Chapter Text
Here’s how it began.
Mr. White called Clark into his office. The door creaked slightly as it swung open, the sound ringing in Clark’s ears. Perry looked very serious—his brows drawn, eyes fixed on the computer screen—and Clark swallowed nervously, adjusting his jacket. Had he really messed up that soccer article that badly?
Perry finally looked up from whatever he was reading and pinned Clark with a hard stare.
“Kent.”
“Yes, Mr. White,” he paused for a split second, holding back the urge to let nervousness creep into his voice. “You wanted to see me?”
Mr. White sighed, leaning back in his chair with a heaviness that didn’t suit him. His three-piece suit, as always, looked flawless, just like every other one in his wardrobe. But today, there was tension in his shoulders—very unlike the ease and confidence he usually carried when laughing off the latest dumb mistakes in his articles.
He studied Clark with a sharp, unreadable look—as if he were trying to figure something out. Clark had no idea what.
Then Perry broke eye contact, clasped his hands together across his chest, and said:
“Clark.”
In the long silence that followed, Clark had already imagined every possible punishment scenario and had even started mentally sorting through cheap diners where he could grab food after work. Before patrol, of course. Patrol came first. Nothing was more important than that.
“You haven’t been here that long,” Clark nodded inwardly. Yep. Just a year and a half. “But your record is pretty impressive for a rookie,” Perry said. Clark already knew that. Interviews with himself sell well these days. He was a little embarrassed by that part of his resume, sure—but how else was he supposed to break into a paper like this? The Daily Planet had been his dream for years. “And that record doesn’t include the person you’re about to interview.”
A wave of relief swept through Clark so fast he almost laughed. Thank Gosh. Anything but more soccer. Or rugby. Or match recaps. He was so tired of it.
Lately, he hadn’t had many chances to sneak under Lois’s wing to co-author something genuinely interesting—tech innovations, mega corporations, corrupt businesses, political scandals—the ones Lois enjoyed the most—coverage of major events where the elite gathered.
Okay, then? So, it was someone important. Whatever. He could handle that. Even if it was tough, he and Lois had faced far worse when he’d just started—and now, a year later, he was more than ready. He’d become a journalist for many reasons, and grit was one of his strengths.
“Clark, you’re scheduled to interview Lex Luthor at LuthorCorp. The day after tomorrow, 4 p.m.”
Clark froze. A nonexistent chill ran down his spine, and the world around him seemed to slow to a crawl. A thousand thoughts collided in his mind—some flickering into focus, some vanishing unnoticed.
No. No way. Nope.
Lex Luthor.
He was the worst possible person to be assigned to that interview.
The very worst.
It was common knowledge: Lex Luthor despised Superman—hated him with a burning passion. The main architect of the anti-Superman sentiment. The richest man openly fueling that hatred—because the rest either stayed quiet or supported him outright. Luthor was a man with more money and influence than anyone should possibly have.
The world snapped back to its normal pace, and Clark exhaled sharply, his mind scrambling for a way out.
He knew himself—he could put up with a lot. Luthor included. But what if—what if—despite the glasses, Luthor sensed something? What if Superman’s exhaustion from Luthor’s endless provocations slipped through during the interview?
Clark really wasn’t a great liar. He was just good at keeping quiet. And Lex Luthor was known for being a very charismatic man with a silver tongue, for brokering impossible deals, for talking people into terms that only benefited him. He was charming, he was influential, he was…
“Mr. White, I’m sorry, but this is a bad idea. You know why.”
“Yes, Kent. You’ve interviewed Superman more than all the other outlets combined. And Luthor’s hated Superman for years. I’m well aware of this—and I surely don’t need a recap.”
Perry scratched the back of his head.
“And you also don’t need me to explain that if the invitation was addressed specifically to you, then no one else will get in the door.”
Clark pressed his lips together, holding back frustration. Why him?
“But Mr. White—someone else could. Anyone else?”
“No.”
Clark heard the apology Perry didn’t say aloud.
“Mr. White, please—”
“Clark, you may have a great reputation thanks to your high-profile interviews, but you don’t get to walk away when things get difficult. You’re a reporter at the Daily Planet, and our reputation matters. To all of us,” Perry’s gaze softened. “I understand the conflict of interest here, I do. But listen—while you don’t have any experience dealing with Mr. Luthor, I do. And here’s what I’ll tell you: if he wants a specific person interviewing him, then either that person shows up, or the interview doesn’t happen at all.”
Clark turned away, staring out the window at the bright, sun-drenched skyline of Metropolis. He wanted to fly—Gosh, he wanted to fly so badly. But flying away from problems was never the answer. He tore his gaze from the sky and looked down at the floor. Perry kept going.
“I could’ve turned down interviews with plenty of people, but Lex Luthor isn’t someone who takes rejection lightly. Our paper’s reputation could be on the line here—and I mean it.”
Perry stood slowly, walked around the desk, and laid a hand on Clark’s shoulder. With the other, he handed him a black envelope. Clark accepted it with a damp palm.
“I’m sorry. I really am.”
And with that, he left the office.
Clark stood there, staring at the envelope with silver lettering on it.
FROM: LUTHORCORP
TO: DAILY PLANET
Resigned to his fate, he shot the envelope one last miserable look—this week’s worst news—and carefully opened it, resisting the urge to tear it to shreds.
A letter fell out, printed on what was clearly a hilariously expensive paper.
Mr. White,
Long time no see. It's a shame your excellent reporters couldn’t attend the unveiling of my combat suits for the U.S. Army. I understand you had a valid excuse—something about that infamous incident with Green Lantern, the yellow creature and Superman.
Nevertheless, I hope this time I’ll have the pleasure of speaking with a representative from your paper, Perry. My schedule is quite full, but I do have a slot on Thursday afternoon. A little bird told me that Clark Kent conducts outstanding interviews, and I would be most pleased to welcome him to my office.
The specific details of the upcoming interview were sent to your email.
I hope we’ll meet again, just like in the good old days.
Best regards,
L. L.
Clark sighed. He had no way out of it, to be honest. The letter fell from his hands, slow and weightless, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. He watched it fall for what felt like an eternity.