Chapter 438: Metropolis Clouds (Nineteen)

In Clark's guest room, Schiller placed his umbrella beside him, pulled up a chair, and sat down before asking Clark, "How's things at Metropolis University lately?"

"Hmm… actually, it's fine. I just started college this year, and I heard that since the new mayor took office, the university got more funding—and they even replaced the track field's turf."

Clark tried to sit up on the bed, feeling it was slightly impolite to talk while lying down, but Schiller waved a hand, signaling he didn't need to.

The First Cause of the Ten Thousand Realms

Schiller turned to adjust the desk lamp, softening its glow, then looked at Clark and said, "Now that no one else is here, can you tell me how you ended up here?"

"I, I really just…" Looking into Schiller's eyes, Clark suddenly couldn't finish his sentence—he felt the professor had seen through him, yet he didn't know why.

"You don't need to worry, Clark. You're not the only one with special abilities in this world," Schiller sighed gently. "I understand—you don't want to be seen as a monster, you want to live as an ordinary person in an ordinary society. I feel the same."

Clark's lips trembled, but he turned his head away, as if unwilling to discuss it—yet in that instant, he saw a wisp of flame flicker to life on Schiller's hand.

Clark's eyes widened as he stared at Schiller's hand—no mechanical device, yet the flame danced and burned there, brighter than the desk lamp's glow.

"My God! You… you too…" Clark's mouth hung open, unsure how to express his shock. He propped himself up on his arms, sat upright, crossed his legs, and turned fully toward Schiller, fixing his gaze on the flame in his hand.

"That's so cool—are you a wizard?" Clark leaned in close. Schiller saw the pure curiosity on his face and sighed.

Logically, Superman's IQ should be extremely high, yet for some reason, his every move seemed oddly naive—he could fly faster than fighter jets, shoot beams from his eyes, and generate a bio-field, yet seeing someone who could conjure fire still filled him with wonder.

Schiller closed his hand gently; a tendril of smoke rose slowly. Clark reluctantly tore his gaze away, looked up, and asked with hopeful eyes, "What else can you do? Can you fly? Can your eyes shoot beams?"

Schiller shook his head—and in an instant, his figure vanished. Clark froze, then heard a soft sound behind him. He spun around to see Schiller standing right behind him.

Clark rubbed his eyes, twisted his neck, and stared at Schiller. Schiller walked back from behind him, sat down again, and said, "There are many people in this world with all kinds of special abilities. You're not alone."

"As for magic… I don't use magic, but magic does exist. I know a guy who does—it's a bastard, though." After sitting down, Schiller picked up his umbrella from beside him.

Clark noticed faint patterns on the umbrella's surface. Up close, he could see the designs shifting between real and illusory. He leaned in, reached out a hand, then pulled it back—suddenly aware his gesture might seem rude.

"Is this a magical artifact? Why are the patterns moving? They look kind of like… snake skin?"

"It is snake skin," Schiller said, stroking the surface, his fingertips still feeling the cool, scaly texture. "Have you heard of Jormungandr, the World Serpent?"

"Oh, that myth? We analyzed its spread in class—Norse mythology case study."

"This was made from its skin."

Clark's expression froze. He swallowed hard and said, "You mean someone killed Jormungandr and turned its skin into an umbrella? That's… not right…"

"Are you an animal rights activist? Even if you are, your protection probably doesn't extend to mythological serpents."

Clark pressed his lips together, stared at the umbrella for a moment, then looked back at Schiller. "Is your ability innate too?"

Schiller shook his head. "The origin of ability isn't important. What matters is what you choose to do with it."

"That's exactly what I think," Clark said, fully agreeing. "I don't know why I'm different from ordinary people, but I believe I can use this ability well."

"Including winning the long-distance running championship in your department?"

Clark gave an embarrassed smile. "Honestly, until I got into Metropolis University, I still couldn't control it well."

"One day, our photography teacher was showing us the equipment. He noticed I had incredible strength, so he recommended me to the track team. During training, I accidentally ran a bit too fast."

Schiller asked, "... How fast?"

Clark pressed his lips. "Fast enough to break the world record by accident."

"Then my coach happened to see that training. He called me a genius and insisted I enter the long-distance race."

Clark made a pained face. "Before coming here, I was trying to figure out how to get out of it."

"Campus competitions are fine, but if I became a professional athlete and beat all the veterans within a year, it'd be too shocking."

"And…" Clark tapped his chin, hesitating. "Since you have special abilities too… have you ever…?"

"Have you ever felt it's unfair to compete against ordinary people?"

Schiller pulled a medical file from his pocket and kept writing. Between scribbles, he looked up. "Tell me in detail."

Clark stared curiously at the file. Schiller sat up straight. "I forgot to introduce myself—I'm a psychology professor. I taught psychology at Metropolis University, including criminal psychology, and supervised master's and doctoral students."

Clark's eyes widened. He sat up straight. "Oh, sorry, Professor—I didn't mean to be disrespectful. I'm actually quite curious about psychology. I even took an introductory course."

"No problem. Also, I'm a clinical psychologist. So if you want to talk about your troubles, maybe I can help. Just remember—my consultation fee is very high."

"Oh, Professor, you're amazing," Clark grinned cheerfully.

In some ways, Clark's demeanor resembled Spider-Man Peter's—but Peter was more reserved, rarely spoke openly, and outside his suit, looked like a quiet bookworm.

Clark, however, was far more outgoing, radiating energy and warmth—especially when he smiled that signature smile, making people instinctively trust him.

Clark also studied the professor before him. He looked like a textbook academic—his pronunciation and intonation matched those Clark had seen on campus, his diction and grammar slightly affected, yet his tone was deeply reassuring.

Thinking of himself, Clark let out a quiet sigh, his emotions tangled.

Between high school graduation and starting university, many things happened. He'd planned to return home for a relaxing family break—but a sudden blizzard trapped all Metropolis University students in their dorms.

Actually, today's "fire rescue" was just an excuse to get some air. His college life hadn't matched his expectations, and it weighed on him.

Many literary and artistic works describe how people with special abilities live among ordinary society. Clark had read them—but based on his own experience, they felt unrealistic.

A person with superpowers finds it nearly impossible to fully hide their abilities. Clark knew this intimately—when you can lift tons effortlessly, are invulnerable, and fly at will, it's hard not to use those advantages in daily life.

For example, when class was minutes away and traffic was gridlocked, Clark struggled not to fly just a short distance. Flying felt exhilarating—and arriving on time felt great—but afterward, he'd feel a strange guilt, like cheating in a game.

These feelings piled up, with no one to share them with. So tonight, when Schiller revealed he too had special abilities, Clark's sense of understanding wasn't surprising.

Clark gathered his thoughts, then began speaking.

"When I first joined the track team, everyone was friendly. At first, I just did chores—bringing water and towels after training, helping move equipment."

"I didn't mind. I knew new members always did this. They'd say 'good job' and encourage me that I'd soon join training."

"It sounds strange, but that was the happiest time I had in the club."

"So what happened after that?"

Clark sighed, his tone turning complex. "One day, they were practicing the relay. One team member got injured and couldn't run; all substitutes were absent. Only I, the newbie, was left handling equipment."

"An upperclassman came to me and asked me to run the final leg. I didn't think much—I just joined."

"The first few runners fell far behind, so when it was my turn, I got anxious—and then…"

Clark pressed his lips, his expression sad. "I saw the captain of the other team looking upset—they'd been leading, but I passed them on my leg."

"Later, my teammates told me he'd always been the best in the club. His team had never lost."

"I wanted to apologize, but I feared it would make him angrier, so I didn't. Then the next day, he came to me and challenged me to a long-distance race."

"I planned to lose on purpose—but my coach had seen my relay performance. He pulled me aside and urged me to perform well, to bring glory to the school."

"Since the captain had spoken to me rudely, I was annoyed too. So during the race, I ran a bit too fast…"

"And broke the world record?"

"I told them the timer was broken. The other students believed me—but my coach clearly didn't."

Schiller smiled. "After years in the field, even a glance can give you a rough estimate."

Clark sighed deeply. "Since then, everyone on the track team has looked at me a little…"