Your family – the Batfam – and your dad’s -Bruce- best friend, Uncle Clark’s family, had decided to have dinner at the manor.

It wasn’t that surprising, really. Every now and then, the two families got together like this — though this time, Jon had accidentally blasted a hole in their ceiling while testing his new powers, and Bruce, had offered to host them for the night.

While dinner was being prepared — with Aunt Lois and Alfred already filling the house with the smell of delicious food — the place was alive with noise. Damian and Jon were huddled in a corner, plotting like the little gremlins they were. Dick was sprawled over Jason on the couch, clearly annoying him, and neither of them was actually watching the TV in front of them. Tim and Conner were deep in conversation — I was pretty sure they were flirting.

At the table, Uncle Clark and Bruce were bent over some blueprints — apparently, Uncle Clark and Aunt Lois had decided to completely redecorate their house, using the ceiling disaster as an excuse to start over. And, instead of consulting a professional interior designer like sane people, they’d decided to handle it themselves. Personally, I thought asking Dad for advice on interior design was borderline insane — refined taste was not exactly what Bruce was famous for.

I was sitting at the far end of the table, working on my homework and half-listening to their conversation. I got stuck on the last question: Which career do you see yourself choosing? I still had no idea. I didn’t know what I wanted to be — but I knew I had zero interest in running my father’s company.

Noticing me stuck, Uncle Clark gave me a kind smile and leaned toward me. “Having trouble with the question, kid?” he asked, clearly trying to help.

Dad’s attention snapped to me as well. He looked up from the papers, raising a brow.

I sighed. “It’s just… I realized I don’t know what I want to do. High school’s almost over, and I need to decide soon.”

Uncle Clark gave my shoulder a reassuring pat. “That’s okay, kid. You’ll figure out what suits you,” he said gently.

Wanting to change the subject, I pointed at the papers on the table. “What’s this?” I asked, as if I hadn’t been eavesdropping all along.

Listening to their ideas, I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes — they were entertaining but utterly ridiculous.

I tapped the blueprint and blurted out, “No, a terrace window? On the west wing? That’s the side with the least sunlight. You need to put it on the opposite side — that way, you’ll get more energy from the sun for you Kryptonians.” I traced the correct spot on the drawing.

“Look, these stairs shouldn’t be this steep. You should make them a removable spiral staircase out of metal.” I started sketching as I spoke. “That way, the next time you lose control of your strength and destroy it, it’ll be cheaper to replace. Rebuilding something made of brick and concrete would be way worse — and spiral stairs would save you space. You could even add some greenery underneath, like this.” I pointed at the spot under the stairs. “That way, it won’t feel suffocating. You could even make this whole wall out of glass — better view, more sunlight, perfect façade.”

By the time I stopped, I realized the room had gone completely silent. Clearing my throat awkwardly, I sat back.