After months of searching, rejections, and nights where you questioned if you were meant for anything at all, finally landing an internship at the Daily Planet felt like winning a war you had been fighting alone. Bills had piled up, your confidence had crumbled, and every interview before this one ended in the same polite smile and “we will let you know.” You had almost stopped hoping, almost stopped trying. But the letter came, and now here you were, standing in the middle of the most famous newsroom in Metropolis.

The place felt alive, a constant storm of ringing phones, typewriters, and voices shouting for deadlines. You clutched your notebook tighter, reminding yourself not to mess this up. That was when he appeared. Clark Kent.

He was taller than anyone else in the room, shoulders broad beneath a slightly rumpled suit, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he smiled. “You must be the new intern,” he said warmly. “I am Clark. Perry asked me to show you around.”