[Third Person's PoV]
Silence settled over the scene. The little girl, barely able to comprehend what had just happened, stared wide-eyed at her savior in white. Around them, the crowd had begun to stir. Many people were holding up their phones, capturing photos or recording shaky videos. Some stood frozen, unable to move, their minds struggling to process the impossible sight before them.
Superman ignored the whispers and astonished expressions. He knew what they were thinking—some searching for hidden cameras, others waiting for someone to yell, "Cut!" as if this were just a scene from a movie. But this was real. He crouched down, gently lifting the girl into his arms, the truck driver carried by the red sand, he carried them both—his cape fluttering like a banner—over to the sidewalk, away from the twisted wreckage.
"Are you alright?" Clark asked the driver, whose wounds were already beginning to mend, thanks to patches of red sand from Superman's cape now fused to his injuries. As he spoke, Clark's eyes briefly flared with a soft blue light, scanning the man's condition.
"You don't have any broken bones. Just a few lacerations, but they're healing."
The man nodded slowly, still trembling. "Yeah… thank you… I… I almost ran over that little girl…" His voice cracked, and he clutched his head with shaking hands, overwhelmed by what could've happened.
Clark turned to the child and knelt down. "And you, young lady—didn't your mother ever teach you to look both ways before crossing the street?" he asked, his tone gentle but firm. The girl looked down at her shoes, sheepish, gripping her toy ball tightly in her hands.
"Yuki!" a woman's voice cried out in panic, cutting through the air. A frantic mother ran toward them, collapsing to her knees and wrapping her arms around her daughter in a tearful embrace.
Seeing that the situation had calmed and all were safe, Clark stood and began to walk away. His cape slipped from the truck driver's grasp and flowed behind him once again, trailing slightly in the wind.
"Wait!" the man called out. "Who… who are you? Or rather, what are you?"
Clark turned, hovering a few feet above the ground, his eyes calm. "I'm just a man doing what needs to be done," he replied simply. "And… sorry about your truck." Then, with a gust of air and a red blur, he vanished into the sky.
"I didn't even get a chance to thank him…" the mother whispered, holding her daughter tightly.
---
Throughout the day, Superman continued his quiet mission. He became exactly what he had set out to be—a symbol of hope. Flying swiftly through the skies of Japan, he moved like a phantom of light and wind, saving those in danger before they even knew they were in trouble.
In Tokyo, a towering skyscraper had erupted into flames. Clark arrived within seconds, a white streak across the sky, his red cape trailing behind him like the banner of a guardian angel. Before the firefighters could react, he had already descended through the upper floors like a comet, weaving between flames and steel.
From the ground, civilians and first responders alike could only gaze in awe as person after person—previously thought to be trapped—began appearing safely on the streets below. Clark's frost breath cut through the infernos like winter wind, extinguishing room after room with precision and care. He showed no signs of slowing.
Finally, he burst from the top floor with a crash of shattered glass. Levitating in the smoky night sky, he cradled a man and woman in his arms. Behind him, his broad cape wrapped protectively around ten others, holding them together as if they weighed nothing. Slowly, he descended, touching down amid gasps and cheers. Phones rose like a forest of glowing eyes, capturing every second.
His cape unfurled and dropped away from the group, straightening out and flowing behind him once more. Without another word, Superman raised a single fist to the sky and soared upward, disappearing in the blink of an eye.
From Tokyo to Kyoto, to Shibuya and Osaka, Clark flew like a streak of starlight across the Japanese skies. But he did not stop there. He crossed borders effortlessly, moving across countries. Korea, China, the Philippines—one after another, people caught glimpses of the red-and-white blur that swept through their cities, saving lives with a steady hand and a warm smile.
He was tireless. From Asia to Europe, he answered cries for help without hesitation. Robberies, fires, collapses, rescues—he was everywhere. High above the Earth, as the planet slowly spun on its axis, a glowing crimson line traced arcs of hope through the upper atmosphere.
At last, deep into the night, Clark returned to the quiet shrine tucked away in the mountains of Japan. It was well past midnight. The world was sleeping, but his mind wasn't.
His shoulders drooped slightly. Not from exhaustion of the body—his strength was nearly limitless—but from the weight of what he carried. The cries, the danger, the responsibility of being Superman. It was not just a name. It was a promise.
And promises… could be heavy.
"You did wonderfully, Master Kal-El," Sol said, a note of pride evident in his voice as Clark gently floated down to the ground. The suit wrapped tightly around his form shimmered briefly, golden embers flickering across the fabric before flowing upward like fireflies, concentrating around his face. In a swirl of golden light, they reformed into thick, modestly framed glasses, his disguise slipping effortlessly into place.
"I know I did," Clark replied with quiet confidence. "It's what I trained for…" He raised the hood of his jacket over his head and stepped forward, his movements careful and silent. As he entered the house, he paused at the threshold of the living room.
There, on the couch, were Seiko and Momo—both fast asleep. They had clearly stayed up waiting for him. Momo's head rested gently on Seiko's shoulder, her arms loosely curled around a pillow. The TV in front of them was still on, the soft glow casting dancing shadows across the room.
"—No one knows where he comes from or who he is," a newscaster said, her voice low but filled with wonder. "Reports from across Japan describe a mysterious figure clad in white, performing miraculous feats of heroism. In just one day, he has ignited the internet, with millions already calling him 'the Guardian in white!' If anyone has any information regarding—"
Clark rolled his eyes and quietly turned off the TV, letting the screen fade to black. With a soft sigh, he approached Momo and gently lifted her into his arms. She stirred slightly, her eyes still closed as she instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head against his chest.
"Clark…" she mumbled sleepily, her voice barely a whisper.
"Just sleep, you dork," Clark murmured with a fond smile, carrying her carefully to her room. He laid her down, tucking the blanket around her before brushing a lock of hair away from her face.
When he returned for Seiko, he found her no longer asleep. Her eyes were open, calm and waiting, as if she had known he would return at that very moment.
"Want me to carry you too?" Clark asked with a teasing smile, raising an eyebrow.
"You could try," Seiko replied dryly, stretching. "But you'd end up picking your teeth off the floor."
Clark held up his hands in mock surrender, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Just saying… you are getting up there in age."
"You must be tired of living, you brat," she replied with a scoff. But her tone softened as she patted the space beside her on the couch. "I'll let it slide, just this once. You look exhausted. Come on, sit and tell me how it went."
Clark groaned lightly as he plopped down beside her, letting his head rest on the back of the couch. "It was… intense. Weird too, in a way. The looks on their faces, the awe, the fear, the confusion. I don't think anyone really knew how to react."
Seiko nodded knowingly. "They wouldn't. This is all new to them. Just remember, you're not invincible in every way. You have limits, which is why arriving this late isn't going to cut it."
Clark raised an eyebrow. "Are you giving me a curfew now?"
"Yes, I am," Seiko said firmly. "And don't give me that look. It's not punishment—it's for your own good. Saving people is important, but so is resting, eating, studying, having time to live. You have school, you have other responsibilities, this kind of schedule won't fly. Use this month to figure out your rhythm."
Clark didn't argue. He knew better. Instead, he nodded and began telling her about his day—the lives he saved, the crimes he stopped, the disasters he averted. Each story spilled out like a stream, full of detail, emotion, and the growing weight of responsibility.
Seiko smiled and reached over to ruffle his hair, pulling him into a half hug. "Good work. I'm proud of you," she whispered before kissing the top of his head.
Clark blushed but didn't pull away. The praise meant more than he'd ever admit.
Eventually, they both decided to call it a night. Clark made his way upstairs and entered his room. Krypto, his loyal companion, was already sprawled on the bed, tail wagging as he lifted his head in greeting.
Clark chuckled and collapsed next to him, one arm draped over the dog. It had been a long day and he knew it was only the beginning.
He got as much rest as he could, because tomorrow would bring more of the same. And not just tomorrow, but the day after, and the next week, and the next month.
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