After taking a few days to acclimatize, it didn't take Jaime long to see the cracks.
Papa didn't get home until long after the sun dipped below the horizon, his face weary and his hands stained from another double shift. Ma had started doing laundry for the neighbors again—scrubbing, hanging, folding—until her hands were raw and red. Nana tried to hide the stress behind her usual sass, but even she had started to water down the coffee more than usual. Uncle Rudy was out hustling gigs, but the man could only stretch a dollar so far.
"You don't have to worry about it, Mijo," Ma told him one afternoon, catching him staring too long at her aching hands. "Everything will be okay."
But Jaime could see the bags under her eyes. He could see the way her fingers trembled as she folded a towel. Even if she wasn't his original mother—he barely remembered that woman, if he ever had one—this woman loved him fiercely. And that was more than enough.
He pulled her into a hug. "I'm not a kid anymore, Ma. Let me try to help."
She shook her head so fast, her earrings nearly took flight. "No. I will not have my son working himself into an early grave before he even graduates. You will eat, study, and grow up with a clean soul. That's all I ask."
No room for argument. Just stubborn Reyes love, steel-clad and non-negotiable.
Still, Jaime wasn't the kind of guy who could sit on his hands while the people he cared about struggled. He wasn't the original Jaime—but he'd be damned if he was going to be a freeloader in this new life.
That night, when the grown-ups were finally distracted by a telenovela and the family laptop was free, he sprang into action. Half of him expected Rudy to swoop in out of nowhere with a "Whatcha doing, mi sobrino?" but the coast remained clear.
He typed in a few searches, and what he found nearly made him fall out of the rickety kitchen chair.
"...There's no Marvel here," he muttered.
"Holy sh—"
"Jaime!" came Ma's voice from the couch, sharp as a blade. "Language!"
He immediately ducked, bracing for the ancestral chancla strike, but none came.
"Noted: Don't cuss around Mama Reyes," he mumbled.
A low chuckle from Nana, like Death herself had called and been told, "Not while I'm watching my novelas."
Turning back to the screen, Jaime dove deeper, searching for what else this universe didn't have. No Marvel. No Call of Duty. No Doom. No Halo. Hell, not even Harry Potter or Game of Thrones.
What this world did have was a giant gaping hole in its cultural landscape—and he had the roadmap.
This was it. A literal gold mine. All he had to do was stake his claim without raising suspicions.
Books were out—for now. He didn't have the time to write The Sorcerer's Pebble or The Winds of Legal Liability. Games like Modern Warfare were way too complex and outside his skill set.
But simple mobile games? Flappy Bird, Angry Birds, Candy Crush?
He could probably Frankenstein together a working version if he did enough research and got a little help from Rudy (the man could probably rewire a toaster into a drone if you gave him an energy drink and a reason).
And then, of course… the big one.
The one closest to his heart.
Spider-Man.
A faithful adaptation. The costume, the tragedy, the heart, the heroism. Uncle Ben's death. Great power, great responsibility. All of it.
He wouldn't even change the name. No knockoffs. No weird "Arachno-Boy" branding. Just good old Spider-Man, swinging through New York with heart and humor.
"Superheroes are universal," he muttered, sketching on a scratchpad. "And everyone loves an underdog."
He'd start small. An indie comic. A couple of issues. He could fake being a fan artist, build up buzz online, and then start shopping it around. If it worked—and he knew it would—it'd bring in enough money to help around the house without Ma knowing where it came from.
And if she did find out? Well, who could stay mad at a published artist?
Jaime leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling.
He might not have had a Scarab, powers, or a cape yet—but this?
This was still hero work.
The Reyes family taken care of him since the moment he landed in this world. The least he could do was return the favor.