Ultraman’s appearance threw New York into chaos.
The phones at the Daily Planet never stopped ringing.
Television networks wanted licensing agreements for photographs.
Other newspapers wanted interviews.
Radio stations wanted statements.
No one went home.
Richard Carter called an emergency editorial meeting the moment the battle ended.
“We have one objective,” he told the newsroom.
“Tomorrow morning’s front page needs to be the one everyone remembers.” The exhausted staff didn’t complain.
They were journalists.
This was the story of a lifetime.
The first question was surprisingly simple.
“What are we calling him?” Every reporter in the room immediately understood the importance of the moment.
Whoever named the silver giant would likely shape how the entire world remembered him.
Ideas flew across the room.
Stuart Watt, the paper’s editor-in-chief, leaned back in his chair and spread his hands dramatically.
“Superman.” A few people actually considered it.
“He saved the city,” Stuart argued.
“If anyone deserves the title ‘Superman,’ it’s him.” Several reporters shook their heads.
“Too generic.” “It doesn’t describe what he is.” “And someone will inevitably complain we’re copying something.” Another hand went up.
The newspaper’s senior photographer adjusted his glasses.
“What about…
Titan?” Heads turned.
“He’s enormous,” the photographer continued.
“And Titans were gods before the Olympians in Greek mythology.
It gives him a sense of scale and power.” Several editors nodded thoughtfully.
“That’s actually not bad.” “I could see that catching on.” Richard remained silent, sipping his tea while listening to the debate.
Then, from the far end of the conference table, a timid voice interrupted.
“I…
have an idea.” Everyone looked toward the newest intern.
A blonde college student raised her hand cautiously.
“What if we call him…
One-Punch Man?” Richard sprayed tea across his desk.
The room fell silent.
He stared at the intern.
Please don’t tell me another transmigrator showed up…
The thought vanished almost as quickly as it appeared.
The young reporter, completely unaware of his reaction, hurried to explain herself.
“I mean…
think about it.
That monster survived tanks, missiles, and an entire military division.” She gestured excitedly.
“Then this giant arrives…” She made a punching motion.
“…and ends the fight with one hit.” “…” “…” A few reporters exchanged glances.
“You know…” “When you put it that way…” “It actually makes sense.” Stuart rubbed his chin.
“Simple.
Memorable.
It emphasizes just how overwhelming that punch was.” He nodded with increasing enthusiasm.
“I kind of like it.” Several others agreed.
Richard slowly set down his teacup.
“I don’t.” The room turned toward him.
“I’ve made the decision.” He stood.
“His name is Ultraman.” Silence.
Stuart frowned.
“Ultra…
man?” He rolled the unfamiliar word around in his mouth.
“It sounds like…
‘ultimate man?'” “Close enough,” Richard replied.
“I’ve already decided.
That’s what we’re printing.” Nobody looked convinced.
But nobody argued either.
After all…
He owned the newspaper.
Richard hid a smile.
You’re saying it wrong, he thought.
Ultraman.
You’ll get used to it.
With the naming settled, the meeting shifted back to business.
Stuart walked to the whiteboard, marker in hand.
“Listen up.” He drew a large circle around the word ULTRAMAN.
“This isn’t just another superhero story.” He pointed toward the board.
“Compared to this guy, Iron Man’s fancy armor and the Abomination’s rampage are yesterday’s news.” Several reporters laughed.
“So here’s what we need.” He began writing.
Who is he?
“Alien?
Ancient guardian?
Something else?” Why was he here?
“Did he come specifically to save New York?” Where did he go afterward?
“Can we track him?” Is he alone?
“Or are there more like him?” The marker paused.
Stuart thought for a moment before adding one more question.
“Is he single?” Richard pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Stuart.” The editor looked up innocently.
“What?” “You drifted.” “…Right.” He quickly erased the question.
“Occupational hazard.” The room erupted in laughter.
One reporter muttered, “What was the follow-up?
Interview his girlfriend?” More laughter.
Even Stuart couldn’t help grinning.
“Fine.
Fine.” He capped the marker.
“You all know your assignments.” He pointed around the room.
“Research teams, verify eyewitness accounts.” “Photo desk, clean up every usable image.” “Field reporters, get to the hospitals, the police, and anyone who saw the fight.” “Everyone else…” He slapped the whiteboard.
“…write.” “We have a deadline.” Before dismissing the meeting, Stuart looked toward Richard.
“Anything you’d like to add?” Richard rose from his chair.
His gaze swept across the newsroom.
Most of the reporters were young.
Idealistic.
The sort of people who still believed journalism could change the world.
He hoped they never lost that.
“I think this is a turning point,” he said.
“Not just for the Daily Planet.” “For the world.” He smiled.
“This story will define us as a newspaper.” “So let’s make sure we tell it better than anyone else.” The room answered with an enthusiastic chorus of agreement.
Energy returned almost instantly.
Chairs scraped against the floor.
Editors hurried back to their desks.
Photographers rushed into the darkroom.
Field reporters grabbed cameras, notebooks, and car keys before racing into the night in search of witnesses.
No one needed to be told twice.
Hours later, as the newsroom buzzed with controlled chaos, someone paused.
“…Where’s the boss?” Everyone looked toward Richard’s office.
It was empty.
“Wasn’t he just here?” “He left after the meeting.” A younger reporter blinked.
“He went into the field himself?” His coworker looked at him like he’d lost his mind.
“Our boss?” “The same boss who owns the place?” “…Yeah?” “He went home.” The younger reporter frowned.
“To…
sleep?” “Of course.” The veteran shrugged.
“The rest of us chase headlines.” “He signs the paychecks.” The newsroom burst into laughter before everyone returned to work.