Plan 7

Bruce had been feeling restless lately.

He was well aware that Lex Luthor must be devising a plan against Superman.

Even without reading DC comics, thanks to Clark’s persistent, half-hearted “popular science” explanations, Bruce understood that Luthor was Superman’s destined nemesis.

Moreover, ever since Superman increasingly appeared in the public eye, Luthor’s dangerous remarks in public were practically etched with the words, “I bear ill will toward Superman.”

Despite now possessing Batman’s intellect and having meticulously crafted dozens of countermeasures with the aid of the Super Brain, Bruce could not confidently predict how Clark’s so-called ninth-level intelligence would target Superman.

Would Luthor enlist other supervillains as accomplices? Would he develop anti-Superman armor? Damn it, could he have already found kryptonite?

After all, that fool Clark, just a month into his debut, had openly disclosed to Lois Lane of the Daily Planet that Superman’s weaknesses were red sunlight and kryptonite!

Of course, before making such a decision, Clark remembered to inform his partner—predictably earning a scolding.

“Do you really think you are Superman? Publicly revealing your weaknesses? I can’t believe you actually thought of that!”

Bruce wished he could pry open Clark’s mind to see if it was filled with a few fish swimming around.

Being forcibly dragged by the World Consciousness to play Superman was one thing, but did Clark truly believe himself invincible?

No, even the Man of Steel was clearly not invulnerable.

A normal person would protect their Achilles’ heel carefully, hiding it from all eyes. Yet this guy planned to announce it to the world!

“Clark, I have to warn you.”

Bruce bit his lip and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window of his bedroom, gazing deeply into the distant sky, as if he could see the red-and-blue silhouette soaring across the radiant cityscape of Metropolis next door.

“Although this world is not our true world, and our current bodies are but shells fabricated by the World Consciousness—capable of being offline and resurrected at will, following our script…”

“All of this is under our own arrangement.”

Bruce pulled up the cast list on his mental channel, staring at each name glowing faintly.

Without a doubt, this list included most of the superheroes and villains in this world.

Yet, Lex Luthor’s name was absent.

“This Luthor’s actions are beyond our control. If you die by his hand, you might truly die.”

Silence settled on Clark’s end.

For a moment, no voice echoed in his mind.

Bruce lowered his head, staring at the carpet in his room.

After arriving in this unfamiliar world, for the first time, the nearly incessant noise in his mind seemed to cease.

But that fool shouldn’t think this would make him compromise; he would never gamble with Clark’s life.

As his mind churned in turmoil, a familiar voice rang close by.

“Hey, Bruce, look up!”

A flash of surprise crossed Bruce’s steel-blue eyes. When he lifted his gaze, he saw the familiar intertwining colors of red, blue, and gold.

Superman—no, Clark—was hovering outside the window, wearing his usual dazzling, almost foolishly bright smile.

He tapped the glass lightly. Bruce tilted his head, kryptonite-blue eyes flashing a pleading smile he always wore when contemplating something dangerous with his childhood friend.

“Bruce, aren’t you going to let me in?”

Bruce froze for a second before hastily opening the window.

Once he pulled the other in, he nearly growled, “Didn’t I tell you we have no reason to meet yet? You just ran over like this?”

“Relax, Bruce. I was very careful on my way here. I guarantee even the latest military satellites couldn’t spot me,” Clark said, his beautiful blue eyes blinking innocently.

“Not even Alfred heard a thing. The only one who knows I’m here is you.”

Bruce’s expression stiffened for a moment. For some reason, the anger he felt moments ago had completely drained.

He sighed, rubbing his temples wearily.

Since Luthor first publicly dissed Superman, Bruce had been juggling his familiar daytime duties at Wayne Enterprises and his nighttime patrols, squeezing in time to strategize against Luthor’s moves. He hadn’t had a proper rest in a long while.

“So, why risk so much to come here?”

Unconsciously, Bruce dropped all pretenses before Clark, complaining just as he always did whenever Clark got himself into trouble.

“I just felt some things were better said face to face.”

What Clark was about to say next was difficult, and he nervously tugged at his hair.

He no longer looked like the all-powerful Superman, nor like the lonely god at “sixty years old” depicted in his written persona. Instead, he resembled the slightly inexperienced college student he was before crossing over.

“Besides, I really wanted to see you. We haven’t met in over a month.”

After a small complaint, Clark straightened his expression. His impossibly blue eyes flickered with a blend of nervousness and determination.

This intertwining of emotions made those eyes even more captivating.

Bruce had always thought his childhood friend was an enigma—often overly easygoing and unfazed by others’ teasing, yet terrifyingly stubborn about certain things.

Thinking back on those memories, Bruce’s last trace of anger dissipated.

He listened somewhat helplessly as Clark stumbled through his heartfelt confession.

“Well, Bruce, I know—I’m not really Superman, just an ordinary college student. But since I’m here in this world—though not by my own will—I feel there are some things I have to do…”

“Undeniably, the people here have never had the concept of ‘Superman.’ Even though the World Consciousness has subtly influenced them and altered decades of newspapers to leave traces about Superman, they remain unfamiliar with him.”

Humans always fear what they do not understand. The real Superman active in the DC universe had almost unreservedly revealed everything to dispel this fear—

His origin, his powers, his weaknesses…

The only thing he kept hidden was his identity as an ordinary human. As Superman, he was entirely public.

“Undeniably, this open and straightforward approach is a key reason why he quickly earned humanity’s trust and became a symbol of hope.”

Clark’s expression grew more serious as he spoke, his earlier nervousness vanished.

He straightened his chest—Bruce knew well that whenever Clark felt he was doing the right thing, he took this posture.

“So, I think I should do the same. There’s no reason that Superman, who might face death by being honest, would do it, while I, a counterfeit with guarantees, would be afraid.”

Bruce fixed his gaze on Clark’s resolute face, making the younger man uneasy.

But in the end, Bruce just sighed and patted Clark’s shoulder.

“Fine by me. Just go back quickly. The longer you stay here, the higher the risk of exposure.”

Clark realized this after a moment and happily floated up.

“Bruce!”

He happily drifted out the window but then remembered something and looked back.

“Oh, right. I’ll need you to prepare a new human identity for me. I want to be a reporter at the Daily Planet.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“Isn’t being Superman enough to keep you busy?”

Clark laughed.

“Bruce, you don’t understand. Superman is just an identity; being a young reporter is the soul!”

Watching the blue boy scout drift away, Bruce closed the window softly and muttered, “You’re no counterfeit.”

No matter how you looked at it, compared to Bruce himself—a fake Batman—Clark was the very image of Superman.

The way he held himself while speaking—though it was already night—he seemed to glow.

Bruce recalled the Metropolis newspapers he had ordered, which called Superman the Son of the Sun, the Man of Tomorrow.

Hmm, he wouldn’t admit it, but a part of him thought there was some truth to that.

In any case, Bruce ultimately accepted Clark’s decision to reveal his weaknesses publicly.

Then he almost went bald from anxiety like Luthor, racing against time daily to gather every piece of kryptonite in the world into his Batcave, while devising dozens of contingency plans if Luthor got hold of kryptonite.

Toward the end, Bruce even prayed for Luthor to make his move soon—at least then he could gauge the enemy’s next step.

He couldn’t keep endlessly fantasizing and planning for events that hadn’t happened yet.

Then, one ordinary afternoon, Luthor finally struck.

Bruce sat at home, watching the news erupting with doubts about Superman, already sensing something was amiss.

Soon after, Oracle Barbara monitored secret footage of Luthor meeting privately with a senator who had just made outrageous statements on TV. She also noticed he had summoned heads of several major newspapers beyond the Daily Planet.

The more Bruce followed Luthor’s actions, the more vigilant he became.

What exactly did this nemesis intend for Clark? Stir public negativity toward Superman, inciting the entire human race to shout “Aliens get off our planet”?

Such tactics might be effective against a benevolent superhero but likely wouldn’t cause real harm.

Until one day, when Bruce, as Batman, arrived at the bay to stop an illicit arms deal, he found a bald man waiting leisurely.

“Batman, I’ve been watching you. I have to admit, you’re truly the pinnacle of human wisdom and strength!”

After this commercial flattery, Luthor’s face grew serious.

“You must know about that alien in Metropolis, right? Can you really tolerate having an alien flying around openly next to Gotham, causing panic?”

Bruce was speechless.

Misinterpreting Bruce’s silence, Luthor pressed on.

“I know you’ve been collecting those little green stones, and I know you’d never just sit by while that alien acts arrogantly on Earth… Why can’t we work together?”

Luthor spread his arms, his expression almost fanatical.

“Batman, with you involved, I think even god-slaying isn’t impossible!”

Bruce was dumbfounded.

Huh?

Me? Fight Clark?

Seriously?