The rest of lunch passed peacefully. Bruce had accomplished two goals. First, he'd proven to Clark that he was willing to stand up for him, building trust and loyalty. Second, he'd positioned himself as confident and fearless in front of the Smallville students, establishing his reputation.
After lunch came gym class. Bruce changed into athletic clothes and joined the others in the gymnasium. Today's activity: basketball.
Teams were picked. Bruce ended up on the same team as Clark, which was perfect for observation purposes. Pete was also on their team, along with a few other students.
Whitney, of course, was on the opposing team.
"This should be interesting," Pete muttered as they took the court. "Whitney plays basketball like it's a contact sport."
The game started. Bruce hung back initially, watching how everyone played. Whitney was aggressive, physical, using his size to dominate. His teammates fed him the ball constantly, letting him rack up points.
Clark, by contrast, barely participated. He moved through the motions, but Bruce could see him holding back constantly. When he had the ball, his passes were gentle. When he went for rebounds, he pulled his jumps short. When someone crashed into him, he let himself be pushed around despite clearly being strong enough to hold position.
'He's terrified of revealing his strength,' Bruce thought. 'So he underperforms at everything physical. No wonder people think he's uncoordinated.'
Ten minutes into the game, Whitney drove toward the basket. Clark was in his way, playing defense because he had to.
Whitney lowered his shoulder and plowed into Clark at full speed.
Thud!
The impact would have sent a normal person flying. Clark didn't budge. Whitney bounced off him like he'd run into a brick wall and went sprawling.
The whistle blew. The gym teacher called a foul on Clark.
"Charging," the teacher said. "Whitney's ball."
"What? I was just standing there!" Clark protested.
"You didn't establish position. That's a charge. Play on."
Clark's face flushed with frustration. Bruce could see him fighting the urge to argue more.
Whitney got up, grimacing and rubbing his shoulder. He glared at Clark. "Nice cheap shot, Kent."
"I didn't move," Clark said. "You ran into me."
"Whatever. Just stay out of my way."
The game continued. Whitney made sure to target Clark every chance he got. Body checks, elbows, "accidental" collisions. All of it technically legal enough that the gym teacher didn't call fouls, but clearly meant to hurt or intimidate.
Clark endured it all, never fighting back, never using his strength to defend himself.
Bruce had seen enough.
Next time Whitney had the ball and drove toward the basket, Bruce stepped into his path. Perfect defensive position, hands up, feet planted.
Whitney tried to force through him anyway.
Wham!
Bruce held his ground. Whitney bounced off and lost the ball. Bruce scooped it up, passed to Pete, who scored an easy layup.
Whitney was on the floor again, breathing hard. He looked up at Bruce with pure hatred.
"You're going to regret that, Gotham boy."
"I don't think so," Bruce said, offering a hand to help him up.
Whitney ignored the hand and stood on his own. "This isn't over."
"It never is with guys like you."
The rest of gym class was tense. Whitney kept trying to escalate, but Bruce matched him every time without breaking any rules. Clean defense, solid positioning, smart plays. Everything technically legal but clearly frustrating Whitney to no end.
By the time class ended, Whitney was fuming. Bruce was calm. Clark looked impressed and slightly worried.
In the locker room, as they changed back into regular clothes, Clark spoke quietly.
"You're making an enemy. Whitney doesn't let things go."
"I'm not worried about Whitney," Bruce said.
"He's all bark. The moment someone actually stands up to him, he doesn't know what to do."
"Maybe. But his dad is rich and connected. He can make trouble for you."
"My family has more money and better lawyers." Bruce pulled on his shirt. "Don't worry about me, Clark. I can handle myself."
Clark was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Thank you. For earlier. In the cafeteria and just now. Nobody's ever..."
"Nobody's ever stood up for you?"
"Not like that. Not against Whitney."
"Then they should have," Bruce said simply. "You deserve better than being someone's punching bag."
They left the locker room together. The school day was ending. Gotham students were being loaded back onto buses to head to their host families for the evening.
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