---So, Superman. [Part: Two]---
"Equal?" he sneered as he gave me a playful jab. "Ow!" His hand shook with pain.
"Dude, that is like a freaking wall. What foods have you been consuming?" I was asked.
I said to him, "A little of those All-Might cereals with milk."
He nodded slowly, saying, "That might be it." He informed me, "I think you've figured something out here, man."
Slowly synchronizing with him, I nodded.
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I arrived early at Ren's apartment for two main reasons. Firstly, I had the ability to do so. Secondly, as we were still in the... early stages of our relationship, I wanted to make a good impression and show her that I was willing to go the extra mile to make things special for her.
I stood outside Ren's apartment door, checking my watch one more time. Twenty minutes early - not too eager, but enough to show I cared. I'd spent the better part of an hour deciding what to bring. Flowers felt too formal for whatever we were calling this thing between us, but showing up empty-handed seemed wrong too.
I settled on a small box of those fancy chocolates from the boutique near campus - the kind that came in individual paper cups and probably cost more than my lunch budget for a week. Worth it, though, if it made her smile the way she did when I'd complimented her choice of coffee last time.
The hallway was quiet, save for the muffled sound of a television from one of the neighboring apartments. I could hear my own heartbeat, which was ridiculous. This wasn't my first time hanging out with a girl, but something about Ren made everything feel more... significant.
I raised my hand to knock, then hesitated. What if she wasn't ready yet? What if showing up early made me seem desperate rather than considerate?
Before I could overthink it further, the door opened.
"I thought I heard someone out here," Ren said, her head tilted slightly as she looked at me with those perceptive eyes of hers. She was wearing a casual sweater and jeans, but somehow she still managed to look effortlessly put-together. "You're early."
"I, uh..." I held up the chocolate box like a peace offering. "I wanted to make sure I had enough time to find parking."
She smiled - that genuine one, not the polite version she gave to our colleagues. "That's very thoughtful of you. Come in."
I stepped inside, immediately surprised by how the space felt so distinctly hers. The apartment was neat but... messy, with books stacked on every available surface and a half-finished puzzle spread across her table.
"Your place is really nice," I said, slipping off my shoes at the entrance. "Very... organized."
She laughed softly, accepting the chocolates. "That's a polite way of saying 'you have a lot of stuff.'" She gestured toward the living room. "Make yourself comfortable. I was just finishing up some work, but I can put it away."
"Don't rush on my account," I said, though I was secretly pleased that she was willing to drop whatever she was doing for me. "What were you working on?"
"A cover page on All-Might. He's been appearing in public less frequently nowadays, don't you think, Kentaro?"
"I mean- I mean yeah? I guess so." I responded, trying to keep my voice steady. The truth was, All-Might's reduced public appearances had been weighing on my mind more than I cared to admit. As someone who'd grown up idolizing the Symbol of Peace, seeing him step back from the spotlight felt like watching a cornerstone of society slowly crumble.
She set the laptop aside and joined me on the couch, her reporter's instincts clearly picking up on something in my tone. "You sound like you have thoughts about it."
I did. Too many thoughts, actually. But how could I explain that every time I saw All-Might looking a little more tired, a little more worn down in those rare public appearances, I felt this inexplicable urge to... what? Step up? Take some of the burden off his shoulders? It was ridiculous. I was just a journalist at the Daily Planet's Tokyo branch, not a hero.
"I think..." I started carefully, "I think maybe he's earned the right to step back. He's given so much to society already."
Ren nodded thoughtfully, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she considered this. "But what happens when the Symbol of Peace isn't there anymore? The crime statistics from the neighborhoods where he used to patrol regularly show upticks in villain activity."
She was right, of course. Ren always was when it came to these kinds of analytical observations. It was one of the things that made her such a good journalist - and one of the things that made these conversations with her both thrilling and terrifying. She had a way of cutting straight to the heart of issues that most people preferred to ignore.
"Maybe," I said, choosing my words carefully, "society needs to learn that peace can't depend on just one person. Maybe we all need to step up in our own ways."
The way she looked at me then made my heart skip. There was something in her eyes - curiosity, maybe even a bit of admiration. "That's very idealistic of you, Ken."
"Is that bad?"
"No," she said, reaching for one of the chocolates. "I think the world needs more idealists."
"You know," she said, setting the chocolate down without taking a bite, "I've been wondering something about you."
My heartbeat quickened. "What's that?"
"You have this way of talking about heroes - about doing the right thing - like it's personal. Like you really understand what it means to carry that kind of responsibility." Her eyes searched mine. "Most people talk about heroes like they're characters in a story, but you... you talk about them like they're real people with real struggles."
I swallowed hard. She was getting dangerously close to something I couldn't let her discover. "I just think they deserve more credit for what they sacrifice."
"Hmm." She shifted closer on the couch, and suddenly the space between us felt electric. "You're full of surprises, Kentaro Suzuki."
I leaned into her, her face just a centimeter away. "You look very pretty, Ms. Ren," I told her.
She decreased the short distance between us further, our noses touching. "You look very handsome, I must say, Mr. Kentaro."
I leaned further, our lips touching now as she leaned into the kiss. For a moment, everything else faded away, the burden of responsibility, the constant awareness that I had to be careful with my strength. In this moment, I was just Ken, and she was just Ren, and nothing else mattered.
When we finally pulled apart, her cheeks were reddened, and there was a soft smile at the corners of her mouth. "Well," she said, her voice slightly breathless, "that was..."
"Romantic?" I suggested.
She smiled at me, "God, you're such a cornball," she said as she kissed me on the forehead.
We settled back against the couch cushions, and she curled up beside me, her head resting against my shoulder.
"But Ken, seriously, you need to stop interviewing yourself as Superman," she told.
I paused, "I should."
"Cause ethically, that removes the total point of journalism. You are not asking yourself the right questions, are you?" She told me.
Silence stretched for a few seconds.
"Then... you can interview me."
She looked at me, surprised. "You'd let me interview you? As Superman? Right now?" She asked.
I waited a moment before processing it, "Yeah, I would."
She got up and grabbed her recorder from her bag, and sat opposite me.
"You ready?" She asked.
I let out a short laugh, "I'm ready,"
"So, Superman," she started the recording.
I straightened my back as I looked at her, "Ms. Ren," I answered, my voice going deeper into my secret identity.
She leaned forward slightly, her professional demeanor taking over despite the intimate setting moments before. "Let's start with something that's been on many people's minds. You operate outside the legal framework of Japan's hero licensing system. Technically, that makes you a vigilante. Are you aware that what you're doing is illegal?"
This was exactly why I'd been so careful about keeping my identity secret, why I'd been writing those self-interviews that never asked the hard questions. But looking into Ren's eyes, I knew she deserved honesty.
"I am aware of the legal complexities," I said carefully. "Japan's Professional Hero Public Safety Commission has clear regulations about who can and cannot engage in heroic activities without proper licensing."
"But you continue anyway. Why?"
"Because sometimes the law and justice don't align perfectly." I paused, choosing my words with care. "When I see someone in immediate danger - a building collapsing, a villain attacking innocent people - I don't have the luxury of time to wait for licensed heroes to arrive."
"Why didn't you become a hero by going to a hero school, instead of going around as a vigilante?" She asked, looking right into my eyes. This was directly at me.
"Because I chose a different path back then. And now I have no choice except be a vigilante."
Ren's pen moved across her notepad. "So you believe you're above the law?"
"No." The answer came quickly, firmly. "I don't believe I'm above the law. I believe I have a responsibility that transcends bureaucratic processes. The law exists to protect people, and when following it to the letter means people die... that's when moral obligation has to take precedence."
"That's a dangerous precedent to set, don't you think? If everyone decided which laws they felt they could ignore based on their personal moral code..."
"You're right. It is dangerous." I leaned forward, meeting her gaze directly. "But I'm not everyone, Ms. Ren. I have abilities that most people don't. With those abilities comes a responsibility that most people don't have to bear."
"The classic 'with great power comes great responsibility' argument."
"It's not just an argument - it's reality. Every moment I hesitate, every second I spend worrying about permits and licenses, people could be dying. Can you honestly tell me that's more ethical than acting without proper authorization?"
She tapped her pen against her notepad thoughtfully. "What about accountability? Licensed heroes have oversight, regulatory bodies they answer to. Who holds Superman accountable?"
That question hit harder than I expected. "I hold myself accountable. Every person I couldn't save, every mistake I make - I carry that weight."
"But that's not enough, is it? Self-accountability is what every vigilante claims. What makes you different from someone who decides to take justice into their own hands and ends up hurting innocent people?"
I was quiet for a long moment, considering. "You're asking me to justify my existence, my actions, to prove that I'm not just another well-intentioned person who could become dangerous."
"I suppose I am."
"Then let me ask you something, Ms. Ren. In your reporting on the hero society, have you found the current system to be perfect? Are there no licensed heroes who abuse their power? No bureaucratic delays that cost lives? No corruption in the regulatory bodies?"
Her expression shifted slightly - I'd hit on something she'd clearly encountered in her work. "No system is perfect, but that doesn't mean we abandon structure entirely."
"I'm not advocating for abandoning structure. I'm saying that sometimes, structure needs to be supplemented. I work with licensed heroes when possible. I try to coordinate with law enforcement. But I won't let red tape stop me from saving lives."
"What about the precedent you set? If Superman can operate outside the law, why can't others?"
"Because not everyone who wants to help actually can help. Not everyone who thinks they're doing the right thing actually is." I paused, feeling the weight of what I was about to say. "I know how that sounds - arrogant, self-righteous. But I've seen what I'm capable of, and I've seen the results of my actions. I save people, Ms. Ren. That's not hubris talking; that's statistical fact."
"And if the authorities decided you were too dangerous to operate freely? If they deemed you a threat?"
The question hung in the air like a sword. "Then I'd have to ask myself if they were right. And if I truly believed they were wrong... then I'd have to make the difficult choice between compliance and what I know to be right."
"That sounds like you'd resist."
"I'd hope it would never come to that. I'd hope we could find a way to work together." I met her eyes directly. "But I won't stop protecting people, Ms. Ren. I can't. It's not just what I do - it's who I am."
She set down her pen for a moment. "Do you ever worry about what you might become? Power corrupts, and absolute power..."
"Corrupts absolutely. Yes, I'm familiar with the saying." I leaned back, suddenly feeling the weight of every choice I'd ever made as Superman. "I worry about it every day. That's why I maintain connections to my... to humanity. That's why conversations like this matter. The moment I stop questioning myself, stop listening to criticism, stop being held accountable - that's the moment I become the very thing I'm trying to protect people from."
"And yet you operate in secret. How can people hold you accountable if they don't know who you really are?"
My throat tightened. This was the question I'd been dreading, the one that cut to the heart of everything. "Anonymity isn't about avoiding accountability. It's about protecting the people I care about. If my identity were known, it wouldn't just be me facing the consequences of my actions - it would be everyone connected to me."
"That's convenient."
"It's necessary." There was more edge to my voice than I'd intended. "You think I want to live a double life? You think I enjoy lying to people I care about? I lie to everyone I know... I can never be me because I need them to be safe!"
The room fell silent. Ren was studying me intently, and I realized I'd revealed more than I'd meant to.
"You sound like someone who's made difficult sacrifices," she said softly.
"Every hero makes sacrifices. The question is whether those sacrifices serve the greater good."
"And do yours?"
I looked at her - really looked at her. This woman who challenged me, who saw through my carefully constructed facades, who deserved honesty but couldn't handle the complete truth.
"I hope so, Ms. Ren. I really hope so."
She nodded as she stopped the recording device. "You give a surprisingly good interview, Ken."
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