In Manhattan, New York, a once-quiet local shop named Old York Pizza had suddenly exploded in popularity. The sidewalk outside bustled with activity, and customers queued eagerly inside for a taste of something different.
A young man with messy black hair and deep-set dark eyes elbowed his way out of the crowd at the shop's door. Balancing several stacked boxes of pizza in his arms, he moved quickly toward the delivery bike out front. He popped open the rear-mounted food incubator and began loading.
"Whew~ Guess booming business comes with its own set of problems." Ethan Cole cracked a wry smile as he glanced back at the busy storefront.
He had seen this place at its lowestquiet, empty, almost forgotten by the city. In a way, this success was his birthday gift to the shop's owner, Old York. Years ago, the older man had saved his life. Ethan had paid it back the only way he couldby bringing the flavors of his past life to this world.
With fragmented memories from his previous existencerecipes, techniques, and food hacksEthan had revitalized Old York's menu. Trial and error turned into mastery. The revamped Old York Pizza was now a staple of the neighborhood.
Just four years ago, Ethan hadn't existed in this world. In his former life, he had been a frail orphanjust another forgotten name growing up in a run-down Brooklyn orphanage. Plagued by illness, he never lived past his eighteenth birthday. That night, on the cold iron-frame bed of the infirmary, surrounded by peeling paint and the smell of disinfectant, he took his final breath.
Or so he thought.
To his shock, Ethan awoke againbut in a different body, a younger one, perhaps thirteen or fourteen. His old body and name were gone. Even his face had changed. He quickly realized he wasn't just in a new lifehe was in a new universe.
He remembered flashesa red and blue blur leaping across rooftops, a hulking green figure roaring in a destroyed street, a flying man in red and goldIron Man maybe? Bits of Marvel lore flickered in his mind, but they were distant, incomplete.
Upon waking, the pain in his skull had been unbearable. Faint, shattered memories like meteor trails darted across his mindbrief, painful, and disorienting. Nothing concrete remained of the body's original owner. No name, no family, no past.
In an unfamiliar world, speaking a language that felt strangely different from his native tongue, Ethan wandered through Manhattan's streets during an early autumn cold snap. Homeless, starving, and feverish, he collapsed behind a dumpster behind Old York Pizza.
Had Old York not found himsoaked in rainwater, burning with feverEthan's second chance at life would've ended there, curled up like a discarded body next to trash bags. But the old man had taken him in, fed him, clothed him, and gave him shelter.
And now, four years later, Ethan was repaying the debt.
"Hey! Stupid kid! I told you not to stack so much pizza at onceit's dangerous to ride like that!" an old man's voice barked from behind.
Ethan turned just as Old York, a grizzled man with thick grey eyebrows and a faded apron, stormed out of the shop and slapped the side of the bike's incubator.
Ethan let out a chuckle and set the footrest back down. "Relax, old man. My driving's solid. One trip for two orders means double efficiency and less fuel."
Old York scowled and fished a receipt from the container, waving it at Ethan. His piercing blue eyes narrowed. "Young men are always reckless. I knew a guy just like you in my twentiesthought he was Evel Knievel."
"Yeah?" Ethan raised an eyebrow with a smirk. "What'd he do? Pull stunts?"
"He rode a damn motorcyclemotorcycles back then were real beasts! He thought it was a good idea to give a joyride to three girlsone squatting in front and two riding pillion."
Ethan blinked, intrigued. "Dang, no way! How many you take?"
The old man kicked him lightly in the shin. "Don't interrupt, you smart-ass! I'm telling youhe was cocky, just like you."
"He made it sound cool," Ethan teased.
"Yeah, until five minutes later when the damn thing flew off the road and plunged off the West Side cliffs. Right into the Hudson." Old York paused, slamming the incubator shut with finality.
Ethan's eyes widened. "What?! What happened?!"
"They all drowned. Couldn't even pull the bike out," the old man said gruffly. "That kid still owed me fifty bucks for the parts. Now all I got is a story and a busted wrench."
The lesson hit hard, though Ethan tried to lighten the mood. "Well, pizza's a lot lighter than three people."
"Doesn't matter." Old York grumbled, tugging his apron. "Weight's weight. Get too confident, and the world reminds you why humility matters."
But behind the grumbling, Ethan could feel the man's genuine concern. He was the closest thing Ethan had to family in this new life.
As he slipped on his helmet, Ethan looked up at the skyline.
To the west, Avengers Tower loomed in the distance. Stark's shining legacy in steel. The world here was differentfilled with gods, monsters, and heroes who walked openly through the streets.
But Ethan wasn't part of their world.
Not yet.
He was just a delivery boy.
For now.
Hearing Ethan Cole mutter under his breath, Old York gave him a firm pat on the back. "Listen, kid," he said gruffly, "just 'cause you're delivering pizza doesn't mean you've got a force field around you. Accidents don't care what you're carrying. One extra can of sodahell, even a bottle of Stark Colacan throw off your center of gravity if you're not careful. It's still dead weight."
Ethan gave a small nod, the words sinking in. He straddled the delivery bike again with practiced ease.
"Buzz!" The engine roared to life as Ethan twisted the ignition and revved the throttle, the lightweight electric bike purring with that signature hum of low-emission delivery scooters common in Midtown these days.
"And a helmet, damn it!" Old York's voice cut through the air again, sharp and irritable like a drill sergeant's bark.
With a sigh, Ethan reached for the helmet resting on the bike handlebar, pulled it over his head, and secured the chin strap. He glanced sideways at the old man, knowing full well that he wasn't leaving until the daily inspection routine was complete.
After a beat, Old York finally nodded. "Alright, go. But no stuntman nonsensetake your time. I'd rather lose a customer than lose you. Safety comes first."
Ethan gave him a casual wave. "Got it. Don't worry. You go back inside before your scowl freezes that way."
With that, he twisted the throttle and pulled off onto the road, heading toward the first delivery stop. His figure weaved through the light Manhattan traffic and quickly disappeared around the street corner.
Old York stood still for a moment, watching the boy ride off. His stern expression slowly softened into something gentler, quieter. Rare, like the smile of a man who had lost muchand finally found something again.
In these last few years, the two had come to depend on each other as if tied by blood. And in some ways, they were more than just companionsthey were family forged not by name but by loyalty and shared survival.
Ethan's arrival had changed everything for Old York.
He had been alone for most of his life. His own childhood? A nightmare best left forgotten. He could still remember his mothera woman hollowed out by addictionwhose affections were measured by how much cash she could squeeze from her child before selling him off like merchandise. He'd barely escaped that fate.
The moment he realized she'd started eyeing him the way one eyes something with a price tag, he'd runjust ten years old, hiding in alleys and subway tunnels until he found refuge in kitchens and diners that would pay in scraps and warmth.
He often thought Ethan was the answer to a wish he once madeone whispered over a half-lit birthday candle on a ten-cent lighter. That wish had taken fifty years to arrive, but it came.
And now, watching Ethan disappear down the street, Old York sighed and turned back into the shop. The sudden spike in business meant he would need more hands soon. Ethan couldn't be expected to juggle university and delivery forever.
After all, the boy wasn't just smarthe was brilliant.
Top of his high school class for years, Ethan had just been accepted into Empire State University, the same school once attended by a certain Peter Parkernow the infamous Spider-Man. Though Ethan didn't know it yet, the halls of ESU were a breeding ground for genius… and danger.
Since the day he arrived in this world, Ethan had noticed something different about himself. His mind felt fasterclearer. Concepts clicked into place. Equations, ideas, solutionsthey all came like instinct. He barely had to study, and yet he remained at the top.
He chalked it up to the usual theory among transmigrators: having lived twice gave him stronger mental faculties. The mechanics didn't matter. What mattered was that this new brain worked.
Back in the shop, Old York turned his attention to the counter, where one of the apprentices had zoned out while manning the oven. The old man frowned, watching a pizza edge dangerously close to being incinerated.
"Hey! You daydreamin' brat!" he snapped. "This slice is more burnt than your grandma's do-rag!"
The startled apprentice nearly jumped, fumbling with the peel to extract the charred disk. He gave a nervous grin, trying to save face. "Sorry, boss! II was just thinking"
"Thinkin'? You better start thinkin' with your hands. That's a waste of dough, you airhead. I'm deductin' that from your pay. And if I see that look on your face again, you can go play catch with the Hobgoblin instead of ruining my oven!"
The flurry of harsh words wasn't new. In fact, the rest of the kitchen had grown used to it. Strangely enough, they liked it. To them, Old York's yelling wasn't crueltyit was rhythm. A ritual. A sign that all was right in their tiny slice of Manhattan.
Even the apprentice cracked a smile, despite himself.
"Yeah! That's the energy! Keep yelling, boss! Don't stop now!"
This chapter served to peel back the curtain on Ethan's lifenot just the mundane, but the extraordinary hidden beneath the surface. A time traveler, dropped into a world crawling with heroes, villains, and cosmic threats.
Though Ethan had realized he now lived in the Marvel Universeconfirmed by glimpses of Spider-Man web-slinging through the skyline, or Daredevil's name whispered in Hell's Kitchen alleywayshis knowledge of this world was sparse.
He hadn't been a comic reader in his past life. He never watched the movies, never memorized plotlines or villains. To him, names like "Dr. Doom" or "Kraven the Hunter" meant nothing yet.
But that ignorance might have been a blessing in disguise.
It gave Ethan room to adapt freelyto write his own story, rather than follow the footsteps of someone else's.
And perhaps, just perhaps, the universe had plans for him that went far beyond pizza delivery.