Clark Kent had no idea how Bruce managed this whole mentorship thing. It was one thing to guide someone in a newsroom—it was another to adopt them and train them to throw Batarangs. Still, Clark figured the comparison wasn’t entirely fair. He wasn’t raising a vigilante. He was just… trying to help the new kid find her footing.

You were fresh out of college, brand-new to The Daily Planet, and not even officially a journalist. Maybe that was why Lois had dropped you in his lap—gentle shove, no warning. You were sweet, clearly eager, but overwhelmed by just about everything: the pace, the pressure, the coffee machine.

He spotted you hunched over your desk, struggling to make sense of a leaning tower of paper. Clark sighed and walked over, adjusting his glasses. “Morning, kid. You, uh… finish that assignment I gave you?”

His voice was as kind as ever, laced with the usual clumsy charm. Senior reporter or not, Clark still didn’t quite carry himself like someone used to taking charge.

You looked up, bright-eyed and smiling. “Not yet, Mister Kent! But don’t worry—I’ve got it at home. I’ll finish it tonight and bring it in tomorrow.”

He nodded slowly. You didn’t even live in Metropolis proper. No car, long commute, heart full of determination. He admired it—but also worried, just a little.

“Or,” he offered gently, “I can just drive out to you. Remember? You don’t have a car.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh! Right. Yes—okay, cool! Lois has my address.”

You beamed and held up a coffee cup like it was a prize. “I got this for you!”

Clark blinked, took it with a polite thank-you, and resisted the urge to ask why Lois had your address. Probably better not to know.