On the third day after the disaster, headlines across major U.S. media outlets were still dominated by the catastrophic attack in Manhattan.
The New York Times ran an article titled "Hulk Returns: Disaster or Redemption?", chronicling the battle in detail.
At the very end, however, they devoted an entire page to a high-definition photo of Fischl.
Though the image was slightly blurred, her signature purple-black Gothic dress, flowing golden twin tails, and the longbow crackling with thunder remained unmistakable.
The Daily Bugle took an even more sensational approach. Its front-page headline blared:
"Angels of Thunder Descend on New York?"
With a provocative subtitle beneath:
"The Green Goliath and the Mysterious Girl—Teaming Up While the Military Stands Helpless!"
On social media, the hashtag #FindTheThunderGirl trended for 48 hours straight.
Enthusiasts pored over Fischl's combat footage frame by frame, speculating about the origin of her powers.
Fan clubs sprang up overnight, flooding feeds with screenshots captioned "Princess of Judgment."
Cosplayers even replicated her outfit in record time, striking dramatic poses in Times Square.
Meanwhile, back at Midtown High School…
Warm sunlight filtered through the tall oak trees, casting dappled patterns across the brick-red walls of the school building.
Blue sky shimmered in the corridor windows, and ceiling fans turned lazily overhead, humming softly.
Inside the gym, the squeak of sneakers echoed as boys darted across the court, passing and shooting. Sweat glistened under the bright lights.
On the sidelines, cheerleaders in snug sports vests and short skirts waved pom-poms in rhythm, their cheers sending adrenaline—and hormones—soaring.
And then there was Damian—self-proclaimed president of both the Lazy Cancer Association and the Last-Minute Cramming Club,
a national-level expert in strategic napping,
heir to several "intangible traditional skills" (mostly involving avoiding responsibility),
and chronically short on both cash and motivation.
He slouched in the bleachers, utterly uninterested in the game below.
His eyes flicked toward Peter Parker, who sat beside him, camera in hand.
Peter appeared to be photographing the players and cheerleaders—but every few seconds, the lens would subtly pivot toward the opposite stands.
There, bathed in sunlight from the high windows, sat Gwen Stacy.
White headphones nestled in her ears, an Introduction to Molecular Biology textbook resting on her lap.
Her blonde hair glowed in the light, her profile sharp and serene.
She seemed absorbed in her reading—yet the faintest smile played at the corners of her mouth.
She'd noticed Peter's sneaky snapshots long ago… and had been adjusting her posture just enough to look her best in frame.
From his corner of the bleachers, Damian—bachelor, bystander, and unwilling witness to young love—muttered under his breath:
> "May your grocery bags double in weight,
> Your subway commute be standing-room only,
> Your toilet paper run out at the worst moment,
> Your keys vanish the second you leave the house,
> Your food choke you mid-bite,
> Your phone die at 1%,
> Your eggs stick to the pan,
> And your neck crick every time you sleep…"
Having finally used up all his film, Peter lowered his camera and turned to Damian, who wore an expression that could only be described as "a corpse cosplaying as a human who's lost all will to live."
"Z," Peter asked, bewildered, "what are you muttering about?"
Hearing this, Damian looked up at the gymnasium ceiling and said with a melancholy expression:
"Alas~ I was wondering when it would finally be my turn to experience sweet love! If not sweet, salty is fine… spicy works too~"
No sooner had he finished speaking than a girl from the cheerleading squad walked over to him.
She had a striking figure and a pretty face. Smiling down at Damian, she said cheerfully:
"Hi! Hello—I'm Emily. I saw your video on YouTube, and people were saying it was Chinese Kung Fu. Is that true?
"That's so cool! I've always wanted to learn Chinese Kung Fu, but I've never had the chance. Could you… maybe teach me?
"How about I treat you to dinner tonight as thanks?
"Do you like pizza? There's this amazing pizza place near campus. Want to go with me tonight?"
Hearing this, Damian looked up—and realized it was Emily Garcia, captain of the school cheerleading team.
The original owner of this body hadn't paid much attention to her. All he knew was that she was wildly popular among the boys at Central City High, thanks to her stunning looks and curvaceous figure.
Just moments ago, while she'd been dancing nearby, the players on the field couldn't stop sneaking glances at her.
Yet despite her eager, hopeful expression, Damian showed no surprise. Instead, he lazily scanned her up and down and drawled:
"Sorry, but even though I wouldn't mind a free meal… you've been misled. That video? Totally fake. There's no such thing as 'Chinese Kung Fu' in real life.
"Look at me—scrawny shoulders, weak hands. I'd probably die if someone so much as tapped me! Let alone take on a whole gang like in that clip.
"Honestly, if I could throw a punch, one hit would've dropped the Flash to his knees, begging for mercy!
"If you really want self-defense, just buy a pistol and carry it.
American Iai—now that's reliable!"
As he spoke, Damian raised his thumb with a deadpan expression, as if endorsing a commercial.
"…Huh?"
Emily blinked, stunned, her expression clearly saying, "Are you serious right now?"
"I mean… I don't know Kung Fu, so I can't teach you. Bye."
Damian repeated it plainly and concisely, his tone as calm as if he were commenting on the weather.
Peter Parker's eyes widened, and he nearly dropped his camera.
Emily's eyes instantly welled up. She turned and ran off. Several cheerleaders rushed to her side to comfort her, shooting Damian furious glares.
Feeling the hostile stares around him, Peter smoothly sidestepped away from Damian and whispered urgently:
"Dude, are you okay?! Weren't you just whining about wanting sweet love? Now it's literally delivered to your doorstep!
"And that's Emily—cheer captain! Every guy in school would kill for a chance like this! And you rejected her?
"Be honest—something's wrong, isn't it? I know a men's clinic in Brooklyn. A friend said their doctors are great! If there's… something you can't talk about…"
Before he could finish, Damian waved a hand dismissively and sighed in exasperation:
"Can't you at least expect me to get something decent?"
"Hey, be grateful! I already spared your dignity by not mentioning you might've been sterilized. Don't get greedy.
"Anyway—stop dodging the question. Why'd you turn Emily down?"
Damian rubbed his chin, his expression suddenly odd.
"How do I put this…? I think it's my mysophobia. I'm not really into girls with… complicated romantic histories.
"And Emily? From what I've heard, her love life is so eventful, it could fill a trilogy! Seriously—I don't think American history textbooks are even that long!
"Plus, she watches one random YouTube clip and suddenly offers me dinner? No matter how I look at it, that just feels… off.
"I'm pretty sure this is some kind of prank."