Chapter 648: The Wonderful Night on the West Coast (Part 1)

Surely some still remember that earlier, Bruce went to Metropolis to investigate a serial murder case, while Clark took his place and began maintaining order in Gotham.

Clark was baffled by the complex web of gang relationships, but he had a natural advantage over the supervillains.

Gangs fought mostly over interests, making it hard to say who was right or wrong—seizing territory was for profit, and profit was for a better life; if Clark wanted to sever this chain, he'd have to rebuild all of Gotham, and he had no such ability.

But most supervillains simply wanted to watch the world burn—no interest in profit or survival; Clark could easily tell right from wrong, and when facing such people, he ignored their ramblings, walked up, and punched them.

During Clark's time maintaining order, nearly all supervillains were subdued—he even faced the Joker, who, after finding Clark unbearably dull, checked himself into Arkham Asylum; Scarecrow Jonathan, who had escaped from Arkham earlier, briefly showed up seeking attention and was now still lying in the hospital.

ahzww.

During his time in Gotham, Clark grew close to Bruce's two children, especially Elsa; Clark adored the adorable little girl.

Perhaps Kryptonians' aesthetics naturally differed from humans', for Clark saw nothing wrong with Elsa and readily accepted Alfred's explanation about heterochromia.

Moreover, he was far better with children than Bruce—whether playing ball with Dick or flying with Elsa, he handled both effortlessly, and both Elsa and Dick loved him.

When Batman returned, Clark naturally no longer needed to maintain order, but after Bruce went to the deserted island worried about the Batplane crashing, Elsa kept insisting she wanted to find her father.

Hearing her call and seeing Alfred's encouraging gaze, along with the already-prepared Batcopter, Clark simply lifted the aircraft and flew straight to the island.

Holding Elsa, Bruce stared at Clark with skepticism and asked, "How did you find this island?"

"Simple. I flew around the Earth a few extra times."

"A few extra times?"

"I flew one full circle along every line of latitude, spotted you on this island, returned to Gotham, picked up the plane and Elsa, then flew here." Clark shrugged, completely unaware how astonishing his words sounded.

Hal covered his eyes—Clark had used brute-force enumeration, but in a way, that made it even more shocking.

With Clark's arrival, Schiller's wilderness survival trip was officially over; it was impossible to make a Kryptonian understand survival—this race simply couldn't be put in hardship.

Clark kicked one foot—a towering tree fell instantly; he cut it with heat vision, turning it into neatly stacked planks; with a wave of his hand, the planks moved on their own, holding hands and dancing with enthusiastic steps to their storage destination.

Bruce pointed at a rock wall; Clark's eyes glowed, his heat vision burned through it, bypassing smelting entirely—solid iron blocks appeared; Bruce sketched the blueprint, Clark grabbed an iron block, squeezed it—his finished product's precision rivaled that of machine tools.

All parts lined up and assembled themselves; soon, a primitive car rolled out fresh; by the time Arthur caught a full bucket of fish, the ship components Schiller requested were already assembled.

When the ship finally launched, Arthur and Oliver were too stunned to react—they felt the world must be insane to have let them witness a miraculous being with heat vision, super strength, and flight.

After the ship was built, the group split into two: Schiller still had vacation days left and didn't plan to return directly to Gotham—he intended to sail north, tour the West Coast after reaching California, then head toward the East Coast.

Clark needed to return to school, so he hurried back to Metropolis; Batman, knowing he couldn't handle Elsa's boundless energy alone, urgently wanted to return to Gotham to seek help from Catwoman and Alfred.

The two boarded the Batplane and flew back to the East Coast at top speed; the rest boarded the ship they'd built and headed toward California by sea.

Unsurprisingly, Schiller got seasick again; Hal stood on deck fishing with Arthur, glanced toward the cabin, and shook his head: "I can't fathom his thinking—he knew he'd get seasick, yet chose to sail back."

"I've met many like him—nothing unusual," Arthur said, holding his fishing rod. "For them, vacation time is too precious, so they try every attraction—even if stepping onto a fishing boat makes them nauseous, they still force themselves to endure it."

"Fishing is just my job, but to them it's a novel amusement; if I had to sit in an office, I might find that novel too," Arthur shrugged.

"You've captured the essence of tourism—what we envy and long for is just someone else's daily life, perhaps already tiresome to them," Hal began reeling in, judging the tautness of the line—this should be a big one.

Arthur glanced back at the cabin and said, "He's probably fine, right? It looks like…"

"Don't worry—even if he's truly unwell, he can just fly back. By the way, where's Oliver? Still resting?" Hal asked.

"Don't mention it—he's seasick too. He's probably resting in another cabin," Arthur replied.

Both sighed and shook their heads, yet secretly rejoiced in their own immunity to seasickness.

Schiller knew he'd get seasick, yet chose to sail back—not to torture himself, but to understand why.

This couldn't be coincidence; with a symbiote, any disease affecting the body had zero probability—it could perfectly regulate every cell.

Two possibilities remained: either the symbiote's adjustment was incomplete, leaving one organ uncontrolled and causing adverse reactions, or this sensation wasn't physical at all.

Schiller lay flat on the cabin bed, closed his eyes, and let the gray mist adjust his body to test which organ caused the seasickness.

The gray mist tested extensively but found no anomaly—Schiller's body was perfectly healthy; all organs governing balance functioned normally under his control, causing no discomfort.

Schiller knew well that though the gray mist was addicted to alcohol, prone to repetition, and occasionally dramatic, it was utterly reliable when doing serious work—if it said no organ was faulty, then none was.

That left only one possibility: this sensation wasn't physiological, but psychological.

Even without entering the Mind Palace, Schiller could use his expertise to eliminate most negative psychological states—he could, at least temporarily, achieve calm, normal mental equilibrium, avoiding fears like thalassophobia, acrophobia, or claustrophobia.

Lying still, Schiller regulated his breathing and began self-hypnosis—he performed it flawlessly, yet the dizziness didn't ease.

Realizing this wouldn't work, Schiller switched tactics—he dissolved into gray mist, and discovered: even in mist form, he still felt seasick.

Then, as gray mist, he flew beneath the ship and forcibly dragged it, eliminating all rocking motion.

Typically, seasickness stems from the ship's rocking—even if Schiller's organs didn't react, psychological suggestion might still trigger it; but if the ship sailed across the sea as smoothly as on ice, with zero rocking, that psychological suggestion should vanish entirely.

But Schiller found it had zero effect—he still felt seasick.

This made him question: was this truly seasickness? Was it even a human-understandable physiological reaction?

At that moment, the ship passed near several islands within sight—close enough for Schiller to dissolve into gray mist and drift over.

The moment he landed on the island's beach, away from the seawater, the strange sensation vanished instantly.

Even if Schiller wasn't a professional surgeon, he knew human physical or mental anomalies couldn't vanish instantly—they required gradual recovery; seasickness was no exception.

Seasick passengers didn't magically recover the instant their feet touched the dock—they typically remained nauseous for hours, often needing to lie in a hotel bed all day before improving.

Yet Schiller confirmed repeatedly: whenever he was on open sea, he felt dizzy; the moment he stepped on land, the sensation vanished immediately.

As Schiller pondered, he returned to the ship; seeing him, Arthur and Hal waved from the dining table; Schiller sat down, distracted.

He was merely thinking about what was happening, but Hal and Arthur assumed he was still seasick; Arthur volunteered: "Let me choose calmer currents, then use water propulsion to speed up—we'll reach our destination faster."

Hal said he wasn't worried about Schiller, but seeing his distracted state, he frowned: "Are you sure you're okay? I've never seen you this bad."

"I'm just thinking about why I get seasick," Schiller picked up a sandwich, took a bite, and said.

"No reason—it's just how some people are. Some get sick from the smell of seawater, some from the rocking, others are just naturally prone to seasickness," Arthur bit into his tuna sandwich.

"I've blocked my sense of smell, blocked my vision, reduced the rocking, even performed repeated psychological suggestions—but the sensation persists. I believe it's not physical—it's tied to the soul," Schiller tapped his temple.

"Seasickness tied to the soul?" Hal picked up a lettuce leaf from the salad, chewed, and said: "You've spent too much time with Constantine—you're dragging everything back to the soul."

Mentioning Constantine gave Schiller an idea; he stroked his chin and asked Arthur: "Where's our first stop? Haibincheng?"

"Right. According to our planned route, we're heading to Haibincheng, then Star City, cross Kansas, proceed to Central City and Keystone City, then return to Gotham…"

"No—change the route. We're going to Los Angeles."