The first thing that come was the smell. Chalk dust, the faint, sharp tang of ammonia from a recently cleaned floor, and the unmistakable scent of teenage angst. Aarav's eyes fluttered open, his head throbbing with a disorienting ache. Blurry shapes resolved into a classroom. A whiteboard covered in chemical equations. Rows of desks. Students in casual clothes.
'A classroom? Where…?'
His last memory was visceral, overwhelming: the screech of tires, the blinding, unforgiving glare of truck-kun's headlights, the brutal, final impact that shattered his world. The life of a weary, overworked software engineer had ended abruptly on a rain-slicked street.
And yet, here he was. Breathing. Feeling the cheap plastic of the chair under his fingers. Hearing the low hum of the fluorescent lights above.
Panic, cold and sharp, began to lance through his veins. This wasn't right. This wasn't his body. He felt… lighter. Younger. His hands, resting on the desk, were smoother, the fingers slimmer. He wore a simple hoodie and jeans he'd never seen before.
'Transmigration? Is that what this is? Did I actually…?'
Before the thought could fully form, a cold, utterly emotionless mechanical voice echoed directly in the core of his consciousness, bypassing his ears entirely.
[Ding! Host's soul has successfully stabilized and integrated into the new vessel. Congratulations on your transmigration!]
Aarav's breath caught in his throat. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat of shock and burgeoning hope. 'A System! I knew it! I've read enough webnovels for this!'
[Ding! Spatial coordinates confirmed: Marvel Universe, Earth-199999. Host has been placed in a suitable demographic and location for integration.]
'Marvel?!' His internal scream was a mixture of pure terror and unadulterated excitement. 'As in the Avengers? Iron Man? Spider-Man?! I'm in a death world! This is a death world with aliens and genocidal purple warlords!'
[Ding! Assessing host's survivability odds in current environment: 0.00001%. Deploying Newcomer Gift Package.]
'Well, that's reassuring,' he thought, a hysterical edge to his internal monologue.
[Bestowing Gift #1: Divya Kavacha (Sun Armor). Description: An armor forged in the heart of a primordial celestial sun. Bound to the host's soul. It is conceptually unbreakable and cannot be pierced, breached, or compromised by any known or unknown force, energy, or psychic attack in any universe. It grants the host nigh-true immortality against all forms of harm. Passive state: Integrated into host's cellular structure, providing baseline invulnerability. Active state: Manifests as a brilliant, solid-light golden armor.]
A wave of incredible, soothing warmth flooded his being. It wasn't a heat that burned, but one that felt like coming home. It sank into his bones, his muscles, his very DNA, settling there with a profound, unshakable sense of security. The sensation faded after a moment, leaving him feeling… safe. Impossibly, divinely safe. He subtly pressed his thumbnail into his index finger, applying more and more pressure until he should have drawn blood. He felt nothing. No pain, no indentation. His skin was impervious.
[Bestowing Gift #2: Divya Dhanush (Divine Bow). Description: The divine weapon of a vanquished celestial archer. Bound to the host's soul. It is the vessel and conduit for all Divine Astras. Initial unlocked Astra: Agneyastra (Fire Astra). Subsequent Astras will unlock automatically on a six-month cycle. Host must practice to master and control their immense power. Bow manifests and retracts at will.]
This time, a searing heat flashed in the palm of his right hand, intense but painless. It was a power, raw and immense, settling into his soul like a coiled serpent waiting to strike. He knew, instinctively, that he could summon a bow of unimaginable power and loose arrows of pure elemental fury.
'This is… this is insane! This is completely broken! I'm practically a god! System, what are my missions? How do I get points? What's the main quest? How do I get more gifts?'
He waited, his mind buzzing with questions, already planning his path to ultimate power. But the system remained silent.
[Ding! Newcomer Gift Package deployment complete. All system functions concluded. This system is now terminating. Good luck, host. Try not to die.]
'Wait, what? Terminating? What do you mean terminating? System? Hello? SYSTEM! Come back! What's the user interface? How do I check my status?'
Silence.
Absolute, deafening silence in his mind. The mysterious voice was gone. There was no status screen, no inventory, no quest log. Just… nothing.
'It left? It gave me these insane, universe-breaking powers and just… left? What kind of half-assed, scam operation is this?! No tutorial? No customer support? I've been abandoned by my own System!'
He was alone. Spectacularly, terrifyingly powerful, but utterly alone.
"Aarav? Are you quite finished with your deep-space meditation? Or would you like to file a complaint with the airline?"
A dry, sarcastic voice cut through his existential crisis. Aarav's head snapped up. The speaker was a balding man in a tweed jacket—Mr. Harrington, his newly integrated memories supplied—standing at the front of the class with his arms crossed. The entire room was looking at him, a mixture of amusement and boredom on their faces.
His new memories provided the context. He was Aarav Sharma, a 16-year-old exchange student from Mumbai, here on a one-year program. The system had provided a full cover: a small apartment in Queens, all the necessary paperwork, and memories of parents seeing him off at the airport. It was clean, simple, and perfect.
His eyes darted across the room, taking in the faces. His gaze landed on a familiar mop of brown hair, hunched over a notebook. Peter Parker. Sitting right in front of him. The absurdity of it all threatened to overwhelm him. He was sitting behind a future superhero, armed with the power of a sun god, being scolded by a high school teacher.
"The atomic weight of Carbon, Mr. Sharma. Since the view outside is so captivating, perhaps you can enlighten us all?" Mr. Harrington's tone was impatient.
A snicker came from his left. A jock-looking guy with a smug grin—Flash Thompson—elbowed his friend. "Looks like the new guy's got nothing. Probably doesn't even know the periodic table has letters on it."
The old Aarav, might have felt a flicker of social anxiety. But that man was gone. The current Aarav had the knowledge of a graduate engineer and the invulnerable body of a god. This petty high school drama felt… insignificant. Trivial. It was like a lion being barked at by a chihuahua.
He met Mr. Harrington's gaze, his expression one of utter, bored calm. The answer was so basic, so fundamental, it was like being asked to confirm his own name. He'd aced far more complex problems before his first cup of coffee in his previous life.
"12.0107 atomic mass units," Aarav said, his voice flat and effortless, devoid of any nervousness.
Mr. Harrington blinked, slightly surprised he knew it. "Well, yes, but—"
"The decimal is a weighted average accounting for its stable isotopes," Aarav continued, cutting him off. His tone was that of a professor lecturing a particularly slow student. "Carbon-12 has a mass of exactly 12 u and a natural abundance of 98.89%. Carbon-13 has a mass of approximately 13.003355 u and constitutes about 1.11%. The calculation is trivial: (12 * 0.9889) + (13.003355 * 0.0111). It equates to 12.0107 u. It's on the periodic table because it's the average observed in a standard sample on Earth. Is there a more specific value you were looking for?"
The classroom was dead silent.
Flash's smug smirk had vaporized, replaced by a look of pure, uncomprehending confusion. This wasn't a nerd showing off; this was a dismissal on a molecular level.
Next to him, Peter Parker had turned fully around in his seat, his eyes wide with shock and a spark of intense intellectual curiosity. He stared at Aarav as if he'd just grown a second head. He knew the answer, but the casual, off-the-cuff recitation of isotopic masses and the instant mental math was something else entirely.
Mr. Harrington just stood there, his mouth slightly agape. He had expected a stammer or a wrong answer. He had not expected a concise, doctoral-level breakdown of a simple high school question. He cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses nervously.
"I... well. That's... exceedingly thorough, Mr. Sharma," he managed to stammer, his authority visibly deflating. "It seems our exchange student is going to be keeping us all on our toes. Now, as I was saying about covalent bonds..."
As the teacher turned back to the board, trying to salvage the lesson, Aarav leaned back in his chair. He ignored the heated whisper from Flash ("Freaking show-off, probably memorized the textbook"). He ignored the curious glances from other students.
He looked out the window again, but this time he didn't see just a suburban street. He saw a world of infinite possibilities. He saw skyscrapers that might crumble, aliens that might invade, and heroes that might fall.