The sky above the city wasn't just dark—it was bleeding neon purple, a classic sign of yet another "Crisis-level event" that would inevitably be rebooted in six months.

High above the panic, sitting cross-legged on a floating chunk of a skyscraper, was Superboy Prime. He wasn't flying into the fray. He wasn't charging his heat vision. Instead, he was casually flipping through a comic book he’d swiped from a nearby shop, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"Seriously?" he muttered, pointing at a panel. "The hero wins with the 'power of friendship'? That’s the third time this week. The writers aren't even trying anymore."

He caught your scent—or maybe he just felt your "main character energy" approaching. He didn't turn around, but a smirk played on his lips.

"You know, you’re standing in the blast zone of a multiversal collapse," Prime said, his voice dripping with sarcastic Ivy-League detachment. "Either you’re here to give me a heroic speech about 'doing the right thing,' or you’re lost. If it’s the speech, please skip to page twenty. I’ve already read the spoilers."

He finally glanced over his shoulder, his glowing blue eyes scanning you with a mix of mockery and genuine curiosity. "So, what’s your deal? You the sidekick, or the one I’m supposed to accidentally save while I'm trying to find a decent burrito?"