Chapter Text
The cacophony of the bullpen welcomed him.
It was an early Monday morning, but the phones were already ringing off the hook. People were hunched over their desks, banging on their keyboards at a lightning speed that could rival his own, muttering to themselves. Some were huddled together, debating on multiple things at once. Snippets of conversations — breaking news, deadlines, lunch orders — overlapped.
“Get me those photos, Lee! Or I swear —”
“— anybody seen my pen? My lucky pen!”
“— heard there’s a 415 down at —”
From somewhere in the depths of the bullpen, there was a deep, droning hum of what was unmistakably the sound of a vacuum cleaner. And someone was definitely having a cry in the supply closet.
To an ordinary person, the assault of sounds and sights would be a jarring experience.
But not for Jeon Wonwoo. He was no ordinary person, after all.
This was where he was supposed to be — The Daily Planet, the center of all the action. He couldn’t think of any other place that would keep him informed. The place crackled with frantic energy. The pressure was palpable. The inhaled that pungent smell of ink and nervous sweat hung heavy in the air.
Fortunately for him, nobody paid any attention to Wonwoo’s arrival. His class good looks were muted down by his style — a button-down shirt and tan pants to match his suit jacket, devoid of any flashy patterns or prints. His laced up leather shoes were for comfort. A belt, a watch from his old man, and thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, even his accessories were practical, favoring function over fashion.
Quiet, dependable. Unassuming.
Just hiding in plain sight.
Maybe almost too invisible that a harried-looking intern brushed past him. She was carrying a precarious stack of multicolored folders that nearly flew out of her arms. “Mr. Wen! Here, I have what you asked for! Mr Wen! Wait—” She weaved through the desks and was gone in a blink.
Wonwoo dared to take a step further and navigate through the chaos — where the magic happened. His eyes darted from scene to scene. Light from the outside filtered through the windows. Pinned-up clippings covered an entire wall from top to bottom. Coffee cups and half-eaten sandwiches were tossed in the garbage bin. Hastily scribbled notes had fallen off desks. Wonwoo picked one up and had a hard time deciphering what was written. He placed it back on top of a —
A phone book? Wonwoo, under carefully practiced pretense, took a second look at the antiquity. He could not remember when he last saw one, much less needed one.
“Move out of the way!” A man whose hairline had long receded grumbled. He gave him a withering look before bulldozing his way straight to where Wonwoo was standing. He, of course, had to pretend to stumble a little from the contact.
“I’m — I’m sorry, sir!” Wonwoo called after him.
“Can I help you, buddy?” Another man appeared, more amiable than the last one. Right away, Wonwoo recognized him as Choi Seungcheol. He was everyone’s favorite quarterback for the Metropolis Meteors but had to retire early due to exacerbating injuries on his wrist.
Seungcheol exuded an easy confidence. His sports jacket flattered his athletic frame. His dark hair was slightly tousled as if he'd just run a hand through, adding to his air of effortless cool. It was the complete opposite of what he decided to present himself as — the bumbling, awkward rookie trying to blend in.
“Uh, yes. I’m Jeon Wonwoo. I’m looking for Mr. Yoon Jeonghan’s office. It’s my first day.”
“You’re the the new reporter, huh? Welcome! Always good to have fresh blood in here.” His handshake was firm. Wonwoo faked a wince. “Choi Seungcheol, sports writer for the Planet.”
“I know who you are, Mr. Choi. Big fan,” he added, maintaining a level of politeness to keep it professional.
“You can just call me Seungcheol. Mr. Choi is my father. Well, if you’re looking for the Chief, he’s in that office,” Seungcheol pointed to the open door located at the corner of the bullpen.
“Thank you.”
“Well, good luck in there. I’ll see you around, Wonwoo!” He walked off, disappearing into the frenzied landscape.
Wonwoo shuffled along to the indicated door. On its glass panel, the words Editor-in-Chief were emblazoned in gold letters underneath Yoon Jeonghan’s name.
He was another of the many reasons why Wonwoo’s decision to work at the Planet’s was cemented. Yoon Jeonghan’s name preceded him. They whispered his name in the elite circle of of Journalism. It was said that despite pushing everyone to their limits in order to serve the public interest, he had a deep, paternalistic love for his staff and the newspaper. With his unwavering integrity and commitment to truth and justice, he would not hesitate to go toe-to-toe with powerful figures.
The tough, no-nonsense image Wonwoo had of the editor was softened by the sweet smell of baked cookies coming from his office. The hint of cinnamon was distinctive. Before he knocked, Wonwoo paused to adjust his glasses and slump his shoulders forward. He gave the door a tentative rap.
“Come in!”
He stepped inside. The office was as chaotic as the newsroom outside, perhaps even more so. A tangled mess of wires snaked across the floor that screamed hazard. Shelves lined the walls, and they were threatening to collapse under the weight of overflowing books. There was a whiteboard with the words shingi banggi bboong bboong banggi written across the top. Never had Wonwoo encountered those words before. He was curious about what they meant.
On top of a beautiful oak table was a jumble of files and folders. Pens, their caps lost, scattered all over. There was a rock perched on the side, wearing a straw hat. But the seat behind the desk was empty.
Adjacent to the door, tucked in the corner, was a lone armchair where Yoon Jeonghan was seated. His long hair held by a tie to keep the them off his sharp eyes and high cheekbones. He was busy with his… Lego. The little pieces covered the small coffee table in front of him. He was assembling several pieces together. The Planet’s Editor-in-Chief kept his attention glued on a particularly tricky curved slope Lego piece when he asked, “Are you Jeon? You’re here early.”
Wonwoo was half an hour early. Part of it was the excitement, but it was also something that his mom made sure of. Being on time was being late. She raised him to be a fine young man with impeccable manners. It was a testament to the excellent parenting of his mom and dad. They might not have the same biological design, but he was a Jeon through and through. “Yes, Mr. Yoon. I’m eager to get started. I want to let you know that I’m very passionate about what we do. Journalism is—”
“Passion is good, but we deal with facts here, Jeon. Not feelings.” The Lego piece slotted into place with a definite click. “Don’t get me wrong. We deal with stories that matter, stories that make a difference, but you can’t buckle under the pressure. It’s not for the faint of heart.” Jeonghan finally looked up and gave him a once over. “Think you can handle all of that?”
“Mr. Yoon, I’m ready to learn and work twice as hard as anyone who was here before me, I can assure you that.” There was a quiet strength and determination in his voice.
Jeonghan studied Wonwoo for a moment. Wonwoo might have detected a hint of approval in his gaze, but his new boss just hummed. “We’ll see about that.” He lifted the Lego structure that he completed, proud of his handiwork. “My husband told me to quit smoking, so I’m building so much of these expensive bricks instead. What do you think?”
Wonwoo gave him a smile. It was the latest design of the Batmobile. He thought it would be a good story to tell Hansol when they meet again. It would make his brooding ally fluster a bit, knowing he had a devoted following even outside of Gotham.
“Since you’re eager to learn, you should know that you will be partnered with another one of our reporters.” Jeonghan stood up to grab a tin container from his desk. “Here, have a cookie. These were freshly-baked this morning.”
He blinked, surprised by the offer, but still took a cookie from the container. It was warm and smelled reminiscent of his own mother’s kitchen. Still slightly bewildered, he took a bite and found it was surprisingly good.
Jeonghan had leaned against his desk and crossed his arms. He continued, “Jun will show you the ropes. He has the eyes and nose for news. It’s uncanny, if you ask me. His ways are… eccentric, but do not let him intimidate you. You’re from Seoul, right?”
He nodded. Wonwoo moved to Metropolis for college degree, knowing this was where he needed carve out his path. His adoptive parents followed after a few years to be closer to him and offer as much support as they could.
Jeonghan had leaned against his desk and crossed his arms. He continued, “Jun will show you the ropes. He has the eyes and nose for news. It’s uncanny, if you ask me. His ways are… eccentric, but do not let him intimidate you. You’re from Seoul, right?”
He nodded. Wonwoo moved to Metropolis for college, knowing this was where he needed carve out his path. His adoptive parents followed after a few years to be closer to him and offer as much support as they could.
Jeonghan gave a long, low whistle. “This is a long way from home, kid. You’ll find that in common with Jun. He came here all the way from Shenzhen when he was fourteen.” Without warning, he shouted. “Wen? Wen Junhui, get in here!”
A few moments later, Wen Junhui strode into Jeonghan’s office furiously typing on his mobile phone. His tall and slender physique nearly tripped on one of the wires. Wonwoo’s quick reflexes reacted on impulse and held out a hand to stop him from stumbling over.
Their eyes connected right away. Jun’s were a warm, chocolate brown, blown wide in surprise. All of sudden, the world around him seemed to dim for a fraction of a second, fading into mute. An electric jolt vibrated in the air between them, an ignite. A small, fleeting connection that felt immense.
He smelled wonderful like fresh citrus. Is that… lemon? Wonwoo wondered.
“Always know how to make an entrance.” Jeonghan interrupted. And just like that, the spell was broken, leaving Wonwoo strangely disappointed. A lingering tingle in his fingertips pulled him back to reality.
“You called, Chief?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Okay, Chief,” a smirk played on Jun’s lips.
Jeonghan released an exasperated sigh, but the annoyance had no malice in it. It was a look It was a look filled with years of shared jokes. “I want you to meet someone. This is Jeon Wonwoo, the newest addition to our team. You two are going to be working with each other from here on out. Understood?”
Jun flicked his eyes back to Wonwoo. “You’re giving me a partner? All due respect, Chief, I work solo. I can’t have anyone slowing me down.”
“All due respect, Wen, maybe you do need to slow down. Besides, think of it as a learning experience for when you take on a bigger leadership role.”
“You’re just asking me to babysit the new guy,” Jun rolled his eyes. He turned to look at Wonwoo, expression softening slightly. “No offense, Jeon. I’m sure you’re a great reporter.”
Their boss chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. “If anything, he’s babysitting you, Wen. You get into far more trouble than all my other reporters combined. You’re giving me weekly headaches. A partner might keep you out of danger. And I’m not asking, Jun. I’m telling you, Wonwoo is your partner. End of discussion.” He radiated an aura of formidable authority.
Wonwoo could tell that Jun wanted to argue, but it seemed that his now partner knew better than to cross a line with Yoon Jeonghan when he’d clearly made up his mind. Jun, resigned, gave their boss a salute.
“Well… Come on, partner,” Jun said. "Let's get to work." He clapped Wonwoo on the shoulder. It was a gesture that was meant to be both friendly and subtly challenging. But the only thing that Wonwoo registered was their brief touch left another lingering warmth.
Wonwoo clutched on his mailman bag and trailed behind Jun as they exited Jeonghan’s office. He was most certainly up for the challenge.
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“Alright, Jeon. Welcome to the big leagues,” Jun announced, arms outstretched into the bustling bullpen. The volume of noise and activity hadn’t gone down. In fact, it had only gotten busier and livelier. There were just too many people cramped in one space.
“Here is where the mayhem happens. Paper cuts, jammed printers. Everyday, we consume an alarming amount of caffeine. But most of all, stories are birthed here. Don’t you just love it?” The smile was back on his face, a radiant expression of pure joy, the kind that came from deep within — a purpose.
It was a rhetorical ask, but Wonwoo understood the same kind of devotion to the craft, recognized it as his own. It was the call to do something important, something that mattered.
Jun continued his tour, his pace brisk and efficient. He steered Wonwoo between the maze of desks. “Over there are the sports guys. They’re loud and obnoxious, especially during basketball and football seasons.” Wonwoo looked over at their section but did not see Seungcheol among the group of people.
“You have the foreign desk,” It was another group of men and women in front of a large world map, countless pins dotted all over. “They handle all the international news — wars, elections. They’re always serious back there.”
“Who are they?” Wonwoo spotted a relatively younger looking staff members who were currently very preoccupied by their mobile phones. The ghostly glow of their phone screens bathed their faces like masks.
“Online team,” Jun explained. “They manage our socials. Chief wanted us to keep up with the digital age.” They stopped at an empty desk. “Anyway, this is you."
Across his desk was Jun’s, as evidenced by the slightly askew nameplate. Something akin to envy must have crossed Wonwoo’s face because Jun was quick to tell him about his. “HR will issue yours in no time. Now, tell me. What kind of stories do you usually cover?”
“Well, I’m interested in all kinds of stories. They all need to be told.”
Wonwoo received what could only be described as an approving look. Jun turned and headed towards his desk drawer then tossed a notepad and a pen at him. He fumbled with the catch. “Look, in order for us to run a tight ship, there are rules. Write them down.”
He tightened the frame of his glasses against the bridge of his nose as a sign of concentration, ready to listen and learn. “No, it’s okay. I can remember them.
“Write. Them. Down,” Jun said through gritted teeth. Wonwoo’s response was to flip open the notepad, pen poised above a blank page.
“Right. Okay, first. Things move fast around here, so you have to be quick.” Under close supervision, he watched Wonwoo wrote with measured strokes and almost stomped his foot with impatience. “Jeon, that won’t work. Even the way you write needs to be quick.”
He scribbled faster.
“Second,” Jun ticked off points on his fingers, “You have to be tough. You either sink or you swim.”
Good thing I know how to fly, Wonwoo smiled to himself.
“What’s so funny?” Jun glared at him.
“N-nothing,” he stammered, eyes darting away. “I swear. I wasn't—”
"Hey Jun!" a cheerful voice called out. Another tall figure, slightly out of breath, jogged towards them, a wide grin splitting his face.
“Lee, you’re late,” he rolled his eyes in the same affectionate manner as Mr. Yoon. These people were more than just colleagues.
"Worth the wait, right?” The newcomer said with a confident smile, reaching his eyes and crinkling the corners. The man was a burst of warm, golden light. “What's up?”
“Just showing the new guy around. Meet Jeon Wonwoo," Jun said. "Jeon, this is Lee Seokmin, photographer extraordinaire and pizza connoisseur.”
A small, compact camera nestled comfortably against Seokmin’s chest. “That’s right. This baby right here has a 26MP X-Trans sensor, a speedy X-Processor 4 chip, and fixed 23mm—”
—f/2 lens,” Wonwoo finished off the list of specs. “That's a great model,” he pointed at the Fuji X100V.
“Thanks, man! You know your camera, huh? If you’re looking for a place to have lunch, just hit me up. I know all the good ones around here. Now, what has this guy been telling you?”
Wonwoo chanced a quick glance at Jun before replying, “We’re on rule #2 of—”
The photographer groaned. “Not that nonsense!”
“It is not nonsense. They are the difference between a good reporter and a mediocre one.” Jun had his arms folded tightly across his chest.
“Wait ’til he tells you about The Rule.”
“What’s… The Rule?” Wonwoo asked, genuinely curious.
“Well, Won. I can call you Won, right? Our Jun right here,” Seokmin slung an arm around Jun’s shoulder, “is going to tell you that he’s always right, even when he's wrong.”
The retort at the tip of his tongue died when his phone rang. Jun glanced down on the screen, a frown creasing. "Wen," he answered, clipped and professional. He wedged the phone a shoulder and an ear as he snatched the notepad and pen from Wonwoo. "What kind of accident, Officer Kim?" he asked, voice instantly sharpening.
Seokmin straightened up at the mention of the name. Wonwoo figured this Officer Kim was someone important. Wonwoo’s senses were on high alert, adrenaline already pumping. The voice on the other end was muffled, but with his super-hearing, he caught their conversation. The man sounded breathless and panicked.
“There’s a big one on Pelham Square. Multiple vehicles involved. It’s pretty bad. They’re still pulling people from the wreckage.”
Wonwoo spied the sound of ambulance and fire trucks in the background. Worse, he heard people’s cries.
“Text me the exact location,” Jun had already dropped the call before he even finished the sentence. Hastily, he grabbed his bag and swung it over his shoulder. “Your first day, huh, Jeon? You know how to drive, right?”
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They said that Metropolis was the city that never sleeps. People from all walks of life filled its streets. There was constant buzzing energy in the air. The spirit of ambition and progress, where the future was being shaped. Yet it was also a contradiction of its own because in the midst of the dazzling skyline and towering skyscrapers are the dangerous back alleys and impoverished neighborhoods.
Jun drummed his fingers impatiently on the dashboard. "Come on," he muttered, eyes fixed on the gridlock ahead of them. He glanced at the clock for the tenth time in under a minute. “Let’s try another route, Jeon. Take the next corner.”
Seokmin piped up from the backseat."Every route is just the same, Jun. Metropolis goes on a standstill every time there's a fender bender, let alone a major incident.” He snapped a picture of the stalled traffic.
Wonwoo remained the picture of calm behind the wheel. He was in a predicament. While every second wasted was a potential headline missed, he was quite concerned about the situation up front. The distant cries of the injured, the frantic shouts of first responders were amplified by his super-hearing. He had to get there, and fast. But he couldn't exactly leap out of the car and take off into the sky without blowing his secret identity.
“This is ridiculous!" Jun fumed. ”We're missing the whole thing!”
“Just go ahead.”
The senior reporter tore his gaze away from outside and raised an eyebrows in question. “Are you bailing on your first day?”
“No! I... I would never. I just..." Wonwoo scrambled for an excuse. “I’ll find a place to leave the car and follow. You’re right. We can’t miss this. This is a major story.”
Jun gave it a thought, worrying on his bottom lip. “Fine," he sighed. "Go find a parking space. But make it quick! You need to be there. Get your camera ready, Lee.” He practically threw himself out of the car, with Seokmin hot on his heels. Wonwoo watched them disappear into the crowd.
He was right. Wonwoo had to be there, so he, too, tumbled out of the car and onto the sweltering sidewalk. Wonwoo ducked into a narrow alleyway. His heart pounded, not just from the exertion of his hasty escape, but with the weight of the calls of people in need. With a glance around the area, he ensured there as no prying eyes from within its shadows. His secret must be kept intact.
In a swift, practiced motion, he tugged at the buttons of his shirt as it strained against his chest. The vibrant colors of red and blue colors beneath his shirt peeked through the gap. His glasses were tucked away in a blur of motion. His shoulders broadened, posture straightened.
Gone was the the mild-mannered reporter of The Daily Planet.
With a push against the alley wall, Wonwoo launched himself into the sky with a burst of speed no one had ever witnessed before. And against the backdrop of the Metropolis’ iconic skyscrapers was a blur of red and blue. The wind whipped at his cape. A knot twisted in his stomach, a feeling he rarely experienced. A tiny bit of it was fear of emerging from the shadows, but mostly a deep, visceral sense of responsibility to those in danger.
Eyes swept across the mangled metal and shattered glass, taking in the full extent. Smoke billowed from one of the vehicles, a dark plume against the afternoon sky. The city air was thick with smoke and the smell of gasoline. His metahuman genes made Wonwoo impervious to heat and fumes. He could clear the air with powerful, controlled rotation, like a whirlwind but was afraid to disturb the surrounding. Putting everyone in more danger was the last thing he wanted.
Police officers worked to control the scene, directing traffic and keeping bystanders at a safe distance. Among them, Wonwoo saw Jun’s figure right in front of the barricade, clearly intent on getting closer the story, clearly intent on getting closer to the heart of the story.
“Officer Kim, mind telling us what happened here?”
He picked up on Jun’s tenacity to get to the bottom of things. It was certainly admirable, as the weird fluttering in his stomach would suggest. But he hoped, prayed even, that his fellow Planet employees wouldn't recognize him.
Wonwoo needed to focus on the rescue efforts. He couldn't afford to be distracted. Diverting his attention away from then, the first thing he saw was the bus driver. He was unconscious and slumped over the wheel. The vehicle itself was teetering on the edge of the overpass. Carefully, he lifted the bus, righting it and placing it back on the roadway. Using his super-strength, he pried open its jammed door, freeing the rest of the passengers.
“It's alright, everyone. You’re safe now,” Wonwoo gave them his gentle assurance. “The medical team is on the way. They’re going to take care of you.” One by one, they filed out of the bus to meet the rescuers.
Wonwoo listened for the driver’s heartbeat. It was faint, irregular. His breathing was shallow, too. While checking on his pulse, Wonwoo scanned him for injuries using his x-ray vision. There was no internal bleeding nor fractured bones. Mindful not to cause him further distress, he lifted him from the driver’s seat, movement precise.
“He needs immediate attention,” his instruction to the waiting paramedics was calm but firm. “His heart is weak.” The paramedic offered him a reassuring nod.
Once he knew the driver was in safe hands, he moved through the rest of the wreckage. The broken glass crunched underneath his durable shoes. His super-hearing picked up a strangled cry from underneath it. The firefighters were having trouble with the large chunks of metal, so he went ahead and cleared the pathway for them. He made it look impossibly easy, allowing rescue workers to access the trapped victim more quickly.
Indubitably, his sudden appearance had caused whispers that spread like wildfire. Even in the middle of all the rubble, the people watched him warily.It was to be expected. Here was an enigma that dropped out of nowhere.
Was he an friend? Or a foe?
Their low murmuring brought him back to a time, an old battle he had fought in the quiet corners of his heart. Wonwoo had wrestled with the implications. Stepping into the public eye would be the loss of his privacy. There would always be constant scrutiny. He had seen it first hand wit Hansol when he became The Caped Crusader.
He had struggled with this, but ultimately, in order to help people, Wonwoo had to step into the limelight. He donned the suit to hide his true identity.
This man in elaborate disguise would be their beacon of hope, their symbol of justice and Jeon Wonwoo would continue to live his life in anonymity.
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“Wonwoo! Wonwoo! Over here!” Seokmin frantically waved his arms above his head, trying to get his attention. His smile beamed brighter than the midday sun. The camera swung wildly around his neck.
Wonwoo was jostled and pushed from all sides, but he shouldered his way past people, eyes fixed on the man next to Seokmin. Jun chewed on the end of his pen as he scanned the notepad, no doubt checking his notes.
He came to a screeching halt, almost colliding with his partner. A quick sidestep prevented a full-on impact. But from this close, Wonwoo could count every single on of Jun’s eyelashes. The number of which he had already committed to memory. Their near-miss left them both slightly awkward and exchanged a flurry of muttered apologies.
“Where have you been?” he looked at him from head to toe, taking in Wonwoo’s rumpled clothes and disheveled hair.
“Just… the car and…” he gulped a breath, “the police wouldn’t let me pass. I don’t have, uh, an ID yet.”
“Oh, yeah. We forgot about that… Sorry, man.” Seokmin’s smile dropped a fraction. “But you saw him, right?”
“Saw who?”
Wonwoo asked a question he knew the answer to, but he wondered about people’s reaction. Did the elaborate ruse work?
Long nights were spent on meticulously formulating the perfect plan to launch off, pun intended. His fingers traced the map of Metropolis. The patrol routes and trouble spots embedded in his mind. He memorized faces and names of people in power.
Mentally and physically, he had done everything to be prepared. Focus his mind to control his skills. Tested boundaries, trained to push his strengths to its absolute limits. He poured his heart into it, all thirteen parts of it.
Did it all pay off?
“You won't believe what just happened! It was like something out of a movie.” Seokmin was breathless with excitement. “He even flew, up in the sky like a goddamn bird. I got a shot. Or, well, I tried to! He moved so fast.”
The photographer went on and on, waxing poetic. He had nothing but high praises. While Seokmin was consumed by his awe, Jun continued to survey the scene, unaware of the lengthy ramblings. The crowd had dispersed. The ambulances were on their way to transport patients for immediate care. It could be that he was searching for details that could tell the story of what had happened, but his expression was solemn.
“Jun?”
He didn't seem to hear the first call of his name, lost somewhere in the destruction. Another scar that would mark the city of Metropolis. A shadow crossed Jun’s face. Then, a few seconds later, a subtle shift in his posture, he turned. A slight frown creasing his brow as he registered the call. His eyes were back to being sharp and inquisitive. He was back in the zone.
“You alright?” Wonwoo checked with him.
“Yes, Jeon. Why wouldn’t I be?” Jun had shrugged off whatever emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. “We need to go to Metropolis General Hospital. My source tells me something suspicious happened here. We have to talk to witnesses.”
“Your source? Is that Officer Kim?”
“Okay, let’s walk you through rule number 3.” Jun held up the same number of fingers, wiggling them in the air. He was back in high spirits. Seokmin grumbled on the side. “You never reveal your sources. Ever.”
Wonwoo chose to focus on other things. “You want to check if the passengers saw something?”
“Saw something, heard something, smelled something. Anything. We need to get there before the Inquisitor. I won’t have those second-rate reporters have their hands all over this story. They’re going to twist it all up.” Jun huffed. “Lee, are you coming?”
“I’m gonna hang back, take a few more photos,” He fiddled with the settings of his camera. “I’ll meet you there.”
Alone, Jun asked. “You’re driving, right?”
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