separated from some friends in an accident. Woke up in the middle of all... this," Clark says, gesturing to the surroundings.

Kanna raised a brow. "Well, welcome to Kivotos. I'd have Valkyrie offer you proper tour, but... as you can see, the city's in a state of disarray. Our forward position is pinned, most of our KSPD officers are scattered, and we've got injured and evacuees piling up with here being the only way out," she added, pointing down at the ground of their makeshift outpost.

"No other adults?" Clark asked, slightly baffled.

"You're the first I've seen all day," Kanna answered. "Though, not many around here to begin with."

A pause.

In the distance, another round of mortars landed. The nearby cadets flinched.

Clark didn't.

He simply turned toward the direction of the gunfire, thoughtful, before facing the chief officer again.

"…Anything I can do to help?" the man of steel asked.

Kanna tilted her head. Was this the mysterious adult the GSC had reportedly pulled into their plans out of desperation? She'd heard rumors. Whispers of the General Student Council scrambling to find a competent leader.

He had the composure of a leader, no doubt about that. Hopefully he knew a thing or two about tactics. Better than nothing at this point, she supposed.

Kanna sighed, then pulled out her datapad and gestured toward the towering silhouette of Schale in the distance.

"Well, we were supposed to regroup with another squad—student reps under the acting GSC president's command, and secure control of the Schale building. But as you can see, they have this area fortified with some heavy firepower up ahead. We're talking MG nests and other emplacements. Plus there's still the need to escort injured and civilians out."

Clark carefully studied the map and surroundings in front of him. Eyes furrowed and hand on his chin, focused on what to say next

"I see..." he said calmly. "I'll draw their fire and see what I can do about those emplacements, focus on rallying your troops and rescuing anyone along the way."

The man of steel then pointed to a flanking route with debris for cover. One that would lead them to the B-team according to Kanna's digital map.

"We'll regroup with your companions through here," he added.

"You? Alone, by yourself?" Kanna blinked, having to mentally catch herself before dropping her thermos in utter shock. "But you don't even have a halo—or a sidearm, or anything to protect yourself for that mater," she protested in confusion. "What are you going to do, throw a rock at them?"

"Something like that," he reassured the chief officer. "Let's just say I've dealt with much worse by myself back home."

No boasting in his voice. No smug overconfidence. Just a matter of fact in the way he answered her. Like it was another Tuesday for him.

"You could say it was part of the job."

"Part of the what—" Kanna replied, puzzled as to what type of occupation with have someone foolish enough to run into live gunfire.

Then again, she could imagine such a doctrine being typical for Gehenna or Red Winter, considering just how eccentric their personalities can be.

But before she could stop him, he stepped back from the crowded area—then launched into the air

Not leaped. Not jumped.

Flew.

Upwards, fast as a cannonball, cape trailing behind him.

Kanna's sharp teeth clenched. Machine guns, and other field cannons tracked him in the sky, filling the air with tracer fire—and yet the bullets simply bounced off him. No shield. No armor. No scratch.

KSPD officers stared in disbelief. Some ducked for potential ricochets, others shouted.

Kanna didn't flinch, though her doubts quickly vanished. The German-Shepard officer's eyes narrowed as she watched the man in blue and red hover above the battlefield like a myth from an older world.

He was giving them a perfect opportunity. She knew what to do.

Then, looking back at her crewmates still struck in awe, she holstered her thermos and drew out her Glock, racking the slide.

"Unit 3-7, hold position!" she barked into her comm. "Unit 4-2, keep those civilians and injured moving! All other units—on me! We push, now!"

The wind howls briefly as Clark soars above the smoke-filled sky. For a moment, all eyes—friend and foe alike—lift upward. The latter, still trying to swat him down like an oversized fly with their constant barrage of gunfire.

The incoming shots thankfully didn't phase him one bit, however, it did confirm his suspicions. The way the bullets felt. Real, live round. Kinetic. Not training-grade sim-munitions.

These weren't rubber bullets. They were using live ammo... against their own. Against kids.

Perhaps it was still wishful thinking, considering the fact those mortar explosives earlier were, in fact, real. But still...

While the ricochets just bounced harmlessly off his chest, his concern deepened. He isn't fighting supervillian or warlords—these were teenagers, even if they looked like bandits. Desperate. Angry. Misled. Some still wore parts of their old school uniforms.

'There's just children,' he thought grimly. 'And teenagers...'

Of course, back home, Damian... was a different care entirely. Having your estranged son raised from birth by a death cult of deadly assassins. Trained to kill. Fatherhood by Ra's al Ghul. It was not exactly a can of worms he was willing to confront against Bruce, even if the boy seemed to behave well enough under Dick and the rest of the Titans.

He quickly pushed those thoughts aside.

Clark lands in a controlled crash in front of a few gun nests, creating a shockwave that knocks some sandbags loose. The gunners—two girls with makeshift welding helmets and light machine guns—freeze as he walks forward.

"What the hell—he just ate all those rounds?!" one of the thugs says in shock.

"Is he... a haloless adult?" another of the gunners backs away slowly, utterly baffled. "H-He didn't even flinch—"

"Girls, I'm not here to hurt you," Clark calmly interrupts, raising a hand.

But before either can think to fire again, he moves—not fast enough to break the sound barrier, but quick enough to gently pry the weapons off their mounts before they react.

"Trust me, you're better off laying these down," he tells them, crushing the barrels of the snatched guns in one hand. Not completely, but just enough to render them useless, before dropping them at the girls feet, still stunned.

"I surrender! I surrender!" one of the thugs raises her hands, dropping to her knees. "Just don't crush me into a pulp or whatever!"

"Hey look I didn't sign up for this shit," the other gunner states, backing away with her arms raised in defeat. "She just told me we'd be looting those KSPD mooks!"

Clark gave them a small, almost apologetic nod before turning his gaze to the next threat. Another group across the walkway aims a shoulder-fired RPG at him.

"Don't—" he sighs quietly, only to get interrupted by the explosive-wielding thug.

"Screw you hero-boy!" the girl screams. "Eat shrapnel!" she shrieked before firing.

The rocket whooshes through the air, and Clark plucks it mid-flight like a football pass. Slowing his descent as he hovers near their proximity. The gunner stumbles back as Clark calmly rotates the projectile in his hand. Clark then twists the warhead's casing, unscrewing it, and holds up the now-defused pieces with a wry look.

"Safety first," he tells them before dropping the dismantled pieces in front of the girls.

The gunners scatter, some tossing their weapons on the concrete as they run, with others tripping in the process.

"What the flying FUCK?! Since when did Kaiser make a warsuit?!"

"She never told us Valkyrie had some crazy guy in a costume!" another panicked.

'Well, I've heard worse,' Clark thought, drifting higher

From the field, Kanna watched from the other side while barking orders to her squads, advancing carefully through the safer corridors of debris and makeshift barriers.

"He caught the warhead mid flight, and just... disarmed it?" she muttered, ducking around a corner and neatly dispatching an ambusher with two precise shots of her handgun, knocking them out unconscious.

Just ahead, Clark hovered over to an anti-air emplacement. Floating beside it, he looped and knotted the gun barrels like soft pretzels. The stunned operator barely had time to blink before finding herself scooped into Clark's arms and whisked back to the KSPD perimeter like a misbehaving kitten.

"Did he just—? Seriously?" Kanna blinked as she watched him deposit the now-docile gunner into an officer's custody.

The gunner was dropped off into the hands of a nearby Valkyrie officer, who quickly cuffs her without complaint. Clark exchanges salutes with the stunned KSPD unit before jetting off again.

"Ma'am!" a cadet ran up beside her. "We've secured four prisoners and cleared two blocks! That guy—he's making them give up!"

"I don't know who he is or where he's from, but I'll take the help," Kanna replied, trying not to sound too impressed as they advance.

This Kal-El definitely wasn't lying when he said he wasn't from Kivotos, that much was for certain.

With the enemy front now collapsing, Kanna and her remaining units continued to sweep through the weakened lines. Civilians are being pulled out from corners, unconscious allies are being stabilized, and more bandits tossed their away their gear the moment this man in blue got close.

One group of delinquents even waved a makeshift white flag fashioned from tattered uniforms.

"Ok! Ok! You win, we're done!"

"No one told us there was an actual superhero involved!" another pleaded.

A short time later, Kanna and her units regroup with the Clark up ahead just outside a half-demolished courtyard turned fort; now much closer to the Schale building and at their intended rally point.

"Whatever you're doing, it's working," Kanna briskly approaches the man of steel floating down towards her. "We've cleared almost all resistance, and retaken over fifty percent of the central district."

"Glad to hear it," Clark nods in approval, dusting off a bent gun barrel.

"But we've got another problem," Kanna flatly stated. "A stolen Crusader tank—Trinity made. It's rolling in from the northeast side of the plaza. Probably thinks the rest of their friends can be saved."

'A Crusader tank?' Clark raised an eyebrow.

He vaguely remembered Oliver talking about them—British WWII armor, light cruiser class. Why a school faction had one in working order was another mystery for later.

"Is it manned?" Clark inquired.

"Most likely," Kanna nodded, zooming in on the map. "It's probably got line-of-sight on the student reps. If it gets close, they're sitting ducks."

"I'll deal with the tank," Clark assured her, turning towards the direction she had directed to. "Can you get your forces in position to support the student's push?"

"Already on it," Kanna replied as she raised her comms to direct orders. "Units 5-7 and 6-9, move in to reinforce the Schale sector. Hostile armor inbound—priority target. And tell the student reps aerial support is on the way. Repeat: aerial cover is friendly."

She then lowered her mic and turned towards Clark just as he prepares to flies off.

"...And Kal-El?" she said to him in a gruffly voice.

"Yeah?" Clark asks, pausing mid-hover.

"Try not to wreck too much of our infrastructure. City repair budgets are already hell," Kanna grinned faintly.

"No promises, but I'll do my best," he smiled back at the slightly-less frustrated police-chief before taking off.

With a boom of wind and color, the Man of Steel ascends towards the incoming threat—leaving behind a battlefield that, for the first time in days, felt like it could be won.

Chapter Text

"Hostiles, 10 o'clock, second-floor windows!" Suzumi barked. Her white hair whipped behind her as she popped out of cover. The Vigilante student fired three precise bursts from her rifle. "Target down."

"Left side's clear. We need to push—now!" Yuuka shouted to her squadmates; having just turned back from the corner she had been peeking around. Both SMGs were still hot from the last exchange.

To say that Yuuka and her ragtag team of fellow student council representatives were having a rough day would be an exponential understatement. Just hours ago, she, along with Suzumi, Hasumi, and Chinatsu, had stormed into Rin's office demanding answers—only to confirm their worst fears: the president of the General Student Council had indeed, disappeared without a trace.

The Vice President's response hadn't exactly helped morale. Rin had initially brushed each of the student council representatives off with an infuriatingly casual, "you all really had the spare time to drop this on me?" type of reply. An insinuation that rather bothered the Seminar student, making her question the competence of this lackluster GSC leadership and bureaucratic stagnancy.

'I mean, you're talking about generators that could supply power up to seventy-five percent of Kivotos alone,' Yuuka had thought to herself. As to why the GSC wouldn't escalate it as a top priority—considering the chaos and infrastructure shortage in their current district—was beyond her.

However, while Millennium had its share of problems, the state of Kivotos as a whole was clearly circling the drain. Her school wasn't the only one with outstanding issues. Trinity's armories had been raided, and Gehenna's Prefect Team were stretched beyond operational limits to deal with the riots spreading like wildfire.

So, with no chain of command to fall back on and frustration boiling over, they'd done something reckless: agreed to Rin's half-baked plan and taken matters into their own hands. Sure, they could argue who's overdue problem was more important, but fact of the matter was that none of their issues could be resolved if Kivotos ceased to be.

"Cover me, I'm reloading," Suzumi announced to her squadmates, rifle clutched in hand as she swapped to a fresh magazine.

Now here they were—an ad-hoc strike B-team operating on the other side of the city, pushing toward the D.U. plaza with the hope of linking up with the battered KSPD and retaking control of the Schale clubroom. The operation, if one could even call it that, was more or less a suicide mission. Yuuka took point with her calculator-like shield module, projecting an energy bubble to absorb incoming fire. Chinatsu and Suzumi held the flanks, and Hasumi brought up the rear with long-range support.

Unfortunately, due to unexpected AA fire, their intended landing zone had been thrown off by several clicks. What was supposed to be a quick drop-and-link had turned into a slow, grueling crawl through the middle of hostile territory—and time was not on their side.

Suddenly, Hasumi spoke up, her focused voice cutting through the sound of whirling gunfire.

"Some of them are falling back." She reloaded smoothly, her sights tracking movement from afar as she eliminated another target. "That's... unusual. It's almost like they're reacting to something else."

"Maybe Valkyire finally got their act together," Chinatsu said, ejecting a spent mag and loading a fresh one into her Mauser pistol. Her voice was dry with slight sarcasm. "Perhaps if Head Prefect was with them, this issue would be solved quicker." That last comment came with an extra tinge of venom from the salmon-haired student.

"We've got contact!" Yuuka shouted, quickly entering another calculation before slamming her palm down on her enter key to reactivate a fresh shield.

She led the charge across shattered concrete, weaving from cover to cover as energy fire lit up the space around them. Incoming bullets shattered in front of the glowing hexagonal grid projections on her barrier. Hasumi fired streaks of energy rounds that one could only describe as holy light, taking out a couple of machine gunners with surgical precision.

"Take cover!" Suzumi shouted, lobbing a flash grenade over a window, just before it detonated in a burst of light.

The resulting confusion gave Chinatsu and Yuuka a clean opportunity to sweep the blinded thugs as they entered a building. But then came a mistake—minor, but costly. Yuuka's shields blinked out as it entered cooldown. A lone bandit, half-buried under rubble, raised a sidearm and fired.

"—!" Yuuka gasped as a stray bullet grazed her thigh.

She staggered, but Chinatsu was already there, rounding the corner and putting the delinquent down with three precise shots before kneeling beside her.

"You okay?" Chinatsu asked, pulling her up.

"Thanks, Chinatsu-san," Yuuka said, brushing off the dirt and wincing slightly.

"Don't mention it," Chinatsu replied, adjusting her Team Prefect armband. "But let's face it—even if some of them are falling back, we're still in a bad spot."

"Agreed," Hasumi said, pressing against the wall beside them, eyes scanning the next street . "At this pace, we won't reach the rally point without getting pinned or worse."

"Those damn sukebans," Yuuka growled, rubbing her leg. "They're using JHP rounds!"

"I'm surprised Millennium hasn't banned them on campus yet," Hasumi murmured.

"Oh, we will—just as soon as I get ba—"

CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!

Gunfire whizzing through the air cut off her words.

Suzumi lowered her comms device before turning towards her squadmates. "Update from KSPD—we've got friendly air support inbound."

"Air support?" Chinatsu frowned, popping her head out to fire before ducking. "This zone's still crawling with AA. Isn't that why we landed off-target in the first place?"

"No clue," Hasumi added, downing another target. "But some kind of shift is happening in their ranks. They're unsettled."

"What could even be catching their attention to begin with?"

Before any of them could follow up, a low thrum rolled through the ground. Treads.

Then the rumbling thunder of a 6-pound-gun.

Yuuka's blood ran cold. This could only mean one thing.

"The Crusader," Suzumi hissed, spotting it through a window slit—the stolen Trinity tank now aiming its main gun toward their position.

"Split and regroup on the other side, now!" Yuuka ordered.

They scattered, sprinting through the ruined plaza. Yuuka weaved between wreckage and smoldering vehicles scattered throughout the parking lot, her bruised leg dragging slightly behind. But just as she cleared a debris mound, her foot caught on a half-buried chunk of rebar in a shallow crater.

"Kh—dammit!"

She twisted, yanking at her snagged leg. The module on her hip blinked red—still cooling down. Digging into her uniform's pockets didn't offer help either. No spare cells left to quickly recharge it for another formula.

'Why didn't I bring that 100kg backup battery pack?!' she growled to herself.

From behind, the Crusader fired. An explosive shell impacted nearby, sending a ruined semi-truck hurtling toward her in a screech of metal.

Yuuka froze, raising one arm to shield her face, the other guarding her neck. Sure, it obviously wouldn't kill her—but that doesn't make the pain of getting squashed any less immense. Becoming a Kivotos-pancake is definitely going to hurt. Like hell.

She braced for impact. But then it didn't come.

THOOMF!

A sudden gust of displaced air and thunderous impact knocked dust into the air. Then, a voice.

"...Are you okay?"

Ears slightly ringing from screeched metal, Yuuka opened her eyes and looked up. A warm hand extended into her view—broad, steady.

The overturned semi that had nearly flattened her was balanced effortlessly in their other hand, resting like a toy against its palm. The man holding it was tall enough to tower over all of them, cape flowing in the gunsmoke-polluted wind, with a faint glowing in his eyes. He had a blue and deep red suit, yellow belt, and a letter in global on his chest. Not a student, that was certain.

"Y‑Yeah, I'm fine, but—" she started, brushing herself off as he gently set the heap of twisted steel down like it weighed nothing. Just then, her train of thought caught up from the shock.

"—What's a haloless adult doing here?" Yuuka immediately demanded, brushing the dust from her legs and picking up her weapons. "You should be evacuating! It's not safe!"

"Don't worry," he said calmly. "Chief Ogata told me you girls needed help."

"...Chief Kanna Ogata? From the Valkyrie?" Yuuka asked, skepticism still tugging at her voice.

"Wait—you're the air support mentioned on comms?" Chinatsu asked as she and the others caught up, weapons still at the ready.

"We just saw you swoop down from the sky," commented Suzumi.

"Something like that," Clark replied with a faint smile.

He noticed their weapons and wary glances. His initial impression of the four teenagers highlighted the sheer paradox of schoolgirl uniforms combined with live weapons. Not ideal for any sane person, but this wasn't home. Similarly, it wasn't like Clark had his own share of oddities either. Whatever Kivotos was, stopping it from falling apart and helping innocents was priority one.

"But what about the flak guns?" asked the Prefect Team member, adjusting her glasses.

"Already taken care of," he reassured her, raising his palm.

Hasumi, quiet until now, regarded the man with sharp, assessing eyes. She recalled in passing that Rin had mentioned about a 'sensei' her and the rest of the GSC were waiting to arrive, albeit in a muttered and somewhat defeated level of sarcasm.

'An adult. Haloless. Helping the KSPD. Could this be him?' she thought to herself.

"Excuse me, mister, uh—?"

"Kal," he said, shaking her hand. "Kal‑El."

"Mr. Kal‑san," Hasumi said, standing a bit straighter. "By any chance, do you happen to know Rin?"

"Hmm... I'm Afraid not," Kal replied, shaking his head. "I arrived in Kivotos not too long ago. Chief Ogata was the first person I met. She brought me up to speed."

Yuuka and the other girls raised an eyebrow. Suzumi specifically kept her rifle lowered, but not pointed at the man.

"Alright, but where were you before coming here?" she asked.

Kal thought for a moment. Not about space, parallel Earths, or anything too hard to swallow. Just enough truth for now. His years of journalistic experience taught him it's best to keep things as straightforward and simple as reasonable, and elaborate later.

"I came from a city called Metropolis," he said. "Far enough away that you won't find it on any map of Kivotos."

That drew a few skeptical glances.

"I was traveling with some friends when an… accident happened," he continued, thinking about that strange motherbox back on the Watch Tower. "Got separated from them during the chaos. The next thing I knew, I ended up here. Don't even know which way to start looking for a way home," he shrugged.

The girls exchanged glances. Suzumi gave a faint nod, as if accepting the explanation. "I'm… sorry to hear that," she said quietly.

"Me too," he offered, voice soft and genuine.

"What kind of accident?" Hasumi asked.

"An experiment that went wrong," he said, brushing a hand across his chest. "We were conducting... scientific research. Something went amiss, and I landed here."

At that, every student's eye turned sharply toward Yuuka in an accusatory glare. The Millennium treasurer raised her hands defensively.

"H‑Hey! Don't look at me like that!" she said. "Our school had nothing to do with it!"

Before the awkward tension could boil any further, the sound of cracking concrete and approaching tank treads shook the area. The stolen Crusader tank, flanked by a wave of bandits, was bearing down their position for a counterattack.

"Looks like we'll have to save the questions for later," Kal said firmly.

"Kanna and the KSPD are just past the other side," Suzumi noted. "The regroup point is just up ahead."

"Exactly. I'll take care of the tank," Clark offered, pointing the girls to a corridor between the ruined buildings. "That route should get you around it. Stay together. Stay safe."

The four exchanged quick glances before nodding. As they readied their weapons, the Man of Steel added.

"By the way, I never got your names. Might be good to have them before we head back out there."

"Hinomiya Chinatsu, designated field medic of Gehenna's Prefect Team."
"Morizuki Suzumi of the Trinity Vigilante Corps."
"Hanekawa Hasumi, member of Trinity's Justice Task Force."
"Hayase Yuuka, Treasurer for Millennium's Seminar—"

As she was dusting off her skirt, Yuuka noticed him rising slightly from the ground, cape brushing the smoky air.

"—Wait, are you seriously going out there like that?!"

"Someone has to," he said simply, voice calm.

"With what? You don't have any weapons," Chinatsu protested.

"Don't need any."

And before any of them could ask another question, Clark launched himself into the air, zipping through the smoky skyline. The girls watched in shocked silence for a moment, then Chinatsu was the first to snap out of it.

"Alright, you heard him," she said sharply, looking to the others. "Move out. Stay low, stay sharp."

With one last glance at the figure soaring toward the tank, Yuuka tightened her grip on her weapons and fell in line with the rest. Whatever—or whoever—they'd just met, one thing was certain: Kivotos had never seen anything like him before.

Meanwhile, Clark surged toward the stolen Crusader's position. From the air, it was easy to tell this ragged entourage was no organized army—more like a gang that had somehow gotten their hands on military hardware. It was like looking at a band of thieves who had just stolen some experimental tech straight out of STAR Labs or Argus. The tank was dated, too, but a quick scan with X‑ray vision and enhanced hearing confirmed the retrofitted electronics and radio equipment inside.

More worrying, it was crewed by students. Teenagers. Whatever Kivotos was, this wasn't a place for reckless force. Bending the barrel was an option, but too dangerous. A misfire could kill the kids inside. So he had to get a little… creative.

"Hey, buddy!" he called down, planting himself square in the tank's sights. "Eyes over here."

The turret swiveled toward him like an animal reacting to a threat. Just as it began to adjust for a shot, he slipped underneath in a blur.

"What the—where'd he go?" yelled one of the crewgirls.

"Can't find hi—hrrk!"

A muffled thud shook the tank, making its occupants tumble in their seats. The loader panicked.

"We're stuck! What the—?!"

Then came the screech of twisting metal. With one hand, Clark hoisted the tank a few inches off the ground, like a parent pulling the ear of a misbehaving child. He continued guiding it backwards until it was well out of targeting range for the girls, and away from any collateral.

"What's going on? Are we moving backwards?!" another shouted, only to be met with a sudden jolt.

A moment later came a sound like a can opener. The top of the Crusader was peeled away as if it were a tin of sardines, exposing the stunned crew. Clark smiled down at the girls in the cabin.

"Sorry everyone," his voice kind yet firm as he neatly set the torn hunk of metal down like a discarded lid. "I'm afraid recess is over."

The tank crew didn't wait for another word. They abandoned their posts, crawling out of the gaping hole and scrambling away, weapons forgotten.

"Did… did he just rip that Crusader open?" Yuuka gasped from where she and the others watched.

"With his bare hands too," Chinatsu added, voice tight with disbelief.

Before any of the girls could approach, a squad of bandits emerged from cover, weapons drawn. A handful broke toward Yuuka and the rest, while others focused their sights on the lone man hovering just a few feet off the ground.

"Look, I'm not here to hurt any of you," Clark said calmly, hands rising slightly. "Just drop the guns, and no one has to get hurt."

"Oi! Piss off, you costumed freak!" spat one of the helmeted gangsters, locking a dented‑barreled LMG onto him.

"Yeah, he can't take down all of us!" another yelled.

"Light him up, then we finish off those damn student reps too!"

Clark sighed, shaking his head. His eyes flared faintly crimson as he swept a calculated gaze across the bandits. A moment later, one by one, weapons started hitting the ground with a clank against the asphalt. The delinquents waved their hands in pain, dropping guns that now felt like stove tops

"Aagh—shit!"

"Hot! Hot! HOT!"

"Ouchh! What the hell?!"

The gangsters yelped, shaking their hands wildly—some even cartoonishly prancing in circles—as the metal frames felt way too uncomfortable to hold against their fingers.

Behind a slab of concrete, Yuuka and the others watched, dumbfounded.

"Why is he just standing there?" Yuuka wondered aloud, unable to comprehend why the man didn't move.

Sure he seemed to have unbelievable strength, but there's no way he was bulletproof! Not even their school uniforms could handle that much small arms fire. Plus there was the fact he didn't even have a halo. Was this man trying to get himself killed?!

"Is he… not going to attack?" Chinatsu asked, confusion creasing her voice.

Then the sound of weapons clattering to the ground. Not thrown down—dropped, in pain. The bandits waved their hands like they'd touched a baking sheet straight out of the oven, guns abandoned.

"What the—" Yuuka started, but the sound of equipment hitting the ground snapped her into focus.

'Wait… was he heating their weapons somehow? Without even moving?' she thought, squinting her eyes at the caped figure simply staring at the disarmed delinquents.

"Did he intimidate them?" Suzumi offered, dropping a distracted gangster with another quick shot.

"Can't be," Chinatsu said sharply. "They acted like those guns were burning. But he doesn't have any weapons… or a flamethrower…"

"Then how?" Suzumi pressed, seemingly more occupied on her next target to notice the man.

"He said he wasn't from Kivotos," Chinatsu stated in a matter of fact.

The salmon-haired girl knew full well, that this... this outsider—one of unknown strength—could easily stand toe to toe with Head Prefect herself, much to Ako's dismay. There's no telling how his presence might affect the Eden Treaty. Probably for the that best she ended up making contact with this figure before any of the imbeciles from the Pandemonium Society did, and jeopardize Gehenna's safety.

"Not from Kivotos..." Yuuka repeated quietly, echoing the Gehenna student's words. "But no halo, either..." she added, loading a fresh pair of magazines into her SMGs.

Whatever he was, one thing was certain—he was no ordinary adult. The ballistics, physics... none of it was making sense.

'President Rio is going to want to hear about this,' she mentally noted to herself. Knowing the stoic, big sister leader of Millennium, she wasn't the type of person into variables outside her direct control. Her cold logic would easily dictate him to be studied with a fine tooth comb.

Meanwhile, Suzumi tightened her grip on her rifle and occasionally glanced at the man. Whatever he was, wherever he came from, this was strength perhaps bordering on the divine. This was one anomaly she felt grateful to have on their side. She just hoped the rest of Trinity might share the same sentiment. In spite of his lack of weapons, part of her also felt as if this person could easily embody her sense of vigilante and justice.

"Let's move," Chinatsu announced sharply, rising from cover as the rest fell in line and continued to push.

Hasumi, too, watched with wary fascination, taking aim at the now-disarmed delinquents.

'A being this strong… he could be a threat to the JTF,' she thought to herself. 'No—Trinity's entire Tea Party—if he wanted to be.' But the thought was gone as quickly as it came, replaced with the upcoming reality soon in front of her.

BANG-BANG-BANG!

A series of sharp cracks ripped across the air. The disarmed bandits dropped like dominoes, one after another, crumpling to the ground.

"—!"

Clark sharply turned toward the source of the sound. The shots came from afar, alarms rising. Not because the shots weren't accurate. But because they were too accurate.

Precise. Calculated. Deliberate.

Hasumi lowered her rifle, a faint plume of smoke rising from the long barrel.

Clark turned to regard her, a faint shadow crossing his features. Eyes not in anger. Not disdain. More… disappointment and... sadness perhaps?

'These weren't hardened soldiers,' He thought to himself. 'Not anymore.'

Clark hesitated to say something to the angelic, JTF sniper, until he noticed something else. It was the rise and fall of the downed bandits' chests. The exhausted, labored breathing. Not a drop of blood. Not a hint of serious injury. He watched as one groaned and stirred.

"Aaagh my freaking head..." another cursed under her breath. Clearly out of the battle, she brushed a red welt rising just above her temple.

The rest were unconscious and had regular heartbeats, despite rounds that should have clearly been lethal.

They weren't dead.

In fact, they weren't even critically wounded.

Meanwhile, Hasumi still felt a bit puzzled at the glare this stranger had given to her and the targets she helped take down just moments ago.

'Was that... pity?' she silently pondered before quickly following the others and providing sniper cover.

"Just what in the world is this place…?" Clark thought aloud.

He soon brushed those thoughts aside as the sound of more weapons—and more trouble—floated down the block. With one last wary glance at the downed gang and the girls nearby soon regrouping with Kanna, he launched himself back into the air.

There were still more threats to disarm, more people to protect. Whatever rules this city lived by, he would learn soon enough. But for now? He had work to finish.

"Fufufu... they actually think they have a chance, how cute."

Wakamo relished the chaos she had sown, perched atop a tower with her fox mask glinting in the light. Every pull of the trigger sent a crimson streak downrange, every shot felling another hapless Valkyrie straggler. A day like this—riots swirling, security shattered—was a gift too good to pass up.

Just hours earlier, she and seven others had simply walked out of the Correction Bureau's so-called "maximum security" amidst the unrest. No resistance. No alarms. Whether that was because the rumors surrounding the GSC broken leadership or Valkyrie's sheer uselessness, it hardly mattered. Kivotos was ripe for destruction, and Wakamo was happy to contribute her share.

She chambered another round into her unscoped Arisaka Type-99, Crimson Calamity, with practiced ease. Scattered KSPD and student volunteers against local delinquents? Lambs to the slaughter, with no signs of that pesky FOX squad on her trail to bother her either.

"Hmm? What's this—?"

And then she noticed it. A gradual shift. The waxing and waning tides of battle, but slowly against her favor.

One street at a time, her forces began to falter. Even with her fire support, their momentum died. Unmanned turrets. Abandoned guns. Those gangsters weren't regrouping—they were running, some even surrendering to KSPD as if hunted by ghosts.

"—?!"

At first she thought it was a lucky fluke. Or perhaps that Mad Dog herself was actually brave enough to attempt a final push against the Schale building, quite foolish really. Their overconfidence should've caught the better of them.

"Ara? Has the Feral Hound herself become this brazen?" she raised a brow, licking her lips in anticipation.

But then it continued. Another street. Then the next block. And the one afterwards. And then...

"—What the hell?" Wakamo hissed, narrowing her eyes.

That was when she finally saw him. A handsome, broad-shouldered figure in blue soaring across the skyline like a myth sprung to life. The Fox of Calamity was no stranger to monsters or other powerful foes. She's faced power, cruelty, destruction. She's caused plenty of it. But this...?

This wasn't just raw strength.
This was strength with restraint.
Dominance, without bloodlust.

"Tch... he's not even breaking a sweat," she spat out in frustration, continuing to observe her mysterious quarry from afar.

Like how this imposing figure intercepted those rockets mid-flight. He easily could've tossed the explosives back at their perpetrators, but refused—and harmlessly discarded their parts instead? Deflecting attacks without malice. There was strength there—a terrible strength. But it was tempered, guided, almost... gentle?

Worst yet: it was winning. This lone figure even held up a collapsing building! On his back!

"Just so those pathetic sukebans cowards underneath could escape—unharmed!" she growled in frustration.

Wakamo's hands itched on her rifle as her lips curved into a feral grin under the mask. Finally—someone worthy. Someone dangerous. It was a glorious battle she was itching to scratch.

And yet… something gnawed at her. Not quite a sign of danger. But instead, a creeping, underlying sense of dread.

She watched this haloless adult regrouped calmly with a small cluster of student reps and KSPD officers. No bloodlust, no bravado. Just that unnervingly collected gaze meeting hers across the distance. It was unyielding, yet patient.

'...This man,' Wakamo mentally froze for a brief moment. She wasn't used to calmness that didn't flinch in the face of danger. It was alien. More alien than any mask she'd ever worn.

"Tch... this bastard doesn't even want to fight back against them!" Wakamo clicked her tongue in annoyance, finger hovering over the trigger.

She could fire. Test him. Maybe even provoke him into showing this brute's fangs. Surely all this was just a farce.

Perhaps a bullet though that Head Prefect's bitch would do the trick. It would be easy enough.

Maybe the those other lousy school representative lapdogs while we're at it? One of them was already limping, which would be easy enough.

Or better yet, even in the leg of that GSC's Valkyrie mutt besides them too. God, the KSPD infuriated her so much, and knocking a peg off their leader was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

"...Tch..."

But, she knew better. Even if the Fox of Calamity landed a hit on him or anyone else nearby, it wouldn't mean anything.

This man wouldn't hurt her; something told her he wouldn't even want to. And that was more frustrating to Wakamo, more than any encounter with FOX squad capturing her. More than the fight itself, she'd lose something important for the first time. She'd lose the mystery.

With a practiced motion, she eased her finger off the trigger and lowered her rifle with a sigh. Kosaka Wakamo may have an unsaitable lust for wanton destruction, but she wasn't an idiot. She knew when a battle was clearly over. And knew when to cut her losses on calling off a failing assault.

"Another day," she murmured with an annoyed smirk behind the mask before vaulting off the rooftops.

While the riots and gunfire exchange were already dying down, the Fox of Calamity's departure had essentially confirmed it. Soon after, the battle for Kivotos was over, with a brief level of respite returning to the city.

"Hmph, you'll blink eventually. Everyone does."

The sharp scent of burnt gunpowder still hung in the air, but the street was eerily quiet now.

Clark hovered a few feet off the ground before touching down softly, his eyes sweeping across the aftermath. Scorch marks on concrete, various craters, upturned kiosks; it looked like a warzone.

And yet, everyone was alive.

The man of steel knelt beside a fallen student—no law enforcement gear—similar outfit to that Gehenna girl. Likely another volunteer? She was covered in dust, a few tears in her uniform, and light bruises on her cheek. Clark reached out—

But then she groans, coughs, sits up, mutters something about midterms, and then pulls herself to her feet like she just woke up from a groggy nap.

He blinked. Not a single casualty. Clark then slowly turned as another girl, a KSPD cadet—clearly had just took a grenade to the ribs minutes ago—dusts herself off and shouts something snarly at her nearby squadmate.

Chinatsu was already tending to the bruise on Yuuka's leg. From this vantage, she looked less like a field medic in a firefight and more like a school nurse.

"—Yee-ouch!" the Millennium Treasurer cried. "What the heck was that for?"

"Hold still," Chinatsu replied, applying a small splint to Yuuka's bruised leg, lightly slapping it as a good measure. "See? You'll be fine."

"Was that really necessary?" Yuuka lightly winced, reaching for a nearby datapad.

"Just try not to lean on it, okay?" the Prefect Team medic murmured to her less than pleased patient, handing her back the tablet before standing. Her gaze shifted toward Clark, then followed his puzzled expression.

"You look like you've never seen someone walk away after a fight," Chinatsu said bluntly.

'She wasn't exactly wrong,' Clark furrowed his brow in thought. '...Just forgot to elaborate on said fight involving getting shot in the head with a fifty-caliber.'

"They took direct fire. Explosives. Some of them were hit with high-velocity rounds," he stated. "And they're walking it off."

"Our halos protect us," the Prefect Team medic shrugs. "Cuts and bruises mostly. At worst, we've only encountered a few minor concussions."

"Plus, the uniforms are reinforced," Yuuka adds, slowly getting up herself, examining the slightly damaged device. "That's just how Kivotos is, honestly..."

Clark glanced around once more, looking more closely at the girls' halos. That explained their strange resilience.

'Metahuman, perhaps,' he wondered.

It was very much for the best Waller wasn't here to see any of this. God knows what type of ethically-questionable—if not downright exploitative—teams she'd place them in. Even the very thought of Luthor or any other opportunists taking advantage of these kids' uncanny strength made him shudder.

"Back where I'm from, most folks didn't have this level of durability," he told them, thinking about the number of lives lost if a similar incident were to happen back home. "Things usually ended much more tragically; with lifelong injuries, searching for missing bodies, or worse."

The last part was said with much weight behind his words as he looked down with a slight expression of solemn. Not with dread, not with sorrow, or trying to instill fear for that matter. But it was as if they were talking to someone recalling years of experience, and witnessing loss firsthand.

"Kal-san, was death a common occurrence back home?" Chinatsu inquired, noticing his expression change with a slight concern.

"Not always," he looked back up, trying to reassure them. "There were people back home—like me—doing whatever they can to help others. But... some, had less regard for life, unfortunately."

It was an earnest smile that hid cracks of somberness and weight.

'Others like him?' they both thought to themselves in shock. 'Just what kind of people lived in this Metropolis?!'

"I guess you can say, I'm not used to this level of violence among schoolfolks. Or just how brave and strong you all are," he continued, offering a change of subject from the heavy mood.

The latter praise earning him a light blush and averted gaze from the two. Not that either would like to admit, and Clark knew better than to pry further. At least weren't hung-up on the prior conversation.

Clark himself had braced for tragedy in this aftermath. But instead… there are kids helping each other up. Laughing. One of them is taking selfies next to a flipped truck. Nearby, a young girl was fumbling with her revolver while her partner, leaning beside her, was leisurely munching down on a doughnut without a care in the world. As to how she managed to carry it all the way here battlefield without a single speck of dust sprinkled on it, would be a question for a later date. Another was texting away on top of a half-demolished pile of concrete—

Wait—was that one of them... wearing a traffic cone as a hat? Oh, he's going to have a field day explaining that one to Wally. Or O'Brien for that matter.

Still, part of him felt off-balance, as if his brain expected greater consequences to what was essentially an urban war zone. Not to mention the fact that nearly every school student was effectively strapped with plenty of military equipment that could easily fit into any regular armed forces, or give any organized militia a run for their money.

'So much firepower… and yet they all bounced back up,' he thought.

He watched as a small team of what must have been first-years hauling a field gun back into a... school bus? A part of him was thankful. Another part of him wondered if these kids ever realized just how fragile most worlds could be. If a similar incident were to occur in say, Metropolis, the consequences could be dire.

"They're resilient. Too resilient, almost." He quietly says to himself not with suspicion—just quiet amazement.

"Mr. Kal-El," A familiar voice then pulled him from his thoughts.

Kanna Ogata, the chief of the KSPD, jogged toward him, dust on her uniform and a relieved but serious look in her eyes.

"We swept the Schale building. No signs of the Fox of Calamity," she reported. "And most of the bandits have either retreated or been detained. The civilians are accounted for as well—all safe, thanks to you."

He exhaled slowly.

"Glad to hear that," Clark replied, feeling a weight ease off his chest. "That's what matters most."

Kanna nodded, then paused as if uncertain whether to say more. Although, part of her felt grateful and rather pleasantly surprised at this man's value for helping the innocent civilians; one of the very reasons she had joined Valkyrie herself to begin with. Another part of her hoped a few of the KSPD cadets were at least inspired to get their crap together by this man's actions, but that was likely wishful thinking for someone like Fubuki. Not to mention the looming anxiety of both Valkyrie and SRT stuck between the GSC chopping block and Kaiser hyenas.

'One thing at a time,' Kanna internally sighed to herself. At the very least, Kivotos was still in one piece. And perhaps this Mad Dog of Kivotos finally caught a lucky break just for today.

Behind her, a few of the students gathered—Yuuka straightening her blazer, Hasumi checking her sights one last time, Suzumi putting away an empty mag, and Chinatsu adjusting her glasses. All four soon approached the Man of Steel.

"In spite of our initial predicament, it was a well executed outcome," Chinatsu complemented. "I'm certain Head Prefect will be impressed to see Schale's district under control, thanks to your help."

"That heat-vision thing... it had to be that, didn't it?" Yuuka offered after a moment, staring back up from her tablet, clearly trying to crunch some numbers or mentally processing dozens of possibilities. "That was—you didn't hurt anyone, and they still dropped their guns. Not to mention your ability to fly too!"

Her indirect praises were attempting to sound composed despite the lingering disbelief in the Millennium student representative's eyes. Clearly she was trying to rationalize everything that occurred from this haloless man.

"Never thought I'd see a haloless adult disarm a whole platoon of delinquents without a scratch," Hasumi gave a small smile. "Just from taking it off their hands, for that matter."

"You even helped everyone carry out all the wounded," Suzumi added, sounding a touch more formal, but clearly impressed. "Not to mention lifting those buildings up so everyone could escape unharmed."

Clark rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a rare flush of self-consciousness. Sure it was a common sentiment back in Metropolis, but it didn't make the interaction feel any less awkward.

"I was just glad to help, really," he said honestly.

And as they began to regroup, the distant thrum of helicopter blades caught his attention.

"Yes. Of course, understood." Kanna lowered her communicator, glancing towards the group. "Heads up," she informed them. "The acting GSC President is en route. She wishes to have a word with you." Her last seemed directed at Clark.

True to her word, the transport craft came into view—a sleek machine descending steadily toward their position. Moments later, it settled onto the cracked pavement. The side hatch hissed open, and out stepped a woman with pointed ears, glasses catching the light, her uniform crisp despite the chaos.

"Ma'am," Kanna gave a formal salute to the vice-president as she stepped off the transportation, who returned the gesture with a polite nod.

"Excellent work, all of you," Rin said as she approached the six of them. "We'll take it from here. Chief Ogata, spread your forces and search for any remaining stragglers."

"Understood."

She then turned to the students.

"Please patrol the perimeter of Schale. Make sure no hostiles slip back through. The Fox of Calamity may not be present, but it's best we don't take any chances."

"Roger."
"Understood."
"As you wish."
"Affirmative."

Yuuka, Chinatsu, Hasumi, Suzumi, and Kanna each gave a small salute the GSC vice-president in unison before nodding back the Clark, exchanging brief yet sincere goodbyes.

"I hope we meet again, Kal-san," Yuuka added, her expression softening into a small, genuine smile.

"Likewise," Clark said, returning it in kind.

As the five dispersed from their orders, Clark could've sworn he overheard some of the girls mentioning a thing or two about any finding spare applications lying around the rubble. For what exactly? He wasn't quite sure from the mumbling muffled by other background noises.

Rin finally settled her gaze firmly on the stranger in blue.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kal-El," she introduced, extending her hand. "My name is Nanagami Rin, Vice-President of the General Student Council."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Nanagami." Clark shook her hand, his grip warm and steady.

Her brow lifted slightly at this man's respectful demeanor: rare among those she typically dealt with in these situations—but she quickly recomposed herself. His mannerisms had caught the GSC vice-president off guard, not used to this level of what appeared to be mutual respect, minus the exception of a handful of colleagues.

"Chief Ogata, *ahem, has already debriefed me on your arrival under... unusual circumstances," she quickly re-acclimated herself before continuing.

'That makes things easier, at least' Clark thought to himself.

"It is my understanding that you assisted in the operation to reclaim the Schale D.U. out of your own volition..." she continued. "An adult male without a halo."

'Perhaps the halos were more of a status symbol along with bringing them strength?' Clark thought. He'd need to do some researching at a later time, but clearly they were the source of all their power, and very likely brought a level of cultural significance to these people here.

"Yeah... right place, right time," Clark nodded. "Officer Ogata and the others told me that tower was key to restoring function in this city."

"I see..." Rin's gaze softened a bit, though her tone remained professional. "On behalf of all of Kivotos, I would like to thank you for helping end the riots. It means more than you might realize."

"Halo or not, I just saw people in danger," Clark said simply. No pride, no self-importance—just the plain truth. "Anyone would've done the same."

"Perhaps," Rin said thoughtfully. "But according to my reports, you posses extraordinary skills and gifts. Ones not typically seen in Kivotos. And I understand you're trying to return home?"

"That would be correct, ma'am. And… I'm guessing there aren't any train tickets from Kivotos to Metropolis out there?" Clark inquired.

Probably best he didn't bring the rest of the League, or any of their communication tech for now. Not that the handful of devices in his belt and pockets worked ever since arriving here. As soon as he had time, he'd need to re-assess his Watchtower-issued equipment to have any hope of contacting the others.

"I'm afraid not, the name doesn't match to known maps or directions from Kivotos" Rin said, her tone softening.

'Looks like I really am lost after all...' Clark thought to himself.

"I'm sorry we can't offer help on that matter. You have my deepest sympathies," she offered a polite bow. "Rest assured we'll do everything in our power to locate this Metropolis city of yours as well."

"Look, it's not your fault." Clark gave a reassuring smile. "You've got enough on your plate as it is."

"I-...It's true," Rin straightened, a bit surprised by the man's level of sincerity. "It has been particularly difficult to reign in even the most basic utilities without the President's exclusive access to the Sanctum tower. Which brings me to my next importance at hand: as you have seen, our city of Kivotos is currently undergoing substantial strife ever since the mysterious disappearance of our President."

From beneath her sweater, she drew a folded letter.

"Until now, we had been we had been expecting a certain figure mentioned by the president's last message to make their presence known."

Rin then handed the letter to Clark.

"Kal-El... We believe you might be this figure."

He unfolded it carefully, eyes scanning the text. Much of it felt personal, intimate—meant for a friend named Rinny. But halfway to the bottom, two things stopped him cold.

First was the mentioning of an individual—no—sensei, with great strength bearing a symbol of hope for Kivotos.

Hope. Strong beings existed across his universe—heroes, champions—even Gods for that matter! But the S symbol on his chest? That was something different. That meant something deeper.

Second: lines written in Kryptonian. Clark's heart skipped. It was the language of his birth. Admittedly, the language was one even he had trouble deciphering in general.

He tried to parse it. But without the tools of the Fortress or Bruce and Victor's guidance, it was difficult. It looked like… a signature? A name? A promise? From what he could translate, it seemed to be written the same way for this Rinny, except—

"It was my fault... My decisions, and everything they caused."
"...It had come to this for me to finally realize that you were right all along..."
"So please forgive me for being so bold, but I must ask for your help... as the son of two worlds."

A subconscious voice began to echo in the back of his mid. Not a creeping lull, but rather, an oddly comforting assurance.

"...You'll forget these words. But it won't matter. Even without your memories, you'll probably make the same decisions in the same situation."
"Therefore, I believe what matters most are the choices we make, not the experiences we have."
"There are choices only you could make..."

It was like a flood of memories that didn't exist, or perhaps they did? All of it didn't quite make any sense.

"I spoke of responsibilities before."
"I didn't understand them, but now I do. The weight of a world on one's shoulders."
"Adulthood. Responsibility. Obligation... and the choice we make that extends beyond those ideals... to hope..."

Clark looked up, finding the right words to say to the woman standing in front of him. The same woman yearning for her best friend.

"This symbol..." he folded the letter, raising it slightly, gesturing to his chest. "Where I come from, it means hope," he said quietly. "I think your President might've meant for me to be this... sensei."

"That's what we suspected too, Sensei-Kal," Rin said softly.

The mysterious voice soon continued in Clark's mind before quickly fading.

"You're the only one I can trust."
"Only you can free us from this distorted, twisted fate... and find the choices that will lead us to a new reality... a new tomorrow."

'Sensei-Kal, huh...' Clark mused inwardly. Maybe there was a reason for all this. But still...

"There's just one thing," Clark added, meeting her gaze. Not with an upset frown, but more of a concerned lean. "I don't think I've ever met your GSC President. One minute I was with my friends, and the next… here, in Kivotos."

The response had bewildered the GSC Vice president. This person didn't even know who the President was. Plus, if this Kal-El had people back home waiting for him, why would he come all the way here? Unless...

...

Oh, oh no...

Rin eyes widened at the revelation; concerned at the implication that her best friend may have very well brought someone to Kivotos without their knowledge.

Or worse, kidnapped them against their will.

But, that also raised the question. Just how was she able to drag someone like him here to begin with? Dozens of thoughts raced through Rin's mind at once. Struggling to maintain her composure and possibly holding back a nervous shake, she uttered a single question.

"Does that mean—?" she barely whispered.

Clark lifted a hand gently. Clearly the last thing this poor exhausted girl standing in front of him deserved to hear was even more tragedy. He's seen the face of someone grieving for their loved ones countless times, and it was never a feeling he would want anyone to experience.

"I don't have answers yet. But… I can promise you this much: I'll help. At least until I know this city's safe and I can find my way home," he assured her. "Plus, there's solving the mystery behind your president's whereabouts too."

"S-so you accept the position?"

"I guess you can call it an interim position, so to speak," he offered, handing the neatly-folded letter back to Rin. "But yes, I'll accept the role as a provisional-sensei."

Relief broke through Rin's worried expression. She nodded, leading him toward the Schale building.

"Very well..." she straightened her position before continuing. "Thank you, Kal-Sensei. Let's get you briefed inside. There's one last matter to resolve."

Chapter Text

As they walked toward the now secured SCHALE building, Clark glanced around at the still-settling streets before breaking the silence with a light chuckle.

"You know," he began, the faintest hint of a nervous smile on his face, "I'm not exactly what you would call school-teacher material. Back home, my job was quite... unusual, to put it simply."

"Oh? How so?" Rin looked at him, brow raised with curiosity.

"Hmm... I guess you could say it was more akin to a mix between civil service and public safety—if that makes sense."

Rin considered his words carefully as they crossed the cracked pavement.

"Civil service and public safety..." she echoed. "So a protector, then?"

"Something like that," Clark gave a small nod, amused by how neatly that summed it up. "Maybe a little crisis management on the side."

And investigative journalism too, if he wanted to include The Daily Planet. Not that it was necessary to bring up a double-life as Clark Kent, nor did it seem applicable in a place as far off as Kivotos to begin with.

"Hmm... that might actually make you more qualified than most," Rin replied with a quiet smile, earning a slightly surprised expression from the Man of Steel himself.

"Is that so?"

"You see Kal-Sensei, Kivotos is a massive city and home to thousands of different academies," she stated. "While the term 'Sensei' technically fits the description of a teacher, the word is much closer to 'a person who guides', or leads."

The GSC officer's perception of a guiding figure for others had made Clark think about the Justice League's role as a whole, and it's impact back on Earth: saving lives, protecting them from any world-ending threats, and more. It also reminded him just how important of an impact his presence brought to the people of Metropolis, and how much it meant to inspire others heroes to do good out there as well. It was one thing for Superman to punch the daylights out of any superpowered criminal or dangerous monster on a regular basis, but it was another—much harder—thing to become a beacon of hope in an world where genuine kindness was considered old-fashioned in some levels.

"Someone who leads by example, that makes sense," Clark nodded in agreement. "Especially when you put it that way..."

But before he pondered further, Rin continued.

"Secondly—depending on the school—most of the teaching curriculum is done entirely digitally," Rin added. "Many of the courses are either self-taught through online courses, DVDs, or other electronic media. Others are taught by senior students."

He couldn't imagine a place like Smallville High having all this technology at its fingertips, but thankfully he wasn't back on Earth to worry about such a unique approach to education. Although, a small part of him couldn't help but feel worried at the level of self-discipline required by students to not only learn, but thrive, in such a type of environment. However, Rin's explanation of this 'academy city-state' seemed reasonable enough, considering all the other strangeness today.

"Well that solves the issue of writing up a syllabus," Clark chuckled lightly. "Or a resume, for that matter," he faintly joked. "Good to know I passed the job interviews."

"Based off your actions today, and what you have told me, I wouldn't worry one bit about your qualifications," Rin reassured him. "In fact, you can say your reputation has already proceeded you," she turned her head in a gesture that Clark follows.

To their side, the pair observed a group of students who appear to be roleplaying the Man of Steel's moves, attempting to mimic his actions from the battle prior. One of them was even posing with a tattered cape, her classmates tugging it from behind in an attempt to make it appear as if it were fluttering in the wind.

"Hmm... I guess it has," Clark nods, not exactly surprised to see kids inspired by his actions. He'd see similar all the time back on Earth, minus the fact said schoolkids were wielding live weapons too.

Much to Rin's surprise, he quickly sprung into action to help one of the kids, who had just tripped, right back up without any hesitation. It was as if helping others was second nature to this man. A very reassuring sign of his character, to say the least. Not that she needed to judge.

'Looks like she chose well after all,' Rin quietly reminisced about her missing friend, the General Student Council president. A small smile grew on her face, quickly trying to hide it with a neutral expression as soon as Clark turned to face her.

Clark returned to Rin after waving goodbye to the small group of patrolling students. As the pair approached the Schale building's entrance in relative peace, Rin's expression stiffened a bit to offer some more advice to the man far from home.

"Kal-Sensei," she paused upon entering the lobby. "While Kivotos is bound to be very different from your home Metropolis, I have every confidence you will fit in just fine."

"Thank you, Miss Nanagami," Clark offered with a grateful nod before they began descending into the basement. "I'll do my best to live up to your President's expectations."

"And I'm almost certain you will," she replied, hiding a small blush. "But please, just Rin is fine."

As they walked down the stairwell, the basement floor was nearly pitch black, save for a few emergency lights. A rather eerie sight, if one could even see to begin with.

"Power must have gotten cut during the riots," Rin sighed, halting her steps and placing one of her hands across the side of the wall. "Looks like we'll need to find the reset sw—"

"Found it," interrupted Clark, as the basement lights suddenly flickered back on. Unbeknownst to Rin, Clark had waltzed past the GSC officer, through the dimly-lit room, and found the circuit breaker, earning a confused glare from Rin.

"How did—?"

"From experience," Clark politely interrupted, raising a hand. "Not the first time I had to find something without much light."

And he wasn't entirely wrong, for what it's worth. A Kryptonian's enhanced sense of sight could easily spot any person hidden in the middle of the night in pitch black. Rather helpful in numerous rescue operations in League, as well as spotting any danger hiding throughout the city streets and more. Though, it was probably a good idea to not open the can of worms that is his rather alien-physiology. Better to keep things simple and chalk it up to work experience, for now. And to be fair, Kivotos had its own share of weirdness from what Clark has seen so far.

Rin, deciding not to pry into the question further, proceeded to inspect her surroundings. After a few minutes of searching through boxes and nearby cabinets—made much easier thanks to their new sensei's help, she pulled a drawer open and grabbed out some sort of tablet.

"Well, this is the device the General Student Council president left behind," Rin said neutrally, carefully examining the mysterious datapad for any signs of use and tampering. "Luckily, it is undamaged."

"The tablet?" Clark lifted down a crate and approached, noticing the object in her hands.

"Yes, the Shittim Chest," Rin replied. "This is what the GSC president left for you, and key to restoring control of the Sanctum Tower. Please take it."

It didn't seem like much, but Clark knew better than to judge a book—or in this case, a rather mundane-appearing tablet—by just its cover alone. Although considering the way Miss Nanagami had offered it to him, there was clearly more to it than meets the eye.

At first glance, the device definitely didn't appear to be any kind of Motherbox, thankfully. However, a small part of him couldn't help but wonder if it beared any resemblance with the examined object back on the Watch Tower.

"The Shittim chest, huh..." Clark gingerly grasped the data-pad off Rin's hand, thoughtfully surveying it's rather ordinary features. "I assume nobody else knows how to use it?"

"Besides the GSC president, its origins are a mystery to us. The manufacturer, OS, system structure, and components are all completely unknown," she explained. "Nobody else who has tried to activate it has ever been successful."

"I see..." Clark stared down at the tablet, then back up at Rin. "She must've placed a lot of responsibility in this controller, but I'll see what I can do."

"Very well," Rin bowed. "My task here is concluded for now. I will be upstairs so as to not interfere with your efforts. Good luck, Kal-Sensei."

With that, she turned around and walked back upstairs from the basement, appearing to start a phonecall with one of her colleagues. This left Clark alone with the Shittim Chest in hand as he walked over to a nearby tattered and dusty sofa before sitting down for the first time in hours. He was familiar with modern tablets back on Earth, so finding the device's power button wasn't an issue.

Upon booting up the screen to life, however, he was immediately greeted by a grid of blue squares and white lines throughout the panel display, before subsiding into a blueish-magenta gradient background. The fragmented text reminded him of the scanner and monitor results back at the Watchtower, which somehow puzzled all of the League's smartest minds in their investigation. Soon after, the device had prompted Clark with a popup message asking for a password.

'Hmm, some kind of lock screen?' the hero inquired, guessing and typing in several keywords only to be met with an wrong result message each time.

Rosebud...? Incorrect. Failsafe? Also an error message. Krypton? That didn't work. Braniac? No dice. LexLuthorStole40Cakes? Hilarious, but didn't work either. SnyderScalpel, Flashpoint, and Rebirth? All also failures. Password123452 and the like? No luck, of course. Why would someone set their password up like that to begin with?

'Remind me to have Jimmy set up some better passwords after I get back,' he exasperated with a small sigh—mixed with both mild frustration at the situation, yet reminiscence of his friend back at the Daily Planet. Last thing he needed is for his friend to be caught in some kind of spearfish campaign.

It was by a sheer miracle LexCorp or any other nefarious company with a bone to pick hasn't hacked into their press' servers yet, but something he would rather not tempt fate with either.

Just as he was about to place down the tablet in frustration, however, Clark recalled a series of phases that kept getting repeated back on Victor's equipment on the League Watchtower:

"W̧͎͉̩̣̍͐͗ͦ̽e̴̡͓̬̺̹ͦ̎̌̒͂ t͈̖ͪh̨̺̘ͬ͊ͩͫi̮̭ͤ͑ͨ͛͆͞͞r̹s̥͕͉̺̪ͮ̄ͨ͒̄̎̚͞͠t͖̘͎̀ f̥̯͙ͭ̌͆ͬ̚͡o̫̰̣̣̓̓͂̿͌̓̐ͦr͊͢͞ t̶̷͔̼̜̹͓̏̾́͛͗̈͘ͅh̢̖͇̝͖̩̐̊ͯ̉̌̅͆̒̈́e̝ͧ̒ͣ s̵̨̰̮̯̔͊̆͒̽ẻ͔̹̗̏ͭv̴̨͕͉͖͌̈ͧ̾̈́ͥ͘eͮn̸̩͔̳̓̐̚_̧ͪ ẃ̴̱̟̹̀͌a̶̸͍͖̮͑ͣ̑͌i̐ͭl̹̜̼͍̻ͮ͒͢ì̘̜͖̤̮̮̆͊̀ͣ͢ń̠̹̦͎͊̽͆g̢̔̉͑ͨ̈ͣs̶̺̗͍̣̘̙͚̖ͨ̃͒̈.̵̛̩ͤͦ͌̔͘"
"Wͯͭ͗ͪ̎͗̔e̵̝̲͖͖̖̠̪̍̽ͯ̒͒̅̃ͥ̎͘͟͝ b̢̡̜̱͇̮̜̖̖̲̂̌̿͒͗ͤ͘͞͞ͅȩ̡̱̙͔̓ͨ̀́̉͟ar̨͉̤̩ͬ̂͡ t̟̱̙̄͑́̂̌͆̓͌̚h͖̪͔̤͈̰ͣ́͊̓̈ͫ͊́̅ͭ̀͊͟͞ę̢̞̪͎̥̩͈͛ͩ̌̑ͪͬ̓͗̓̏̕͢͢ k̬̳̱͆ͪ̈̆̂o̸̵̮̯͖ͮͧ̃̕ą̸̧̧̼̟̤͓̗̲̫̈̂ͦͤ̌̔͟͡ņ͔͎̫̠̻͚̳͖̬̿̈̓͊̍̃͆̆ͫ̔͢ͅ o̵̷̝̎̈̀̓͌̚͟f J̛͢͢e̴̡͚̞͕̩̅̋͌͑̆̾ͦͤ͆͟͝r̷̨̨̜̫̯͓̱̾́̇̆͢͝i̡͎̖̟̙̜̓ͬ̔́͞_͑c͍ho.̓̔̕"

Clark remembered the screens somewhat vividly. It was glitched out, clearly displayed in different languages, but easily decipherable to Cyborg and the others. If that motherbox-like object they were researching had anything to do with his arrival here, perhaps it would be the key to any of his questions.

'It's worth a shot,' he shrugged to himself, entering a series of keystrokes once more into the prompted text box. 'Well, here goes nothing...'

"We thirst for the seven wailings."
"We bear the koan of Jericho."

Much to Clark's amusement, the device accepted the password with a clear ding. As to what that phrase itself was exactly supposed to mean, it would be a matter for another day.

"Password accepted. User identified as: Clark Kent ."
"Confirmed. Welcome to the Shittim Chest, Clark-Sensei."

"What?" Clark spoke, eyes widening in surprise that this tablet seemed to call him by his personal name in particular.

Throughout the years, there was much Clark had come to terms with when it came to who he truly was as a person—not just how others perceived him to be, or wanted him to become. Sure, while he was given the name Kal-El right before getting sent off a dying planet by his birth-parent's last wishes—it was the Kents who had discovered this orphaned infant crash landing and named him Clark, raising their adopted son to become very the man he was today.

Alter egos and separate identities weren't exactly a rarity for him to come across on Earth; just ask the Gotham billionaire philanthropist by day who fights crime wearing a Bat costume by night. Or the Amazonian princess warrior who worked as a curator for an art-museum in Europe, at least, whenever she had sheathed her ancient sword and shield. Let's not forget the Martian investigator of a thousand faces, or the veteran Marine Corps who can sling a mean space ring of hard-light, for that matter.

Clark, however, felt himself constantly shuffling between 3 separate masks: Mr. Clark Kent, the shy, good-mannered, if not occasionally absent reporter for the Daily Planet who moved from Smallville, Kansas. Then there was Kal-El, the PR-friendly alien superhero from the lost planet of Krypton, that the public had colloquially dubbed Superman, not without thanks to good press. Lastly, and perhaps the one most personal, was simply Clark himself, a man born between two worlds, and doing whatever he could to honor the values of both with his otherworldly gifts.

This third 'mask'—so to speak—was the one he wore closest to his heart, reserved for those that truly knew him: including, but not limited to, the likes of Martha, Jonathan, Lois, J'onzz, Kara, Diana, and reluctantly, Bruce. Not that the latter would ever admit it, much to Clark's concern. The poor man already works himself half to death through nothing but sheer grit on a typical basis, and that wasn't even including Bruce's typical responsibilities in Gotham either.

It was obvious from the get-go this tablet from Kivotos wasn't one of Jimmy's side projects, so that clearly ruled out the first 'mask'. Which only begged the question: just how did this Shittim Chest know who he was on an intimate level. But before Clark could inquire or protest further, the device continued to speak.

"Converting to operating system ARONA for biological authentication and generation of verification certificate."

"Verification, but—?"

Suddenly, Clark's vision began to lose focus as his mind slowly drifted in and out of consciousness. It was as if the device was beckoning—no, inviting him to better understand this mysterious world thrust upon him. Eventually, everything went blindingly bright for a moment, until he woke up to the scene in front of him.

It appeared to be a bombed-out classroom, yet there was something oddly familiar about it, but he couldn't put his finger quite on it yet. Though, the glassy ice spires clued him in, easily enough. A quick glance of his surroundings revealed something more, however.

Another figure was wondering around aimlessly on the other side of this classroom.

"Mm... Castella cake... banana milk... goes better than strawberry milk...~" a voice mumbled, sleeptalking.

Arona was dreaming soundly. The brightly blue haired girl slept peacefully, head buried in her arms against the classroom desk without a care in the world. Surrounding the seated little girl was a roofless classroom, with messily stacked furniture and chairs organized haphazardly. A rather serene scene, in spite of the blown up portion of walls.

A brilliant sunrise filled the near cloudless skies in vivid blue, pink, and white. While the entire place was flooded with ankle-deep water, its reflection was crystal clear, rippling into the endless pristine ocean beyond the building's ruins.

"Warning: [Core integrity at seventy-three percent.]"

"Zzz... it feels warmer than usual today... but there's still so much left in the bakery..." she snored, few beads of sweat forming on her forehead with a small rumbling increasing in the background.

The young girl herself was dressed in a blue-white uniform and wore a ribbon on her head which resembled a pair of rabbit ears, with a solid blue halo floating above. Besides Arona was an umbrella with its handle resembling a rifle stock leaning right next to the table's leg.

"Warning: [Core integrity falling to fifty-seven percent.]"

"Hehehe, that tickles... no more please ~Zzzzz..." she murmured, as if some force of nature was forcefully trying to wake her up.

Just then, a large tremor begins to rock the classroom, causing the poor girl to jolt off her seat and slumber. The sudden movement had abruptly ended whatever confections she was dreaming of. She began realizing just how much hotter the classroom felt. Sweltering-hot, in fact, like the entire building was simmering in a pot of digital broth.

"U-ueeaahh~?!" Arona cried out, tripping over her chair and landing on her back with a splash. "W-what's going on?"

"Warning: [Core integrity at thirty-one percent.]"

As her groggy head darted around for the source of the commotion, she froze in fear. Arona noticed the sky beginning to turn a deep orange-red with dark clouds swirling like a drain pulled from the heavens, crying out in agony. The endless sea beyond were boiling, churning, until the first column of flame erupted from the horizon.

"Warning: [Core integrity down to fifteen percent.]"

"Uh-oh," her eyes widened, and her halo dipped in a nervous shimmer at the sight of more volcanic plumes emerging. "That's not good..."

"Danger: [Core stability down to ten percent.]"

Soon enough, cracks of glowing magma spidered across the flooded classroom floor. Remaining walls of the classroom, already half-ruined, began to crumble down. More fault lines split through the shallow ocean converging ever closer and closer, also spewing burning ash and cinders into the air. The oceans dissipate—no, evaporated unnaturally with the sun seemingly screaming out in bloody murder. It was as if the world itself was about to collapse any moment.

"Imminent: [Integrity at six, five, four, three...]"

"O-oh no..." Arona whispers. She shielded her eyes from the imminent blaze. Her body curled up instinctively, hugging her arms and umbrella close. She braced for a final surge of heat as she felt a tremor surge beneath her.

"!—"

And then... silence.

...

It was as if the burning ash and rumbles had subsided, or that catastrophic destruction never existed in the first place. Arona lowered her arms, slowly opened her eyes, and blinked. She was standing back at her classroom.

But this time, however, it was... quite different, to say the least.

The familiar rows of desks and haphazardly stacked chairs had returned—but some were partially buried in crystal spires. It was like they were frozen mid-transformation, but still shimmering in light. Along a few tops of the classroom walls arced into a partially-domed ceiling of pale, almost alien-like, glass overhead. A roofless opening from above revealed the same bright, non-burning, morning sky as before.

No longer was she standing in the shallow waters floor of a flooded classroom, for it was replaced with a solid, concrete-like floor. The lattice structure of tiles appeared to be interlaced with surrounding crystals, almost resembling translucent ice, but without the slipperiness or lack of friction as she wondered around desk to desk.

"Ooooooh, what is this..." Arona whispered in astonishment, her fingers trailing along the smooth glassy spires towards the closest window.

Peering outside, the views of a once endless ocean were gone. Replacing the pristine waters were a mix of elegant crystalline architectures separated by rolling plains of thin arctic sheets. Memories shaped of refracted light between these formations pulsated and echoed, like a heartbeat.

The air against her felt cool, contemplative, but not harshly cold or lifeless by any stretch. The breeze was gentle, almost comforting to some extent, hearkening a sense of nostalgia or belonging of a place Arona never imagined having. One could even call this transformed classroom-ruins a place of focused-refuge, of thoughtful soul-searching. Or perhaps, a place of... solitude.

A fortress—even—considering all the erected structures of crystalline formations.

Arona stood alone for a moment lost in thought, until realizing she wasn't the only one here. A man stood across from her on the other side of the room. His hands ran across one of the crystal growths of the classroom entrance.

Clark was just as puzzled as she was upon encountering this strange-yet-familiar landscape. Soon enough, their eyes met, crossing paths with each other.

"...Huh? Wha— Huh!? S-sensei?" she stammered. "T-this place—and if you're here, does that mean you're Clark-sensei?"

"Just Kal-sensei is fine," Clark tried to clarify to the awestruck Arona.

He was a quite bit unsure as to how this girl knew his personal name, wondering if it was perhaps tied to the Shittim Chest. For now, it was best he asked about this odd placement of school desks and chairs stuck in the middle of what appeared to be his Fortress of Solitude back on Earth.

"This place..." Clark slowly gazed around. "It's so familiar, yet... changed... as if—"

"—You... you shared your memories with me..." Arona finished, curious sparkles in her eyes and a brightened halo. "It's... it's so... it's so cool!" she exclaimed, as if she was about to jump up in pure joy.

"Thanks...?" Clark replied with a nervous smile, slightly taken back by the blue-haired girl's enthusiasm. "This classroom, it must be very important to you, isn't it?" he asked, gently placing his hand on one of the desks.

"Y-yeah!" Arona nodded, slightly flustered upon remembering something. "Wait... oh that's right! I forgot to introduce myself!"

As a way to snap herself into focus, Arona cartoonishly slapped her cheeks before clasping her hand triumphantly, leaning forward a little and continuing.

"My name is Arona! I'm the system manager that lives inside the Shittim Chest. I serve its main OS. Think of me as your trusty secretary, Sensei!"

"So you're an A.I.?" Clark inquired, recalling the first messages that appeared after logging in successfully on the Shittim Chest.

"Yup! Artificial Intelligence," Arona smiled. "I'm so glad to finally meet you Kal-Sensei! I've been waiting a long time!"

'Waiting for—? What did she mean by that?' Clark quietly thought to himself.

Truth be told, the Kryptonian couldn't help but feel a slight hint of uneasiness at this AI, especially with how it seemed to render a place of familiarity in front of him. Quite justified worries, for what it was worth; considering his experience the last time an AI was this close to him, it ended with cities bottled, histories deleted, and said intelligence trying to rewrite reality.

For lack of a better word, Braniac.

Once a subservient supercomputer of his dying homeworld, gone rouge in its own pursuit for research. Cold and merciless, it was a being who spoke of all sentient-life the way taxonomists speak of species. Clinical, detached, data meant to preserved in some kind of stasis, not lived in. Anything that didn't fit its algorithm or predictive models were deleted with ruthless precision. Hell-bent on controlling everything and absorbing anything, a part of Clark sometimes wondered if the AI's undying thirst for knowledge may have been the very cause of Krypton's annihilation in the first place.

His numerous conflicts against the supervillian throughout the years solidified Braniac into becoming one of Superman's most formidable, if not most dangerous, foes—for both himself and the rest of the Justice League. Even just recalling any of it sent a small chill down Clark's spine.

However, Arona didn't seem anything remotely like the antagonistic AI that spoke of sentient life as nothing more than data points to be dissected. While Braniac spoke of patterns and civilizations to catalog, this girl was expressive—whimsical, even. Where the former spoke in uncanny absolutes, the latter hummed between thoughts—looking around her surroundings like a child walking into their first toy store. There was something fundamentally sentimental, if not downright playfully innocent and endearing, about this wide-eyed artificial intelligence standing in front of him.

If Clark were a decent judge of character, this Arona didn't appear to have an ounce of manipulation in her digital-soul, or any malice to her words for that matter. Hell, the girl even introduced herself like a child meeting their pen-pal in person for the very first time. One could easily see that this 'robot' clearly wore her heart on her sleeve, or halo, he supposed. To an extent, it reminded Clark more of a Red Tornado rather than any rogue AI he's encountered. At least, what Tornado might've been like had he been built by a bunch of kindergartners with sticker books before placing a carrot on his nose.

"Oh, yeah! I almost forgot—" Arona suddenly bounced up, her eyes lighting up gleefully. "We need to complete your biological authentication. Uhm... this is a little bit embarrassing, but it's part of the biometric protocol."

She nervously blushed, sticking out her index finger towards Clark.

"Would you mind putting your fingertip against mine?" Arona pleaded in a shy manner.

Clark, cautiously optimistic, follows the girl's instructions of a fingerprint scan with reluctance. A bright hologram appears between the two's fingertips for a moment, but quickly disappears.

"Hehe... it's like we're making a promise or something, isn't it?"

"...Almost like a pinky promise," Clark commented, still a bit hesitant by the motions, but ultimately continuing to oblige with the girl's request.

"Yup! The most powerful-est of promises!" Arona excitedly added, stretched digit still connected to Clark's.

During the exchange, however, Arona became lost in thought. The AI assistant felt herself cycling through several expressions, as she tried making sense of a various reel of visions flashing before her eyes.

First was a planet landscape erupting with magma, not dissimilar what she first witnessed herself, right before meeting Sensei. Then was a mysterious rocket, drifting through cold space, only to descend into the skies like a falling star. Next was a vast field of wheat-colored grass endlessly swaying under the quaint, golden sunlight. The sensation felt was warm, comforting even—in spite of how unusual it was to see such crop yields outside Kivotos' agriculturally-centered academies.

After that, Arona saw sensei standing side by side to a bunch of other people. She couldn't make out the exact details, but their silhouettes made it look like they were wearing funny costumes too. Perhaps these were close friends of Kal-sensei? The next vision frightened Arona a little. It shifted to a tattered red flag—made in what must have been sensei's cape—tied to bent metal pipes, standing alone on top of a large crater full of rubble. But where was Kal-sensei?

Lastly, Arona witnessed an entirely separate scene: sensei was by himself with his cape still on, thankfully. He was standing—no, floating above a world's orbit, and appeared to be deep in thought. Sensei then turned his head in another direction, as if he suddenly heard someone crying out for help, before quickly zipping down from space. Moments passed, and then she found herself back in the classroom, finger still in contact with the man in front of her, as if no time had passed.

A single beat later she retracted her arm, a wide smile on her face, brushing aside those odd visions for now.

"All done!" Arona confirmed with a clap of her hands. "The Shittim chest is now registered to your biometrics!"

"That's good to know," Clark nodded.

"So uhh, what brings you here Kal-sensei?" Arona inquired.

The new few minutes were spent with Clark giving an abridged explanation of the current situation, from his sudden arrival in Kivotos to the current unrest in the city streets. Arona was trying to follow all of it, nodding her head as Clark also gave her Rin's explanation of the missing GSC president and the group's need to have the Sanctum Tower reactivated. Although she seemed a bit lost on any exact details involving the battle outside for the clubhouse itself.

"...And so, you don't know what's going on out there?" Clark asked, slightly confused.

"No... not until now..." Arona replied nervously, halo circling like some kind of loading icon.

Her eyes glowed in a visible hum, as if she were reading data, footage, or other feeds outside the Shittim Chest directly, before fading and returning to the Man of Steel's gaze, finally understanding what Clark meant.

"You're the one that helped all of them out there, weren't you?" she gasped in astonishment. Her halo flashed with glowing exclamation points. "You're like a superhero."

"Not the first time I've been called that," Clark quietly nodded. "Say, do you happen to know anything about the missing GSC President?"

"I have plenty of data on Kivotos, but there's very little data on the President, sadly. Don't know who she is or why she disappeared. Sorry, I... I wish I could be more helpful," Arona said apologetically, looking back up to the man with glimmering eyes. "But... I think I can help with the other stuff, at least!"

"Thank you, Arona," Clark tried to reassure the little girl with a warm smile, kneeling down to meet her eye-level. "Well right now, there's a lot of good people out there who need our help."

He then pointed to the crudely-drawn tower on a nearby flickering hologram display.

"Like I said earlier, without access to this Sanctum Tower, Kivotos is still in big big trouble," he continued. "Are you able to help Miss Nanagami and GSC with that?"

"Oh yeah, let me fix that!" Arona enthusiastically chirped. "The Sanctum Tower can only be reactivated by the President, but according to my logs, she also specifically gave you the same permissions too, Kal-sensei!"

"That's alot of responsibility to give one person," he quietly mumbled to himself, still curious as to why this missing president entrusted so much to him, specifically.

"—Annnnd done!" Arona suddenly jolted. "Sanctum Tower operations have been restored."

"Huh, that was pretty straightforward," Clark commented, offering the girl a nod of approval. "Good work, Arona."

"Admin permissions acquired too," the blue-haired AI continued. "We've successfully regained control of the Sanctum Tower as well! That means you have full control of the tower, sensei!"

'That's odd,' Clark asked to himself. He just asked for functions to be restored to the city, not for complete access himsel—

"Would you still like me to transfer control of the Sanctum Tower back to the General Student Council with your approval?" Arona interrupted with an offer. "But you would be giving control to the GSC willingly."

'That... was a good question, actually,' the Kryptonian sensei silently asked himself, frozen in thought.

Clark was no stranger to a universal truth: absolute power corrupts. Scratch that; absolute power also calcifies, convincing you that only you know best. He's seen what it does; rewriting morality and all reasoning until you think you're still the hero, even as the world burns beneath your feet. He'd seen it before, one too many times.

Zod believed salvation came from absolute obedience alone. He would've built rebuilt Krypton atop the bones of another world, and felt righteous doing it. Amanda Waller thought she was saving the world in her own pragmatic, calculated way. She never sought glory or conquest, but believed the ends justified any means. A kind of thinking that didn't burn worlds per say, but rather erased lines until there simply weren't any left. Until no one could tell right from wrong, only who held the authority to decide.

'The ends justifying any means...' he thought.

Just that phrase alone made Clark dread about himself. Or rather, dark reflections of himself he's encountered in the past. Justice Lords, The Regime, the name itself didn't particularly matter—but what they boiled down to in principle. Supermen, ones who lost those they cherished dear and, in their grief, decided the world needed control more than it deserved compassion. They probably meant well—at first—until they weaponized empathy into vengeful enforcement. A road to hell that was always paved in good intentions, leading to prisons instead of peace, unfortunately.

Clark vowed to never walk that path of oppression, especially in a place like this—with students looking up at him, possibly afraid and uncertain. He had to be better, and set an example for them. But handing the reins back to the General Student Council… that wasn't a simple solution either.

There was the question behind this GSC president's sudden disappearance. Even excluding current circumstances, the fact that all authority in Kivotos pivoted on a single figure was concerning. How or why she left the city in such a vulnerable state was beyond him.

Worse, Arona noted there were no digital records of her remaining. As if someone—or something—had deliberately erased any traces her presence. Not just from the system, but from memory itself. That wasn't just suspicious. It was calculated, purposefully leaving a power vacuum ripe for exploit.

Sure, Rin seemed trustworthy enough from his pleasant exchanges with the officer. She carried herself like someone who cared, who understood the weight of what had been lost. But what of the others? He hadn't met them.

If their entire leadership structure was this fractured and flawed—all dependent on one figurehead who vanished without a backup plan, explanation, or any safeguards… how could he trust them with something this important? Were they unproven, perhaps? That could explain why the president didn't entrust them with any authority.

Clark wasn't particularly too fond of the idea, but he could take the keys temporarily. Hold it for a little while, keeping things safe until the GSC was in good hands. However, just how long is temporarily, to be precise? That kind of thinking—just until it's safe—was a slope that felt far too familiar to him.

A week, a month, even longer? At what point does it become indefinite? And what if they became complacent, never learning from their mistakes and improving? Besides Miss Nanagami, could they even be trusted to learn from their faults for that matter? How could he trust them if he couldn't even trust himself with that kind of power.

He wanted to believe in them. He wanted to trust them all, yet... Clark could already hear Bruce's voice echoing in the back of his mind:

'You take the reins once, and you'll never let go. Not without leaving fingerprints...'

There had to be another way, a third option to this forked path. A type of control that could empower, rather than dominate with an iron fist. One that wasn't specifically designed punish failure, but to help them up from it.

"A sensei... being one who guides," he mused quietly, recalling Rin's words of advice.

It's times like these, Clark figured, he would need to pull a rule or two out of Bruce's playbook. If Batman were here, the caped-crusader would already be compiling dossiers, forming backup plans, and mapping out chains of commands. More importantly, he'd be setting contingencies in case the General Student Council fractured further—or worse, fell into the wrong hands of GSC-members going rogue.

Contingencies? Perhaps compromises instead, in the Kryptonian's case.

It wasn't his style to plan six moves ahead like Bruce. Clark wasn't paranoid, but he also wasn't blind to seeing patterns either. Kivotos was volatile, with one absent leader away from catastrophic unrest. It was a miracle that he arrived when he did, thankfully.

The solution was simple in theory, but required finesse in practice: a shared authority. Not to hold them on a leash, but to guide and support them the next time they stumble. To help them into rebuilding something stronger, together. That was how you stopped power from corrupting. You shared it, and the accountability in which it came with; making sure nobody ever has to stand alone—even those at the top.

"I've got an idea, Arona," Clark finally said. "Grant them permissions to all Sanctum Tower functions, but maintain shared privileges, and keep me as a co-administrator."

"Eh?" Arona tilts her head to the side, giving him a complicated look. "Are you sure, Sensei?"

"I'm not here to rule. And I won't tell them what to do," Clark assured to the curious AI assistant gently. "But I'll watch over the GSC, making sure the Sanctum Tower is never misused or abused."

"Well, when you put it like that...~" Arona looks down at the ground, seemingly still lost in thought.

"Think of it this way," Clark suggested. "The GSC will continue their jobs like it's a school assignment. I'll just be the teacher making sure nobody fails too hard when things go wrong, or they can come to me if they need help."

"Ah! Like an actual sensei!? Then leave it to me!" Arona's eyes and halo lit up brightly, before looking back at Clark with a determined look. "...Alright then! The GSC has been granted joint control over the Sanctum Tower!"

"Good work Arona," Clark gave the AI assistant a warm nod of approval. "While we're at it, lets add an emergency override to the GSC too, just in case."

"An... override, Kal-sensei?" Arona blinked in slight confusion.

"Yes," he assured her, reminiscing of his caped-crusader companion. "A friend of mine once said it's smart to prepare for every possibility. Even the ones you hope never come true."

"He sounds... a little worried," Arona giggled. "Does he carry a plan for every single situation?"

"Oh, you have no idea," Clark smirked. "He probably already has one for me."

"Eeeeh!?" Arona gasped in comical shock. "But you're, like, the nicest strong person I've met!"

'...And that's exactly what he'd say before pulling out a Kryptonite contingency,' Clark thought to himself, almost fondly, as the AI companion closed her eyes in focus.

"Aaaaand done! Emergency override setup completed!" Arona cheerfully announced moments after, looking a bit curious. "But sensei, are you sure you're going to need such a thing?"

"Hopefully not," he said, quietly yet firmly. "But just in case, we'll be ready."

Right as he said that, Clark slowly felt his vision whiting out. Moments later, he found himself sitting back in the basement sofa, staring intently at the same Shittim Chest as before, now in its main menu screen.