That day, the eyes of the world were fixed on a temporary platform outside United Nations Headquarters.
The Chitauri invasion had barely ended, and the Ruins in New York had yet to be cleared. Now another crisis had arrived. Every major television network in the world interrupted its regular programming and switched to the same live feed.
One hundred and twenty cameras pointed at the center of the platform from different angles, while forty-three communications satellites relayed the signal across all seven continents and four oceans.
More than a dozen drones hovered overhead.
A long table stood at the center of the platform, with a chair on either side. Its mirror-smooth surface reflected the sunlight, glaring white on camera.
Wearing his signature black short-sleeved shirt, Yongye strolled onto the platform from the side with his hands in his pockets.
No suit. No tie. No solemn expression befitting a man about to decide the fate of a war.
He reached the chair on Earth's side of the table but didn't sit down. First, he ran a hand over the tabletop, checked his fingers, and clicked his tongue.
"...They didn't even wipe off the dust."
"You people really can't get anything right. No wonder the whole world gives you hell!"
He waved to a nearby staffer.
"Go get a damp cloth and wipe it down properly!"
"The Kryptonians may be barbaric and crude, but we're civilized. We can't be like them."
The staffer froze for a full two seconds before the world's live cameras, then hurried off to fetch a cloth.
Comments flooded platforms across the globe.
"Whoa, who is this guy?"
"Those are Aliens he's facing!! And he's complaining about a dirty table??"
"He just called the Kryptonians barbarians. Can they still negotiate? The Kryptonians are watching too, right?"
"He's not