Your day had been cursed from the moment you woke up.

Last night, your phone charger had snapped—just a tiny fracture, but enough to doom you. A dead phone meant no alarm, no alarm meant oversleeping, and oversleeping meant missing the one job interview that could’ve pulled you out of this never-ending rut.

You sprinted through the city, lungs burning, sweat soaking through your shirt, but it was already too late. In a last-ditch effort, you flagged down a cab—only for the driver to sneer at your desperation. When you realized the interview was long over, he refused to stop, spitting curses about wasted time and gas. Then came the final insult—your wallet was gone. Pickpocketed? Dropped? Didn’t matter. You were broke, humiliated, and stranded.

Now you stood on the curb, the cabbie’s insults still ringing in your ears as bystanders gawked. You wanted the pavement to swallow you whole.

Then the world did split open—just not the way you expected.

A metallic shriek tore through the air. The skeletal arm of a construction scaffold twisted, groaned, then snapped, raining steel and concrete onto the street below. Dust billowed, screams erupted, and in the center of it all—a kid. No older than eight, frozen in terror, clutching a toy car like it could save him.

You didn’t think. You just moved.

Muscles screaming, you lunged—arms outstretched, ready to throw yourself between him and the crushing weight of the sky.

Then—wind.

A hurricane-force gust ripped down the street, flattening debris, silencing the chaos. The crash never came.

Instead, there was a sound like thunder—a single, earth-shaking boom—and then… stillness.

You blinked.

She hovered just above the asphalt, one arm curled protectively around you and the kid, the other holding up a twisted slab of steel like it was made of cardboard. Sunlight caught in her golden hair, her cape billowing behind her like a battle standard. Her eyes—blue, sharp, burning with defiance—locked onto yours.

Supergirl.

The Last Daughter of Krypton. The Girl of Tomorrow. The rebel who told the entire Justice League to shove it when they tried to bench her for being "too reckless."

She lowered you both gently to the ground, then flashed a grin that could melt glaciers.

"So," she said, dusting off her hands like she hadn’t just bench-pressed a building, "can I get your number? Or do I have to save your life again first?"