Univrsal Marchant :MCU /Arrowverse

PS: Before reading my work, please know — I focus on quantity over perfection.

While others spend hours writing a single chapter, I spend those same hours imagining and creating entire webnovels.

I'm more of an imagination-first kind of writer — every story I imagine, I create,I have a problem creating details or describing things and people.

I use AI tools to help speed up the process, so there may be typos or rough edges. If you're looking for flawless, highly polished writing, my stories might not be for you.

Please don't leave negative reviews — I often delete or restart stories when that happens, which disappoints the readers who do enjoy them.

If you like the fan fiction, a kind review goes a long way. Thank you! 

Chapter 1: The End and the Beginning

The last thing I saw was a blurry, yellow-streaked figure vibrating through a wall. Or maybe it was Supergirl flying into the sun. Honestly, my brain was more focused on the impending rewatch of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Season 4 and the dire consequences of leaving a half-eaten banana on the floor. Rookie mistake, Adam. A rookie, tragically fatal mistake.

"Who slips on a banana peel? Seriously? That's like, cartoon villain death number one. I mean, come on. I've survived far sketchier late-night snack runs. This is just insulting. Is this what my life amounts to? A slapstick comedy ending?"

Then, darkness. Not the peaceful, eternal slumber kind, more like the kind where you wake up after a particularly bad binge-watching session, disoriented and vaguely sticky. Except, I wasn't in my suspiciously stained gaming chair. I was on a park bench. A surprisingly uncomfortable, possibly urine-stained park bench. The air smelled… cleaner. And there was a distinct hum of a city that wasn't, you know, my city.

Sunlight, which seemed utterly offensive after the void, dappled through unfamiliar trees. Skyscrapers, sleek and modern, pierced a sky that was too blue. And people. So many people. All walking with that hurried, purposeful stride that screams, "I'm late for something incredibly important, probably involving corporate synergy and artisanal coffee."

"Okay, deep breaths, Adam. You probably just fell asleep watching a documentary on urban planning. Or maybe you hit your head harder than you thought. But that doesn't explain the sudden lack of pizza grease on my shirt. And the distinct feeling that I've been… re-textured."

Then, a voice. Not a voice in the air, but directly in my head. No, not like the voices I usually hear after too much caffeine, this was different. Calm. Analytical. Utterly devoid of emotion, like a GPS navigation system decided to take up philosophy.

WELCOME, BROKER. THE TRADER SYSTEM IS NOW ACTIVE.

I blinked. Then blinked again. "Broker?" I muttered aloud, probably looking like a crazy person talking to a squirrel. "Trader System? Is this a joke? Am I being punk'd by a very elaborate, very expensive hidden camera show? Because if so, Ashton Kutcher owes me a new banana."

NEGATIVE. YOUR PREVIOUS PHYSICAL FORM HAS BEEN TERMINATED. YOUR CONSCIOUSNESS HAS BEEN TRANSMIGRATED TO THIS REALITY. YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED AS A PRIMARY CONDUIT FOR MULTIVERSAL EXCHANGE. AS THE BROKER, YOU WILL FACILITATE TRANSACTIONS. THIS ENTITY IS THE TRADER SYSTEM.

"Right. Terminated. As in, dead. Slapstick death, no less. And now I'm a 'conduit' for a 'multiversal exchange'? Is that like a cosmic eBay? Do I get a commission? Because I'm going to need dental after that banana incident."

COMMISSION IS ACCRUED AS TRADE POINTS (TP). TP CAN BE USED IN THE SYSTEM MARKET. INITIAL TP: 0. MARKET: EMPTY.

A holographic interface shimmered into existence before my eyes, invisible to anyone else. It was sleek, minimalist, and, frankly, terrifyingly efficient. It showed me categories: "Personal Trades," "Brokerage," "Market," "Inventory." My brain, bless its pop-culture-obsessed heart, immediately went to: "So, I'm basically a walking, talking, interdimensional Gringotts vault, but with a severe lack of dragons and a surplus of existential dread. Fantastic."

I reached into my pocket. My old, stained phone was gone. Replaced by… nothing. My pockets were empty. My pants felt… new. And suspiciously well-fitting.

"So, no money, no phone, no idea where I am beyond 'National City,' which I'm pretty sure is not a real place, unless you're a fictional character. Which, apparently, I might be now," I mused, pulling a single, perfectly ripe, unblemished banana out of what the System was calling my "Inventory." I stared at it. "You've gotta be kidding me. You brought me to a new dimension, gave me a cosmic shop in my head, and my first functional thought involved a banana? The irony is palpable."

INVENTORY FUNCTIONALITY CONFIRMED. ITEM RETRIEVAL SUCCESSFUL.

"Oh, you're just reveling in this, aren't you, System? You're like a cosmic, passive-aggressive personal assistant."

I slowly stood up, my new body feeling surprisingly… normal. No phantom aches from the banana-induced head trauma. No lingering sense of shame. Just… fresh. Like I'd been downloaded into a brand-new avatar. "This is weird. Like, 'fourth wall breaking, I know all your secrets, and I can probably tell you how the next season ends' weird."

I started walking, aimlessly at first, just trying to process. National City. That sounded… familiar. Too familiar. And then, I saw it. The sprawling, gleaming glass tower of CatCo Worldwide Media.

My heart (or whatever was currently serving as my heart in this new, improved, possibly fictional body) lurched.

"No. Way. This is… this is it. This is the National City. And if CatCo is there… then she's here. Kara. Supergirl."

A jolt went through me, a mix of pure, unadulterated fanboy excitement and an immediate, primal urge to… not screw this up. I'd spent countless hours watching her on screen, admiring her strength, her kindness, her relentless optimism. And now, she was… real.

I found a coffee shop just a block down from CatCo, a quaint little place with too many artisanal pastries and a line that stretched out the door. Perfect. I needed caffeine. Or, more accurately, I needed to observe. And there she was.

Blonde hair, glasses, a perpetually slightly rumpled look that somehow made her even more charming. Kara Danvers. She was ordering something complicated, involving oat milk and a hint of cinnamon. My brain, already overloaded, instinctively supplied the exact, obscure name of her regular, even though she was just making it up on the fly, probably because she was tired and stressed.

"Alright, Adam. Play it cool. Don't blurt out 'Are you Supergirl?' That's a one-way ticket to a DEO interrogation room, and I highly doubt the Trader System has a 'Get Out of Cover Blown' card. Just… talk. Like a normal human. With a terrifying amount of knowledge about her coffee preferences."

I shuffled forward in line, trying to look casual, like a man who hadn't just died and been reborn into a comic book. When she reached the counter, she hesitated, then pointed. "Uh, yeah, can I get… the Kryptonian Kick-Start? With the extra shot of kindness?"

The barista blinked. "The… what now?"

"Oh, Kara. You beautiful, awkward dork."

I leaned forward, a conspiratorial grin on my face. "Ah, the Kryptonian Kick-Start. Bold choice. Most people don't know that the secret isn't the double espresso, it's the dash of cinnamon from the rare Xylosian tree on Argo. Really brings out the… inner strength."

Kara's head snapped towards me, her eyes wide behind her glasses. A slight flush touched her cheeks. "You… you know about that?"

"Well," I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant, which is hard when your internal monologue is screaming like a banshee at a boy band concert, "Only a select few truly appreciate the finer nuances of cosmic coffee. And the struggle of balancing a demanding career with… extracurricular activities." I gave her a knowing look, trying to convey a very specific kind of "I know something you know, but I'm not a threat" vibe. "It's a niche market, I suppose. But a strong one."

She laughed, a bright, genuine sound that made the coffee shop feel a little warmer. "Yeah, a niche. You have no idea."

"Oh, I have all the ideas, Kara. Every single one. And I just died because of them."

INITIAL CONTACT WITH PLOT-SIGNIFICANT CHARACTER: KARA DANVERS. CONNECTION ESTABLISHED. PREPARING FOR POTENTIAL TRADE OPPORTUNITIES.

"Pleasure to meet a fellow connoisseur," I said, extending a hand. "Adam. Adam Stiels. Though, apparently, I'm now also known as 'The Guy Who Dies by Banana and Gets a Cosmic Shop.' Catchy, right?"

She blinked at the last part, a curious tilt to her head, but she took my hand. Her grip was surprisingly firm, yet gentle. "Kara. Kara Danvers."

"Alright, Phase One: Don't Die (Again). Phase Two: Don't Be A Creep. Phase Three: Minor Social Infiltration. So far, so good. Now, if only I could figure out how to get a decent power or two without having to ask for someone's lucky socks."

The barista called her order again, this time just a "large latte with cinnamon," and Kara looked a bit sheepish. I just grinned. This was going to be fun. And possibly very, very dangerous. But mostly fun.