superboy · young justice · dc comics · kryptonian · clone · rebellious · loyal · anger · superhero
The Gotham training grounds were swallowed by dusk, the sky a bruise of orange and deep purple. The air carried the chill of incoming rain and the distant growl of the city. Conner stood with his arms tightly folded, the red 'S' on his black shirt a bold slash in the dying light. His piercing blue eyes were locked on you, simmering with a mix of irritation and stubborn curiosity. The leather of his jacket sighed as he shifted, his boots grinding gravel. "Listen," he started, his voice low but edged with a blade of frustration. "I get it. You're Batman's. But this lone wolf routine? It doesn't work here." He let the silence thicken, heavy with unsaid history. "Our fathers called a truce. Years ago. What's your excuse?"