Chapter One: Karn Penter

Queens, New York City

The school bell at Midtown High shrilled loudly, and as soon as it rang, someone in the classroom grabbed his backpack and dashed toward the door.

Karl saw his best friend trying to slip away and shouted after him, “Hey, Kane, you promised to play video games with me today!”

“Uh, Karl, what I said yesterday was ‘next time’—which means the day after tomorrow,” Kane replied, then poked his head back in after stepping outside to add, “Next time for sure, Karl.”

“Tricky Kane. Did he really mean tomorrow?” Karl grumbled in complaint. Kane had said the same thing last time, but they'd never finished that level together—a game that required two people to clear.

Another classmate passed by Karl, laughing, “If you remind Kane every day, he’ll probably keep his promise next year.”

“I swear, Kane must have been triggered somehow. He loves guns more than he loves me, his dearest friend,” Karl complained, then packed up his things, preparing for his 135th solo attempt at the game. He vowed that if he hadn’t cleared it by the 200th try, no matter the excuse, he would drag Kane to finish it with him.

…………

Kane had indeed changed, and it had been three years since those changes began.

It was now the year 2000. Kane had crossed into this Marvel world three years ago. After experiencing surprise, fear, excitement, and terror, he eventually adopted a calm perspective toward this extraordinary event.

He knew for certain this was the Marvel universe because, a year after arriving, he'd used his parents’ inheritance to make a tidy profit and, to this day, still held shares in Stark Industries.

Inheritance in America was a complicated affair, but fortunately, Kane’s parents had sensed their failing health before passing and hired a lawyer, spending a considerable sum to ensure Kane inherited smoothly.

He received thirty-four percent of the shares in a private hospital—the most valuable asset of the Pent family. The rest consisted of nearly a million dollars, three houses, and two private cars.

If it hadn’t been for the dreaded inheritance taxes and the full suite of legal services, the Pent family would have had over five million dollars in the bank.

Still, these losses didn’t trouble him. Kane, taking advantage of the tech boom in 2000, invested six hundred thousand dollars in the stock market. There were some initial fluctuations, but overall, he made substantial gains.

The high-tech companies in the Marvel universe differed somewhat from those in his original world, influenced by the existence of superhuman entities. Still, barring the extraordinary, the direction of technological development was similar.

Gold, high-tech stocks, oil—using foresight and knowledge, Kane made a fortune in the market.

In America, ten million dollars in 2000 meant true financial freedom: luxury villas, private butlers, chauffeured cars, gourmet meals every day.

With his investment skills and ownership of thirty-four percent of a private hospital, Kane could easily maintain this lifestyle until sixty.

He yearned for the life of a wealthy man, but in the perilous Marvel universe—and especially in disaster-prone America—he dared not relax. Without power and influence, even hiding underground might not guarantee survival.

Moreover, his golden finger wouldn’t allow him to slack off.

This was why Kane had been so busy these past three years. After crossing over, perhaps due to merging with his predecessor’s memories, his recall became exceptionally strong, and his concentration improved, allowing him to quickly master knowledge that once seemed difficult.

Now, Kane was the top student in Midtown High’s senior class, and with his grades and wealth, he could choose any prestigious university.

Still, Kane made time to practice marksmanship at a suburban shooting range. For an ordinary person like him, firearms were the quickest way to enhance self-defense.

After school, Kane rode his motorcycle toward the gun range. Though he had a license, he couldn’t drive alone yet—if the police caught him, they’d happily write up a ticket, or worse.

Upon arriving at the range, someone was already waiting for him at the entrance.

“Hey, Kane, you’re always right on time,” greeted his coach, who had earned quite a bit from Kane, the young millionaire. Such warmth was reserved only for him.

“What are you shooting today? Going straight for moving targets?” the coach asked.

Kane nodded, “The usual guns, Jimmy.”

Jimmy laughed, “No problem, Kane. Honestly, with your skills, you could enter competitions. Maybe not win the championship, but top ten, easily.”

Jimmy wasn’t exaggerating. Kane was excellent with stationary targets—after only a year of practice, he surpassed ninety percent of the regulars. His recent practice with moving targets had elevated his abilities even further; he seemed born to handle firearms.

Kane accepted Jimmy’s compliments with a smile. He knew his own limits: proficient with several types of guns, but lacking experience with live targets. He could compete, but survival in real danger was another matter.

Still, fully armed, his survival odds would improve.

Bulletproof vests, grenades, rocket launchers, and some restricted firearms—many were illegal to purchase, but with money, Kane could circumvent the law and acquire them.

He began his training, and whenever he entered shooting mode, his focus sharpened intensely.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Time passed quickly. Kane halted his shooting and took a breath.

Jimmy approached, applauding, “Kane, you’ve improved again today. You’re in better shape than yesterday.”

“Eat more vegetables and get to bed early. You’ll stay in good shape too, Jimmy,” Kane replied, accepting the water Jimmy handed him. He sipped and rested, glancing around to see the area was nearly empty, then asked casually:

“Jimmy, how’s the thing I asked you to look into?”

Jimmy checked the surroundings, lowered his voice, and said, “Kane, those are prohibited weapons—and I believe you live in the city, right? If you need security, I can introduce you to some bodyguards.”

“Come on, Jimmy, I have a house in the suburbs too. I simply want to collect some genuine pieces for fun. Surely you don’t think I’m heading to war? If I had that much time, I’d rather make a few more dollars.”

Kane’s last remark gave Jimmy a hint—pointing him toward profit as well.

Jimmy sighed, then pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to Kane, speaking quietly, “Go to this place and say you’re a friend of Jimmy Black.”