[Third Person Pov]
Clark was casually strolling through the crowded hallway with a small carton of juice in his hand, lazily sipping through the straw as he went. His mind was occupied with absolutely nothing of importance—until the sudden flurry of excited chatter reached his ears. A cluster of students sat sprawled across the stairs, phones held up like precious artifacts as they eagerly shared whatever they were watching.
"Holy shit, do you think these videos about Superman are real?" one girl whispered sharply, shoving her phone toward her friend.
"They have to be, don't they?" her friend insisted, zooming in on the footage. "There's no way this is fan-made. The dude took down an entire alien ship from the inside out in the blink of an eye!"
"My favorite are the ones where he battled those giant beasts," another added, wide-eyed. "Did you see how big they were? He folded them like laundry."
"I don't know…" a fourth student murmured, chin propped on his knees. "The fighting is cool, yeah, but I like the rescue ones more. The way he pulls people out of collapsing buildings? That's hero stuff. That's the kind of thing that gives me goosebumps."
Clark blinked, the straw still in his mouth as he slowed to a stop. "Sol?" he mumbled under his breath, his confusion extremely visible. There was absolutely no universe—none—where these people should have had access to those videos. Those battles weren't even on Earth half the time.
Sol, floating beside him as calmly as ever, responded, "Ah, that would be the work of Lady Lala and myself."
Clark nearly choked on his juice. "You… what?"
Sol continued proudly, "Lady Lala expressed that it was quite unfortunate that no one on Earth could witness your heroism when you were off-world or fighting in the Empty Space dimension. And I agreed—how can one inspire hope if the public remains unaware of your accomplishments? Thus, we created a fan website dedicated entirely to you. A place where anyone can upload photos and videos capturing your heroic actions."
Clark felt a vein in his forehead twitch. "And did it ever occur to you to ask me before doing something like that? Who said I wanted a fucking fan page?"
"Language, Kal-El," Sol chided gently. "And consider this: someone would have created such a page eventually, likely without your knowledge or control. We merely acted first so that you would be able to dictate what is shown. If it truly upsets you, simply say the word, and I will dismantle the site immediately."
Clark hesitated, tapping the corner of his juice carton with his fingers. Annoying as this was, he couldn't deny the logic. If the page already existed, controlling the narrative would prevent misunderstandings. It wasn't… entirely without merit.
"Might I add," Sol continued with a hint of smugness, "that the page already has over 5.7 million followers since last night. And the number is steadily rising."
Clark's eyes widened. "Jesus…" he muttered. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "Fine, leave it—"
"You're Clark Ayase, right?"
Clark froze mid-sentence. He turned around slowly, eyebrows knitting together. Behind him stood a boy with bright orange hair and equally striking orange eyes, hands tucked casually in his pockets as he looked Clark up and down.
"Woah. You're tall," the boy observed, sounding more impressed than intimidated.
Clark narrowed his eyes. "Do I owe you money?"
"No," the boy answered immediately, completely serious.
"Then yeah, I'm Clark. Who are you, and what do you want?" Clark asked, already half regretting engaging.
The boy laughed. "Man, I hope you don't mind if I use that line the next time someone comes looking for me, that was good." He held out a hand in a casual greeting. "Name's Joichirou Orusen. I'm in the Journalism Club—with Lois."
"Yeah, no. Goodbye." Clark spun on his heel and walked away, expression deadpan. Internally, however, he was screaming, 'Fuck… God damn it.'
Joichirou didn't miss a beat. He simply followed Clark at a relaxed pace, hands still in his pockets. "Don't worry, I'm not here to recruit you. I wanted to ask if you could please stop ignoring Lois."
Clark halted once again, almost mechanically this time. He turned slowly, disbelief written all over his face. "Excuse me?"
Joichirou let out a dramatic sigh and rubbed the back of his head. "She's driving me insane, man. Almost every day she sits in the club room just… sighing. Constantly. Loudly. Repeatedly. If I have to hear one more dramatic sigh, I swear I'm going to lose my mind."
Clark let out a short, dismissive scoff. He couldn't help the faint curl of amusement tugging at his mouth as he said, "How's that my problem? If it bothers you that much, quit. No one's forcing you to stay."
Joichirou continued trailing behind him in that same laid-back stride of his, hands tucked loosely in his pockets as if they were on a casual walk rather than an uncomfortable confrontation. "Look," he began, voice calm but firm, "I don't really know what happened between the two of you… but every single day during lunch she goes up to the rooftop. Same spot. Same time. Waiting for you to show up."
Clark didn't even slow down. "Again, not my problem. That sounds like her issue. If she knows I'm not going to come, then why bother going at all…"
"I won't deny that logic," Joichirou admitted with a shrug, "but do you know she's started packing extra food? Way more than her usual serving."
Clark stopped walking. He turned toward him, brows scrunched in genuine confusion. "What the hell does that have to do with me?"
Joichirou gave him a tired frown. A loose strand of hair fell over one eye as he tilted his head. "Because those extra servings are for you. Whether you want to accept that or not."
Clark opened his mouth to say something—anything—but Joichirou kept going before he could.
"You're basically all she talks about in the clubroom," he continued, voice edged with irritation. "Trying to come up with ways to convince you to join. She even runs her ideas by me first, like I'm some sort of test audience. And one of those ideas was to lure you with food since apparently you don't eat lunch—neither from the cafeteria nor packed from home."
Clark's expression tightened. He went quiet.
"I like to think I'm a pretty observant person," Joichirou said, tone softening slightly. "So I noticed she's been eating more during club hours. When I asked her, she said she 'accidentally' packed too much. But that's a lie. I know her too well. Lois doesn't have a lot of friends, but the ones she has? She takes care of them fiercely. She'll deny it if you ask, but I'm certain all that extra food she keeps making… it's for you."
He stepped past Clark, now standing beside him shoulder to shoulder.
"Look," he said quietly, "you've got two options. Either fix things with her—actually talk to her about whatever went down between you two—or make it absolutely clear you want nothing to do with her and cut it off for good."
He started walking ahead again, lifting a hand in a lazy half-wave. "You seem like a decent, sensible guy. But keeping her waiting… letting her believe there's still a chance? That's cruel, man. Decide where you stand."
As he walked away, he added over his shoulder, "Hopefully the next time we see each other, it'll be under better circumstances… my little kōhai."
Clark remained rooted in place, staring after Joichirou's retreating figure. Slowly, he lifted the juice box to his lips and drained the last drops, the sound of the crinkling carton loud in the quiet hallway. His hand tightened, crushing the empty box in his fist. His hair fell over his eyes, hiding the faint but unmistakable blue glow beneath.
"…God damn it," he muttered, jaw clenched. "Why can't these people ever leave me alone?"
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A/N: Image Joichirou in the comment section (NOT IN THE PARAGRAPH COMMENT)