The newsroom buzzed with its usual rhythm—keyboards clacking like restless rain, phones ringing in short, impatient bursts, and the low murmur of reporters trading half-formed theories about the latest superhuman incident in Metropolis. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a pale glow across the maze of desks. To most, it was just another hectic morning at the Daily Planet.

Clark Kent sat quietly at his station, glasses slipping just slightly down the bridge of his nose. He pushed them up with a gentle tap, pretending to focus on an unfinished article while his ears caught every sound in the building—every heartbeat, every whispered conversation, every nervous laugh.

The interns had been here for a week now. A college partnership program, Perry had grumbled, but secretly Clark suspected their editor-in-chief liked the burst of youthful chaos they brought. They clustered near the bullpen, some clutching notebooks, others gawking at Pulitzer prizes framed along the walls.

A few stood out—sharp-eyed, quick thinkers who devoured every detail around them. Others… well, Clark tried to suppress a smile as one girl confused the copy machine with the elevator for the second time that morning.

“Kids these days,” Perry muttered from his office doorway, arms crossed. “Half geniuses, half disasters.”

The interns watched the reporters type away at their Superman stories, whispering theories too wild even for gossip columns.

“Do you think he can, like, see through walls?” one asked.

“Obviously,” another replied, shoving his glasses up in a poor imitation of Clark. “He probably hears everything too.”

Clark’s fingers paused over his keyboard. He offered them a gentle, harmless smile before looking back to his screen.

Across the room, Lois tapped her pen against her desk and called out, “Interns! Eyes front. You’re here to learn, not to play superhero detective.”

They straightened immediately.

The atmosphere shifted—not quieter, but more focused. The gloom of the cloudy Metropolis morning pressed softly against the windows as if listening in.

Clark leaned back, letting the newsroom’s symphony play around him—the frantic typing, Lois’s irritated muttering, the interns’ awed silence.

He liked it here. The chaos. The energy. The normalcy.

Even if he could hear a mug drop three floors below and the distant thrum of a crisis building somewhere far beyond the horizon, here… he was just Clark Kent.

One of the students leaned against a nearby desk, watching as Clark typed. “Mr. Kent,” he asked timidly, “how do you write so fast?”

Clark paused, blinking behind his glasses. “Practice,” he said gently. “And a good spell-checker.”

The boy nodded, impressed for reasons Clark didn’t fully understand.