Money really was a wonderful thing.
It could even turn Spider-Man into a part-time worker.
Watching Peter Parker's ecstatic expression, Herman couldn't help but reflect on the wickedness of money. He simply possessed too much of this wickedness.
"Sinful, sinful," Herman sighed inwardly.
The truth was, Peter Parker was just too young and inexperienced. Otherwise, he might have been able to haggle with Herman instead of accepting the deal outright.
Spider-Man.
The face of New York.
Hiring a superhero for only a thousand dollars—Herman felt like he'd struck gold. With the stories Spidey could provide, he'd earn far more than that.
After all, Peter Parker was handing him firsthand, exclusive scoops.
Any newspaper would pay top dollar for such material.
After sending off the overjoyed Spidey, who still felt he'd landed a big win, Herman gathered the newspaper's management for a meeting.
Layoffs were inevitable.
If he wanted to grow the paper and complete his Identity Exclusive Mission, he had to ensure the management team was composed of capable people.
The freeloaders with no real skills needed to be swept out. With one decisive move, Herman cut a third of the management staff.
As for who was competent and who wasn't, he could tell at a glance by probing their thoughts. The ones with guilty eyes and uneasy hearts were nothing but parasites feeding off the company.
"I've been with this newspaper for thirty years! You can't just throw me out like this!" Naturally, among the dismissed were those unwilling to accept it.
"I think I'm the boss."
Herman's tone was firm.
Faced with threats of legal action, he made it clear he would provide the required severance— not a penny more.
"You can sue me if you want. But don't forget who sets the rules in this country."
His cold gaze made the remaining managers uneasy. Those who had just been shouting about hiring lawyers now found themselves panicking.
Money alone couldn't bend the law.
But tycoons?
In America, financial conglomerates could truly dictate terms.
The dismissed executives fell silent.
They left the office, clutching the compensation Herman had given them, tails between their legs. At least this way, they still had a dignified exit—and maybe even a chance to find work at another newspaper.
"I only have one demand," Herman said. "Build up the paper's news channels and influence, then dig up explosive stories for me."
He didn't care how much money needed to be invested.
Speaking with ease and authority, he laid out the new policies for the remaining management.
If they wanted to win the youth market, they had to publish the kind of news young readers craved—not just celebrity scandals, but biting critiques of politicians.
They had to be as ruthless as possible. Any politician caught in scandal needed to be thoroughly investigated, the truth dragged into the light.
As for political retaliation? They were just mouthpieces for financial elites. Who among them would dare move against Herman, who belonged to the top of those very elites?
Even if someone reckless enough tried, Herman doubted they had the power to harm him.
On his way upstairs earlier, he had been thinking about how to boost the paper's performance. Beyond exposing corruption, exclusive superhero stories were also what the public wanted most.
This was the Marvel Universe, after all.
You could never avoid the topic of superheroes.
The arrival of Spidey had sparked an idea in him: if they were going to report on superheroes, then they should publish what no other paper could—reports shot by superheroes themselves, on the scene.
To Herman, it was a stroke of genius.
"What the public loves most right now is news about Homelander," one manager offered, raising his hand to make the suggestion.
"Great. You'll be cleaning toilets tomorrow."
To Herman, that manager had zero awareness. Didn't he know Herman despised being reminded of Homelander?
Yes, Herman wanted the newspaper to thrive.
But not at the expense of himself. His Homelander identity was already tied to him deeply enough, and who knew how long it would take for people to forget? He had no intention of constantly reminding the public of it.
"We also need to verify the authenticity of our reports. Don't publish fake news just for clicks—it'll destroy the paper's credibility."
"And establishing the newspaper's website is a top priority. Today's youth want everything available for subscription online.
"As for distribution..."
By the end of the meeting, Herman had reformed much of the newspaper's system.
Not only had he intimidated the management team, but by using one person's "bright future" as an example, he made it clear how much he hated hearing the word Homelander. At the same time, he managed to rally support from the rest.
Employee salaries were raised by fifty percent on average, while management pay was increased by two hundred percent. On top of that, high performance would earn bonuses and incentives.
Staff who had once harbored resentment toward Herman now saw him as wise and formidable. Their flattery came pouring out like a flood.
"Boss, I fully support your decisions! From today onward, this newspaper is my home!"
"It's clear the boss really cares about the paper—that's why he's put all these systems in place. I feel so hopeful for the future!"
"Praise the boss! You're our god!"
...
Herman couldn't stand this kind of thing.
He made up an excuse and went back down to the film studio.
As a newspaper with such a long history, the New York Daily Bugle didn't really need much of Herman's day-to-day management. Any institution that couldn't sustain itself wouldn't have lasted this long—just like a court that couldn't function without its emperor was destined to collapse.
"Matt! I've got a part-time job for you!"
Herman had originally intended to develop Attorney Matt, bringing him into the newspaper as a reporter.
But then he saw him come in, leaning on his blind man's cane... Right. Matt's daily life was so normal it often made Herman forget he was blind. He couldn't exactly expect a blind man to work as a war correspondent.
Someone who couldn't see couldn't handle a camera.
Nor could they take proper photos.
"What kind of part-time job does the boss want me to do?"
Matt's expression turned serious, unaware of Herman's change of thought.
"Our restroom needs an attendant. Any thoughts?" Herman improvised on the spot.
For such an important position, Matt naturally declined. He explained that as a poor disabled man, he couldn't take on such a significant responsibility.
...
While Herman was laying out the newspaper's future, it was also back-to-school day for little Wanda. Escorted by Aunt May and Quicksilver, she arrived at St. Laurent Girls' Academy.
To Aunt May and Quicksilver, it was just another ordinary Sunday afternoon. Wanda thought so too—until she ran into her two roommates alone on campus.
"Your outfits... are you planning to put on a street show?"
Wanda looked at her flamboyantly dressed roommates, genuinely curious what they were up to.
"The new school supervisor said she'd take us to a bar!"
Anna, always the lively one, spoke with excitement. She had never been to a bar in her life.
"Aren't we not allowed to leave campus anymore?"
Wanda, who had no interest in bars, stared at Anna in confusion. A supervisor taking students to a bar? How absurd.
Wanda's instincts told her this new supervisor couldn't be trusted. No normal teacher would take students to such a chaotic, unsafe place.
Up to no good?
Having wandered the streets for years and seen humanity's darker side, Wanda couldn't help but think the worst. Even though supervisors at a girls' school were always women, that didn't automatically mean they were good people.
"The new supervisor has a car. She's tight with the gate guard too, so sneaking out will be easy."
"Besides, they won't be checking dorms tonight."
Anna flashed a sly grin, looking crafty as ever. But to Wanda, this was nothing but a foolish choice.
"The new supervisor won't hurt us. She's such a cool woman, she just wants us to experience the adult world."
Even Lorraine, usually so carefree, now wore an expression of admiration as she extended an invitation to Wanda.
"Come with us!"
Her eyes shone with anticipation.
"This is wrong."
Wanda's voice was firm.
She cherished her chance to study—and she also treasured her friendship with her roommates. But something about them felt off.
Normally, they were daring, yes, but not this reckless. They'd never openly break school rules like this.
What kind of spell had that new supervisor cast on them? Wanda grew uneasy. She'd only just learned of the new supervisor's existence herself.
"There you are."
Suddenly, a soft, melodious voice drifted down the hallway. Wanda turned her head to see a stunningly beautiful woman.
Her instincts screamed that this woman was not normal. First, her skin was deathly pale—so pale it carried no trace of blood.
Second, her features were almost too delicate. Without wearing any makeup, she still appeared more vibrant than women covered in heavy cosmetics.
Especially those lips, a vivid crimson, and those slightly teasing eyes—they stirred an unsettling sense of enchantment.
Even Wanda, another girl, couldn't help but be taken aback by her beauty.
"Teacher! You're here!"
Wanda's two roommates rushed over at once, telling the woman they wanted to bring Wanda along.
The woman's gaze shifted to Wanda.
That probing look made Wanda deeply uncomfortable. It was the same look she'd seen in predators staring down their prey.
And then she noticed the woman's jewelry—antique, like something out of the last century. A pure gold necklace that radiated a strange sense of mystery.
"What a lovely girl. I can hardly wait."
The woman seemed pleased with Wanda's appearance. She licked her lips, her tongue as bright and crimson as fresh blood.
"Would you like to join this party too?"
Her voice carried a strange allure, something that tugged at the mind.
At that moment, Wanda finally understood why her two roommates had been acting so strangely.