There was no one in this universe who understood the sheer, existential terror of the MCU better than Lucas Chen.
To the average New Yorker, this was just the world. To Lucas, it was a slaughterhouse waiting to happen. Being a superhero here was a death sentence—you could die from a cosmic snap, a contract dispute, or a writer's sudden desire for "emotional stakes."
But being a civilian? That was worse. Especially in New York City, the galactic bullseye painted on the face of the Earth.
Between the Kingpin's mob wars, the Hand's ninja cults, and the inevitable alien invasions, survival was a statistical improbability. And don't even get him started on DC. At least here, the heroes killed the villains occasionally. In Gotham, that bat-eared billionaire let the Clown Prince of Crime escape every other Tuesday just to maintain his moral high ground, while hundreds of innocents paid the price.
"Serious people don't write diaries," Lucas sighed, packing his bag. "But if being 'unserious' keeps me alive, hand me the pen."
He had no idea that his "private" thoughts were currently being broadcast to the most dangerous intellect on the planet.
Ignorance was bliss, and right now, Lucas had bills to pay.
He had picked up a tutoring gig. Despite being a fresh Harvard graduate who should have been grinding through high-level interviews on Wall Street, Lucas had zero interest in climbing the corporate ladder. Why bother? He had the System. He had the future. All he needed was enough cash to keep the lights on until the Stark Industries crash.
But even a future millionaire needs lunch money.
He checked the address on his phone. It was a nice neighborhood in Queens—Forest Hills. A quintessential middle-class enclave, the kind of place where lawns were manicured and fences were white. In New York, the divide between the poor, the middle class, and the ultra-rich was sharp enough to cut glass. This was definitely the "comfortable" zone.
He rang the doorbell.
A middle-aged woman with kind eyes and blonde hair opened the door. Her smile widened when she saw him.
"Mrs. Stacy?" Lucas asked, flashing his most professional smile.
"Yes, and you must be Lucas!" she beamed, ushering him in. "Please, come in. You look even younger than your profile picture."
She didn't question his credentials. The tutoring agency had vetted him thoroughly—Harvard degree, impeccable test scores. Plus, Lucas knew there was a certain... expectation involved. An Asian-American Harvard grad? In the eyes of a suburban mom, that was the gold standard for math tutoring.
"My daughter is sixteen, a junior in high school," Mrs. Stacy explained as they walked up the stairs. "She's brilliant, really, but she's hit a wall with advanced calculus. I'm hoping you can... work your magic? You know, with the Asian math genes?"
She winked. Lucas didn't flinch. He just smiled politely. "I'll do my best, Mrs. Stacy."
Stereotypes pay the rent, he thought. And honestly, compared to fighting aliens, teaching calculus is a vacation.
Mrs. Stacy knocked on a bedroom door. "Gwen? Your tutor is here."
The door opened.
A girl sat at her desk, surrounded by textbooks, chewing on the end of a pencil with a look of frustrated concentration. She looked up, brushing a strand of platinum blonde hair out of her eyes.
"Gwen, this is Lucas, your new math tutor," Mrs. Stacy announced.
Gwen Stacy blinked. She looked at the tutor.
He wasn't the dusty old professor she expected. He was young. He was sharp-featured, with an easy confidence and eyes that seemed to hold a strange depth.
Oh, Gwen thought, feeling a sudden, traitorous flush rise to her cheeks. He's hot.
Lucas, meanwhile, felt his brain short-circuit.
Gwen Stacy?
The Gwen Stacy? Spider-Man's first love? The girl who—in another timeline—snapped her neck falling from a clock tower?
New York really is a village, Lucas thought, stunned. I pick one random tutoring gig, and I walk straight into the origin story of Spider-Woman.
"Hi, Mr. Chen," Gwen said, scrambling to stand up, knocking a few papers off her desk in the process.
"Just Lucas is fine," he said, stepping in to help her pick them up. "Shall we start?"
"Yes! Please," Gwen said, clearing a space.
"I'll leave you two to it. I'll bring up some snacks later," Mrs. Stacy said, closing the door with a satisfied smile.
Lucas sat down and looked at the problem set Gwen was struggling with. It was standard AP Calculus. Hard for a normal teenager, but child's play for Lucas. He scanned the equation, his mind already breaking it down.
"Okay," Lucas said, pulling a chair closer. "Forget the textbook method. Look at it like this..."
As he explained the logic, breaking the complex problem into simple, elegant steps, Gwen found herself leaning in. He was good. Really good. And every time he looked at her to check if she understood, her heart did a little gymnastic routine.
Stark Industries. The CEO's Office.
"Sir," Jarvis's voice cut through the silence. "The diary has updated."
Tony Stark dropped his soldering iron immediately. He grabbed the notebook, his eyes scanning the fresh ink appearing on the page.
June 10
Weather: Sunny. Holy crap, New York is small. I just took a random tutoring job to pay the bills, and guess who my student is? Gwen Stacy. The famous, tragic heroine herself.
"Tragic heroine? Gwen Stacy."
Tony rolled the name around on his tongue. He narrowed his eyes, his ego firing on all cylinders.
"If we assume this universe is a story," Tony muttered, pacing the room, "then logic dictates I am the Protagonist. I'm the billionaire, the genius, the one who goes through the 'Hero's Journey' of kidnapping and redemption. I get the cool suit. I get the redemption arc."
He stopped, pointing a finger at the diary.
"So, if I'm the Main Character... and this Gwen Stacy is a 'Heroine'..."
Tony stroked his goatee, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Is she my future love interest? Is Pepper out of the running?"