Days as a Spiritual Mentor in American Comics-Chapter 4403 - 3493: Research on Cats and Dogs (4)

"Why are you holding onto it?"

"Holding onto what?"

The hand clad in red metal armor yanked away the black tablecloth covering the round table, revealing the massive Justice League emblem. In the center of the emblem, however, was a long deep crack, symbolic of the unbridgeable rift between the two figures standing before it.

"Hmm, I forgot this was even here." The shadowy figure feigned a nonchalant smile and turned to leave, leaving only the red-and-blue silhouette behind, standing alone by the table.

The person standing at the table had no idea that his gaze lingered on the emblem for dozens of seconds. During this time, there was no expression of hatred or disgust—only a flood of nostalgia and solitude, enough to engulf the entire room.

He didn't resemble any other Superman. He wasn't dressed in spandex, but rather wore a set of metal armor with fabric as soft as spandex. His chest, arms, and waist were all covered in hard metallic material.

Most noticeably, his neck and upper nape were also sheathed in blue metal armor, which extended upward to wrap around his jaw and part of the back of his head.

This gave him an appearance unlike the confident and unguarded aura typical of other Supermen. Instead, it added an air of vigilance and wariness, making him seem colder and less approachable.

Injustice Superman, Clark Kent—or rather, the last Kryptonian, Carl Ai'er—lifted his gaze, revealing pale blue eyes that resembled a sky where clouds lingered, threatening to disperse yet reluctant to leave.

—From NetherRealm Studio's 2017 game *Injustice 2.*

An ostensibly gentler yet crueler Injustice Superman.

In the storyline of its predecessor, Superman and Batman had already become irreconcilable enemies.

Yet life is unpredictable. When Brainiac, the destroyer of Superman's home world, returned with force, Batman realized he'd need Superman's help to combat this formidable behind-the-scenes manipulator.

And so, the two set aside their conflict temporarily, choosing instead to sit and talk. After the Justice League's remaining superheroes had gathered, everyone tacitly left the room, leaving Batman and Superman to stand silently before the former Justice League's conference table.

Who would reminisce about the past in a moment like this? Likely it was Batman. So why was it Carl Ai'er, an alien through and through, who lingered by the table in the end?

As his gaze shifted away from the Justice League emblem, countless images flashed through Superman's mind. The blinding light that made him shut his eyes reminded him of the sunlight in Kansas. When the white light before him faded, he found himself in a blank, snowy-white mysterious space.

"Welcome to Battleworld."

The dull thud of boots striking a metal floor reverberated heavier than an unbroken crescendo of gunfire. In the room, Batman's voice was soon followed by Wonder Woman's.

As Superman stood at the doorway, people turned to glance at him. He threw a sharp look at everyone except Batman, effectively communicating: "Get out."

Once everyone had left, the room was reduced to just Superman and Batman. Batman obviously hadn't anticipated Superman seeking him out under these circumstances. After all, only days ago, they had been mortal enemies, intent on killing each other. If not for the looming existential threat, there was no way they'd share the same air, let alone the same room.

"You got the invitation," Superman said.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Batman replied, as stoic as ever.

"Cut the crap," Superman's irritation became evident. "Opening that invitation will be far more useful than dusting off some ancient relic in your warehouse."

"You think that will help us defeat Brainiac?"

"It's not more useful than I am. So... you'll listen to me." Superman softened his final words, exuding confidence.

"If only things always worked out the way you wanted," Batman said as he brushed past Superman.

"They will," Superman replied, his expression a mask of indifference.

Not every universe is perpetually under existential threat, suffocatingly grim and heavy-hearted.

Despite Batman's unending string of responsibilities, there were still rare moments when, at the end of a grueling day, he could throw himself onto the couch with abandon, breathe in the aroma of pancakes wafting from the kitchen, and exhale a long, contented sigh.

Suddenly, Bruce sat bolt upright, calling toward the kitchen, "Did I mention I'm watching a variety show tonight with Clark and Diana?"

"You're referring to the *Pudding Costume Show*, correct?"

"Right. It airs Wednesdays, doesn't it?"

"Apologies, sir. It's on Thursdays."

Bruce had just breathed a sigh of relief when Alfred added, "And today is Thursday."

Bruce hurriedly slipped on his slippers, rushed to the TV, turned it on, adjusted the channel, and hastily pulled Clark and Diana into the same video group chat.

"Good heavens, I thought for sure you'd bail again," Diana teased, braiding her hair on camera. "Our dear workaholic Wayne conveniently always has 'something urgent' every Thursday."

"That's not fair, Diana. Most of the time, it's not intentional," Bruce laughed weakly.

"Oh, sure. And yet, somehow, Gotham always coincidentally has a crime that only you can handle whenever the channel's airing shows you dislike," Clark quipped, glancing up from his laptop. "Or your Robins mysteriously cause havoc that takes exactly an hour and twenty minutes to resolve."

"That Steven guy's art critique show is painfully boring," Bruce shrugged. "Only you two seem to enjoy it. My whole family can't stand it."

"Alright, alright, let's drop it. The show's about to start," Diana said, pulling a bag of snacks from under the table.

"How sneaky, Diana!" the two men cried out in unison. Moments later, Bruce turned right to accept a plate of pancakes from Alfred, while Clark took a cup of tea from Lois.

Just as Bruce was drizzling syrup over his pancakes, the manor's front door slammed open, and three disheveled figures tumbled inside.

"Watch it! I'm holding a box here!"

"You're the one who dashed out first! No wonder we spilled parts everywhere. Help me pick this up, or we'll never finish assembling it!"

"Dick's waiting for us upstairs. Hurry up!"

Bruce turned to see Jason lugging several large boxes, Tim shoving him from behind, and Damian clutching an armful of jumbled Lego pieces.

"Your kids sure came back early," Diana remarked, chewing her snack.

"Ever since Jason returned from that Minifigure world, he's been obsessed with Legos. Just ignore them—the show's about to begin... Clark! Clark!"

Bruce grumbled at Clark, who vanished from the screen for a moment, but the bespectacled reporter quickly returned.

"Sorry, I was checking Battleworld updates," Clark said, sipping his tea. "I'm planning to join some gameplay soon. What about you two?"

"Sorry, I'm out. Work's been busy," Diana shrugged. "But, of course, you should take this as me intentionally giving you both a chance."

"As if I need that," Bruce chimed in. "I'll be everyone's go-to player. I already know. Incidentally, I'm free."

"Is Dick feeling better?" Clark asked.

"Much better, especially after learning all his ice cream went to Jason. He recovered at peak human speed."

"Alright then, it's settled," Clark said. "Next Wednesday, I'll meet you in Battleworld."

"Picked a dungeon yet?"

"No choice. It's random," Clark sighed. "Whatever I draw is what I'll tackle."

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"Why not ask me?"

"Don't joke, Bruce. I already know your luck. It's worse than mine."

"Don't be so sure about that," Bruce smirked, pulling up the Battleworld interface. He began counting his points and draws, rubbing his hands together as he opened the roulette screen.

Half an hour later, Bruce was sprawled hopelessly across the sofa.

"Didn't you love this show?" Diana asked. "The costume performances were great tonight. But you look... kind of... dead."

"I bet he was gambling," Clark remarked, pushing aside his earphone cord. "Trying to prove his luck is better when, really..."

"At least I won a dungeon!" Bruce retorted, frustrated. "And it looks promising. The Superman and Batman there are young—we could probably mentor them!"

"Let's hope so," Clark removed his earphones and said. "Pray they're nothing like us when we were younger."

"What was wrong with us?" Bruce protested.

"We were nothing like this." At a glance down an alleyway, Bruce elbowed Clark. "See those two?"

Clark opened his mouth, then closed it again before saying, "Even if you kept me awake flying around your estate at night, I'd never treat you like that."

"Sure, you'd just bomb all the trivia questions on game shows to torture me instead," Bruce scoffed.

Meanwhile, the local Clark froze upon noticing others in the alley, though it was already too late—Bruce lay bruised beneath him, unconscious on the ground.

Eyes wide, an unwelcome observation crept up: there was no chance the newcomers weren't from another world. Yet fate clearly enjoyed mischief, for fate had sent not one Batman and Superman, but two.

"Let him go," growled the armored Batman.

Clark glanced at him—or more accurately, at the companion beside him. His gaze narrowed at the metallic gleam rippling through the other Superman's red-and-blue uniform. Unease clawed at his mind.

The two figures advanced, but Clark's voice dropped ominously: "Stop."

The chill in his tone froze all four in place—both pairs hesitated.

"Looks like our luck ran out," the unfamiliar Superman whispered to his Batman. "Another evil duo."

"Let's stay out of it for now," Batman advised. "Fighting them in the city's not an option. If they start trouble, we need to protect innocent lives."

"Agreed—but I doubt they'll fight. Surely even villains..."

Sssss—!!!

Clark's heat vision burst forth, forcing both pairs to scatter. One Batman yanked his Superman aside just as the heat seared the space they'd occupied.

The expressions on the forward duo's faces were utterly bewildered. Batman's darted between Superman, Clark, and the other Superman, his gaze practically shouting: *Which one of you is the villain?*

Clark didn't hesitate. Still radiating heat vision, he scooped up Bruce and soared into the sky. His glowing pupils warned them all to stay put.

Convinced neither party would pursue, Clark flew off with Bruce in tow, leaving the others grounded and on edge.

"Follow him," the other Superman commanded, leaping after him without looking back at Batman.