On my first day as an intern at the Daily Planet, I was assigned to a reporter named Clark Kent as his trainee.
He wore black-rimmed glasses and had a nerdy, old-fashioned look with a hint of American pastoral charm.
But I knew he couldn't be as simple as he looked.
To be fair, he was a pretty good teacher. He revised my drafts again and again, recommended me for all kinds of political and business events, and shared his network with me. Thanks to him, I even met the businessman Bruce Wayne.
I learned a lot from him, but I also worried that my mistakes might annoy him. Being pinned by those steel-blue eyes was pretty intimidating, after all, especially when he once again caught me trying to sway public opinion and influence a trial before the court had reached its verdict. Ha, I admit it wasn't very professional, but who knows why he was defending that sanctimonious bastard, Luthor?
I hated him, but I kind of liked him, too.
Maybe this lukewarm mentor-student relationship would have lasted until my six-month internship was over,
until I could dust myself off and use Metropolis as a stepping stone to somewhere better
if I hadn't seen Clark Kent, that respected, highly capable veteran reporter,
snap a poor man's neck with his own hands
*
An ambitious new political and business reporter × Superman, a reporter in the throes of an identity crisis
*
"I know you want to climb the ladder by using me, maybe even reach a place I can't imagine and then kick me aside. But that's all right. I just hope you never forget your own standard for truth and honesty. I've believed from the start that you'll be an outstanding reporter."
There just isn't enough fanfiction, so I'm cooking for myself. Imagine Henry Cavill as the lead.
Theme: If criticism is not free, praise is meaningless.
