"Feeling any better?" Lois Lane set the food down on the table and looked at Clark with deep concern. Though he didn't look badly hurt now, the image of him covered in bruises and blood earlier was something she couldn't erase from her mind.
"Almost fully recovered," Clark replied quietly. Colin's strength far surpassed his own—during their fight, he'd barely been able to put up any resistance at all.
He rubbed his nose, remembering the sharp crack when Colin's fist had landed squarely on it. The blow had nearly broken his nose, but thankfully, his incredible healing factor had taken care of it within hours.
"Why did you two fight in the first place?" Lois asked, her brows knitting. She still couldn't understand why Colin and Clark had gone at each other so fiercely. From what Clark had said, she knew he'd been the one to strike first—but what could possibly make someone as kind and mild as Clark start a fight?
As she gently brushed her hand across his cheek, she thought—not for the first time—that Clark really was impossibly handsome.
Clark pulled her into his arms, seating her on his lap as he began recounting everything that had happened that day.
When she finished listening, Lois nodded slowly. Colin had gone out to rescue some people, only to discover that one of them was silently cursing him in his heart—cursing both him and Clark to die. Colin, irritated, chose not to save the man. He didn't kill him outright, but he left him to his fate.
In a sense, Colin was being… tolerant, though not by much. His decision wasn't entirely unreasonable—it was the kind of choice an ordinary person might make. Then Clark tried to save the man, only to be stopped by Colin.
By the time Clark finally reached the scene, the man had already been torn apart by wolves. Seeing the mangled body filled Clark with grief and anger—only for Colin to arrive late and make offhand, dismissive remarks about the dead man.
To Clark, death was a solemn matter. But Colin's casual indifference—it lit a fire in his chest. And so, he'd thrown the first punch.
Resting against Clark's chest, Lois felt the solid weight of his heartbeat under her ear. It gave her a sense of peace. Yet she couldn't help thinking—if she had the kind of power Colin possessed, perhaps she'd have done the same. Maybe even worse.
Colin and Clark were fundamentally different. Colin had been an ordinary man who became a Superman; Clark had always been one. Their mindsets could never align.
Clark saw himself as a protector—a Superman born to help and to heal.
Colin, on the other hand, saw himself as a lucky man who happened to gain Superman's power. His actions were sometimes good, sometimes selfish—he wasn't pure, but he was deeply human.
Clark, by contrast, was too pure. Too radiant.
"Lois," he said softly, "don't hate Colin. Even if he might not hurt you directly… he's unpredictable."
"I don't hate him," Lois replied. "Just… can't say I like him much either."
"So this is the power of Superman?"
In a lavish, dimly lit room, several figures were watching footage of the battle between Clark and Colin.
A man with a painted grin burst into laughter. "If we pissed off that black-haired Superman, we'd be dead for sure!"
It was the Joker.
The black-haired Superman was nothing like the original Superman—or Batman, for that matter. Those two almost never killed. But this one? This one killed whenever he pleased. If you provoked him, you were done for.
When he'd first appeared, people had thought he was just another hero like the old Superman. Plenty had tried to test him—and one by one, he'd turned them into literal kebabs, skewered by heat beams. It had been… hellish.
If these gathered villains were madmen and monsters, then the black-haired Superman was something far worse—an apex predator, a devil with no weakness.
He was too dangerous. Which was why none of them—no matter how deranged—dared to provoke him. Not even the Joker himself.
"Maybe someday," the clown mused, "when I get tired of living, I'll poke that devil."
They often cursed Batman or Superman, vowing to crush them. But the black-haired one? No one dared to speak ill of him. Not aloud, not even in their minds.
Because if you so much as thought an insult, that might be the end of your life. These villains weren't fools—they knew what survival meant.
In truth, most of them respected the black-haired Superman more than they did fear him. He was the true tyrant among them—a perfect, unbreakable tyrant.
BANG!
The door exploded open.
A cocky-looking young man strode in, grinning. "I want to be your leader."
The room fell silent for a beat. Then Joker chuckled. "Oh, sure thing! But first—you'll have to defeat Superman. Then you can be boss of all of us."
He eyed the young man with amusement. Another fool with power and no sense—these types showed up all the time, thinking themselves invincible. They never lasted long.
"Superman? No problem," the youth said arrogantly. "Just tell me how to find him."
He had recently acquired superpowers, and he wanted to rule the world. To do that, the two Supermen—Clark and Colin—were his biggest obstacles.
He needed to remove them.
"It's easy," Joker said with a grin. "Just provoke him."
The others nodded in agreement, their eyes gleaming with malice. Every one of them knew this kid was signing his death warrant. Challenge the black-haired Superman, and you were finished. Especially if you were a villain.
"Where did this idiot even come from?" someone muttered under their breath.
The young man thought for a moment, then said, "I can just do it here, right?"
He believed himself stronger than both Supermen combined. To him, they were nothing.
"No problem at all," Joker said, taking a step back—along with everyone else in the room. Smiles curled at the edges of their lips.
The young man nodded confidently and opened his mouth. "Black-haired Superman, I f—"
POP!
Before he could finish, his head exploded—blood and brain matter splattering the walls.
"Oh, HAHAHA!" Joker threw back his head and roared with laughter. "Alright, boys! Party time!"
"YES!!!" the others cheered, raising their glasses.
On the other side of the world, Colin stretched lazily under the sun. "Was that guy an idiot or what?" he muttered. The small pebble he'd flicked earlier had flown across continents—and ended that arrogant fool's life instantly.
Just then, Monica approached, carrying a tray of fresh fruit. She set it down beside him with a gentle smile.