The atmosphere in the living room was far too awkward. Little Superman could not stand there any longer either. He glanced at his parents, then turned and headed for the basement where he lived, leaving only one sentence behind:
"I already ate outside. I'm going back to my room first."
As he hurried away, Su Ming could hear the sound of relief behind him. The couple was clearly glad they had narrowly escaped disaster.
Entering the basement, Deathstroke revealed himself and closed the door behind him. Little Superman reached out to turn on the lights, gesturing for the man to sit wherever he liked.
Clark normally lived in the basement. Near the top of one wall was a tiny window that let in a little light, though clearly not much. It felt rather like a prison cell.
Still, the furnishings and arrangement were quite nice. There was a bed made from excellent wood, along with many bookshelves packed with comic books and superhero figurines. It was the ideal fortress for a comic geek.
"Ugh, honestly, Deathstroke, you saw it too. With them acting like this, what am I supposed to do?"
Somewhat distressed, Little Superman fished a delivery package out from under his bed, casually tore open the wrapping, took out the figurine inside, and looked for a place for it on the shelf.
"They look at me like I'm some kind of monster now. I can't communicate with them at all."
"I did notice something." Su Ming took out a cigarette and gestured with it. Only after receiving the room owner's permission did he light it. "Your mother isn't Martha, and your father isn't Jonathan. Neither of them looks anything like the two from Earth-0."
"Yes and no. When I was little—before I awakened my superpowers—I thought it was