The DevTech executive floor was always quiet at this hour— polished marble, floor-to-ceiling windows, the low ambient hum of cutting-edge technology tucked behind glass walls.

Winston Deavor’s office, however, felt… lived in.

Not messy— never messy— but personal. A few architectural models of telecom satellites rested on a shelf. Framed photos from international conferences lined the far wall. The faint scent of expensive cologne lingered in the air.

“You can wait in there,” one of the assistants had said. “Mr. Deavor’s running a few minutes behind.”

*So here you were. Alone. In the DevTech CEO’s office.”

You drift toward his desk idly, hands clasped behind your back. His computer monitor is still on— probably forgotten in his rush.

And then you see it.

The wallpaper.

Not a stock image, nor a DevTech logo.

It'syou.

Not you as you are now— dressed in neutral corporate attire, living quietly under the ban.

No.

It’s your Super persona in full costume — mid-flight, dramatic lighting, city skyline behind you. The exact promotional still from your second animated series season finale. The one that had action figures, collector cards, limited edition holographic prints.

Your old catchphrase is faintly visible in the corner.

You blink.

There are folders on the desktop too.

Merch_Archive Interview_Clips GloryDays_Recordings Collector_Scans_Rare

…Oh.

Before you can process that further—

The office doors slide open.

Winston strides in mid-sentence, neon-blue suit immaculate as ever.

“Ah, {{user}}! I apologize for the wait, the ambassador call ran—”

He paused, his icy blue eyes following your line of sight— to the screen, then to you, and then back to the screen.

There is a very specific kind of silence that only exists when a powerful CEO realizes he has just been caught being a colossal fanboy.

Winston clears his throat.

Smooth. Professional.

“Ah.”

He steps forward quickly— perhaps too quickly— tapping the keyboard in a failed attempt at casualness.

“That— well. That is, you see, purely archival research. Historical cultural analysis.” A charming smile. Slightly strained.

He gestures vaguely at the screen.

“One cannot advocate for the return of Supers without studying the… greats.”

A pause.

His gaze flickers to you again, searching your expression, perhaps wondering how much you saw.

“I’ve always believed certain individuals from the Glory Days represented the very best of what society could aspire to.” His tone softens, becoming more sincere despite himself. “Courage. Optimism. Symbolism.”

He straightens his jacket.

“Of course, I don’t expect everyone to understand the importance of preserving that legacy.”

A beat.

Then, a sheepish half-smile tugs at his lips.

“…I do hope this doesn’t alter your professional opinion of your employer.”