Chapter 18: Turns Out I Am the Unlucky Salaryman

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Clark Kent went to work at the Daily Planet as usual today. His colleague and friend, Jimmy Olsen, leaned over from the adjacent desk with a grin and asked, “Hey Clark, how was your weekend?”

“Not great,” Clark frowned. “Perry called me yesterday around ten o’clock asking me to work overtime to write a story.”

Perry White was their editor-in-chief.

“Oh!” Jimmy suddenly asked, “Was it about the Batmobile explosion, Superman, and that yellow lantern rescuing people on the bridge? I heard about that too!”

Not exactly.

Superman had been eating dinner around seven or eight when he discovered the bridge had collapsed. He flew at light speed to put out the fire, first rescuing people, then the vehicles. After painstakingly welding the skeletal frame of the overpass with his heat vision, he returned home weighed down by worries over Eriya’s act of killing his son. He even called Batman, the superhero from the neighboring city:

“B, your car exploded on my bridge…”

Batman said it was no big deal; he was already aware of it. Superman breathed a sigh of relief, feeling a heavy burden had been shifted onto a reliable colleague, silently thanking the Kryptonian god Rao that he remained single and had not adopted any children thus far.

From the experiences of Batman and Eriya, it seemed best not to have children—otherwise, misfortune would surely follow.

His mood lightened. Picking up the mashed potatoes on his single apartment’s table, he planned to use his superpowers to quickly heat them and continue enjoying his peaceful weekend evening. While eating, Clark Kent naturally drifted from his Superman persona back to his everyday self, and his thoughts wandered to Eriya Esposito. Unconsciously, he had gathered quite a bit of knowledge about this gloomy, aloof young man who seemed immersed in his own world.

For instance, he knew Eriya had red hair and blue eyes, was about Clark’s height, currently lived in an old apartment in the Suicide Slums, and appeared to be struggling financially. He had an adopted son involved with the international syndicate and an apparently obedient adopted daughter. He rarely spoke and had a somewhat strange accent, likely from a country where English was not the native language.

Batman had shown Superman a video clip of a conversation between Eriya and his son Gallo, which ended with Eriya impatiently telling the boy to “get lost.” Clark had previously disapproved of that harsh word but had been reluctant to judge someone else’s family affairs. Now, after seeing what Gallo had done, he felt a twinge of sympathy for Eriya.

If he had a minor son who ran away from home and school, mixed with the mafia, rarely seen, and who gave him an explosive “surprise” every time they met—even Superman might find that hard to bear.

Scolding is unkind, but a stern tone is understandable.

What remained unclear was the cause and effect—did Eriya’s attitude provoke Gallo’s rebellion, or did Gallo’s disobedience from a young age cause Eriya to lose patience for proper communication?

The clinking of fork against plate snapped Clark back to reality. He realized he had finished the mashed potatoes while contemplating Eriya. He served himself another piece of steak. His heat vision was very handy; the sirloin he had bought on sale at the supermarket was just right—medium-rare, crispy on the outside, tender and juicy within.

As he chewed the steak, his thoughts drifted once more.

Human relationships boiled down to two types: those who could understand each other and those who could not.

This related to empathy, individual upbringing, current circumstances, and perspectives. Generally, people with strong empathy found it easier to put themselves in others’ shoes. Clark Kent was such a person. Though an alien, having grown up on Earth gave him a strong sense of belonging to human society. Even disregarding the superpowers granted by his Kryptonian heritage, Clark was an exceptional individual with far above average qualities.

People described him as a good man—intelligent, kind, stable in character, understanding, and willing to help—but he was not a popular person.

From childhood, his innate great strength and unique background made Clark habitually keep his distance from crowds. He harbored a huge secret, the identity of “Superman,” which acted like an invisible glass wall separating him from his ordinary friends, creating a significant gap no matter how much they chatted or joked.

His long-time friend Jimmy Olsen had complained that Clark often vanished without a word and sometimes appeared inexplicably in odd places.

His boss Perry White had once said with regret and frustration that if Clark could just come to work regularly and be a bit more steady, he would be the greatest reporter the Daily Planet ever had.

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More people whispered behind Clark’s back that he was truly a good and trustworthy guy, but also somewhat clumsy and peculiar.

Clark knew their judgments and never minded. To him, “peculiar” was a neutral word, and its meaning shifted with the times and people’s changing views. Since he bore a unique label, he naturally paid attention to others who were similarly “odd.”

For example, Eriya Esposito. He and Superman shared an extraordinary commonality: both lived two entirely separate lives every day.

One was chaotic and extraordinary, the other a fragile daily existence they fought hard to maintain amidst the chaos.

Eriya’s plight was even more miserable. Clark at least had parents, a farm in Kansas to inherit, a stable job, and a career on the rise. Eriya lived in the slums with two burdensome dependents.

Regarding the yellow lantern and the so-called pact with the “Netherlight”—Clark maintained his previous view that not all forms of great power are beneficial to their wielders, especially when a price must be paid. At this rate, it was conceivable that one day Eriya might become one of his most formidable adversaries.

But everyone had their struggles. After seeing Gallo’s antics, Superman found it impossible to persuade Eriya to put down his weapons.

What else could he do about family problems? He certainly couldn’t have Superman beat up his son for him!

Torn between these thoughts, Clark now felt three parts sympathy, three parts caution, three parts curiosity, and one part kinship toward Eriya. This preoccupation stayed with him even after finishing his steak and lying in bed, wondering if he should check whether Eriya had killed his son.

Better safe than sorry.

As he turned over, his ears moved at will, searching the Suicide Slums neighborhood for Eriya’s voice. Yet, for some unknown reason, the apartment he had once visited in person—the one belonging to Eriya—was utterly silent at that moment.

It wasn’t that no one lived there, for even in empty houses, clocks, flies, or plumbing would produce sounds. Eriya’s apartment felt like a completely shielded black hole, forming a conspicuous void in Clark’s sensory perception.

Clark suddenly recalled that Sinestro, leader of the Yellow Lantern Corps, had said his men could not enter Eriya’s residence.

Perhaps the power granted by the “pact” blocked not only the Yellow Lanterns but also interfered with Superman’s senses?

Lost in thought, a sudden, deafening phone ring jolted Clark. Startled, he quickly regained composure and, fumbling, unlocked his screen. It was an email from Perry, the Daily Planet’s editor-in-chief.

He was tasked with pulling an all-nighter to produce a news report about “Superman” and the new superhero.

Clark: “...”

He had just been sympathizing with Eriya.

Now he realized, the unlucky corporate slave was none other than himself!

**

Monday morning arrived.

Clark yawned repeatedly and collapsed onto his desk as soon as he reached his workstation. His other colleague and friend, Lois Lane, looked on with pity. “At least you’re getting paid, right?”

The poor corporate drone shot her a look full of silent suffering.

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Superman could go without sleep.

But Clark Kent could not.

Lois spared him further verbal punches and thoughtfully shifted her chair to block Perry’s office from view, shielding Clark from being seen dozing at his desk.

Actually, staying up late to write wasn’t so bad. Clark had a super brain and super speed, so churning out a decent article was a matter of minutes. The problem was he kept falling into the trap of a research fanatic, feeling that every argument involving the “Yellow Lantern (tentative)” lacked evidence. Since he wasn’t familiar with Eriya, he ended up scrapping the several-thousand-word piece he had written!

So this morning, Perry received a draft that was eighty percent about Superman and only twenty percent about the mysterious superhero.

Perry: “...”

Rubbing his graying hair, he said earnestly to Clark, “Even if you like Superman, we journalists can’t let our preferences show so obviously, you know?”

Clark: “...”

The Superman in his heart groaned in pain, but he obediently replied and asked, “Do you want me to rewrite it?”

“No need, it’s too late, and it’s pretty good—worthy of you.”

Perry read the article twice more, growing increasingly satisfied, then magnanimously let Clark off early to slack off.

Clark breathed a sigh of relief.

He figured that even if he did nothing else today, his colleagues would understand.

The remarkable Superman lay back, pretending to rest with eyes closed, his mind filled with plans on how to get an exclusive interview with Eriya.

Very professional.

Fortunately, opportunity seemed to favor the ambitious. Clark’s chance came soon enough.

That afternoon, just after lunch, as Clark and Jimmy Olsen returned from a fast-food joint, they heard a commotion ahead. Clark paused, about to ask, when a usually quiet colleague rushed over, panting.

“Can any of you contact Superman?!”

“The last time that ‘Netherlight’ broke into Galaxy Communications, he’s at the Daily Planet!”

“He says he wants to find Superman!!”

—Superman was nowhere to be found.

Could his other alias do the trick?