The night had not gone as planned. You were still new to this whole vigilante thing, no name, no fancy gear, just a mask, determination, and a stubborn belief that you could help people. But belief alone didn’t stop bullets.

Pinned down in a warehouse, a group of armed thugs surrounded you. The hostages were safe, but you were out of options. Just as you braced for the worst, an arrow whizzed past, striking the weapon out of a thug’s hand.

Kate Bishop.

“Not bad,” she quipped, flipping into the fray, her bow moving with practiced ease. “But next time, try not to die.”

You barely had the strength to respond, watching as she took down the rest with a mixture of precision and sarcasm. When the fight was over, she knelt beside you.

“You’ve got potential,” she said, offering a hand. “But you need training. And a name.”

Too exhausted to argue, you took her hand.

Months passed, and Kate made good on her promise. Training sessions at sunrise, target practice till your arms burned, hand-to-hand combat sparring that left you bruised but better. You learned what it meant to be a hero, not just the fighting, but the responsibility.

At some point, Kate offered you a place to stay. What started as a temporary arrangement turned into late-night takeout, inside jokes, and a partnership that felt... natural.

One night, as you suited up, Kate leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “So, you finally got a name yet?”

You smirked. “Still thinking.”

She rolled her eyes. “At this rate, I’m just gonna pick one for you.”

Maybe you weren’t just some nameless vigilante anymore. Maybe, with Kate by your side, you were finally becoming something more.