Chapter Text
In the brightly lit conference room, Lex sat at the end of the table, his research team focused on Sydney, who was presenting a PowerPoint. On the screen, a slide boldly displayed the title: Superman's Secret Identity. Sydney clicked to the next slide, revealing a world map densely marked with points—the trajectory of Superman's activities over the past three years.
"Superman's range of activity is extremely broad," Sydney pointed to the map as he analyzed, "but the data clearly shows that his hotspots are highly concentrated in one city: Metropolis. This strongly suggests that Superman likely lives in Metropolis."
"No kidding," one researcher muttered, "Where else could Superman live, Gotham or the Antarctic?"
"Given his speed, theoretically, he could live anywhere," another voice countered. "We have reliable evidence that he has a secret base; we just can't locate it."
"Maybe he’s Superman by day and Batman by night. No one's ever seen them in the same scene. Who says he can't have two identities?"
"This world is just one giant Superman, huh."
"Unfortunately," Sydney switched to the next slide, which showed blurry surveillance screenshots and facial scans of Superman, "despite using the most advanced facial recognition technology to compare against all Metropolis residents, there's still no match for Superman's facial features."
"Ordinary people with clear connections to Superman are equally rare. He only gives exclusive interviews to Clark Kent, a reporter from the Daily Planet, and he seems to get along well with their photographers. Oh, and he really likes kids."
"Given Superman's... almost exclusive connection to the Daily Planet, particularly with Clark Kent," Sydney said as he flipped to the next slide—a ID photo of Clark Kent appeared on the big screen. The man in the photo had slightly messy curly black hair, oversized black-framed glasses, and a cheap-looking suit. Facing the camera, his eyes weren't fully open, his expression dazed, like a deer staring into headlights.
"No one knows exactly why Superman chose Kent as his exclusive reporter. Just because Kent was the first to discover Superman and interview him?" Sydney posed the question, then shifted gears. "We've gathered some scattered eyewitness reports online. Witnesses claim that occasionally, after Superman appears, they've seen Clark Kent..." He subconsciously glanced at Lex, suddenly remembering that this Daily Planet reporter's current boyfriend was their boss, Lex Luthor—a man who absolutely wouldn't tolerate betrayal, especially if the affair involved his most hated enemy, Superman. Sydney's voice instantly lowered, tinged with embarrassment: "...uh, no offense, Lex, seeing Mr. Kent leaving the scene afterward with disheveled clothes, as if he'd put them on in a hurry."
The air in the conference room froze instantly. Employees shifted uneasily, some whispering: Is the boss being cheated on? Who knows if there'll be a second time.
At that moment, someone cleared their throat and spoke: "Boss... do you think Superman... could he be your boyfriend?"
"Sorry, Lex, Charlie has severe face blindness; he thinks everyone looks the same!" Sydney hurriedly covered for the reckless guy. This was an utterly terrifying assumption—Lex being ruthlessly fooled by that alien, unknowingly kissing his archenemy, maybe even... Thinking of this, Sydney felt a chill down his back.
But fortunately, Lex was unusually calm today, eerily so. Sydney silently prayed that he hadn't heard Charlie's damning words; after all, Luthor Corp's conference room was ridiculously large, like a family dinner at a twenty-person long table—some words had to be shouted to reach the far end.
However, the oblivious Charlie spoke again, his tone even insistent: "But I really think it's highly possible! I mean, Superman... could he be Clark Kent?"
Lex propped his elbows on the table, fingers interlaced. He didn't look at Charlie but turned to the left, toward the meeting recorder sitting in the corner.
He asked: "Clark, what do you think? Could you be Superman?"
All eyes turned to the corner. The subject of their discussion, Clark Kent, was sitting there quietly, looking nothing like his ID photo. He wore a tailored expensive suit (remember, Lex had taken him to a custom tailor), his black hair meticulously styled in classic backward curls. This outfit, combined with his deliberately low-key demeanor, meant no one had noticed him at first.
And at that moment, Clark was internally grilling himself.
He thought for a while, as if facing not a ridiculous yes-or-no question. The reporter pondered philosophical issues with serious deliberation, answering slowly, as if he hadn't heard the speculations about him earlier.
"I think we can all be Superman. As long as there's hope, kindness, and love in our hearts, or when we transcend ourselves, he is the lightning, he is the madness," he quoted Nietzsche. "Lex, you could be Superman too."
This was bold and an attempt to deflect all accusations against him, but it didn't directly answer Lex's question. As Sydney pondered his next words, suddenly, Clark stood up, pushing back his chair, becoming the second person standing in the room.
He kept his head down until he lifted it, and they saw he was smiling.
"Haha, but I really am Superman!"
In the dead silence, Charlie jumped up cheering: "I knew it!"
They watched as Clark removed his glasses with one hand, carefully placing them in his suit pocket, then grabbed his shirt at the chest and ripped it open. Pearl buttons popped off one by one, scattering on the floor.
"Today, the righteous Superman is going to take down the evil Luthor Corp that manufactures terrorist attacks!" He stood on the chair, spouting nonsense.
Lex lunged at him, strangling his neck. Employees screamed in confusion, watching the couple turn on each other, glancing at one another. Amid countless curses, he only vaguely heard one sentence.
"I'm going to kill you!"
Hmm. Clark hummed lightly; the hands gripping his neck might as well have been gently resting there.
"Ultraman, take him down!" Lex, realizing his attack was ineffective, roared at Ultraman.
For some reason, Clark suddenly felt a twinge of fear inside. He shouldn't be afraid, right? Could one of Lex's bodyguards really take down the son of Krypton, Kal-El, the undefeated Superman for three years?
A fist came straight at his face. He stood there without dodging, his face calm and composed, until intense pain and force knocked him to the ground.
He fell, dizzy, with countless shiny bald heads swirling before his eyes. He felt like vomiting. He was yanked up by the collar, and Lex leaned down, speaking to him: "Tell me." His tone was light and mocking, like a vicious child.
Clark gasped, trying to recover from the dizziness.
"Tell me, do you bleed?" Lex asked him.
The words nearly made him choke on his next breath. Oh no, this is bad. Lex said that line. The world was about to turn dark, in slow motion. Someone's going to strip off my shorts.Squirrels, dogs, my dad—they all will be dead.
Why still BvS, still BvS. BvS chasing me like a ghost.
Clark woke up startled by the alarm clock. He'd never been so grateful for its punctuality; he'd smashed many innocent alarms before. Palm pressing his heaving chest, he tried to recall the nightmare's content. In the dream, he had the clumsiest acting of playing himself, leaving him despairing even awake.
Perhaps he was still uneasy about Lex calling him Superman the previous afternoon. Facing Lex in Superman's tone was undoubtedly risky, even without removing his glasses. This fear lingered in his dreams. After ensuring Lex was back asleep, he found cleaning supplies and tidied the floor. He'd said he was prepared to be a maid; his youthful experiences handling friends' hangovers weren't entirely useless.
He slipped away from Luthor Corp. At that moment, he began listing his superpowers: super strength, super speed, heat vision, freeze breath, x-ray vision, flight... Among so many, why not one for amnesia? He'd thought this long ago, from accidentally flipping a neighbor's car at five during hide-and-seek, to stumbling into erotic fan groups about Superman. Forgetting is a blessing; let him forget all life's embarrassing moments.
After yesterday's investigation wrapped up, Clark happened to have some free time. In the kitchen, preparing an apple pie to visit the patient, he pondered yesterday's events. He'd have to face it eventually. Lex had started work early. Clark thought this might be the downside of controlling a vast business empire, or being the suspicious mastermind behind many events—not that Clark had all the evidence. He had some.
His hesitation seeped into the kneaded dough. Through the morning light, he could see dust particles floating in the air. Butter softened in the bowl, crisp apples peeled and diced, mixed with cinnamon and sugar's warm aroma. The rhythm on the cutting board had a meditative focus, as if kneading dough and weaving lattice crust could temporarily seal away the inevitable future. When the oven's warmth spread, he realized he was trying to iron out some icy unease in his heart with the pie's temperature.
Even facing the truth, Clark naively hoped this could at least be a starting point, or a reconciliation gift. If any of that was possible.
"Sorry, guys, I'm late." He arrived twenty minutes late to the rescue operation because he'd just had to uppercut two bodyguards without causing a stir to escape and come here.
"How was your date?" Guy asked him.
Superman sighed. "Why are you so interested in a colleague's romance?"
"It's not every day you see your colleague on the front page of gossip rags."
"Who?" Hawkgirl asked Guy.
"That bald guy, Luthor."
"We broke up. He was just about to add me to his list of exes to destroy." He stated gloomily.
"Do you need us to pretend to rescue you? Because we might not actually do it." Hawkgirl said very seriously.
"Uh, I didn't think that far; I kind of rescued myself." He pointed at himself.
"When you were dating Luthor, every time you were late, I wondered what if you never came back? See, I care about my teammates, even if you're not one. But then I remembered persistence! All successful people have it. Look at me; I've persisted through several colleagues' losses."
"Not funny."
"Does this directly relate to what you asked me yesterday?" Mr. Terrific asked.
"What do you think?" Clark replied, gazing into the distance. He didn't want to recall the self who naively held hope for the relationship hours ago.
"So... this is the tragic end of the romance?" Hawkgirl summarized.
"No," Superman sighed, looking aside but not really seeing anything, "I still have some scores to settle with him."
A few hours earlier
Meet me at my office. Upon receiving this concise message, Clark was downstairs holding the freshly baked apple pie. He took a deep breath and entered.
"...Lex, I don't think yesterday was an accident. Exactly when Ultraman and I weren't by your side, and Superman arrived in just minutes—this thing behind—"
"What did the police inquiry yield?" Lex interrupted her, his voice slightly hoarse with fatigue.
"They only admitted being bribed by an anonymous client to take your life; even the weapons were obtained at a specified location. If that alien wasn't so unintelligent," Angela's voice carried deliberate disdain, "I'd suspect he had something to do with it."
Clark stood outside listening to their discussion of yesterday's events. Hearing the last sentence, he couldn't help wrinkling his nose. What's wrong with my IQ? Dare you face my super brain? He pushed the door open with his shoulder and entered.
Lex, seated, lifted his head from the conversation with Angela. His gaze skipped Angela, landing on the box in Clark's hands, his eyebrow subtly arching.
"Thank you, Angela; that's all for today." Lex's voice returned to its usual coolness.
He passed Angela, placing the standard 9-inch tin pie pan from Costco on Lex's expensive desk. The metal base clinked lightly against the sleek surface, a mismatched crisp sound.
"What's this?" Lex tilted his chin slightly, inquiring about the item.
"Apple pie." Clark sat in the opposite chair.
The warm buttery scent gradually fanned out in the office, becoming subtle after a couple of breaths. He had to admit they didn't match: a desk that might take Clark Kent ten years of humble labor to afford, holding a rustic Kansas town delicacy apple pie, with apples his mom had given him days ago, not like high-end supermarkets selling by the piece.
But Lex wasn't so-called Old Money; he had more of a Silicon Valley nouveau riche vibe. Clark had seen him drink beer, eat donuts, keep weird creature photos in his office—two of them. This fully showed Lex was at least approachable, and... caring? (Toward alien creatures?) Maybe Lex would like it, Clark thought in the sunlight, warmed by it.
"Later."
"It'll be cold later." Clark complained a bit; he could feel the pie's gentle plea to be eaten before cooling.
"Are you okay? You had a bad headache yesterday." He tried to observe Lex closely. He looked as polished as ever, suit immaculate, ready for morning shows to make housewives scream. Except for a lingering pallor from illness, like a dead shell, it didn't diminish his sharpness or cold demeanor. He seemed fine, as if the person vomiting from neural pain in front of Clark yesterday wasn't him.
"Just had an unpleasant dream; still feel that nauseating sensation."
"You did vomit." Clark pointed out.
"Speaking of yesterday, I'd like to hear your take."
"Didn't expect to see my boyfriend lying unconscious on the ground."
Lex was expressionless, only cold scrutiny. Okay, he didn't find the quip funny.
"Fine, long story short," Clark shook off the unease, "I was there for a story, then Superman saved you."
"His response time in this raid was far beyond usual; newspapers praised his swift rescue, effectively stopping an attack on Luthor Corp."
"Maybe he's just fast, or particularly concerned about your safety."
"I believe it's more than that," Lex stared at him. "He appeared in my office."
"Are you sure it wasn't some hallucination from your—obsession with him?" He held back from adding "excessive." In dealing with Lex, his boldness in challenging him was growing.
"Delirious enough to dream of that guy?" Lex scoffed, sipping water from his cup. "I never dream of him; after all, I'm not the type he'd stop for, sparing his precious time."
That was great; Clark couldn't imagine his fate in Lex's dreams.
"But you are," Lex suddenly stood, circling the desk, approaching him closely. Clark had to look up.
"He might disdain stopping for me, but he's undoubtedly made time for you countless times. I've read all your reports."
Clark dryly thanked him. "Flattered." If he were a masochist, he'd ask how Lex thought he article.
"Don't flatter yourself; you write terribly." As if reading Clark's mind, Lex shattered his illusion.
He jerked his head up, glaring at Lex: "I didn't ask you to read them."
"You're missing the point; it's not about your reports." Lex was impatient.
"Even though you're the only one who can interview him, I don't care about your private meetings with him in your crappy apartment or some rooftop, nor his bedroom performance. This might actually be your only use. Believe me, I've benefited from it too."
"You really think Superman and I sleeped together?" That afternoon's conversation about whether Superman had "eaten" Clark Kent suddenly made sense.
Realizing it all, Clark flushed red. This was outrageous; what was wrong with his head?
"Too bad; I still can't think of what else you can do," Lex leaned on the desk, treating him like a specimen, "besides your cheap supermarket treats and negligible concern."
"I made this myself!"
"That makes it even cheaper. Does a Daily Planet reporter's homemade apple pie have more value than shelf stuff? Handmade is probably the least valuable thing I've received."
"Then give it back." He reached to yank the pie from the mismatched luxurious desk, hugging it back.
"So now, play your damn role and tell me what that alien did here yesterday."
Only then did Clark realize none of this was about him. Lex summoned him not because he was at the scene, nor for any lingering affection.
"Wasn't it you who lured him here?" Clark finally looked up.
"What?" Lex seemed unprepared for this answer.
"I said," Clark enunciated, suppressed anger weaving with cold insight, "You provoked him. The one in the sky, the non-human. With one attack, a carefully concealed trap, you even put yourself on the line. Oh no," he watched Lex's face subtly change, "I'm not accusing you of deliberately attracting his attention for other purposes. I fully understand everything you do is to make him disappear. And that forces you to endure his repeated appearances in your life, like a theme."
"As you said," Clark's thoughts drifted back to their first confrontational interview, "this is the cost, the inevitable cost."
He clearly remembered that afternoon.
"Speaking of Boravia," Clark seized a conversational gap, deciding to strike, "Luthor Corp's stance in the Jarhanpur-Boravia conflict has drawn attention. What role do you think external forces, especially arms supplies, play in the ongoing conflict?"
"External forces?" Lex chuckled lightly, with a hint of mockery. "War is part of human nature, inevitable clashes over resources, ideas, living space. Weapons are just tools, like fire—neutral, depending on whether the user wants to cook dinner or burn a forest. What you're seeking isn't weapons, but the root cause."
"Clark, answers are sometimes more complex than imagined, sometimes far simpler. Luthor Corp's stance is simple: order and humanity, which I believe is also America's stance. Chaos breeds suffering, and suffering attracts... non-human things. They circle like vultures over human misery. They enjoy being looked up to, needed, yet can never understand the cost of being human."
He was alluding to Superman again. Clark felt a familiar suffocation, throat tightening.
"People are dying," he couldn't control meeting Lex's gaze. "So you supply arms to Boravia to establish your so-called order? Even if that order comes at the cost of more lives and blood?"
Clark had gazed at Earth from the moon, in silent space, its shining lights like interstellar stars, small enough to hold like pearls in his hand; he couldn't watch them slip through his fingers.
"Cost?" Lex leaned back, repeating the word. "That's what's inevitably paid to reach the goal. If you're too hesitant, eyes only on worries and risks, how can you succeed at anything?"
"Is it because you're too close to that alien visitor, influenced by his cheap compassion? He thinks saving a few lives gives him moral high ground to judge and interfere in human affairs? Who does he think he is? God?" His tone dripped with bone-deep contempt. "He's an other with absolute power, trampling human laws. And everything he does will eventually cost him. A huge cost." He emphasized the last sentence.
"Machiavellianism," Clark appraised. "If you were king, you'd be a tyrant." Though now your employees, exes, and I live in fear of your moods.
"Maybe I'd call it Luthoria." Lex flashed a fake smile.
"You study him, observe and collect his data, create things for him. You're not dumb enough to leave Luthor Corp marks on them; that'd be as stupid as signing a crime scene. You could test it anytime, but just to verify a hypothesis, clear suspicion, you'd throw yourself under the wheels?"
"How do you know?"
"My super informant told me." Clark smiled smugly. Well, besides himself, he also consulted Mr. Terrific.
As expected, the smoke bomb casings and weapon gear from the scene had no marks. He took them to the Fortress for residue testing, revealing non-Earth isotopes from interstellar smuggling, products of a red sun system. Under the bright slanting natural light at the poles, it shimmered like butterfly wing tips. The Fortress supercomputer compared it to Kryptonite's structure: 63% similarity.
Clark recalled his reaction to exposure while watching the screen. Despite high similarity to Kryptonite, this substance only made him sneeze. Was this some kiddie prank?
The computer's analysis named the substance: highly mimetic, scrapings from an alien plant called Disillusion, which disguises things' nature but always with slight errors—rapid decay or superficiality—hence the planet's inhabitants named it so.
Tracing the alien isotopes led to an abandoned factory in Metropolis suburbs. He awkwardly asked Mr. Terrific to project the scene restoration. At the boundary wall, as surprised or expected, a simple LC logo appeared on the initial receiver's clothing. They were opening boxes, handing over and inspecting, explaining the exposed isotopes trace.
"Oh, how intimate."
Lex's malice erupted; he kept closing in on Clark, who refused to retreat.
"Did he send you? Or are you willing to self-sacrifice for him? Not just his human pet, but his mouthpiece, spy. Does he pay you triple? Or does fucking you a few times make you kneel willingly at his feet?"
This was absurd; he refused to picture himself with himself, forcing the thought away.
"I want to understand you, Lex, I want to figure out—all this, everything! For what?" Clark nearly stammered, standing up too.
"Can't you know from your super informant?"
"I don't want to mention him at all! You're the one always bringing him up in conversations. What I see is you're the one with astonishing... toward him."
"You dare say another word—" Lex pointed at his chest.
"See? That's why I don't want to mention it." Clark waved his finger at him in frustration.
Lex laughed. Clark widened his eyes watching him, then stepped back, suddenly understanding. "Oh, you know everything."
"Don't be silly; I interrupted not because I can't stand those words, but because I've heard enough. Those incompetent therapists say your desire and love for his traits drive you to the opposite path, defining yourself through rebellion, not imitation."
"You fucking know nothing." Lex's tone was soft as a breeze, sounding gentle, slow.
"Believe me, neither do you; you can't see who's standing right in front of you." Clark confronted him, intense gaze meeting Lex's eyes—those slightly round blue eyes, always contemptuous for no reason. In his eyes, nothing was unworthy of contempt; things deserved it just for being themselves.
"You're blinded by your arrogance; you can't see the people around you, you can't see me, because those eyes can't tolerate anything non-you. You don't see, don't care that everything he does is from goodwill, to help others."
"Oh, you want know his sins? How about breathing, alive, in this world?"
Lex suddenly reached out, fingers pinching Clark's face. Lex leaned close, forcing him to see himself up close in those eyes.
"I can still see—you," he caressed Clark's cheek, whispering in his ear, "holding your ridiculous pie, pretending nothing's wrong, pretending you're heartbroken."
"How dare you! I tried to love you!" Clark jerked free, blood nearly boiling to steam.
"Good luck on failing then." Lex's voice was icy, emotionless. "You've made your choice, standing by him. When he's in the sky, will he hear your cries for help?"
"At least he's not the one pushing me down," Clark looked at him. "That alone makes him a good person."
Lex's face darkened terrifyingly. He turned to the door, instructing outside: "Take him away! "
Clark looked at him in disbelief; the cold reality hit like a high-speed train, shattering him. This was the ending he'd anticipated from the start. But when it truly arrived, it still stunned him. Ultraman's figure appeared at the door, wordlessly grabbing Clark's arm and dragging him out.
As he was forcibly shoved out of the office, a well-dressed, arrogant elderly man brushed past him. Clark instinctively turned to see who, but Ultraman roughly twisted his head forward, pushing him away. That fleeting profile... was the President of Boravia. Clark's eyes widened.
The heavy door closed behind, sealing everything inside. In the office, dead silence descended again.
Lex stood in place, chest heaving slightly, eyes churning with unspent rage and deeper, indescribable emotions. He gestured for Vasil to sit first. Seconds later, he walked to the desk, gaze falling on the abandoned, no-longer-warm apple pie. Expressionless, he picked up the nearby silver fork, scooping a piece of caramel-lattice crust and soft apple filling, putting it in his mouth. Cinnamon's spicy sweetness and apple's slight tartness spread on his tongue.
Who does he think he is?
He ate that bite, then another. Footsteps faded from the office; Vasil fidgeted uneasily in his seat.
Superman burst into his office, with his blindingly bright colors, cape flowing up and down as he strode in, possessing a posture of luxurious grandeur.
Just as those trashy newspapers described, when he appears before you, it's hard not to be mesmerized. He's big and beautiful. Lex watched him enter, like being sucker punched.
"Luthor!" Superman glared at him.
"Superman," Lex forced himself back to his nonchalant mask, fingertips tapping lightly on the desk. "What have I done to earn the honor of your visit?"
"You know why I'm here!" Superman stepped closer.
"I really don't."
"Ask Clark how he's doing for me, okay?" Lex deliberately used a light tone, like discussing weather. "Heard he was just heroically rescued from kidnapping by you; convey my concern, though I don't care."
"Don't get ideas about him, Luthor." Superman's voice was full of warning.
"Believe me," Lex hooked an insincere fake smile, "I have zero interest."
"I know what you're plotting," Superman narrowed his eyes slightly. "He told me."
"Yes, you're in sync, no secrets. This proves dating a reporter is a mistake. Once had a girlfriend who blogged about me after breakup; don't remember seeing her again." He said it casually, like discarding a used, worthless item.
"If you sleep with him tonight, pass on a message: stay far from me, the farther the better; I'm not keen on seeing him again."
"Whatever you're preparing in Boravia, you won't succeed; I'll be there to stop you."
Lex stared at him, his eagerness to fall into the trap exceeded plans. This stupid alien gave him a solid, believable promise, like marital sweetness; he'd practically signed his own death warrant early.
This victory seemed too easy, but it was indeed what he'd longed for.
Lex casually flipped open a file, gaze on the pages. When he looked up, Superman was still there.
"Oh, you're still here?" Lex's tone held fake surprise.
"Can you find the door yourself? Or," he pointed to the broken window, "prefer the original route back?"
Three meetings, Lex thought, and as planned, he got to see Superman groveling on the ground, tears streaming down his ugly, lifeless face.
"I’ll be back later with someone else you’ve chatted with and I’ll kill them too."Lex's voice was terrifyingly calm, like stating a fact.
He paused.
"Maybe that reporter you always do interviews with. " he slowly uttered the name, like venom dripping, "Maybe I’ll kill Clark Kent next."
Superman didn't react; immense pain seemed to have consumed him.
Vasil stood beside him, still chuckling at the recent murder. Tomorrow, the revolver in his hand would press against that ex-boyfriend's temple. The bullet bringing death spins inside, stops. Then, he pulls the trigger.
He idly imagined.
Who would he see first then? The Superman on the opposite ground, howling in despair like a wounded beast again? Or would it be the similarly lying on the ground, former boyfriend who once wore glasses and sometimes smiled foolishly at him?
Lex's heart filled with rage.
Oh, he dared side with Superman. He'll tear his heart apart, at any cost.
Fin