Ever since Clark discovered that Lex was secretly studying him, he had been deeply uncomfortable with anyone investigating his life.
It wasn't his own safety he worried about—after all, in this world, there was very little that could pose a genuine threat to Superman. His primary concern was for his loved ones, especially his adoptive parents.
If his identity were to be revealed, there was no doubt that someone with ill intentions would target his parents to manipulate or threaten him.
"In the future, we need to be more careful," Clark said anxiously to Kaius. "I don't want anyone discovering my secret. It would put my family and friends in danger."
Clark's fears weren't unfounded. In the DC universe, Superman's best friend, Jimmy Olsen, frequently found himself in peril after learning Superman's true identity. To counter this, Superman once gave Jimmy a pager. In case of danger, all Jimmy had to do was press the pager, and Superman would arrive at super speed.
Kaius, on the other hand, appeared far less concerned. His only close relative was his uncle, James, who happened to be a police officer—a profession that often courted danger.
In America, being a police officer was undeniably a high-risk job. Facing armed criminals was already perilous enough, but encountering superpowered villains often meant near-certain death. If not for the intervention of superheroes, many officers wouldn't survive such encounters.
Kaius sighed and turned to Clark. "I think we need uniforms. Preferably tights!"
"No way! I would rather die than wear tights!" Clark protested immediately.
"Tights are non-negotiable, Clark," Kaius replied seriously. "I've been meaning to tell you this for a while now—you really need to stop wearing that worn-out denim jacket. Trust me, tights are the way to go!"
"Why can't I keep wearing this?" Clark argued. "I see plenty of people wearing jackets like this, and no one suspects it's me. Wearing tights is just... weird!"
Kaius smacked his forehead. If you're so against tights, at least don't wear red underwear over them someday!
"Clark, the whole point of tights is to show off your muscles," Kaius explained. "Right now, in your denim jacket, no one notices your physique. But once you wear tights, you'll be Superman—the Superman with broad shoulders, big pecs, and eight-pack abs. Do you get it now?"
"Are you saying that by dressing differently, I could become two completely different people?" Clark asked, quickly picking up on the idea.
Kaius nodded approvingly, like a teacher satisfied with a particularly bright student. "Exactly! You have the perfect physique to pull it off. By changing your outfit, you can create two distinct identities. But you're still missing one crucial thing!"
"What am I missing?" Clark asked, his curiosity piqued.
"A pair of glasses!"
Kaius snapped his fingers, then reached into his bag and pulled out two glasses cases. He handed one to Clark.
"The lenses are non-prescription, and the frames are made of lead," Kaius explained. "I've noticed that your X-ray vision can't see through lead, so these glasses will slightly limit your ability to use that power."
Clark opened the case and found a pair of nerdy-looking glasses inside. He put them on and immediately noticed a difference. "My X-ray vision feels a bit dampened. Will it also affect my heat vision?"
"Nope! Heat vision works just fine. Come on, Clark, these are just regular glasses! Are you telling me even Superman can't handle wearing glasses?" Kaius retorted with a playful eye-roll.
Clark chuckled, adjusting the glasses on his face. "Alright, I'll admit—they're not bad. But don't expect me to start wearing tights anytime soon!"
Clark adjusted his lead-lined glasses, and the transformation was remarkable. With his glasses on, he looked every bit the unassuming nerd. No one could possibly associate him with the tight-suited hero wearing a red cape and a bold "S" emblazoned on his chest.
"Not bad," Clark said with a rare grin. "What's next? Are you going to pull a pair of tights out of your bag too?"
Kaius chuckled. "Not quite, but I did sketch a couple of designs."
He reached into his bag and pulled out two rough drawings. Although Kaius wasn't much of an artist, the general idea was clear. One design featured a suit dominated by blue and red with an "S" on the chest—clearly meant for Clark. The other was mostly black with a bold "A" across the chest, symbolizing "Avenger."
Clark stared at the designs for a moment, then pointed at the "S." "What does this 'S' even stand for?"
"It's simple," Kaius replied. "Everyone's already calling you Superman, so the 'S' just fits."
Clark smirked. "And your 'A' must stand for 'Avengers,' huh?"
Kaius nodded. "Exactly. But getting these made is another story. I'll have to go to Metropolis to find a professional tailor. If I tried to commission them here in Smallville, it'd attract too much attention. Plus, the quality might not be great. And don't worry—it'll only take me about fifty minutes to get there."
Clark raised an eyebrow. "I could do it in thirty."
Kaius rolled his eyes and began packing up his sketches. "Sure, show-off. Anyway, what about the article Chloe asked for? The one about the ruins in the west? You're supposed to submit it the day after tomorrow."
Clark shrugged. "Come with me at noon. We'll take some photos and interview a few of the locals."
"Why not just ask your buddy Lex? His company's the one running the project."
"If I can avoid seeing Lex, I'd rather not," Clark muttered.
Western Town – Native American Ruins
At the edge of town, a protest was in full swing outside the construction site near the Native American ruins. Leading the demonstration was Joseph Rowen, an elderly Native American and an esteemed professor of ancient history. Holding a cane for support, he stood firmly at the gates, surrounded by dozens of protestors holding signs.
Inside the site, heavy machinery roared as excavators tore into the earth, ignoring the protest entirely.
"If you continue desecrating this land, you will all face punishment!" Joseph Rowen shouted, his voice trembling with emotion.
The site's project leader, a sharp-dressed man with an air of condescension, stepped forward. His disdain for the protestors was barely disguised.
"Listen, Chief," the man sneered, "I don't know about punishment, but if we stop working, my boss will have my head. And if you keep causing trouble, I'll call the cops and have every last one of you arrested."
Joseph Rowen's face flushed with anger. Gripping his cane tightly, he struck the ground with it for emphasis. "You faithless fools! You have no idea what you're doing. Desecrating Naman's sacred land will bring disaster—not just to you, but to the entire town!"
The project leader exchanged a smirk with his colleagues, all of whom burst into laughter.
"Faithless? Please. We have faith, Chief. We believe in God—not some made-up deity named Naman!" he said mockingly, laughing even harder.
The old man's eyes burned with indignation, but he stood firm, refusing to back down. The air was thick with tension, as if the land itself was holding its breath.