The sound of car horns, newsboys shouting headlines, and the clatter of heels against cobblestone filled the air.
Brooklyn, New York – 1940.
The smell of smoke and warm bread mingled in the morning breeze. Across the street, a bakery's sign creaked under the weight of time. In a narrow alley between two brick buildings, a man in tattered clothes suddenly gasped for breath, as if dragged back from the dead.
His name was Ethan Ward. Or at least, that was the name this body carried.
"Where... am I?"
The words escaped his lips, hoarse and trembling. A sharp pain split his head, forcing him to clutch it. Then, in the silence of his mind, a metallic chime echoed.
[Welcome, Soul Wanderer.]
[Qi Cultivation System: Activated.]
[Location: Earth (Universe-199999).]
[Timeline: Year 1940, Brooklyn, New York.]
Ethan froze.
"Universe-199999?" he whispered. That number was burned into his memory. It was the official designation of the Marvel Cinematic Universe.
He wasn't hallucinating. He had really reincarnated... into the world of Marvel.
But not as a hero. Not as a god.
Just a normal man—with one extraordinary thing: a Cultivation System.
The system's voice continued, cold yet oddly soothing.
[Detected: Low spiritual density.]
[Warning: Qi concentration in this realm is near zero.]
[Activating adaptation protocol.]
[First Task: Awaken your meridians within 30 days.]
[Failure: Permanent loss of cultivation potential.]
Ethan took a deep breath. So this world had almost no Qi—no natural energy to cultivate. It made sense; this was a world of science, not mysticism.
Still, his heart burned with determination. If Qi didn't exist here, he would create it.
Three days later.
Ethan found himself working at a small bakery run by a kind old man, Mr. Carter, who took him in after finding him collapsed on the street. The pay was modest, but it gave him food, shelter, and a quiet place to think.
Every morning, a girl would walk past the bakery—books pressed against her chest, her brown hair tied neatly in a ponytail.
"Good morning, Mister Ward!"
"Morning, Miss Evelyn," he replied with a faint smile.
Her laughter would linger even after she disappeared around the corner. There was something innocent about her presence—something that reminded him of the world's fragile warmth.
In a world that would one day be filled with heroes, villains, and cosmic gods, that smile felt more real than anything else.
At night, when the city fell silent, Ethan would climb to the rooftop of the bakery. From there, he could see the lights of the Brooklyn Bridge and hear the distant hum of life below.
He sat cross-legged, closed his eyes, and began to meditate.
"No Qi... fine. Then I'll find it myself."
He reached out with his senses. There was something—thin, polluted, chaotic—but alive. Like a faint echo of energy struggling to exist.
Inside his dantian, a spark flickered to life.
[Qi detected.]
[Conversion rate: 0.0003%.]
[Progress: 2%.]
Ethan exhaled sharply. "That's ridiculously low." He wiped the sweat from his brow. His entire body trembled from the strain of drawing in even that small amount.
"So, that's how it's gonna be, huh? A world of science... trying to resist cultivation."
He chuckled bitterly. But that didn't stop him. Night after night, he pushed forward. Slowly, painfully, he began to sense the faint flow of energy in the air.
A week later.
The system chimed again.
[First Task Progress: 31%.]
[Body Adaptation: Partial success.]
[Note: You are now capable of storing minimal Qi.]
Ethan opened his hand, and for the first time, a thin swirl of blue-gold energy shimmered above his palm. It flickered like a candle in the wind, but it was real.
He laughed softly. "So this world does have Qi... just hidden." The feeling of power—even the smallest spark—filled him with awe.
He looked up at the night sky. The moon hung low over Brooklyn, pale and silent. Somewhere beyond those stars, gods and monsters were waiting to be born. But right now, the world was still human—fragile and innocent.
He remembered the timeline.
Three years.
Three years before Steve Rogers would become Captain America.
Three years before the world discovered heroes.
That meant Ethan had time. Time to grow stronger. Time to prepare.
One evening, as he swept the bakery floor, Evelyn approached the counter with a bright grin.
"Mister Ward! You're always here so late. Don't you ever rest?"
"Rest is for people without ambition," he replied with a smile.
She blinked, then laughed. "That sounds like something a poet would say."
He chuckled softly but didn't answer. For a brief moment, her gaze lingered on him—curious, almost wistful.
Then she waved goodbye and walked off into the evening light.
When she was gone, Ethan muttered to himself, "I wonder if I'll still be here when she grows up... or if I'll already be beyond this world."
The thought made him uneasy. Immortality, in theory, was a gift. But in practice, it was just another kind of loneliness.
Later that night, on the rooftop again, the system spoke.
[New Objective: Establish Foundation before the upcoming global conflict.]
[Reward: Fragmented Physique – Asgardian Reinforcement.]
Ethan blinked. "Asgardian... as in Thor's kind of Asgardian?"
The system gave no reply—only a faint pulse of light across his interface.
He looked at his hand again. The faint Qi spark danced brighter now, flowing through his veins like molten light.
If he could combine cultivation with Asgardian resilience, he might one day reach the same level as gods—or surpass them.
He stood at the edge of the rooftop, gazing at the sleeping city below.
"This world is full of heroes waiting to be born."
"But me?"
"I'll be something they can't even comprehend."
The night wind carried his words away, mingling them with the hum of the city. The stars above seemed to flicker, as if listening.
"Alright then," he whispered.
"Let's see what kind of Dao this world can create."
"Cultivation... begins now."
To be continued.