[Third Person Pov]
"That was delicious, I can't wait to see what we'll try out next!" Lala said excitedly, clutching her purse close. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation as she rocked slightly on her heels, already scanning the street for the next irresistible stop.
Clark chuckled under his breath and subtly lifted his head, letting his unusually sensitive nose do most of the work. A dozen different scents overlapped in the air—sweet batter, caramelized sugar, hot oil, spice—but he filtered through them with practiced ease. With one hand, he gently guided Lala forward, steering her away from crowded corners while casually keeping her entertained with quiet comments and amused reactions to her enthusiasm.
Neon signs washed the narrow street in warm splashes of color—reds, pinks, and golds reflecting off rain-dark pavement. Vendors called out cheerfully from behind their stalls, their voices blending with the hiss of steam and the sizzle of grills. Sugar hung thick in the air like a promise, clinging to every breath. Clark and Lala drifted from stall to stall, the moment unfolding like a cheerful montage stitched together by laughter, shared glances, and paper bags slowly filling with treats.
They started sweet. Taiyaki first—golden, fish-shaped pastries pulled straight from the press, their crisp edges steaming faintly. Clark broke one open carefully, letting the heat escape, before passing it over. Lala took one enthusiastic bite and immediately froze, eyes going wide as the red bean filling nearly betrayed her enthusiasm by spilling out. She tried to chew and react at the same time, clearly overwhelmed.
Clark was already there, napkin in hand, gently catching a stray crumb before it could fall.
He sighed softly, the thought briefly crossing his mind that he felt like he was taking care of a child—but if he was being honest with himself, he didn't mind it at all.
Next came mochi, soft and pillowy, dusted generously in soybean flour. Lala somehow managed to dust herself more than the dessert, laughing as the powder clung to her nose and the corner of her lips. Clark shook his head fondly, and somewhere between bites, he lifted his phone and snapped a picture—capturing her cheeks puffed out, eyes sparkling, and expression utterly unashamed.
"Hey!" she protested through a mouthful, pouting as best she could under the circumstances. "Delete that."
"Nope," Clark replied instantly, without a shred of remorse. "Dates are marked by embarrassing photos. I'm saving this so you have something to remember later."
"That isn't fair, I wasn't ready," she protested cutely, "At least warn me when you're going to take a picture."
"Nope. If I warn you, it defeats the purpose of a spontaneous picture," Clark said, wagging his phone teasingly. "Getting you when you least expect it is the best part."
"Fine," Lala huffed as she finished the last bite of her dessert. "But don't complain when I start doing the same. I'll get you when you least expect it."
"Good luck," Clark scoffed in a mock-arrogant tone. "Unfortunately for you, I'm really photogenic."
"We'll see about that," Lala replied darkly, narrowing her eyes in exaggerated threat before promptly breaking into giggles. Laughing together, they continued their tour down the street.
Then the smell of sizzling meat cut cleanly through the sweetness like a siren call.
Lala stopped mid-step, nostrils flaring slightly. Clark followed her gaze to a skewer stand nearby, smoke curling lazily around glossy strips of grilled meat as fat dripped and hissed against the heat.
"…I know you said this was mainly a tour about pastries," Lala said slowly, eyes never leaving the stall, "but that smells really good… so can we…?" She finally looked at Clark, hope written plainly on her face.
He didn't even pretend to resist.
Moments later, they were both holding skewers, biting into the meat and pulling it cleanly from the sticks. Lala hummed softly in delight, one hand pressed to her cheek as if the flavor might overwhelm her. She peeked over at Clark, who was enjoying his skewer just as much, and quietly pulled out her phone.
She snapped a picture with a smug little smile, already satisfied with her victory. But when she looked down at the screen, she froze.
Clark was staring directly at the camera, completely composed. His jaw was set just right, eyes narrowed with effortless intensity. His lips glistened faintly with grease, catching the light almost like lip gloss. It looked less like a candid photo and more like a professional shot pulled straight from a magazine.
"Huh?" Lala muttered, staring at the screen in complete confusion.
That was… definitely not how she remembered taking the picture.
She could hear Clark beside her, snickering openly now, clearly enjoying her confusion far more than he should have.
"Told you," Clark said, casting her a sideways glance, a smug smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Okay, that's really unfair," Lala pouted cutely as she glared up at him. "But don't think that means I'm giving up. One way or another, I'm going to get that picture."
"And like I told you previously—good luck," Clark replied calmly. He pulled the last piece of meat from the skewer with an easy bite, then casually flicked the empty stick toward a trash can several feet away. It arced cleanly through the air and landed perfectly inside.
Lala stared at the bin, then back at him. "…Show-off."
Their focus slowly shifted away from the street vendors as they wandered toward the surrounding shops, ducking into cozy storefronts glowing with warm light. Inside, it wasn't just sweets and snacks that caught their attention—there were drinks, trinkets, and displays filled with colorful packaging that practically begged to be examined.
…
They exited one such shop side by side, each carrying a large cup sealed with plastic film and fat straws poking out the top. Boba tea—or tapioka drinks, as they were known in Japan—sloshed gently as they walked.
"I can't believe it took you twenty minutes to decide on a drink," Clark said, his voice dripping with clear exasperation.
"I couldn't help it!" Lala cried defensively, clutching her cup like it was something precious. "They all sounded lovely. There were so many options! If they didn't want people to struggle, they shouldn't have made the menu so tempting. But in the end, I went with trustworthy mango." She beamed proudly before glancing at him. "What was your flavor again?"
"Passion fruit," Clark answered, rolling his eyes slightly. He swirled the cup in his hands, took another sip, and studied it with mild curiosity.
'Man, I remember being allergic to this stuff in my past life,' he thought wryly. 'I'm so glad I don't have to worry about that crap now.'
Noticing Lala eyeing his drink with blatant interest, Clark scoffed. Without warning, he reached over and snatched her cup straight out of her hands.
"Hey—!" she started to protest, but the words died in her throat when he shoved his own cup into her grasp instead.
"Hehehe," Lala giggled instantly, bringing the straw to her lips and taking a long sip.
"Mmhm. Not bad, actually," Clark commented after sampling the mango. "I'm permanently keeping your drink now."
"I'm okay with that," Lala said cheerfully, already chewing on the boba pearls in his cup. "I like yours better too."
As they rounded the corner together, they nearly collided with a boy standing in the middle of the walkway. He wore large headphones over his ears and held some kind of frequency receiver, its antenna twitching as he waved it around.
Both Clark and Lala instinctively stepped back as the boy continued sweeping the device through the air with intense focus directly in front of them.
"What are you doing?" Clark asked, blinking in mild disbelief.
The short-haired boy pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and answered without hesitation, "Searching for aliens."
Clark and Lala slowly turned to look at each other, sharing a silent, baffled moment, before turning back to him.
"Excuse me?" Clark asked, genuinely taken aback.
The boy smiled slightly, completely serious. "Superman said there are aliens living among us. So I'm trying to find them—to see if I can discover them."
"…Right," Clark said after a pause, blinking once. "And what are you going to do once you discover them?"
The boy straightened a little and looked up at Clark. Despite himself, he felt a bit intimidated by the taller figure looming over him, but his resolve didn't waver.
"Why," Ken Takakura said earnestly, "become their friend, of course."
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