An antique shop?
John paused on the sidewalk, squinting at the narrow storefront wedged between a pizza joint and dry cleaner. When did an antique shop appear on this street? John thought, confused. It didn't even have a name. He pushed the door open and walked in.
A bell chimed softly overhead. The air smelled of old wood and dust.
"Welcome. Can I help you?" a simply dressed, middle-aged man at the counter said with a squinting smile.
"Not really, I just came in to look around," John replied. "I've never seen your shop here before."
"Please, feel free to browse. If you need anything, just ask."
John nodded and began looking around the small store. His footsteps were muffled by a worn rug as he moved between cluttered shelves. There were old clocks that had stopped ticking, dusty jars with unreadable labels, and faded paintings of forgotten faces. Nothing seemed particularly special. Then, something caught his eye.
On the counter, just to the left of the owner, sat a strange, toy-like watch. He leaned in for a closer look; the pattern behind the hands seemed to be the face of a Kamen Rider.
"Boss, you're a fan of this stuff too?" John asked, pointing at the watch.
"Oh, no," the owner chuckled. "I just dug that out of an old box. I don't even know how old it is. While I do find it interesting, it's for sale." He pushed it slightly forward. "Do you want it?"
John stared at the device. Something about it felt... significant. "Uh, what would I do with it?" John asked.
"I can give it to you," the owner offered. "My shop hasn't made a single sale yet today. Consider it a good luck charm."
John stared at the owner skeptically. The man's casual generosity felt too convenient. "Are you serious? You're not trying to scam me, are you?"
"I'm not short on money. The shop is just for fun," the owner said with an indifferent shrug. His eyes seemed to hold some private joke. "If you like it, it's yours."
"Alright, I actually do like it," John admitted. "But it doesn't feel right to take it for free, and I don't have much cash on me. Uh, how about twenty dollars?"
"Okay."
"Goodbye, Boss."
The owner held the twenty-dollar bill, watching John walk out of the shop with a playful, knowing smile on his lips.
Walking down the street, John fiddled with the toy watch. It was a bit large in his hand but felt exquisitely crafted. The metal was entirely silvery-white, with two black, fixed hands on the dial, the usual twelve-hour markers, and three protrusions that looked like buttons. He pressed them several times, but nothing happened.
It's been a long time since I watched Kamen Rider, he mused. Is the head on the front Kamen Rider Kuuga? It's so blurry, and the color isn't right... why is it white?
He sighed. It had been eighteen years since he'd somehow been reborn into the Marvel Universe. In all that time, he hadn't developed a single superpower or gained any special advantage. His memories of a past life had slowly returned, but they were hazy and indistinct, like a half-remembered dream. Sometimes, John wondered if this was all just an elaborate fantasy—if his past life wasn't real at all.
Wait a minute, a thought suddenly struck him. His steps slowed as realization hit. Is Kamen Rider even a thing in the Marvel Universe? He searched his memory. No, it isn't! In eighteen years, I've never heard a single mention of it.
His heart started pounding. "No, I need to go back and ask that shop owner."
He turned and ran back the way he came, dodging pedestrians and ignoring the honking cars. A few minutes later, John froze, his breathing ragged. Where the antique shop should have been, there was now nothing but an empty storefront. Dark windows stared back at him, covered with yellowing "For Lease" signs.
The shop owner's final smile, now that he thought about it, carried a much deeper meaning.
Looking at the bustling crowd around him, John clutched the watch to his chest. He glanced down at the strange device, then back at the moving crowd.
It seems this is my edge, after all.
A determined look settled in John's eyes. From the void, the faint sound of a ticking clock echoed as the history of the Kamen Riders began to turn a new page.
In an ordinary two-story house.
"John, come down and eat! You're going to be late for school," a voice called from downstairs.
"Coming, sis!" His voice was hoarse from a restless night.
His cousin, Jane Smith, was a striking woman with long, dark hair. She moved efficiently around the small kitchen, coffee cup in hand. His parents had died in an accident when he was young, and Jane had taken him in. He'd lived with her ever since.
"Why are you up so late today?" she asked as he sat down at the table, stifling a yawn. "You look like you didn't sleep well."
"I'm fine, just had a little trouble sleeping."
"I thought I heard a lot of noise from your room last night." Jane's eyes showed the particular concern he'd grown used to over the years.
In truth, he had spent most of the night fiddling with the newly acquired watch. But no matter what he did—pressing buttons, striking various transformation poses he remembered from the show—nothing happened. The watch remained cold and unresponsive in his hands, and his frustration grew with each failed attempt.
Do I need a belt or something? he had thought, staring at his ceiling past midnight. No, that can't be it. The shop owner... something was off about him. If a belt was required, he should have given it to me. There wasn't even an instruction manual! How am I supposed to transform? This is hopeless.
"I'm heading out," he said, grabbing his backpack.
"Be careful after school, and come straight home," Jane warned. "A friend of mine said there have been reports of monsters attacking people in some areas."
"I know."
As if there aren't enough monsters in the Marvel Universe already, John thought to himself. What's one more?
Jane saw he wasn't taking her seriously and just shook her head with a sigh.
Panting heavily, a thin kid with round-rimmed glasses scrambled onto the school bus. John watched Peter Parker glance around nervously for a seat, sweat still beading on his forehead from his sprint to catch the bus. He wasn't very popular, but then again, John didn't talk much either. He waved Peter over to the empty spot next to him.
"Hey, Peter."
"Thanks, John." The relief in Peter's voice was obvious.
After that, John could only watch as Peter stared helplessly at the red-haired Mary Jane. It made him a bit speechless, especially since Mary Jane's current boyfriend, Eugene "Flash" Thompson—the school's number one bully and Peter's personal tormentor—was sitting right beside her. Flash's laugh was loud and cutting, drowning out the quieter conversations around them.
When they arrived at school, the familiar chaos of lockers slamming and teenagers shouting filled the hallways. It wasn't long before they spotted the tall and imposing figure of Flash Thompson on the playground. He was holding a smaller student upside down, trying to force something into his mouth while a circle of onlookers chanted, "Eat it! Eat it!"
The smaller kid's face was red, tears of humiliation streaming down his cheeks as his legs kicked uselessly in the air.
John shook his head in disbelief. He was even more stunned when he heard Flash call out to Peter, who was holding a camera with trembling hands.
"Hey, Parker, come take a picture!"
"No, I won't take a picture of that," Peter said, his voice trembling slightly but growing stronger. "Put him down."
"Hurry up, Parker!"
"Put him down, Eugene!"
Seeing Peter defy him, Flash's face darkened. He dropped the other kid and turned his anger on Peter, balling his fist. Before he could throw a punch, John stepped out from the crowd and grabbed his arm.
"That's enough, Thompson."
"What, you standing up for Parker now, John?" Flash sneered, struggling against John's grip. "You want some of this?"
Flash pulled hard, but John's grip held firm. Since when is this guy so strong? Flash thought, stunned. John, however, was straining to maintain his hold, channeling every ounce of strength he had.
If John didn't remember from his past life that Flash would one day become a hero and even sacrifice himself to save others, he would have knocked him flat right then and there. Sighing at Flash's childish antics, John leaned in and whispered, "Aren't you embarrassed? You're supposed to be a hero someday, and you're still pulling this garbage in high school. Have some self-respect."
"What are you talking about?" Flash stammered, bewildered. "Me? A superhero?"
John released Flash's arm. "Alright, show's over, everyone!" he said, raising his voice. Then, quieter to Flash, "Just stop with this nonsense, man."
Flash stood there, dumbfounded. He couldn't figure out why the usually invisible John was acting so strangely, saying weird things and showing a confidence no one thought he had.
In the crowd, a blonde girl holding a textbook watched John with curious eyes. From Gwen Stacy's perspective, he was always the quiet, introverted kid who got good grades. She never would have expected him to be so brave. She had been about to step in herself before he did.