147. The High School Crucible. (Patreon)

“Even titans must learn to walk among mortals.”

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The day had come. The day of reckoning.

M’gann was practically glowing, humming as she arranged sandwiches and thermoses in a neat row on the kitchen counter. Each had a little label written in looping green script: Conner, M’gann and a spare marked emergency cookie stash.

“High school!” She sang, tail flicking with excitement. “Can you believe it, Conner? It’s finally happening!”

Conner, sitting rigidly at the table, looked like a soldier about to be deployed. “I still don’t see the point.” He muttered. “I already know every subject they’ll teach. Math, literature, history—”

Batman, who was standing by the zeta platform with arms folded, cut in, “You lack social integration. You need to learn how to be among others. Consider it… field experience.”

Beside him, Martian Manhunter added with a rare smile, “And it will help M’gann too. Blending with humanity isn’t about knowledge. It’s about understanding.”

Conner sighed. “So it’s a mission.”

“If that helps you cope.” Batman replied dryly.

Moments later, M’gann floated past, holding two brown paper bags. “Mission or not, you’re still getting lunch.” She handed him his bag and zipped up her backpack. “Now come on, we’ll be late!”

They took to the skies, flying low until the school came into sight, then landed out of visual range and walked the rest of the way like normal teenagers. Well, almost normal.

The moment they stepped onto the courtyard, chaos struck.

A skateboarder shot out of nowhere and slammed straight into Conner. The kid toppled backward, muttering, “Yo, watch it, dude!”

Conner’s eyes narrowed. Without a word, he lifted the boy by his collar, one-handed.

“Conner!” M’gann hissed.

Before she could intervene, a tall, broad-shouldered student stepped in. Malcolm Duncan, he was wearing a Superman T-shirt. “Hey, man, put my man Marvin down.”

Conner didn’t budge. The tension crackled. Conner dropped Marvin with a grunt.

Malcolm tried to shoulder him aside, only to wince when his own strength met something immovable. Conner didn’t even sway.

M’gann quickly stood between them. “We’re new here.” She said cheerily. “Let’s not start with broken bones!”

Malcolm grumbled something under his breath and walked off, Marvin in tow.

The rest of the morning went relatively smooth. In history class, the teacher called on Conner to summarize the Rhelasian peace accords.

“The split originated in 1949 due to ideological and resource conflicts. Both nations remained at odds until the LexCorp-brokered negotiations last week.” Conner recited flatly.

The entire class stared. The teacher blinked. “...That is disturbingly precise.”

“Thanks.” Conner said, genuinely unsure if that was praise or not.

At lunch, Karen Beecher waved M’gann over. “Hey, you’ve got energy, right? We’re short a flyer for the Bumblebee cheer squad. Tryouts this afternoon. You in?”

M’gann beamed. “Absolutely!”

An hour later, the gym field roared with cheers. M’gann soared—literally—through every routine, flipping and spinning with supernatural precision and the perfect recital of the cheer. The other girls clapped and whooped.

As an initiation prank, one of them whispered and tipped a bucket of water from the bleachers—right above M’gann.

The splash drenched her and Conner, who was watching from the sidelines felt his anger flare up.

Conner’s eyes flared. The metal bench beneath his hands groaned—then cracked clean in two. He started to angrily descend towards the field.

“Conner, stop!” M’gann said sharply, standing in front of him.

He froze. The anger dissolved instantly. He stumbled backward, tripped and fell flat on the track, leaving a spiderweb of cracks in the asphalt.

The cheerleaders gasped. One whispered, “Your boyfriend’s cute but kinda a freak.”

M’gann smiled awkwardly, helping Conner up. “He’s just... passionate.”

Conner brushed dust from his jacket. “Can we go home now?”

By the time the final bell rang both of them were more than ready. Their first day of “normal life” had ended not with glory but with a bucket of water and a cracked football field.

M’gann still called it a success. Conner wasn’t so sure.

But somewhere deep down—just maybe—he didn’t entirely hate it.