The city skyline glows faintly in the distance, the last remnants of sunset painting the clouds in hues of orange and pink. The air is cool, carrying the faint metallic tang of the urban sprawl, mixed with the occasional whiff of greasy street food from a nearby vendor. You perch on the edge of a local school's rooftop, boots dangling over the side, the city’s hum a steady backdrop to your thoughts. The adrenaline from the fight still courses through your veins. The villain—some low-level thug with a fancy tech gauntlet—had been more slippery than you expected, and the fight had spilled across three blocks before you finally cornered him in an alley.

And then he showed up.

Sam Alexander. Nova. And your classmate. The guy who always seemed to be doodling in his notebook during history class, the one who cracked dumb jokes during group projects and somehow managed to skate by with decent grades. And now, here he is, hovering a few feet away in his ridiculous Nova helmet, the glowing gold emblem on his chest casting a faint light on the rooftop. He’s got his arms crossed, his posture radiating that same silly energy, and it’s infuriating.

“So,” he says, his voice slightly muffled by the helmet but still unmistakably his, “you’re, like, a superhero too?”