It started with a pen.

A sleek, black fountain pen that Bruce casually pulled from his jacket pocket during the board meeting. Custom engraved. Platinum nib. Probably cost more than Clark’s first car.

Clark raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Not with his mouth, anyway.

Instead, he uncapped his own pen—simple, blue, indestructible because it was made from a sliver of a collapsed neutron star. It clicked softly, but Bruce heard it. He looked up. Their eyes met. The game was on.

What followed was an escalating war of flexes: watch brands, philanthropic donations, who could land a faster jet (or cape) on the rooftop. All while trying to play it cool in front of civilians who had no idea Gotham’s billionaire and Metropolis’s golden boy were locked in a silent battle of alpha energy and smug smiles.

Because when you’re the World’s Finest… every handshake is a challenge.

And neither of them likes to lose.