At that moment, Clark finally grasped that bolt of lightning. He finally understood what he was angry about.
As a child, he had not gotten angry at his classmates' mockery, because he knew they could never hurt him. The gap in strength between them was too great; they could only show off with their mouths.
He had not gotten angry when the school bus fell into the water, because even if it had fallen into lava, it could not have hurt him.
His coworkers' gossip had no effect on him either. With his strength alone, he could always find a job easily, and the pay and benefits were pretty good too.
And that person who had angered him before—he had calmed down so quickly because he realized how fragile the other person was. He could casually hang the other person's car from a tree. There was no point arguing with someone like that.
But ever since he met Bruce Wayne, the reason he had kept getting angry was this: he had begun encountering things he could not handle.
The first Dungeon they entered had strictly limited strength, turning him into an ordinary person. Forget flying through the sky or burrowing into the earth—even a small ridge less than half a meter high could sprain his ankle if he stepped wrong. He was absurdly fragile.
And yet the enemies in that game were powerful. The evil spirit that killed Bruce was not only incredibly fast, but had claws that were sharp and deadly. An ordinary person like Bruce would die from a single hit.
Clark had to admit that at the instant he saw Bruce die, he had been afraid.
Because he understood that he was no different from Bruce at that moment. They were equally fragile. Bruce could die if