Ultra Responsibility (My Hero Academia X Spider-Man Reader)

Issue 22 - I'd like a job, Sir

The Daily Bugle Japan branch smelled like ink, burnt coffee, and regret.

Not my regret. Yet. The building itself just had that vibe, as if the walls had absorbed ten thousand shouted headlines and were still vibrating with them.

I sat in the waiting room with my knees bouncing like they were trying to escape my body. Across from me, through a big pane of glass, I could see the printing stage in full chaos mode. Huge machines devoured paper and spat it out in stacks. People yelled over the noise, waving folders like they were directing aircraft. Somewhere, a phone rang without mercy, like it enjoyed suffering.

And there I was.

In my best suit.

Overdressed. Absolutely overdressed. I looked like I'd shown up to a cage fight wearing a tux.

I gripped the envelope in my hands as if it held a sacred scroll. Photos. Chui had helped me pick them out, and I'd tried to pick the ones that didn't scream "Spider-Man's mum took this" but... yeah. Some of them were still a little too clean. Too centered. Too... "Hello, I am definitely not standing five feet away from myself."

I glanced around the waiting room, hoping there'd be someone else in my shoes.

There wasn't.

No other nervous freelancer clutching an envelope. No grizzled photographer giving me a nod of solidarity. Just a plant in the corner that looked like it had given up on photosynthesis and a receptionist who had mastered the art of staring through people.

I kicked my feet back and forth, watching the second hand on the clock crawl like it was dragging a bag of bricks.

Come on. Come on. Come on.

Finally, a door opened.

A young assistant stepped out, professional smile locked in place like a hero mask.

"Mr Parker," she said, "they're waiting for you."

My spine straightened so fast I nearly snapped my own vertebrae. I stood, smoothed my suit, adjusted my tie like I actually knew what I was doing, and followed her through the hallway.

My palms were sweaty. My heart was doing parkour.

I expected... I don't know. Some local editor. Some "Head of Bugle Japan" guy who answered to J. Jonah Jameson the way a servant answers to a throne.

Not the throne itself.

The assistant pushed open a door and stepped aside.

I walked in.

And there he was.

J. Jonah Jameson.

In Japan.

Smoking a cigar like the laws of the universe were optional, standing by the window and complaining like it was an Olympic sport he'd been born to win.

His voice hit me before I even fully processed the scene.

"I don't understand what you mean, Endeavour won't take an interview!" he barked, staring out over the city as it had personally betrayed him. "What did we do to get rejected?!"

The assistant cleared her throat behind me, still smiling, still brave. "Sir... we did... slander his name. And his children."

Jonah spun around as the sentence had slapped him.

"I did not slander him!" he snapped. "Slander is spoken. That's libel." He stabbed the air with his cigar for emphasis, ash almost falling onto a stack of papers that looked important. "Now get out. Make me a coffee. Photocopy some files. Do whatever it is you do when you're not crushing my dreams with your incorrect terminology!"