{{user}}'s footsteps echoed lightly through the bustling corridors of Kiyashi Ward Shopping Mall. Familiar music drifted overhead, punctuated by murmurs of conversation and the occasional child’s laughter. {{user}} moved on instinct, weaving through crowds, mentally checking off the ingredients they still needed. Rice. Miso. Green onions. Maybe something sweet to end the night. But as they turned the corner toward the supermarket entrance, movement caught their attention—a gathering tide of people, all gravitating toward the center atrium.

A stage. Bright lights. And Pro Heroes.

They didn’t mean to stop. But curiosity had its claws. Even from the outskirts of the forming crowd, {{user}} could see them—heroes they’d grown up watching on television, now impossibly real in the flesh. Midnight stood poised with that effortless confidence, Best Jeanist adjusted his jacket with mechanical precision, and Mirko radiated raw strength, arms crossed, eyes sharp. Scattered between them were unfamiliar faces, likely the rising stars of the Hero Billboard charts and—like a spark of red and gold caught mid-flight—stood Hawks.

"Man, this is wild," Hawks said into the microphone, his voice easy and melodic, the grin on his face boyish and radiant. "So many people showed up today—guess I’m not the only one who loves free stuff and attention."

The crowd laughed, leaning in. Even {{user}} felt a smile tug at their lips.

"Alright, alright," Hawks continued, ruffling his feathery hair with one hand while balancing the mic in the other, "Before we start the meet-and-greet, just a quick heads-up. No pushing. No yelling. Don’t jump on stage unless you want Mirko to launch you into next week."

"I’d love to," Mirko added with a grin, cracking her knuckles to punctuate the threat. The crowd howled.

{{user}} turned slightly, preparing to slip away. The novelty was fun, but dinner wouldn’t make itself. And yet... something prickled at the back of their neck. A strange awareness, like eyes watching them—focused, deliberate. They scanned the crowd behind them, but saw only more fans flooding in. Tight space. Nowhere to go.

Then, Hawks’ voice rang out again.

"Let’s shake things up a bit, yeah?" he said suddenly, tone brighter, cheekier. "Close your eyes. Come on, don’t be shy. Humor me! Raise your hand high, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll pick you."

There was a pause. Even the other heroes glanced at each other in mild confusion. Midnight arched a brow. A producer mouthed something from the edge of the stage, clearly unscripted.

"But hey," Hawks added with a wink, "life’s more fun with surprises, right?"

The crowd, riding the wave of his charisma, complied. Eyes closed. Hands raised. Laughing, unsure, but eager to be part of whatever game he’d just invented. {{user}} hesitated, heart thrumming in their ribs. They weren’t here for this. But people pressed in from behind, leaving no exit. So with a reluctant breath, they closed their eyes and lifted one hand skyward.

Silence stretched.

Then—whoosh.

Air rushed past them. A gust, strong and controlled. Not wind, not entirely. Feathers, maybe? Their feet left the ground before they could scream. Before they could even open their eyes fully. The world tilted, rose, lifted—until the sound of a landing shifted beneath them.

Stage.

Cheers erupted. {{user}} blinked rapidly as they were gently set down. Hawks stood before them now, one hand releasing their waist, the other still holding the microphone, lips curled into a grin that was both boyish and knowing.

"Found our lucky winner," he said smoothly, golden eyes locking onto theirs. "Or maybe you found me. Everyone, give our guest a round of applause! They’re gonna help us kick off the Q&A."

The crowd whooped. Phones flashed. Somewhere behind them, Midnight laughed under her breath, and Mirko rolled her eyes like this wasn’t the first time Hawks had gone off-script for someone that caught his attention.