Metropolis had a way of looking too clean right before something went wrong.
Sunlight on glass. A river that pretended it wasn't full of industrial runoff. People on sidewalks with coffee and headphones, trusting physics like physics had never betrayed anyone before.
Superman hovered a few hundred feet above the city, cape barely moving, eyes narrowed at the problem in the sky.
It looked like a tear—thin at first, then widening—like somebody had taken a razor to reality and decided to see what was inside. The air around it warped with heat shimmer and blue-white static.
He'd seen boom tubes. He'd seen magic. He'd seen alien tech that treated spacetime like a suggestion.
This was… different.
There was a pulse in it. A rhythm.
Like a heartbeat.
Superman angled down, careful, scanning for civilians, scanning for falling debris, scanning for the worst-case scenario his brain never stopped running in the background.
Then the tear hiccuped.
A figure dropped out of it.
Not tumbling. Not panicking. Just… falling like he'd been dropped from a short ladder.
A man in orange and blue hit the air like it was solid ground, corrected mid-fall with the casual ease of someone who'd forgotten gravity was supposed to be persuasive, and landed on an invisible foothold.
He blinked.
Looked around.
Then looked directly at Superman.
And smiled like he'd just discovered a new restaurant.
"WHOA!" the stranger said, eyes wide. "You fly too?! That's awesome!"
Superman didn't move. He didn't tense. He just watched.
The guy's posture was loose—no fear, no predatory focus, no subtle angle that screamed ambush. His heartbeat was steady. His face was open. His energy—
Superman felt it then. Not magic. Not kryptonite. Not anything he had a word for.
But it rolled off the stranger like heat off asphalt. Controlled. Dense. Alive.
And very, very strong.
Superman's expression stayed mild.
"Are you hurt?" he asked.
The stranger patted himself down like he was checking for missing groceries. "Nope! I'm good."
"Do you know where you are?"
The man looked down at the city, then back up at Superman. "Uh… no?"
"Do you know how you got here?"
The man rubbed the back of his head, sheepish. "Kinda? Long story."
Superman let his eyes flick to the tear in the air. It was already trying to close, like reality was embarrassed.
"Alright," Superman said evenly. "Let's start with names. I'm Superman."
The stranger's grin got even bigger, like somebody had just handed him a trophy.
"SUPERMAN?!" he repeated, delighted. "Oh man, you're like… the hero hero!"
That wasn't how most people said it. That wasn't awe. That was… fanboy joy, but without the weirdness. The man looked like he genuinely loved the idea of heroes.
Then he slapped a hand on his chest, proud.
"I'm Goku!"
Superman paused a fraction of a second.
He'd learned over the years that some names came with histories you couldn't see. Some names were code. Some were lies. Some were armor.
"Goku," Superman repeated, testing the sound.
"Yup!" Goku said. "Okay, question—are you strong?"
Superman's mouth twitched. "That's an unusual first question."
Goku pointed at him like they were already friends. "It's an important one!"
Superman tilted his head. "Why?"
Goku leaned forward, earnest in a way that made it impossible to mistake him for a villain.
"Because you feel really strong," he said, eyes shining. "And you fly, and your vibe is… like—like you're holding back all the time."
Superman's brow lifted slightly.
Goku kept going, words tumbling out. "And that's fine! I get it! Sometimes you gotta hold back so you don't, like, explode the world by accident—"
Superman blinked once. "Try not to do that."
Goku laughed like it was the funniest thing in the universe. "Right?! Exactly! So—can we spar?"
Superman stared at him.
Metropolis existed below them, full of fragile people with fragile bodies and fragile lives.
He'd met plenty of powerful beings who wanted to "spar." Most of them meant "fight until someone breaks."
This didn't feel like that.
This felt like—
Flash.
Not the powers. The energy.
The way Goku vibrated with enthusiasm like he was allergic to fear. The way he leaned into the world instead of away from it. The way his smile made danger look like a game without making it cruel.
Superman exhaled through his nose, almost amused.
"I'm going to ask you a question," Superman said.
Goku snapped to attention like a student who loved school for reasons nobody else understood. "Okay!"
"Why do you want to fight me?"
Goku's grin didn't fade. It softened. Like the honest answer was simpler than people expected.
"Because it's fun," he said. "And because I can tell you're… good. Like, good good. You wouldn't hurt people just to win."
Superman held his gaze.
Goku wasn't trying to flatter him. He was stating it like a fact.
"And," Goku added quickly, like he suddenly remembered manners, "I won't wreck your city. Promise."
Superman's eyes narrowed—not suspicious, just careful.
"You can promise that?"
Goku nodded hard. "Yup!"
"Even if you get excited?"
Goku hesitated for the first time. Then he smiled again—smaller, but real.
"If I get too excited," he said, "you tell me to stop, and I stop. Deal."
Superman studied him another beat.
Then he nodded, slow.
"Deal," he said. "But not here."
Goku's eyes lit up like fireworks. "OH! You have a sparring spot?!"
Superman angled his body slightly. "There's an uninhabited area a few miles outside the city. Desert. Rock. Nothing to break."
Goku made a sound that was basically a squeal trying to be a manly cheer. "YES."
Superman took off, controlled, measured.
Goku followed—no effort, no strain—like flight was just another form of walking he'd always known.
Superman pretended not to be impressed.
He was failing.
The desert was quiet.
Sun on stone. Wind over sand. A horizon that didn't care about anything.
Superman hovered a few feet off the ground and crossed his arms.
"Rules," he said.
Goku landed lightly and immediately started stretching like his body had opinions. "Okay!"
"No civilians."
"Got it!"
"No property."
"There's nothing here!"
"Exactly."
Superman's eyes narrowed slightly. "And no killing."
Goku blinked, startled—like the idea hadn't even occurred to him.
"Dude," he said, offended on a moral level. "Of course not."
Superman's shoulders eased a fraction.
"Alright," Superman said. "You go first."
Goku bounced on his toes, vibrating with happiness.
Then he moved.
Fast.
Not Flash-fast in the lightning sense. Not Superman-fast in the "the world pauses" sense.
This was… martial.
Like speed with technique. Like every inch of movement had been trained into him a thousand times until it was effortless.
Goku's fist came in, light and clean.
Superman shifted and blocked.
The impact was gentle—by their standards—but it still kicked a little pressure wave through the air.
Goku's eyes went wide again. "OH MAN."
He grinned like a kid who'd just found out a dog could talk.
Superman countered with a palm strike to the shoulder. Controlled. Careful. A tap that would've put a human in a hospital.
Goku slid with it, feet carving a line in the sand, then laughed.
"Okay! Okay! You're strong strong!"
Superman's mouth twitched. "So are you."
They circled.
Goku darted in with a flurry, testing angles. Superman parried, letting himself be pushed, letting himself read Goku's rhythm.
Goku wasn't trying to win. Not really.
He was trying to learn.
Every time Superman adjusted, Goku adjusted back like he was collecting data with his fists.
Superman realized something that made his expression soften.
Goku fought the way Superman wished more people fought.
Not with rage. Not with dominance. Not to prove a point to the universe.
Just… joy. Challenge. Growth.
It was strangely comforting.
And strangely dangerous.
Because it meant Goku would keep climbing forever.
Their spar lasted maybe thirty seconds before the air changed.
Superman felt it first.
A tremor. A deep vibration through the ground like something enormous was waking up angry.
Then an alarm screamed in Superman's ear—his comm, automatically pinging.
A voice crackled through: urgent, grim.
"Superman—Doomsday's surfaced near the Metropolis waterfront."
Superman's expression snapped from sparring-calm to crisis-calm. The face he wore when the world stopped being theoretical.
Goku blinked. "Doomsday?"
Superman didn't waste time explaining. "You said you'd stop if I told you to stop."
Goku straightened immediately. "Yep."
Superman nodded once. "Then stop."
Goku's grin vanished. Not into fear—into focus.
"Okay," he said. "Lead the way."
Superman shot into the sky like a bullet.
Goku followed like a second shadow.
Metropolis again. Same glass, same sunlight.
But now the waterfront was a crater.
Concrete ripped up like paper. Cars tossed. Smoke curling into the sky.
And at the center of it stood Doomsday.
A walking catastrophe with bone spikes and a face that looked like it had never known mercy. He roared, and the sound shook windows.
Superman didn't charge.
He scanned—people, exits, collapsing structures, fires.
Then he moved.
Not at Doomsday.
At the civilians.
He caught a falling bus with one hand and set it down with impossible gentleness, then lifted a chunk of concrete away from a trapped family.
Goku landed beside him and looked around, eyes wide.
There were too many people.
Too much debris.
Too many ways for tragedy to happen fast.
Goku clenched his fists once—then made a decision.
He vanished.
Not speed. Not blur.
Just gone.
Then he reappeared fifty feet away with two civilians tucked under his arms like rescued kittens.
He set them down gently, said something quick (Superman couldn't hear it), then vanished again.
Superman's eyes flicked to him.
Teleportation.
That was… very useful.
Doomsday charged, shaking the street.
Superman met him head-on, catching the first blow and sliding back a dozen feet, boots carving twin trenches into the pavement.
The impact rattled his bones.
Goku appeared beside him, stance low, eyes bright with focused determination.
"Okay," Goku said. "That guy's not here to make friends."
"No," Superman said, jaw set. "He never is."
Doomsday swung again.
Goku moved in—not to outshine, not to grandstand—just to help.
He struck Doomsday's ribs with a tight, controlled punch that would've annihilated a tank.
Doomsday barely flinched.
Goku blinked, surprised.
Then he grinned—just a little.
"Oh," he said. "You're that kind of tough."
Superman didn't have time to ask what that meant.
Doomsday grabbed for Goku.
Goku vanished.
Doomsday's hand closed on air.
Goku reappeared above Doomsday's shoulder and drove a kick down—not a showy one, a clean one—forcing Doomsday's posture open.
Superman took the opening.
He slammed both fists into Doomsday's chest and launched him backward into the river.
Water exploded upward like a wall.
For half a second, it looked like they'd bought themselves time.
Then Doomsday came out of the river like a missile, angrier.
Goku and Superman moved together without talking.
Superman drew Doomsday's attention—front and center, unbreakable line.
Goku played the edges—disappearing, reappearing, redirecting civilians away from danger even as he struck.
It was teamwork born in seconds, like both of them spoke the same unspoken language:
Protect first. Win second.
Doomsday adapted fast—his whole existence was adaptation.
He started tracking Goku's reappearance points.
Goku noticed. "He's learning!"
Superman grunted, bracing another blow. "He always does."
Goku looked at Superman, quick, serious. "Okay—so we don't let him learn too much."
Superman's eyes narrowed. "Any ideas?"
Goku's smile came back, bright and fearless in a way that made Superman's chest tighten.
"Yeah," Goku said. "We cheat."
Superman blinked. "…Excuse me?"
Goku pointed at Superman's belt. There was a small device clipped there—compact, angular. Something Batman had insisted Superman carry "just in case."
A Phantom Zone projector.
Superman's eyes widened slightly.
Goku, still smiling, nodded like he'd just suggested getting lunch.
"That thing," Goku said. "You trap him?"
Superman hesitated for only a heartbeat.
The Phantom Zone wasn't a weapon you used lightly.
But Doomsday wasn't a problem you solved with politeness.
Superman's jaw tightened.
"We need him still," Superman said.
Goku cracked his knuckles. "I can do still."
Superman didn't ask how.
They moved.
Superman went in first, taking the brunt—locking Doomsday's arms, planting his feet, holding on like an anchor.
Doomsday thrashed, roaring, trying to tear Superman apart.
Superman held.
Goku blurred into motion—appearing behind Doomsday, palms out, eyes focused.
He didn't fire a beam. He didn't scream an attack name.
He did something Superman hadn't expected.
Goku's hands shimmered with controlled energy—ki—forming a tight, invisible pressure cage around Doomsday's head and shoulders. Not crushing. Not killing.
Just pinning.
Doomsday snarled, muscles bulging, trying to brute-force it.
Goku's teeth clenched.
"Okay," Goku muttered, strained but grinning anyway. "You're REALLY annoying."
Superman yanked the projector free.
He looked at Goku—one quick glance, a question and a warning in his eyes.
Goku nodded once.
"Do it."
Superman fired.
A thin beam hit Doomsday's chest.
The air around Doomsday rippled like reality was taking him personally.
Doomsday roared—
—and then the roar cut off as the Phantom Zone swallowed him whole, pulling him away like a bad dream being erased.
The waterfront went quiet.
Water dripped.
Smoke drifted.
Sirens approached.
Superman lowered the projector slowly, breathing hard.
Goku released his ki and exhaled like he'd just finished a tough workout.
Then he looked at Superman, eyes bright again—back to that impossible warmth.
"THAT was awesome!" Goku said.
Superman stared at him for a beat.
Then—because he was who he was—Superman's expression softened into something almost amused.
"You have an unusual definition of 'awesome,'" Superman said.
Goku laughed. "Yeah!"
Superman glanced around at the city—the people safe, the buildings still standing, the crisis contained.
Then he looked back at Goku.
"You kept your promise," Superman said.
Goku blinked. "Huh?"
"You stopped when I told you to stop. You didn't put anyone in danger."
Goku scratched his cheek, sheepish. "Well… yeah. That's, like, the whole point."
Superman held his gaze a moment, then extended his hand.
Goku's eyes lit up like Christmas.
He grabbed it and shook hard enough to make Superman's arm flex.
"Okay!" Goku said. "Now can we spar again?!"
Superman let out a quiet laugh—just one breath of it—then shook his head.
"Some other time," he said. "Preferably after I make sure you're not accidentally going to rip a hole in my universe again."
Goku grinned wider. "Deal!"
They released the handshake.
Above them, the tear in the sky—faint and thinning—flickered like it was remembering it existed.
Goku looked up at it, then back at Superman.
"So," Goku said, completely sincere, "you got food around here?"
Superman's brow lifted. "You're asking me?"
Goku nodded seriously. "You feel like a guy who knows a good place."
Superman paused.
Then—very carefully, like he was handling something fragile—he smiled.
"There's a diner on 5th," he said. "And if you try to spar with the waitress, I'm leaving you there."
Goku gasped, scandalized. "I would NEVER."
Superman gave him a look.
Goku grinned. "Okay. I would. But only a little."
They lifted off together—two silhouettes against a bright Metropolis sky.