Coach Walt Arnold stood on the field.
His voice tore through the air.
"Aronson! You call that a tackle? My grandmother hits harder! Again!"
Greg Aronson pulled himself off the turf. Sweat dripped. His arms shook.
"Coach, I need a break—"
"Break? You want a break? You want to be a loser? Get back in line!"
The team watched. Silent. Scared.
Greg stumbled back into position. His legs were jelly.
...
Clark sat on the bleachers with Aaron.
They watched practice every day. Clark's eyes followed the ball.
"I want to try out," Clark said.
Aaron looked at him. "What?"
"Football. I want to play."
"You will destroy them."
Clark didn't answer.
"You run faster than cars. You throw tractors. You want to play football with normal kids?"
"I want to do something normal. Just once."
Aaron leaned back. "It is a bad idea."
"Are you going to stop me?"
"No. But I am not joining."
"Is that bad?"
"I will watch. Someone has to."
...
Tryouts happened the next day.
Clark stood on the field in borrowed cleats. Aaron stood at the sideline. Arms crossed.
Coach Arnold blew his whistle. "Kent! Let's see what you got. Forty-yard dash."
Clark ran.
He held back. He held back so much his muscles hurt from holding.
He still beat everyone by ten yards.
The team stared.
Coach Arnold's eyes widened. "Again."
Same result.
"Passing drill! Gill! You too!"
Aaron shook his head. "No thanks."
"Excuse me?"
"I do not play football."
Arnold's face reddened. "Then get off my field."
Aaron didn't move. "I am not on your field. I am on the sideline."
The whistle shrieked. "Everyone back to work!"
...
Clark threw the football fifty yards. Perfect spiral.
He caught a pass one-handed. Leaped higher than the receiver covering him. Landed clean.
The players whispered.
The coach grinned.
Aaron watched. His face was stone.
...
That night.
Martha set the table. Jonathan opened the paper.
Clark came in. Sweaty. Smiling.
"I made the team."
Jonathan put the paper down. "What team?"
"Football."
The room went cold.
"No."
"Dad—"
"I said no, Clark."
"Why?"
"You know why."
"I held back. I was careful. No one saw anything."
Jonathan stood. "You don't know that. One mistake. One second of losing control. Someone gets hurt. Or worse. The wrong person notices."
"I want one normal thing. Just one."
"This isn't about football."
"Then what is it about?"
Jonathan's voice dropped. "It's about keeping you safe."
...
Clark went to his room. Didn't eat dinner.
Martha went up after him.
Jonathan stood on the porch. Alone.
Aaron walked up the driveway. Saw Jonathan.
"Mr. Kent."
"Aaron."
"He made the team."
"I know."
"I told him it was a bad idea."
...…
...
...
School
Coach Arnold walked into the sauna.
The room was small. Wood-paneled. Rocks hissed with steam.
He sat on the bench. Sweat poured.
The rocks glowed faintly. Green.
Meteor fragments. Small ones. Mixed in with the river stones years ago.
No one knew.
The heat rose. The green glow intensified.
Arnold's skin turned red. Then deeper. His veins bulged.
He screamed.
The glass door cracked. Steam erupted. Flames burst from the rocks.
And Arnold walked out.
Unaffected. Unburned.
Something had changed.
...
Chloe Sullivan sat in the Torch office. Her camera ready.
"You're telling me the coach just... survived an explosion?"
Greg Aronson nodded. Pale. Terrified. "The sauna caught fire. He walked out. No burns. Nothing."
"Did you see this?"
"I saw it."
Chloe typed fast. This was a story.
...
Practice. Next day.
Coach Arnold was different.
His voice was louder. His face tighter.
"You think this is a game? You think any of you have what it takes? None of you deserve to be on this field!"
He grabbed Greg by the shoulder pads. Threw him backward.
"Get up! Get up or you're off the team!"
Greg tried. His ankle twisted. He fell again.
Clark stepped forward.
"Coach. That's enough."
Arnold turned. His eyes flickered. Not normal. Something orange behind them.
"You telling me how to coach, Kent?"
"I'm telling you he's hurt."
Arnold stepped toward Clark. The air around him shimmered.
Clark stood still.
...
Aaron watched from the sideline.
He saw the shimmer. The heat distortion.
" Well, new target, i think.. this coach life is in danger "
...
Lana quit cheerleading that afternoon.
"I can't do this anymore."
The squad stared at her. The coach started arguing.
She walked out. Didn't look back.
...
Two nights later. Chloe's car was on fire.
She stood outside the school. Shaking. Her camera melted.
"I was following leads on Arnold. Someone torched my car."
"Someone?" Clark asked.
"The coach. I know it.he survive the explosion"
" Chloe, you got to you home, i will talk to coach!"
Clark and aaron walking towards coach house.
"I quit the team."
Clark's voice broke.
"Clark?"
"He's right. My dad. Aaron. Everyone. I can't compete fairly. I can't be normal. Not really."
Aaron said nothing.
"It was fun. Just for a little bit. Being like everyone else."
"I know.". Aaron patted on clark shoulder.
As they reached coach house, clark told coah he wanted to quit the team.
After long discussion, clark come out the house.
After leaving the place, some shadow followed then until they reach isolate place.
The coach found them near the forest.
His skin was cracked. Red lines glowed underneath. Heat waves rose from his body.
"You think you can destroy me? You think a few rules matter?"
Aaron stepped forward. "Clark. Stay back."
"Winning is everything!" Arnold screamed. Fire erupted from his hands. Trees ignited.
Clark moved.
He punched the burning trees. One hit each. The flames died. Wood splintered.
Aaron closed the distance.
...
His fist hit Arnold's jaw.
The coach staggered. Threw fire. Aaron ducked under it. Drove an elbow into his ribs. Arnold wheezed. Swung wild. Aaron caught the arm. Twisted. Dropped him to his knees.
Finally. Arnold was helpless.
Aaron raised his hand. The serpent spirit opened its eyes.
He was going to finish it.
Clark grabbed his wrist.
"What are you doing?"
"He needs to die," Aaron said. Voice flat. "If it was someone else, that person would be dead by now."
"Aaron. You will become a murderer."
"For the greater good. His blood cells are fused with meteorite radiation. Even if I take his mutant blood, he will die after losing it. There is no cure."
"Aaron—"
"He is already dead. He just doesn't know it."
...
Clark didn't let go.
Aaron looked at him. The serpent was ready. The vampire blood was cold. The killing intent was old. Trained.
But Clark's hand was steady.
"Aaron. Please."
...
Aaron exhaled. The killing intent faded.
The serpent closed its mouth.
He stepped back. Lowered his hand.
"Fine."
Arnold screamed.
The fire inside him boiled over. His skin cracked open. Light poured out. Not mutant light. Death light.
He had delayed too long. The meteor energy had fused too deep. His blood was fire now. His body couldn't hold it.
The flames consumed him from within.
He fell.
Silence.
...
The sun was rising. Smoke rose from the forest. Small fires crackled.
Clark sat on a fallen log. Head in his hands.
Aaron stood nearby. Arms crossed.
"He was already gone," Aaron said.
"I know."
Aaron said nothing, he
"Thank you. For stopping."
Aaron looked at the smoking ground. "Don't thank me yet. There will be more like him."
"Then we face them. Together."
Aaron almost smiled. "Together."
...
Lex sat in his office. Newspaper clippings on his desk.
Fires at the school. Mysterious deaths. Football coach consumed by freak accident.
And Clark Kent. Always near the strange. Always surviving.
Lex circled Clark's name in red ink.
" Clark what are you and what's your connection with meteorite shower? "
...…
Night time, Two letters sat on Aaron's desk.
Mr. Aldridge had forwarded them from the old mansion. One pink envelope. One cream-colored. Both addressed in careful handwriting.
Aaron opened the pink one first.
...
Hello, lovely Aaron.
How are you? Are you alright?
Did you miss me?
You didn't send me a letter.
I am doing alright. I miss you a lot.
Pamela
...
Aaron read it twice.
Short. Simple. But the words held weight.
He opened the second letter.
...
Yo!! Aaron
What's going on? No letter. No phone call.
Call me bro.
728-**
Bruce
...
Aaron picked up the phone.
He dialed Pamela's number first.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
A man's voice answered. Rough. Tired.
"Hi. Who is it?"
"Hello. Is Pamela there? I am Aaron. Her classmate."
Silence.
"No. No Pamela here. Don't ever call again."
Click.
Aaron held the phone. Stared at it.
...
He put it down.
Her father. He was sure of it.
Parents divorced. Mother took the money. Father got nothing. Drank. Took it out on whoever called.
That explained the sadness in her eyes. The way she clung to anyone kind.
No wonder she followed him for weeks.
She was looking for someone safe.
...
Aaron looked at the clock.
Late afternoon. Bruce would be home by now.
He dialed the Wayne residence.
One ring. Two.
"Wayne residence. Alfred Pennyworth speaking."
A British voice. Calm. Measured.
"Hello. This is Aaron Gill. Bruce's friend from school. Is he there?"
"One moment, Master Aaron."
The phone was set down. Footsteps. Then a door opening.
"Master Bruce. Your friend. The one you have been talking about."
...
Bruce's voice came on. Slightly out of breath.
"Hi. Aaron?"
"Yeah, Bruce. How's the school?"
"It's good. Quiet without you. Pamela is moping. Harvey and Oliver are still arguing about what you said."
"They need to accept the truth."
Bruce almost laughed. "So. Did your chess get better? Do you still suck?"
A pause.
"Huh! Just because you are good doesn't mean I suck."
"But you do suck, bro. That's why you couldn't win even one game."
"I am improving. Let's have a match when I see you next."
"When will that be?"
"Soon, maybe. Are you coming to Smallville?"
Aaron leaned back. "I made a friend here. Name is Clark. He is a little like you. He defeats me in sports. But never in chess."
"Someone beats you in sports?"
"All the time. He is fast. Very fast."
Bruce was quiet for a moment. "Interesting."
"Well. I will talk to my parents. Maybe I can visit your remote little town."
"It is not remote. It is quiet."
"Same thing."
...
"Aaron." Bruce's voice changed. Serious.
"Yes?"
"Can I ask something personal?"
"Ask."
"Why did you leave the city? The school? Did your parents' company go bankrupt or something? But my father said your company is making high profits. Even increasing capital investment."
Aaron turned toward the window. The fields stretched gold and endless.
"Something happened."
"What?"
"Nothing bad. My mother is researching agriculture. Plant science. She needed an isolated area away from city pollution. That is all."
"Agriculture."
"Yes."
"Your mother. The pharmaceutical researcher. Is studying agriculture."
"She has many interests."
Bruce said nothing. But the silence was loud.
...
"Aaron."
"Yes?"
"I don't believe you."
"I know."
"But I will come anyway."
"I know that too."
"Good. See you soon, bro."
"See you."
Click.
...
Aaron put the phone down.
The two letters lay on the desk. Pink and cream.
He would write back to Pamela. A real letter. Soon.
But tonight, the sky was changing color. Dark orange. Deep purple.
He stepped onto the porch.
The fields were quiet. The wind was cool.
Bruce was coming to Smallville.
Things would get interesting.