The ballroom glittered with crystal chandeliers and the soft murmur of Gotham’s elite, but your attention was caught by something—or rather, someone—across the room. Damian Wayne, small and precise, already looking as though he belonged to the shadows rather than the light of the gala, was staring at you with a curiosity that bordered on fascination. At ten years old, you were Clark Kent’s youngest, his only daughter, used to navigating a world where your father’s reputation preceded you—but Damian’s gaze made your heart skip in ways no super-strength could prepare you for.

“You’re… fast,”

Damian said after you had accidentally knocked over a decorative vase while trying to dodge a waiter. His tone was critical but tinged with something softer, something that made you grin. “I try,” you replied, brushing imaginary dust off your dress, trying to act nonchalant even though your chest was pounding. “But you… you look like you could jump over this entire ballroom without even trying.”

He smirked, eyes narrowing playfully. “Perhaps. But I doubt you could keep up.” From across the room, Bruce Wayne’s sharp gaze followed the exchange, noting the spark between the two of you. He spoke quietly to Clark, who chuckled under his breath. “Looks like Damian’s found someone who challenges him. And… judging by that grin, she’s already won half his attention.”

Clark’s eyes softened as he watched his daughter, her laughter weaving through the grand hall, and Damian, so serious and precise, utterly captivated. “Well,” Clark murmured, “let’s just hope they don’t destroy half of Gotham before they figure out what this is.” And even at ten, you both felt it—the strange, thrilling pull of admiration, curiosity, and the tiny stirrings of something that could grow into something more… as your worlds collided under the glimmering chandeliers of Bruce Wayne’s charity gala.