--
The next morning, sunlight spilled through the high-rise skyline, casting a golden glow across the glass walls of the Global Broadcast Network's thirty-first floor. The news floor buzzed with energy as anchors, producers, and staff hurried about their day. But one corner, tucked beside a large floor-to-ceiling window with the best city view, always drew glances—Susan Carter's desk.
From that prime perch, she could see most of the Manhattan skyline. The rising steam of early morning food carts below, the gentle arc of the Hudson in the distance, and the tiny, blurry dots of people living out their stories far beneath her heels—all framed behind the clean glass that reflected her calm, focused expression.
Susan had become something of a rising star at the station. Not just because of her reliable, hard-hitting reporting, but because she had—somehow—struck up a personal connection with the city's newest and most talked-about hero: the mysterious Superman figure, who had burst into the public eye after toppling a rogue Iron Monger unit in downtown L.A.
Now, whispers floated through the office as coworkers passed her desk.
"She's friends with him, right?"
"Didn't she get the first interview?"
"I heard he saved her personally…"
Susan never let it get to her head. Despite the subtle stardom, she remained grounded, always ready to lend a hand or share a tip. She even shared lighthearted gossip or behind-the-scenes notes about Superman—without breaching professional lines, of course. Her kindness only made her more beloved. Her desk had started to collect small thank-you gifts from coworkers: a novelty mug here, a potted succulent there, a hand-knitted coaster from an intern.
As she settled in and powered on her computer, Susan retrieved a fresh file from her desktop—photos from yesterday's coverage. She clicked through them, each image capturing a different angle of Superman.
Or rather, Lin Feng.
In one shot, he stood on a rooftop, wind tousling his dark hair, his black suit rippling in the breeze. His smile—warm, carefree, luminous—froze her for a moment.
He was... breathtaking.
She reached up and, without thinking, lightly touched the screen. Her lips curved into a silly smile. If her mother were here, she'd have said she looked like a love-struck teenager.
She quickly glanced around to make sure no one noticed.
Her phone buzzed in her lap.
A message lit up the screen:
> [Lin Feng]: "After work tomorrow, I'll pick you up."
Simple. Direct. Eight words. No poetry, no emojis. And yet Susan couldn't stop rereading it. There was something earnest, old-fashioned even, about the way he phrased things. The kind of text that stuck with you all day.
She bit her lip to suppress a grin.
Across town, Lin Feng was not floating above city skyscrapers or intervening in crimes. No—he was sprawled across his couch in sweatpants, a book balanced on his chest, his eyebrows furrowed in intense concentration.
The title? "First Dates for Dummies: A Gentleman's Guide."
"Wait, you're telling me this is a real thing?" he muttered, flipping another page. "So you don't just show up in tights and carry her off into the clouds?"
The Evolution System inside him—the ever-snarky digital companion tied to his powers—chuckled lazily in his head. "You spent 100 Reputation Points unlocking the 'Advanced Romance Insight Protocol,' and now you're surprised people like to eat dinner before kissing?"
"Shut it," Lin Feng grumbled. "This is valuable intel. Tactics. Strategy."
"Sure, buddy," the system replied. "Just don't forget to breathe when she smiles at you."
Lin Feng ignored the jab. He flipped back through his mental memories—every shared laugh with Susan, every coffee-fueled brainstorm they had in her apartment, and that time she'd smiled softly while brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Okay," he muttered. "Step one—find a good restaurant."
He remembered something—Susan's keychain. It had several little plastic fish hanging from it, the kind that restaurants give out as novelty items. A lightbulb went off.
"Wait! That was from The Boathouse Grill. That seafood joint by the pier," Lin Feng said to himself, sitting up straight. "She's got at least three of those. That means she's been there often... and she likes seafood!"
Activating his memory recall at full capacity, Lin Feng scanned through online listings of upscale seafood places—aiming for somewhere with ambiance, a touch of mystery, and preferably a few Chinese dishes.
After all, he was proud of his cultural heritage. He wanted Susan to experience a bit of it, too.
"Hello? I'd like to reserve a table for two tonight," he called one of the top-rated Chinese seafood restaurants in Manhattan.
"Apologies, sir," came the polite voice in Mandarin. "We're fully booked for tonight. Perhaps tomorrow?"
Click.
He tried another. And another.
No dice.
Even the hole-in-the-wall dumpling place in Chinatown was fully booked. Apparently, lovebirds and tourists alike had conquered the city's dining scene.
"This... is harder than I thought," Lin Feng muttered. "Who said love conquers all? It can't even conquer New York's reservation system."
Then a thought struck him like a lightning bolt.
"Wait a second... why didn't I think of him earlier?"
---
In the heart of Malibu, deep within his ocean-view mansion, Tony Stark was hunched over his workshop table, laser torch in hand, adjusting the inner circuitry of his Mark III helmet. Sparks danced as metal was welded. He was fully in his element.
"Sir," Jarvis's voice chimed in. "You have a call from Lin Feng."
Tony blinked. "Superman? Huh. Let's take it."
A holographic window popped up beside his workbench, revealing Lin Feng's grinning face.
"Well, well," Tony smirked. "Shouldn't you be out, I don't know, catching meteorites or dismantling missile convoys?"
"Even Superman needs PTO," Lin Feng shot back. "Besides, I've got a mission tonight."
Tony raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"A date."
That got Tony's attention.
"A date date?"
Lin Feng nodded solemnly. "My first one."
Tony leaned back in his chair, folding his arms with a crooked grin. "Kid, you just activated my favorite protocol: Operation Smooth Landing."
He stood up, tossing the helmet onto the table. "Let me handle this. If there's one thing I know better than engineering—"
"It's women," Lin Feng finished, smirking.
"Exactly. I'll make some calls. Get ready for a night that makes fairy tales look like warm-up drills. I'm sending you a location soon. Just wear something… less alien."
Before Lin Feng could reply, the call ended.
Tony clapped his hands. "Pepper! Our boy's going on a date! Time to roll out the billionaire-level hospitality!"
---
Back at the TV station, Susan's eyes flicked to the clock. It was 4 p.m. One hour until the end of her shift. Her inbox was clean, her article submitted, and her coffee cup—half full.
She sighed softly, stretching her back.
Despite the good salary and solid benefits, the one thing the station refused to upgrade were the chairs. She massaged her lower back and muttered, "This chair's gonna be the death of me…"
As she moved to the break area to pour herself a second coffee, she heard hurried footsteps behind her.
"Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun!" came a theatrical voice.
She turned—and immediately frowned.
"John?"
John Park, the station president's awkward and overly persistent nephew, stood before her holding a garish green lumbar pillow like it was an Olympic torch.
"I got this for you!" he beamed. "Heard you've been having back pain!"
Susan blinked. "That's... thoughtful. But unnecessary."
"Oh, come on. Try it!" He leaned in too close.
Susan stepped back instinctively. "Mr. Park—please call me Miss Carter. And thank you, but I'm fine."
The conversation had already drawn curious glances from coworkers. A few heads popped up from behind cubicles, ears pricked for drama.
"Susan, wait—" John tried to block her path.
She narrowed her eyes. "John. I said I'm not interested."
"I just thought maybe we could have dinner tonight?" His voice dropped a register. "There's this great new steakhouse—"
"I have plans," Susan said bluntly, her voice cool but firm. "Excuse me."
She sidestepped him and walked away, coffee in hand, posture straight, not looking back.
Behind her, John's face darkened. The pillow in his hand crumpled slightly under his grip. His eyes followed her silhouette until she disappeared around the corner.
From across the office, her colleagues resumed typing—albeit more slowly.
In the staff group chat, new messages were flying in:
> "John again? Seriously?"
> "He gave her a green pillow? That's like... color-code rejection."
> "Someone tell him we're not filming a rom-com. She already has a superhero, bro."
The city skyline outside glimmered as golden hour approached.
And somewhere across town, Lin Feng stood at a rooftop edge, the wind sweeping his black cape behind him.
He wasn't saving the world tonight.
He was preparing for something more personal. Something real.
A date.
Even Superman wanted to fall in love.