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Superman In A Romance Anime: Chapter 20: Cursed With A Conscience
🕑 Added 2025-05-17 00:12:06 +0000 UTC[Third Person's PoV]
Clark sat in a heavily reinforced, metal-lined room, isolated from the rest of the facility. Harsh fluorescent lights buzzed quietly overhead, casting cold shadows along the walls. His wrists were handcuffed to a steel table that looked like it hadn’t moved in years, while his ankles were secured to the legs of the chair—bolted firmly to the concrete floor. Every element of the room screamed caution, containment, and fear.
Across from him sat Sayori, her fingers interlocked and resting calmly on the table. Her expression was composed, yet intense—eyes locked on him like a predator waiting for movement. Behind the mirrored glass panel, hidden from view but not from Clark's senses, military personnel and a stern-looking General observed in silence.
Clark raised a brow and smirked, his tone casual, almost amused. “So... they decided to make you the sacrificial lamb, huh?”
Sayori didn’t flinch. “Is that how you see me? Someone who needs to be offered up... to you?”
He chuckled, leaning back as far as his restraints would allow. “Not quite. But it’s clear they’re scared—nervous about what I might do. I’m an unknown factor. Dangerous. So naturally, someone has to be sent in first. Someone who can absorb the worst-case scenario if things go south. Someone expendable.”
Sayori’s eyes narrowed slightly, her calm demeanor unwavering. “And what makes you think we’re afraid? You’re just one person. Who’s to say you're even the first alien or anomaly we’ve dealt with?”
Clark tilted his head and focused for a moment. He listened—specifically to her heartbeat. Steady. Unshaken. He smiled faintly.
“I see. So you’re not surprised. You’ve already encountered the supernatural. That explains the composure... and the confidence.”
He turned his gaze toward the mirrored wall, piercing through it effortlessly. “And I suppose the priest standing just beyond this wall is part of that confidence boost.”
Behind the panel, the black-haired priest visibly tensed as Clark locked eyes with him. The man took a nervous step back.
The General turned toward him with a scowl. “I thought you said he wouldn’t be able to see us through the mirror.”
The technician glanced at his equipment with confusion but said nothing. The General didn’t wait. He grabbed the nearby radio and gave a single command:
“Proceed with the questioning.”
Sayori pressed her earpiece and gave a subtle nod. Her voice was clear, professional. “For the record, please state your name, age, height, and weight.”
Clark responded calmly, not missing a beat. “As I’ve said before—my name is Kal-El. My age is classified. My height is 192 centimeters, or 6-foot-3. My weight is 215 pounds.”
Sayori raised an eyebrow. “Classified? Why withhold your age?”
Clark shrugged lightly. “Let’s just say I prefer to keep my private life separate from my... public responsibilities. You should be satisfied with what I’ve given you.”
“You want privacy, yet you shared your name. Kal-El. Is that even your real name, or another lie meant to confuse us?” she asked, tone probing.
Clark exhaled, looking a little bored. “As I’ve said before—Kal-El is my birth name. It’s the name given to me by my parents before I was sent here.”
Sayori leaned forward slightly, her curiosity piqued. “I see. So Kal-El is your name on your home planet. I assume you adopted an Earth name during your time here? Would you be willing to share that with us?”
Clark let out a dry laugh. “What do you think?”
Sayori gave a casual shrug. “Can’t blame a girl for trying. Now, let’s talk more about your planet. Should we expect more visitors like you to start arriving—people with abilities that defy our understanding of physics?”
Clark’s expression softened, if only slightly. “Not likely. I’m known as the Last Son of Krypton. The planet... no longer exists.”
Sayori’s gaze grew solemn. “What happened?”
Clark’s eyes drifted to the table, lost in memory. “Krypton was on the brink of collapse. My people had long ignored the warnings—plundering the planet’s core for energy until it became unstable. My birth occurred in the middle of that crisis. In their final moments, my parents placed me in a ship and sent me away. My earliest memory... is looking back and watching my world break apart. Shattered. Gone.”
Sayori’s lips tightened, the moment heavy with silent empathy. “I’m... sorry for your loss.”
Clark met her eyes again and gave a faint smile—one filled with acceptance. “Don’t be. I made a life here.”
“Alright then,” Sayori began, folding her hands once more, “can you tell me why you decided to do what you do? Why did you suddenly put on a suit and cape, proudly display that giant ‘S’ on your chest, and start saving people?”
Clark leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable. “First off, it’s not an ‘S’,” he corrected, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of weariness. “It’s the crest of the House of El. Where I come from, it’s a symbol. It stands for hope.”
He paused, briefly grimacing as if the words themselves left a bitter taste. ‘Goddamn it,” he thought, ‘I'm starting to sound just like him. If I start giving full-blown inspirational speeches, I’m telling Sol to put a bullet through my skull.’
He looked back at Sayori, his gaze sharp but not unkind. “As for your question… I do what I do because—unfortunately—I’m one of the few people cursed with something called a conscience. And believe me, that’s more of a burden than a blessing.”
Sayori tilted her head slightly, curiosity glimmering in her eyes. “What do you mean by that? Why would having a conscience ever be a curse? And how does that explain your decision to become this… hero?”
Clark let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, let me paint you a picture. And once I’m done, you tell me how you would react. Deal?”
He didn’t wait for her answer. His voice grew quiet, but it carried a weight that made everyone in the room lean in, listening.
“Let’s say one morning, you wake up... and suddenly, you can hear voices—thousands of them—from practically every corner of the world. Some of them are beautiful. You’d hear the laughter of children playing in parks, the hum of families sharing a warm dinner together, or a parent reading their child a bedtime story, tucking them in with love and safety."
Sayori’s expression was pensive; following Clark's words, however his tone began to darken.
“But that’s not all you hear,” he continued, eyes distant. “You also hear the screams. A woman crying out in a dark alley, begging for mercy. A child hiding under a bed while their father, in a drunken rage, tears through the house looking to hurt someone—anyone, their mother perhaps, maybe their siblings. You hear the wet, sickening sounds of fists against flesh. You hear the panicked sobs of someone who’s lost the only family they had left, most times of a child made orphan. The breaking voice of a father screaming in anguish as he cradles his daughter’s lifeless corpse. And worst of all…”
He trailed off for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper.
“…the raw, soul-shattering scream of a mother who just lost her child. That scream stays with you. It never leaves…Its a scream that doesn't even sounds human anymore”
With every word he spoke, his tone sank lower. The imagery painted by his voice clung to the air like a dense fog. Sayori, for all her previous curiosity, found herself shrinking in place. She felt impossibly small in front of him—before a man who clearly carried the weight of a world most people couldn't even imagine.
Then she saw his eyes.
They weren’t the eyes of a young man. They were old, far too old. The eyes of someone who hadn’t known restful sleep in years—possibly ever. Haunted eyes.
“And it doesn’t stop,” Clark said, his gaze meeting hers again—those eyes far older than his face. “You hear hearts as they stop beating. You hear the final breath of someone dying alone. You hear the prayers to a God who doesn’t answer. The whispered pleas that someone—anyone—might hear them.”
Outside, even those not part of the conversation felt the impact of his words. His voice was low, but it carried. People who overheard swallowed nervously, instinctively placing themselves in the imagined scenarios.
Clark exhaled slowly, as though trying to relieve pressure from a weight pressing down on his soul.
“That’s what I mean when I say a conscience is more of a curse than a gift. It forces you to care. It forces you to feel. It doesn’t let you look away. And so I wear the suit—not because I want to be a symbol—but because someone has to answer those cries. Someone has to show the forgotten, the afraid, the abandoned… that they’re not alone. That someone hears them.”
Clark paused, his voice heavy with the weight of the responsibility he had taken upon himself.
“And that is the curse that I bear alone. The motive behind my actions. Tell me, look me in the eyes, Mrs. Lane, and tell me, could you ignore all those voices if you knew you could do something to finally make them stop?”
Sayori didn't answer, she couldn't even look him in the eyes.
Comments
KingSpy25i .
You fucking bastard.... you finally made me cry for real 😢 I won't thank you for the chapter 😔
ImperialFayMonarch
🥲🥲😭😭😭😭
