Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The hard chairs in the school auditorium were not a pleasant or comfortable experience, but depending on how tired you were, they could even become a nice place to take a nap. Living proof of this was 18-year-old Clark Kent, who, despite feeling uncomfortable from sitting and bored for almost half an hour waiting in the auditorium, was still almost asleep with his head resting on the shoulder of one of his best friends, Jimmy Olsen.

As superhuman as his usual stamina was, staying up all night helping his father fix the neighbor's combine harvester had taken its toll in the form of untimely sleepiness. Add to that a last-minute lecture where the “special” speaker was more than half an hour late, and you had Clark Kent sleeping on his friend's shoulder.

His class was in the locker room, getting ready for gym class, when the principal announced over the loudspeakers that all students in their last two years of school should go to the auditorium for a lecture on their professional future, since some of them were less than six months away from graduating, or would be graduating next year.

In theory, no one was supposed to know that the speaker who was going to present was the young entrepreneur Bruce Wayne. In practice, no one counted on a student with super hearing and a certain “journalistic instinct” or, as his mother would say, “the soul of a gossip,” to overhear the conversation between the principal and Mr. Wayne's personal advisor.

Clark almost wanted to thank Mr. Wayne for saving him from gym class, where, once again by accident, he almost revealed how abnormal he is. But “almost” was the key word here. As much as he hated PE class, the last thing he wanted to do right now was sit for at least an hour in the hard chairs of the school auditorium, listening to a billionaire playboy heir, owner of one of the largest business networks in the US and the world, lecture about how he got rich and how everyone should study and work hard to get to his level.

The young man with black hair and light eyes would love to punch Wayne in the face every time he heard him say things like that in interviews, newspapers, and podcasts.

A pretentious jerk, that's what he is.

Yes, Clark Kent really didn't like the millionaire jerk. The reason? He just hated the way Bruce Wayne thought he was so great because he was the boss of Wayne Enterprises, which he received only through inheritance and not through his own merit. He hated the playboy for showing off in newspapers and magazines, flaunting how much money he had, while normal people had to work day and night to get the bare minimum. On top of that, his clear contempt and indifference towards the atrocities his partners committed against less developed countries and those they considered “inferior” irritated him more than anything else.

“Calm down,” Jimmy says close to his ear, bringing him back from the still-fresh memories of what he had seen, heard, and studied for his journalism project. “I know you don't like Wayne, right? But try not to squeeze my hand so hard. The way you're gripping it, you're going to make it go numb.”

“All right.” Clark says, adjusting himself in his chair and letting go of his friend's hand, which had already started to turn purple. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem,” Jimmy says, laughing and shaking his hand a few times to get the blood flowing faster.

Without thinking much, Clark lies down again on Jimmy's shoulder and closes his eyes carefree, but soon opens them when he hears Pete Ross, a classmate, start his daily taunts at the brunette. As soon as Pete arrives, he also hears Jimmy's tired sigh, who begins to tense up in his chair.

“Look... the weirdo duo together again in the auditorium. But that's not even the shocking part. The really shocking thing would be if the two lovebirds were more than a meter apart,” Pete says, standing next to two of his minions, beside where Clark and Jimmy are sitting. He has that mocking smile on his face, an apple in his hand, and his eyes shining with malice. “So, Jimmy, have you decided what superpower Clark will have in his next comic book? Or is the ‘crybaby farmer’ look still in style?”

“Just ignore him,” Jimmy whispers to Clark as he straightens up in his chair

“And what are you two lovebirds whispering about?” Pete says provocatively, bending down to their level and putting his hand on Clark's shoulder, who stares at his hand as if he wants to rip it off. And maybe he does. “Planning ways to tell the school what everyone already knows? That you're two little faggots who fuck each other in the ass?” Or do you split up so you can share a plastic dick?

“Actually, we're planning the next cover story for the school newspaper,” Clark says, turning to face him. “Something about how the football players like to do illicit things in the school locker room. And how their quarterback likes to take girls to sniff things...”

“Look here, you faggot...” Pete says, advancing to grab Clark by the collar, who promptly stands up to face him from above, due to the slight difference in height

— Hey, hey. How about we calm down? Jimmy says, putting himself between the two, but before he can say anything else, applause begins to ring out in parts of the auditorium as the school coordinator enters the stage

Automatically, Pete's two friends, who had also approached to join the likely fight, backed away, looking at the stage. Pete and Jimmy also turned their gaze to where the coordinator was beginning her presentation, while still paying some attention to the small disagreement. But unlike them, Clark wasn't looking at her. He still hadn't taken his angry gaze off Ross.

All he wanted was to punch Pete at least once and literally knock him flying through the air. But then his father's voice seeped into his being with the same phrases as always:

“I know it's hard, but control your temper.”

“Try to look normal, don't lose control.”

Clark understood why his father told him to try to look normal, but man, how he wanted to be a normal kid and throw a nice right hook at Pete. But he wasn't a normal kid, he never would be. And he knew that his right hook could even knock his bully's head off.

“I think you better start losing your swagger, Ross,” Clark growls, pushing Jimmy slightly aside and standing next to him, face to face with Pete. “Your father wouldn't like to know that his ‘star’ son is throwing it all away for a little cocaine in the school locker room. Especially since he's the sheriff of this town.”

“Is there a problem here, boys?” Algebra teacher Mr. Morelo appears beside them, causing Pete to back away and lose some of his passive-aggressive stance.

The hypocrite couldn't look like a bully in front of the teacher who was responsible for him staying on the team or not.

“Certainly not, sir.”

“Pete says, stepping further into the auditorium hallway and then looking at Clark with scorn. ”Just some personal criticism of Clark's newspaper, isn't that right, Clark?

“You bet it is,” the brunette says through an angry grunt

.

“Our school newspaper editor was commenting on the new article, and I was just complimenting him,” Ross continues, without taking his eyes off Clark

“Speaking of which, I must congratulate you, Mr. Kent, on your article in the school newspaper about recycling. It was very well written. Congratulations,” the teacher says, quickly turning to face Pete again. “Mr. Ross, I believe the place you should be sitting with your friends is on the other side of the auditorium, with the rest of the team, correct?”

“You're right, sir. We'll be there in a minute,” Pete says, smiling through gritted teeth and staring at Jimmy and Clark.

“The lecture is about to begin. You'd better go now.” Mr. Morelo could have said that in a casual tone, but his students knew better than anyone else the order behind his words.

Knowing that trying to continue their fight would be ridiculous, Ross and his friends take one last look at the two boys and follow the path to where the rest of the team is.

Still keeping Pete in his field of vision until he disappeared into the crowd of people that made up the school's football and basketball teams and the cheerleading squad, Clark took a deep breath to calm himself and then finally turned to Jimmy, who was already looking at him with concern.

“It's okay. It was nothing,” Clark says without them having to ask.

“I highly doubt that. But I'll be taking this to Principal Jones soon,” Mr. Morelo said, getting Clark's attention. “The lecture is about to begin, boys. Take your seats.”

“Yes, sir,” the two friends replied in unison, turning toward the stage and sitting down in their uncomfortable chairs.

Jimmy, with his straight blond hair and blue eyes, rubbed his hands hard against his face before turning to his best friend with a worried look.

“Are you really okay?” Jimmy whispers.

“Not really, but I'll be fine,” the brunette says, straightening his spine. “He has a knack for making me angry.”

“Ross is just another bully on the team who thinks he's the big shot because his dad's a cop,” Jimmy says, settling into his chair. “It sucks, but don't let him get to you.”

“He doesn't get to me, he just wears me out!”

“Do you think we can pretend he doesn't exist until the end of the school year?”

“The blond asks, trying to smile, running his hands impatiently through his blond hair. ”I'd consider that an impossible mission, since I can even hear his heartbeat,“ the blue-eyed boy whispers back amid a nasal laugh. ”Let's look ahead, it's about to start! I can't wait to hear the shit Wayne is going to say this time."

In the last interview I saw with him, he hinted that he was going to partner with the owner of Space X to finance rocket launches.

— You'd expect a guy who brags about going to two of the most famous and best universities in the world to be at least smart about where and who to invest in, — Jimmy says, making Clark double over to hold back his laughter

“And you should know by now that for guys like Bruce Wayne and Elon Musk, you're either rich or smart,” Clark explains, looking at his friend who is still trying to hold back his laughter. “Having both is almost impossible. But I really thought that going to Harvard and MIT would have made Wayne an exception to the rule, but in the end, he's just another one of those dumb heirs.”

“Try to tone down that laser vision. We're in the third row and the damage wouldn't be pretty. And I'm talking about his expensive suit, which probably costs more than all our houses combined,” says the blond as they watch the principal walk onto the stage. “But you can do it. You didn't use it on Pete.”

“Laser beams are easy to deal with, the hard part will be not rolling my eyes and falling asleep during this ‘lecture,’” Kent replies, smiling knowingly at his friend.

As soon as she finished speaking, Principal Jones took the stage and tested the microphone, getting the attention of the football team, who, as always, acted like they owned the world.

“Now that the children have calmed down, we can begin,” the principal began. “I want to wish everyone a good morning and thank our students and teachers for taking time out of their day to attend our lecture with our special guest.”

“She says that as if we're not here because we have to be,” Clark whispered to Jimmy, making him choke as he tried to stifle a laugh, attracting the principal's gaze for a brief moment and causing both of them to sit up straight in their chairs as if nothing had happened.

"We are just a few months away from our long-awaited graduation. And with it, you are about to enter a completely new phase of your lives.

A phase that will bring new discoveries and knowledge. And as I know that all of you will be attending prestigious universities across the country...“ She paused briefly when some ironic laughter rang through the auditorium. ”Yes, exactly, all of you will go to college, get your dream jobs, start your own businesses, and many other possibilities." Mr. Ross, may I ask you to leave the auditorium?

— A thousand apologies, Principal — Pete says, forcing himself to sit up straight in his chair next to his subjects, receiving an amused roll of the eyes from the principal

“With that in mind, today we are delighted to welcome a notable personality from the business and corporate world,” the principal resumed. “Someone who, despite his youth, has already left a deep mark on this universe that I know many of you will join. It is with great pride that we at Smallville High School welcome Mr. Bruce Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises.”

Lively applause rang out throughout the auditorium, and there were even a few scattered squeals from the girls. Clark knew that wherever he went, Wayne would find groups of fans who were infatuated with the idea of a young, single billionaire. And a womanizer, if Clark were to give his honest opinion.

“In addition to being the heir to one of Gotham's greatest business legacies, Mr. Wayne is known for his philanthropic work and for investing in educational programs across the country,” the principal continued as the businessman took the stage. “Today, he has come to share a little about his journey and talk about ‘leadership, responsibility, and the role of youth in building the future.’” I'm sure everyone will leave this lecture with something to think about."

Handsome, elegant, and arrogant. Those were the first three words that came to Clark's mind as soon as Bruce Wayne stepped onto the stage. He was too formal for a high school, wearing a navy blue suit that fit him perfectly, but what else could you expect from a playboy?

“I bet even his cologne is more expensive than my car,” Jimmy whispered, making Clark laugh ironically as he crossed his arms.

“Rich people and their need to look even richer,” Clark muttered, rolling his eyes as the billionaire took the microphone from the principal.

The young man paused for a moment to analyze the guy who was only a few years older than him. Apparently the same height as Clark and with the toned muscles characteristic of someone who spent his life at the gym lifting weights.

Bruce Wayne.

A tailored black suit, dark blond hair perfectly combed into a low quiff, a steady gait that seemed to say “this stage is mine.” He didn't look around, didn't seem to care about the applause. He just picked up the microphone as if he was used to having all eyes on him — and maybe he was.

Clark rolled his eyes. Of course he was handsome. Of course he was charming. Of course he looked like a character out of some expensive Hollywood movie.

Pathetic, he thought.

But he was curious. There was no prepared slide show, let alone any notes, mind maps, or anything of the sort. Just Wayne, a suit worth thousands of dollars (at least he believed so), the microphone, a tall wooden stool, an auditorium full of teenagers, and a gigantic ego.

“I don't have much experience giving speeches, except for the ones I slept through in school and college,” Bruce Wayne begins, and young Kent can't help but shiver at the deep, steady tone of his voice, which doesn't even waver when speaking in front of at least a hundred people. “But I think the most common way to start a speech would be with ‘good morning, everyone,’ or something like that.” But that's the boring way to start a lecture, and I bet you're all dying to get back to class, am I wrong?

“You have no idea how much,” shouts one of the basketball team members, eliciting laughter from everyone, including the “lecturer” himself

“I'll trust you then. So let's get right to it,” the billionaire says with a forced smile on his face, sitting down on the stool in the center of the stage. “When your amazing principal invited me to come here to talk to you, I was very grateful for the invitation, Marion...”

Clark and Jimmy had to hold back the laughter that rose from within them when they saw the principal blush.

“They told me, ‘Bruce, talk about business, success, and inspire our students. Make them see how many opportunities they have after they leave school!’” he continues. “After all, nothing screams ‘inspiration’ like a billionaire from Gotham, a company owner, genius, and philanthropist, coming to a beautiful little town in Kansas to talk to young people as brilliant as you.” Well, that's what your principal told me. Did I get it right this time?

Excited shouts were heard throughout the auditorium amid some laughter. And Clark rolled his eyes for the first time.

"But I didn't come here to spew ready-made formulas and catchphrases that you find on $2 signs at roadside stands saying ‘follow your dreams’ or ‘win the world for yourself’. To be perfectly honest with you, I don't even believe that shit. And I'm sorry for the language. I hope you don't kick me out, Marion." Again, the audience laughed at the billionaire's words, but not Clark.

Clark was now paying attention to what he was saying, somewhat impressed by the casual seriousness he had acquired. It was an incredibly good mix of enormous arrogance and a need to make everyone pay attention to what he was saying through jokes.

And Clark had to admit that he was very good at it.

“In the real world, even in this shitty world we live in, dreams are very expensive. What about empathy?” he continued after a dramatic pause. “That's a luxury you can only afford once you've won. Or at least when you're a few steps away from victory.”

This time Clark could feel his spine tingle. The tone Bruce Wayne had used in that last sentence left him speechless. The arrogance was still there, but there was something sharp. Cold. And honest. In an almost strangely attractive way.

But despite the way it was said impressing him, what was said made him stare at the billionaire with an incredulous expression and a frown.

Empathy is a luxury you can only afford after you've won?

What kind of idiot says that to a room full of teenagers, most of whom pretend they don't even know what empathy means?

Wasn't the lecture supposed to inspire students to be someone in life?

Clark simply couldn't look away, and every time he tried, Bruce would take one of those dramatic, silent, theatrical pauses, and the young brunette would look back at the businessman, as if it weren't a lecture, but a conversation between two people.

And that annoyed him more than he would like to admit.

"When I took over Wayne Enterprise, a company that my grandfather founded and my father grew to what it is today, the executives who had been there for decades, or generations in the business world.

Because, believe me, the business world is full of dinosaurs,“ he said, eliciting laughter from the audience, and even Clark let out a nasal chuckle. ”They told me to keep my distance, always focus on what's best for the company, don't get involved with the employees, and above all, never show weakness. I was eighteen, had just finished high school and started college to study management. Many would believe that I would follow their “advice,” after all, they had been there longer than me, literally. But I learned much of what I needed to learn from my father. So I did the opposite of what I was told. And you know what I learned?

And there came another carefully calculated dramatic pause to attract the attention of his audience. Clark was sure of that. And with that came the second roll of eyes.

Fewer than he thought there would be, actually.

“I learned that being the human at the top of the world, especially in the business world, is like stepping into a shark tank bleeding.” That was really profound, Clark had to admit. “But even though I've been in this world for almost eight years, I'm still the guy who stepped into the shark tank bleeding. All because I'd rather be that than just another machine with a cool name and a fat bank account.” Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course."

Bruce then lets out an incredibly sincere sigh before getting up from the stool and facing all the students who had their eyes fixed on the billionaire, and as much as he hated to admit it, Clark had almost stood on the edge of his seat to hear better (not that he really needed to).

“But to be completely honest with you, to be able to change the world, you first have to choose not to get lost in it. Even if that means you have to break all the rules in the book, just like I did.” The jokes to lighten the mood and the arrogant tone disappeared, leaving behind the seriousness of a 25-year-old man who seemed to have been through everything and then some. “It works, most of the time.”

As soon as he finished speaking and lowered the microphone, applause erupted throughout the auditorium, where the vast majority of students rose from their seats to honor the businessman who stood smiling mischievously on stage.

But Clark didn't stand up or applaud like the others, not even like Jimmy. No, the dark-haired boy remained seated, staring at no particular point as Wayne's last words sank in. With the deafening sound of applause, shouts, and whistles still ringing in his ears, he looked up at the blond man on stage, finding his gaze amid the noise around him.

“To change the world, you must first choose not to get lost in it.”

It could have been just another motivational phrase on a roadside sign, but Superboy knew it was more than that.

The phrase was so simple, but he had to admit, as much as he hated it, that it hurt as soon as it hit him.

Because all he wanted in life was to change the world, do good for people, and make his parents proud, both those of blood and those of heart, but he couldn't lie and say that every day he felt closer to losing himself.

And that scared him more than anything.

⋘ ─── ʚ ☼ ɞ ╳ ☾ ╳ ʚ ☼ ɞ ─── ⋙

Once everyone had calmed down, Principal Jones returned to the stage, a little shaky, as far as Clark could tell. And not just her legs, but her voice too, which was almost stuttering when she took the microphone.

“I think I can speak for our entire school when I thank Mr. Wayne immensely for this captivating lecture!”

“Rousing?” Did she swallow a dictionary while watching the lecture? Clark whispers to his friend, making him choke with laughter.

“Now, I can see from some of your faces that many of you have questions,” Principal Jones says. “Is that okay with you, Mr. Wayne?”

“I'd be happy to answer as many questions as your amazing students would like,” ding ding ding, the mouth can lie, but your heartbeat can't, Mr. Wayne, Clark rolls his eyes for the third time, “And please, call me Bruce. Mr. Wayne was just my father.”

That's a terrible decision, Bruce. Clark could clearly hear the kind of questions that would come out of that auditorium.

“As you wish, Bruce,” the principal smiles at the businessman again before turning to the auditorium. “Come on, who would like to ask the first question?”

At least a dozen and a half hands are raised as soon as the words leave Principal Jones' mouth.

“Except you, Mr. Emmett Dixon, I know exactly what kind of questions come out of your mouth,” she quickly interrupts.

“You're a killjoy,” Emmett, from the swim team, said, making Clark laugh.

One by one, the principal passed the microphone from student to student, listening to their questions, blocking the really stupid and immature ones, and listening to Bruce's humorous and intelligent answers.

Clark couldn't help but laugh at the most random and funny questions, such as, “Are you single?” or “You're filthy rich, why do you still need to work?” He also felt compelled to praise the intelligent questions that were actually relevant to the lecture. Jimmy even asked a really good one about professional training and continuing education to enter the business world.

But the brunette remained silent, lowering his eyes and shrugging his shoulders so as not to draw attention to himself. He didn't intend to ask any questions or make any comments. He was too busy trying to process everything that had been said and the reaction it caused inside him.

But as luck would have it...

“Mr. Kent?” called Mrs. Jones, causing Clark to close his eyes tightly before straightening his posture and looking at her. “Our prodigious writer for the school newspaper. I bet you have a great question for our guest! How about representing the newspaper with a question?”

He could hear Pete let out a sarcastic laugh from the auditorium as the principal walked toward him with the microphone.

“You can do it. I believe in your potential,” Jimmy said beside him, stifling a laugh.

“Thanks a lot, buddy, you're a real friend,” Clark said sarcastically.

Encouraged by the principal and his friend, the dark-haired boy stood up slowly, feeling the eyes of the audience, the teachers present, and Bruce Wayne himself on him.

“Mr. Wayne...”

he began, receiving an arched eyebrow in return from the aforementioned. "You said some very interesting and thoughtful things during your speech. One of them was that empathy is a luxury, and we can only afford that luxury after we win. But you also said that the business world is a hostile environment, like walking into a shark tank bleeding. Your words, not mine.

He can see a smile forming on Bruce's face as soon as he says this.

“Go on...” the older blond says, in a tone of voice that makes Clark shiver against his will.

“So, considering the contradiction between the two statements, and the fact that you went against the advice of the ‘company dinosaurs’ and chose to stay closer to your employees...”

Showing some kind of empathy, I would say...“ Clark felt kind of proud of the White House reporter tone he had adopted. ”How can empathy be a luxury? Or is that just a catchphrase, designed to shock the listener? And if it's not just a catchphrase, then does that mean it's okay to step on everyone else to ‘win’?"

The silence around them was immediate, and Clark could hear Jimmy whispering that he did well before turning his attention back to the billionaire.

Bruce looked at him for a second and then laughed softly, surprisingly amused, as if that question was the one he had been waiting to hear forever.

“You're direct, Mr...”

“Kent. Clark Kent,” the young brunette says, puffing out his chest.

“Clark Kent,” he repeated, as if trying out the sound of it. “Strong name.”

“On the same level as yours is pretentious,” Clark retorted, receiving a lecherous smile in return.

A few muffled laughs could be heard from the audience, but Bruce wasn't fazed by them. Quite the contrary. He smiled as if he had just received the best gift of the afternoon.

“Attention-seeking jerk,” Clark thought.

“You're direct and perceptive, Clark,” he said his name almost like a caress, making him shiver again. “I guess I couldn't expect anything less from the school newspaper editor... I bet you plan to study journalism in college...”

“Are you avoiding the question, Mr. Wayne?” he prodded, tilting his head slightly.

Bruce took a few steps to the edge of the stage, standing directly in front of Clark, and spoke again, this time in a lower, more calculated tone, almost as if he were in a private conversation with Clark, not in front of a hundred people.

“I think you're right, Clark, maybe I did fall into some contradictions. But my point in the end remains the same,” he finally replies, crouching down at the edge of the stage and looking at Clark with a depth he didn't expect. “The world isn't kind to those who bleed at the beginning of the game. And I'm not just talking about the business world, everyone will learn that the hard way if they're not prepared.” But...“ Again, a dramatic pause, and Clark had to hold himself back from rolling his eyes for the fourth time (or was it the fifth?). ”In the world we live in, knowing when not to step on others to win, even when you know you have the power to do so... That doesn't make you empathetic, it makes you human. And having humanity these days is a necessity, not a luxury."

Chapter Text

Bruce wasn't lying when he said Smallville was a beautiful little town in rural Kansas. Living up to its name, Smallville had all the charm, coziness, and tranquility of a small town. And as a big fan of tranquility and coziness, Bruce almost wanted to stay there forever.

But since he was a child, he knew that wanting and being able to have were not the same thing.

The blond man watched the small-town landscape, with colonial houses, shops, and stores with rustic, old-fashioned facades, but well preserved, gradually giving way to a green horizon of plantations, wide fields dotted with cattle, and farmhouses and ranches typical of the American Midwest. As he drove his car, so out of place in the landscape, Bruce couldn't help but think how beautiful Smallville was.

And how beautiful the people of Smallville were too. Or at least one of them in particular. Intense blue eyes, jet-black hair, a quick mind and a sharp tongue... And just a high school student. He just couldn't get that Clark Kent out of his head, and it was making him restless and distressed that he was even remotely interested in a boy.

Wayne gripped the steering wheel tightly as he thought about this, trying to take in the surrounding landscape and listen carefully to the GPS, which seemed determined to take him to the end of the world.

His mind was about to start a long rant about how far away the Luthor wine farm was when his cell phone rang, causing him to look away from the dashboard where the caller ID said “Home.”

“Alfred,” the blond man greeted after tapping the screen lightly.

“Good afternoon, Master Bruce.” The refined British voice greeted him on the other end of the line. “I hope I'm not calling at a bad time.”

“Actually, you called at the right time.” The blond smiled, even though he knew the former British intelligence agent wouldn't see it (at least he hoped not). “I've been driving for almost an hour and the GPS still says we're 30 minutes away from the Luthor property. I was about to go crazy.”

“Oh yes, your meeting with the Luthors! I hope you're wearing your bulletproof suit under your suit, Master Bruce,” the blond man could almost see the ironic smile behind the words. “I wonder why you chose to drive for an hour and a half instead of taking your driver!?”

Bruce wanted to say, “I didn't use the driver because a high school student kind of called me a spoiled rich kid, and since I knew he was watching me when I left school, I decided to drive myself to impress him.”

Bruce really wanted to say that, but instead he replied,

“I decided to drive through the Kansas countryside to clear my head! And get the big city out of my system a little...”

The muffled laughter on the other end of the line was enough for Bruce to know that he couldn't lie to the man who raised him even if he wanted to.

“So I can assume the lecture was a success?” Alfred states more than he asks.

“As much as it could be with a bunch of teenagers,” the blond man said distractedly, and before he could stop himself, a pair of blue eyes returned to his mind. “Alfred?”

“Yes, Master Bruce.”

“Could you do me a favor?” He thought carefully about his next words. “I need you to do some research on someone.”

“So the lecture paid off, I suppose,” the older man prods, and Bruce hears footsteps through the car's speaker. “I sincerely hope you're not trying to sleep with a teacher again.”

“I can assure you, old man, that's not my intention,” the blond says with a muffled laugh. “But there was a... a student there. Clark Kent. Editor of the school newspaper. Intelligent, extremely sharp, and very interesting.”

“This Clark Kent was interesting enough to distract you from the lecture you've been preparing for two weeks?”

“Interesting enough to ask you to do a dossier on him,” the blond man says, checking the GPS again and celebrating that he is less than ten kilometers from his destination. “Put all your knowledge as a former British spy to work. I need to get this out of my head.”

“Don't worry, kid. I'm already on it.” Again, Bruce heard what the butler was doing through the speaker, the incessant sound of keys. “Clark Jonathan Kent. Eighteen years old, senior in high school, editor of the school newspaper, and even won an award for an article on teenage drugs. I've already sent it to you by email.” He lives with his parents on a farm outside Smallville. He's applied to a few universities around the country, including Metropolis University. I'll send it to you as soon as I'm done. I might even find out his favorite cereal brand.

“I don't know about you, my dear Alfred, but I think he prefers black coffee and sarcasm for breakfast,” Bruce laughs, finally approaching the entrance to the Luthor farm.

“Then I think you'll get along well. You already have more in common than you think.” Alfred laughs again and lets out an audible sigh. “I see you've arrived at the Luthor farm. I'll be online if you need me, sir.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce says, parking the car in front of the mansion's door. "And one last thing... Do you think you could...

“Call Smallville High School and say you'd like to interview young Kent?” Bruce is still surprised by how well Alfred knows him. “I'm on it. Any specific date or time?”

“You're the one who takes care of my schedule. You're the boss.” Bruce laughs loudly, checking his appearance in the rearview mirror and grabbing his cell phone and keys. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, Master Bruce. And don't forget that the Luthors aren't known as ‘Serpents’ for nothing,” the Scotsman advises. “I'll bring you more information as soon as I leave your meeting.”

Hearing the beep of the call ending, Bruce took a deep breath and puffed out his chest, getting out of the car and turning toward the imposing—and exaggerated—mansion of the Luthor wine estate. The building, despite being far from civilization, was of an urban and modern architectural style.

The mansion was strategically placed in front of a long road completely covered by vineyards. It could even be considered a jewel of modern architecture, if it weren't in the middle of nowhere, which caused a certain feeling of strangeness in those who saw it. The building was a mixture of dark concrete, floor-to-ceiling mirrored glass, and fine wood with straight, imposing lines, perfectly reflecting the refined—and pretentious—taste of the Luthor family.

But Bruce had to admit that they had good taste.

Before entering, the businessman took a few seconds to admire his surroundings. The mansion took up a large part of the view, but it was still possible to catch a glimpse of the valley responsible for one of the most expensive wines in the country. Next to where he had parked his car was a beautiful rose garden that appeared to be meticulously tended, its flowers arranged in strategically organized rows and exuding a soft fragrance. A path of large black granite stones led Bruce to the main entrance, where large smoked glass doors, as tall as the nearly four-meter-high ceiling, awaited him.

Fighting all his instincts, Bruce ignored all five security cameras filming him—not to mention the two others hidden among the rose bushes—and waited a few seconds before a housekeeper emerged from a hallway and opened the door.

“Mr. Wayne. Welcome,” said the middle-aged woman wearing a tailored black skirt and a blazer over a white shirt. “Mr. Luthor is waiting for you in his office. Please follow me...”

Nodding, Bruce followed her down the hallway, which was brightly lit and minimally decorated, with only a few pieces of art and wooden furniture. But almost nothing prepared him for what he would find when he entered the Luthors' office.

Not even Arkham could have been so white.

From the floor to the walls and ceiling, and even the furniture, everything was an immaculate white, broken only by the man in a gray suit sitting at the desk, using a computer that was also white.

Bruce felt dizzy in the face of all the light monochrome.

“Bruce Wayne, it's a pleasure to see you,” Lex Luthor stood up and walked over to where Bruce was standing in the office while the housekeeper closed the door behind her (doors that were mahogany on the outside, but white on the inside. Bruce could swear he was going to overdose on all the white).

“I thank you for your hospitality,” Bruce said soberly, extending his hand to Luthor, who shook it firmly. “I must say, your property is beautiful.”

“Thank you very much for the compliment,” said the incredibly young and powerful businessman, pointing to a white cushioned chair for Bruce to sit down. "This property has been in my family for several generations.

The Luthors are connoisseurs of fine wines, and my great-great-grandfather realized that the best wines would have to be produced by himself. So he created this winery. He hired the best experts and planted the best grapes. And so this pearl of the Luthor family was born. The best line of wines on the continent, and perhaps in the world.

Bruce had already heard in some circles about how arrogant and pretentious Lex Luthor could be, but he was surprised to learn that he could be even more arrogant and pretentious than expected.

“I must say I completely agree. My father was very fond of the wines produced here. I still have a few aged bottles in my cellar.” The lie sounded beautiful to his ears. He could still remember his father saying that this wine, alongside Sangue de Boi, could very well be the same thing. “I can also attest to its quality.”

And that was another lie. Unfortunately, the Luthors' overrated wine could even ruin simple recipes like meat in Madeira sauce. And believe me, Alfred could be a Michelin-starred chef, and even then the recipe he made using that wine was inedible.

“But we're not here to talk about wine, are we?” Luthor says, adjusting his suit before sitting down at the table, facing Bruce. “We're here to talk business. And I have a really lucrative proposal for both of us.”

“I believe so.” Bruce agrees, beginning to feel intrigued. “You went to considerable lengths to bring me here, considering your company's headquarters are in the next town over.”

“I can assure you, Bruce, that the reason was very interesting to you.” Lex continues leaning forward. “And lucrative as well.”

“Go on,” the blond man says, leaning back in his cushioned chair.

Lex smiles the way you would imagine a shark smiling before standing up with a small control in his hand and pressing one of the buttons. Following his cue, Bruce turns in his chair and is greeted by a huge hologram image in the middle of the office.

It was a larger-than-life representation of a type of rock or precious stone that had a color that ranged from blue to purple and, even through the hologram, seemed to glow in the natural light coming through the tall office windows.

“This, my dear friend, is Thalium,” Lex began, stepping out from behind the desk and walking toward the hologram. “It is an extremely rare metallic mineral. Its conductivity is hundreds of times greater than that of silver.”

Bruce said nothing as he watched Luthor's presentation, but he knew very well what Thalium was.

One of the greatest recent discoveries, capable of channeling and amplifying all types of renewable energy, it was also the only metal whose properties could be used to produce medicines. It had even become a strong candidate for experiments to find a cure for cancer, and Wayne Enterprises' biotech division was one of the only companies that had the patent to test Thalium in the laboratory for this purpose.

But Bruce also knew that Lex Luthor hadn't called him here to create cancer cures or renewable energy. He knew very well what else Thallium was used for.

“Some geological research has found that here in Kansas, there are some of the highest concentrations of Thallium in all of America,” Lex says, pressing another button and showing a scaled image of a small, beautiful town. “This is Smallville, a small town in rural Kansas, full of rednecks, farms, cornfields, and cows. No one would give anything for this town. It has nothing special about it.” Or at least that's what most people think.

Luthor pressed the control again and the flat image of Smallville moved away from the buildings in the most urban part of the town and rose, showing an underground projection of several purplish-blue dots. Thallium.

“My scientists and geologists have tested and analyzed the area using the latest technology and have discovered an estimated ton of thallium beneath the most rural area of Smallville,” Lex continues, laughing slightly as he returns and sits down again. "An amount never mined in the United States, capable of generating a profit of over $1 billion. And since the discovery is due to me, I intend to start the mining project within five years. I just need the manpower; permits and machinery are already in progress.

“And where do I fit into all this?” Bruce asks, maintaining his posture of forced disinterest. “I remember you talking about a deal that would be beneficial to both of us.”

Again, Lex gave that smile with teeth that reminded him very much of a shark. Opening a drawer and removing a small stack of papers, he placed them in front of Bruce, who looked at them with curiosity.

It was a long spreadsheet with names, coordinates, acreage, and other information. Some of the names were marked with neon pens. From what Bruce could count, there were fifty-eight names on the list, and at least twenty-five were marked in neon.

But right in the middle, there was a name that caught his attention more than all the others, not only because it was circled in red pen, but also because it was listed under the name Jonathan Kent.

“And what exactly am I looking at?”

“This is a list of all the properties in the northern area of Smallville, where the concentration of thallium is highest,” Lex explained. “The names marked all have one thing in common. They all have their properties mortgaged by three different banks: Union Meridian, Ironland Trust, and Sterling Capitol.”

Bruce was beginning to understand why he was there, but he didn't like it one bit.

“The deal I'm offering you is that you give up part of Sterling Capitol's mortgage holdings, those located in the Smallville area, in exchange for a 7% share of the profits from Thallium mining.”

“You want control over Smallville's mortgage-backed securities so you can use the land to mine Thallium?” Bruce asks, even though he already knows the answer.

“This is a unique opportunity. An element with properties that the world has only just begun to understand.” Lex smiled calmly, waving again at the 3D map projected behind Bruce. “This region of Kansas is full of it. Sleeping beneath the ground. And look, it's all legally viable. Most of these properties are already committed or too close to foreclosure, and those that aren't...” My lawyers are working on deals that benefit the property owners. It's just a matter of time.

“And what about that circled property?” Bruce asks, trying to maintain his guise of disinterest

"The Kent family farm. The second largest property in the county and where Thalium is most concentrated. It's almost as if it's growing roots from their property. Lex sighs, adjusting his suit before sitting down again. It's one of the ones refusing the deal and doesn't have a mortgage, which makes things more difficult. The farm owners are a bit difficult, but nothing we can't handle.

“Do you know them?” Bruce asks, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands.

“Not very well. Jonathan and Martha Kent, a nice couple. Their son is a ‘friend’ of my younger sister,” Lex says with a hint of scorn, then takes a deep breath and picks up another stack of papers. "But let's get back to the reason you're here. If you sign this agreement, Bruce, the profit will be mutual and guaranteed. In addition to easy access to a significant amount of Thallium, something I know you're interested in. You have a lot to gain.

“I have to agree that the deal you have here is really very good,” Bruce says, taking the contract in his hands and quickly glancing over it before placing it back on the table. “As much as the idea of a Thalium mining company near my home is interesting, I'm not interested in giving up or selling mortgage bonds at this time.”

Bruce watched closely as Lex stared at him intently for a few seconds before sighing and leaning back in his chair. Frustration and anger were evident in his eyes as he analyzed Bruce.

“Well, I must say that's a shame. You would have a lot of money and power signing this agreement,” he said, approaching the table and picking up the contract, slapping the papers on the table to align them and then standing up. “Thalium is the new Eldorado of the 21st century. It's really a shame you don't want to be a part of it. This mine will revolutionize the global economic system.”

“You seem very sure that even if I don't sign this agreement, you'll get your Thalium mine,” Bruce asks, also standing up.

Lex stopped as he walked to the door and stared at Bruce with a gleam in his eyes that made him hold back the shiver that ran down his spine.

“Even though our afternoon wasn't as productive as I would have liked, it was still a pleasure to have you in my home, Mr. Wayne.” Luthor dropped his casual tone, becoming once again the calculating businessman Bruce knew him to be. “We'll see each other around. Or at least I hope so.”

The blond man left the white office, bumping into the housekeeper again, who was already waiting to escort him to the door as soon as the office doors closed behind him.

“Please follow me, Mr. Wayne.”

As he followed the woman out of the house, Bruce went over all the details of his meeting with Luthor in his mind. What Luthor was planning to do was leaving him more intrigued than he would like to admit.

As soon as he reached his car, Bruce wasted no time thinking about what to do, quickly starting the car to leave the Luthor property, careful not to look too hasty as he drove out of the entrance gates.

Still feeling strange and uncomfortable, the businessman pressed a button on the car's dashboard and soon the sound of the phone ringing could be heard throughout the vehicle.

“Master Bruce.”

“Alfred,” the older man's voice had an almost instant calming effect on Bruce.

“Bruce? What happened?” The concern in the voice of his butler, friend, and pseudo-father became almost palpable as the car sped down the road that would take him back to the city.

“I'm fine. Just a little anxious,” Bruce reassured him. “I need you to do some research for me, please.”

“What do you need?”

“I need you to look at Sterling Capitol's data, any documents or information about mortgages in the Kansas area, specifically in the Smallville area,” Bruce said, regaining his composure. “And I'm going to need your super-spy skills again to investigate deals made between LexCorp and associates with Union Meridian and Ironland Trust banks.”

“So I can assume the meeting was productive?” Alfred asks, maintaining an ironic tone.

“Not the way Luthor wanted it to be, I can assure you,” Bruce sighs. “I'll tell you more when I get home tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow?” Alfred looks surprised, which in turn confuses Bruce.

“Do I still have an appointment in Smallville?”

“Have you given up on the idea of being interviewed by Clark Kent, Master Bruce?” The sarcasm in the older man's voice was almost palpable.

“No, I haven't given up. Did you manage to set up the interview?” Bruce runs his hand over his face in frustration.

Wisely, Alfred refrained from answering Bruce's last question, merely letting out a wry laugh, which made the younger man roll his eyes.

“Tomorrow, at 11, an hour and a half before your flight back to Gotham. School library. He'll interview you for ten minutes. Use that time well, kid.” The man said, making Bruce blush slightly with his last sentence. “From what I've researched, he seems like a good guy. My money's on him. Good luck.”

Bruce just muttered an ironic thank you before ending the call to the sound of the other man's laughter.

With a long sigh, he gripped the steering wheel, accelerating down the pleasantly empty road. Before, he had been anxious about the strange and worrying conversation he had had with Lex Luthor, but now he was anxious about the conversation he would have the next day with Clark Kent, who not only seemed to have a deep dislike and scorn for him, but also seemed like he would eat him alive with his words.

He could hardly wait.

⋘ ─── ʚ ☼ ɞ ╳ ☾ ╳ ʚ ☼ ɞ ─── ⋙

When Clark was called to the principal's office after class, his anxious mind raced through a million reasons why he had been summoned. He could say with certainty that the “opportunity” to interview the famous businessman Bruce Wayne was not one of them. But he had to agree with the principal, it would be a great start to his college application.

But it wasn't as if he was particularly looking forward to it.

His interview with Bruce Wayne was scheduled for 11 a.m., which meant he had to skip chemistry class, and for that he might thank the businessman. But even though the appointment was only scheduled for that time, Principal Jones had taken him out of class an hour early so he could get organized and set up the interview location. So when the clock struck 11, everything was ready and organized, just waiting for the guest of honor, who walked through the library doors with British punctuality.

The prepared room is quiet in a way that calms Clark completely. Principal Jones has reserved a table for the two of them at the back of the library.

“Mr. Wayne,” Clark greets him with a quick handshake before bringing his fingers to his glasses to adjust them.

“Mr. Kent.” For some unknown reason, Bruce's heart skipped a beat, which Clark could hear. “I'm glad you agreed to do this interview.”

“And I was intrigued as to why a billionaire would give an interview to a high school student,” Clark replied, leading him to the table and indicating where he could sit, sitting down directly across from him.

“Still under the impression that I came to your beautiful city to teach students that empathy is useless?” Bruce smiled gallantly, making Clark roll his eyes, even as he tried to hold back a smile.

“I'm not sure, but I came prepared for that.” His words made the older man laugh softly, causing Clark to feel his cheeks flush.

“That's good.” Bruce leaned back in his chair in such a relaxed manner that Clark forgot for a second who he was and how much power he had. “Never enter a field without knowing if it's mined or not.”

“And you consider yourself a minefield, Mr. Wayne?” Clark said sharply, picking up his notebook and a small voice recorder.

“We're all minefields, Mr. Kent.” The older man approaches the table, analyzing Clark in a way that makes him feel annoyingly hot. “Call me Bruce. Mr. Wayne was my father, and I fight every day to try to measure up to him.”

Clark would never admit it, but those words hit him hard.

“I think we can begin then, Bruce.”

Clark felt and heard more than he saw when the older man's heart raced again and a slight tremor ran through his body

. “We have ten minutes,” the blond man said in a low voice. “Use it as you wish.”

“What brought you here?” Clark began, jotting down the information in his notebook. “Smallville isn't exactly on your business and investment radar.”

“You're right! Smallville isn't really on my investment radar,” Bruce said. “But I was invited to a business meeting that piqued my interest, so here I am.”

“And did your meeting have anything to do with the Luthor family?” Clark felt extremely satisfied when he saw Bruce's eyes widen.

“I'd like to know how you know that.”

“I have my sources,” Clark smiles small.

“And your source, by any chance, would be Lex Luthor's younger sister?” Bruce says with amusement, crossing his arms on the table, smiling in response to Clark's smile. “You believe in coincidences, Clark Kent?”

“No,” the brunette replied simply, imitating the other man's pose and crossing his arms on the table. “My father taught me from an early age that coincidences are either disguised intentions or the work of chance.”

Bruce physically moved away from the table in a way that revealed he hadn't expected that answer from Clark.

“Is your visit to Smallville related to LexCorp's interest in buying properties that have Thallium reserves?” the dark-haired man asked, also moving away from the table and crossing his legs as he wrote. “One of Wayne Enterprises' divisions is doing research with Thallium for a cure for cancer, or at least that's what I've been able to find out.” Is that why you're interested in meeting with Lex Luthor?

“Those are two very interesting questions you have there,” Bruce said, also crossing his legs. “Did you do your homework before coming here?”

“Any self-respecting journalist does research on their interviewee,” he said. “Even if it's just an interview for the school newspaper.”

“But this isn't just an interview for the school newspaper,” Bruce says, making Clark look up from his notebook and back at the businessman. “I've also done a little research on you, Clark. You're talented. And I know this interview could be your ticket to college.”

“Thank you,” Clark blushes at the compliment. “But I think you're avoiding my question.”

“Yes. The reason I visited Smallville was to meet with Lex Luthor to discuss Thalium, but it wasn't very productive.” Bruce sighs loudly. “But in the end, I think I found another reason to want to return to Smallville.”

Clark rolls his eyes and blushes nervously at the mischievous gleam in the older man's eyes.

“Our time is running out, Clark.” The blond says quietly, approaching the table again. “Surprise me with your last question.”

“All right,” the brunet nods, returning to his writing quickly. “Thallium is still a new and recent discovery, and scientists are still trying to figure out everything it's capable of doing.”

But we already know some of its worst uses, such as in bomb cores, weapons manufacturing, and that it can even be used in combination with drugs.

“Continue,” Bruce says with a smile. “I like where this is going.”

“I see a lot of businessmen using or wanting to use thallium for the worst possible reasons, but not you.” The dark-haired man continues. “You maintain a cocky playboy persona, a bad boy who breaks the law just because he can and insists on showing the world that you don't care about anything but yourself. But my research has revealed much more to me.”

“You researched me, Clark Kent?” The way the blond said his name sent a shiver down his spine in the best possible way.

“I did my homework,” Bruce laughs at the response. "Since you took over Wayne Enterprise, you've continued your father's projects aimed at helping those in need, as well as creating an NGO to help vulnerable children and even a division within your own company for social work.

And now you've given Wayne Biotech the green light to conduct research on thallium to help cure cancer, even though you know this subject is taboo among pharmaceutical company owners.“

”Where are you going with this?" The blond man now looked uncomfortable, having truths thrown in his face

“Why are you hiding, Bruce?” Clark could hear the way the other man swallowed and saw how he put his hands under the table to dry the sweat. “Why keep up a mask of arrogance, conceit, and pettiness when that's not who you are? Why do you want to change the world when you make the world think it should be at your feet?”

For a few seconds that seemed like hours, the two just stared at each other, and for the first time, Clark saw something in the other's eyes that he hadn't noticed in their other interactions or throughout this entire “interview.” Bruce leaned forward again. There was something extremely human in his eyes. Curiosity. Interest. Doubt. And an uncertainty mixed with vulnerability that made Clark eager to uncover all the secrets that man was hiding.

“Do you read printed newspapers, Clark?” That seemingly random question took the brunette by surprise, causing him to tilt his head slightly to the side.

“Every day. From cover to cover. Whether they're regional or not,” he replied simply.

“Then you know that good deeds don't usually make the front page, or the following pages. Good intentions usually get a tiny box on a random, unimportant page,” the blond continued. “The front pages are reserved for tragedies, politics, sports, and gossip, because those are the things people want to see. Remember what I said yesterday in the lecture?”

With his attention completely focused on what Bruce was saying, Clark just nodded in agreement.

“I said that being the human at the top of the world is like stepping into a shark tank. And I think I can add to that by saying that to survive in that shark tank, you have to learn to pretend to be one of them.”

“I learned from my father that our good deeds are either ignored and ridiculed or seen as a challenge to those who believe they are in charge. And I learned from my father, and after he died I continued to learn from Alfred, that the best way to change the world is to not let the world know you're changing it.”

Clark simply stopped and absorbed what he had just heard.

Like a glacier in the midst of global warming, Clark saw everything he thought he knew about Bruce Wayne melt right before his eyes. And that enchanted him.

“You asked me to surprise you with my last question, but I think in the end I was the one who was surprised,” Clark lowers his head to hide the smile that appeared on his face.

“Do you still think I'm arrogant, petty, and pretentious?” The smile Bruce gave him could only be described as a genuine roguish grin.

“A little,” Clark replied, putting away his notebook and tape recorder. “But now I know you're not what you show the world, or what the world thinks you are.”

“But I already feel better knowing that I've managed to change the way you see me!” Bruce said in a low voice.

“And why are you so sure of that?” Clark smiled as he replied in the same tone of voice as the older man.

“Because before, you looked at me as if you despised me and saw nothing but a spoiled rich kid,” the blond replied, looking at Clark in such an intimate way that it almost made him tremble. “But now I can even venture to say that you've started to like me.”

“Yeah. Maybe you're right.” Clark moved away from the table, trying to recover from the hypnotic effect the older man had on him. “But I still think you're a spoiled rich kid... Most of the time. But you're partly right.”

“And that means I could have your number?” Clark chokes on the sudden question. “In case you become a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, I can brag about being one of your first interviewees.”

Unable to react, Clark just laughed while Bruce watched him with a smile.

“I'll take that as a yes?” There was a hint of hope in Bruce's voice as he looked at Clark, who was still recovering from his laughing fit.

“Give me your phone,” Clark says with a smile.

Without wasting any time, Bruce takes out his phone, unlocks it, and places it in Clark's hand, who quickly clicks on it before returning the device to Bruce.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Bruce,” Clark said, getting up and walking toward the library exit without giving the other a chance to respond, but not before seeing the silly smile that graced the businessman's face.

The brunette was already a few feet away from the library door when his own cell phone beeped with a message.

Clark, already knowing who the message was from, leaned against the wall as he unlocked his phone and read the words that Bruce Wayne himself had sent him.

“It was a greater pleasure for me to let you get to know me.

Now I hope you'll let me get to know you.”