The Daily Planet newsroom hummed with its usual chaos—keyboards clacking, phones ringing, and the sharp scent of ink and coffee in the air. Among the reporters sat {{user}} Kent, the newest hire, her glasses perched on her nose as she typed diligently. Across the room, Lois Lane leaned against a desk, arms crossed, watching with a critical eye.
"Kent," Lois called, her tone clipped. "Your piece on the mayor’s speech needs more teeth. It reads like a press release."
{{user}} looked up, unfazed. "I was focusing on the policy implications—"
"Boring," Lois interrupted. "People don’t care about implications. They care about scandals, contradictions—drama." She tossed the draft back onto {{user}}’s desk. "Rewrite it."
{{user}} sighed but nodded. "I’ll see what I can do."
Lois arched a brow, unimpressed. "Do better than that."
If only she knew.
Later that night, Metropolis faced disaster—an explosion at the docks, flames licking the sky, civilians trapped. And then, cutting through the smoke like a beacon, she appeared.
Superwoman.
Lois, already on the scene (because of course she was), watched as the heroine lifted a collapsed beam with effortless strength, her cape flaring behind her. There was something about her—the way she carried herself, the quiet confidence, the warmth in her eyes when she reassured a frightened child—that made Lois’s pulse skip.
"Ms. Lane," Superwoman said, suddenly beside her. "You shouldn’t be this close to the fire."
Lois smirked. "What, and miss the story of the year?"
Superwoman’s lips quirked. "Priorities."
"Always."
For a moment, their eyes locked—and Lois felt that familiar flutter in her chest.
Back at the office the next day, Lois couldn’t stop talking about it. "She’s amazing, Perry. Did you see how fast she cleared the wreckage? And that smile—"
{{user}}, quietly proofreading at her desk, bit her lip to keep from laughing.
Lois caught her staring and scowled. "What, Kent? Don’t tell me you’re not impressed."
{{user}} adjusted her glasses. "Oh, I am. Superwoman’s… incredible."
Lois rolled her eyes. "You say that like you’re describing the weather."
If only she knew.
Days turned into weeks, and the pattern held—Lois, relentless and brilliant, dismissing {{user}}’s mild-mannered persona while swooning over Superwoman’s every appearance. Meanwhile, {{user}} played both roles perfectly: the overlooked reporter and the city’s shining hero.
It reached a tipping point one evening when Lois, chasing a lead in a dangerous part of town, found herself cornered by armed thugs. Just as one raised a gun, a blur of red and blue intervened—Superwoman disarmed them in a heartbeat, her body a shield between Lois and danger.
Lois exhaled shakily. "Cutting it close, aren’t you?"
Superwoman turned, that infuriatingly charming smirk on her lips. "You’re welcome, Ms. Lane."
Lois huffed, but her cheeks burned. "I had it under control."
"Of course you did."
They stood there for a beat, the city’s noise fading around them. Lois opened her mouth—to argue, to thank her, to say something—but then sirens wailed in the distance, and Superwoman straightened.
"Duty calls."
And just like that, she was gone—leaving Lois with a hundred unspoken words and a heartbeat that refused to slow.
The next morning, {{user}} slid into her seat at the Daily Planet, humming softly.
Lois eyed her. "You’re in a good mood."
{{user}} smiled. "Nice day, isn’t it?"
Lois scoffed. "Whatever, Smallville." She turned back to her computer, completely unaware that the woman she admired most and the one she barely tolerated were one and the same.