Clark finished a breakfast portion that could easily feed several people.
Of course, for someone still growing—and a Kryptonian at that—it barely counted as much.
At the same time, he made a mental note of what Ben and May had mentioned: that high-tech armored criminal.
He had already noticed the shift.
With Tony Stark’s disappearance and the growing undercurrents between various factions, New York’s underworld was becoming increasingly restless.
Criminals beyond the reach of normal law enforcement were starting to emerge.
And yet—
There were still no superheroes.
Clark had no real desire to become some kind of savior.
At least… not right now.
The future was uncertain.
For now, his rule was simple:
If anyone caused trouble in his neighborhood—or threatened his family and friends—
He would personally make sure they ended up in the hospital.
As he stepped outside, sunlight poured over him.
In that instant, he could feel every cell in his body come alive—absorbing energy, transforming it into strength.
For a fleeting moment, it felt like he could break free from gravity itself.
“Hey!
Nerds!
Wait up!”
A bright, cheerful voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
A girl with fiery red hair came running out from the neighboring yard, full of youthful energy.
It was Mary Jane Watson.
She wore a fitted denim jacket and carried a backpack, arriving like a gust of wind.
“No, MJ, I’ve updated my character setting,” Clark protested, raising a hand.
“I’m a sunny, outgoing guy now—not a nerd.
Peter still is, though.
Look, I’m not even wearing glasses anymore.”
“Mm-hmm,” MJ smirked, leaning toward Peter Parker.
“Well, I still like nerdy little Peter better.”
Not far behind her, another figure approached slowly.
Broad-shouldered, with a buzz cut and a slightly intimidating gaze—
Eddie Brock.
Eddie had a fiery temper and often got into trouble, but when it came to Clark and Peter—his childhood friends—he was fiercely protective.
“Pull an all-nighter gaming again?” Clark asked, noticing the dark circles under Eddie’s eyes.
“No,” Eddie shrugged casually.
“The garage owner tried to cheat me out of my pay last night.
So I returned the favor—took a few of his tires off.”
He stepped closer and roughly ruffled Peter’s curly hair.
“Listen, Pete.
High school’s not like middle school.
It’s full of hormone-crazed idiots.
If anyone messes with you, you tell me—I’ll shove their head straight into a toilet.”
“Thanks, Eddie,” Peter said dryly, pushing his hand away and adjusting his glasses.
“But I’d prefer solving things through… conversation.”
The four of them headed toward school together.
If you’re wondering—
Weren’t there five kids back in the backyard?
Where was Gwen Stacy?
Don’t worry.
They’d be seeing her very soon.
Midtown High School.
One of New York City’s top public schools—
With excellent teachers…
And an equally complicated social hierarchy.
As soon as they stepped into the hallway, chaos hit them head-on—
Lockers slamming shut, cheerleaders laughing, football players shouting without restraint.
It was classic.
Exactly like something straight out of an American high school TV show.
But honestly… those shows exist for a reason.
They come from real life.
And as expected—
Trouble arrived faster than anyone anticipated.
Just as Peter Parker opened his locker, a towering figure blocked his path.
A broad, bear-like student wearing a blue-and-gold football jacket, flanked by a few lackeys.
Flash Thompson.
“Well, well, look who it is,” Flash sneered, looking down at Peter.
“Isn’t this our famous middle school genius—Puny Parker?”
Without warning, he slapped the thick science books out of Peter’s arms.
Smack.
Books scattered across the floor.
Students nearby immediately gathered, eager for entertainment.
The bottom and top of the high school food chain clashing on the very first day—
It was always a crowd favorite.
After all, Flash had been Peter’s longtime nemesis, ever since elementary school.
This kind of scene?
Routine.
Peter frowned but said nothing.
He simply crouched down to pick up his books.
Flash stepped forward deliberately—
Blocking him.
“Move your dirty foot, Thompson.”
Before Peter could react, Eddie Brock lunged forward like an enraged bulldog, grabbing Flash by the collar.
His eyes were sharp with anger.
“If you don’t want to spend the rest of your life drinking through a straw, you’d better apologize.
Now.”
Flash was half a head taller than Eddie.
He let out a cold laugh and grabbed Eddie’s wrist in return.
“Brock, you street punk just don’t know when to quit, do you?
Still trying to play hero after all these years?”
He smirked.
“I’m starting varsity now.”
One wrong move, and a full-on fight would break out in the hallway—right before teachers showed up to hand out detention.
Standing at the back, Clark let out a quiet sigh.
Flash really was hopeless.
Same routine every time.
Like a scripted NPC—
See Peter → bully Peter.
And without fail, Eddie would jump in first.
Then Clark—or MJ, or Gwen—would step in to break it up.
Though usually…
Clark preferred to let Flash “learn something” first.
He stepped forward casually, slipping between Eddie and Flash like a peacekeeper.
“Alright, let’s all calm down,” Clark said mildly.
“It’s the first day.
No need for this—”
At the same time—
His foot “accidentally” brushed against Flash’s ankle.
Just a tiny push.
That was all.
Flash instantly lost his balance.
His massive body tilted backward in the most ridiculous way—
THUD!
The two-hundred-pound football star crashed onto the floor, sliding nearly two meters before slamming into a row of lockers.
Laughter erupted.
No one could hold it in.
Clark blinked, then gave a gentle, apologetic smile.
“Ah—sorry.
The floor must’ve just been cleaned.
It’s a bit slippery.”
He bent down, calmly helping Peter pick up his books, looking completely innocent.
Eddie glanced at Flash sprawled on the ground, then at Clark’s “clumsy” expression—and burst out laughing.
“Guess even God doesn’t like you, Thompson,” he said.
“Come on, Peter.”
Just like that—
The situation ended.
No one suspected Clark.
To everyone else, Flash had simply tripped over himself like an idiot.
In fact, it had become something of an unspoken rule:
Whenever Clark was around—
Flash would somehow end up humiliated.
Almost like a curse.
Clark vs.
Flash?
Clark wins.
Every time.
And the whole thing—
Played out like a perfectly timed scene from a movie.