Chapter 1: The Transmigrator Living in Hell's Kitchen
Marvel Universe — Non-Sacred Timeline
The Big Apple. Hell's Kitchen. A seven-story walk-up wedged between a bodega and a laundromat, its ground floor converted into a hole-in-the-wall restaurant.
A hand-painted sign hung above the wooden front door: Lucky Dragon.
Beneath it, a red banner read "Grand Opening — Fortune Favors the Hungry!"
Red paper lanterns dangled on either side of the entrance — a stubborn nod to the old country that no amount of gentrification had managed to kill off.
Below the lanterns, a scarred-up brown mutt with a tiny red eye mask lay sprawled across the doorstep like a furry little bouncer who'd long since given up on checking IDs.
"Yo, Ethan! Is the food done yet or what? I'm literally about to pass out over here."
A guy in a head-to-toe red spandex suit and a matching mask was draped across a table like a deflated balloon animal.
"Rush me one more time, Wade. One more time. You don't pay, you don't tip, and you've got the audacity to complain about the wait? Keep it up and you're not eating. Period."
A tall, well-built young man with short black hair emerged from the kitchen carrying two plates. He set them down in front of the masked freeloader, whose eye-holes practically lit up like slot machines hitting jackpot.
That's right — the guy in the red mask was Deadpool. The Merc with a Mouth. Marvel's most hated (and somehow most lovable) pain in the ass.
Ethan turned toward the white-haired young man leaning against the bar counter behind him. "Hey, Pietro — bring out the rest of the food from the kitchen, would you?"
The white-haired kid flashed an OK sign with his left hand and pulled his goggles down with his right.
One blink later, Pietro was sitting next to Deadpool, casually pouring himself a Coke. The table was now fully loaded — four dishes and a soup — like some kind of speed-run cooking show finale.
"Dude, Pietro, I don't care how many times I see that — it never gets old." Wade shook his head in exaggerated wonder. "If I had your speed, I'd have hit up every bank vault from here to Jersey by now."
"Alright, can it, Wade." Ethan sat down. "Wanda's got something going on today, so it's just the three of us. Let's eat."
Before the words had even left his mouth, Wade and Pietro had already descended on the food like a pair of starving raccoons raiding a dumpster behind a Michelin-star restaurant.
Watching these two inhale everything in front of them, Ethan's mind drifted.
His name was Ethan Cross — though that hadn't always been his name.
Twenty-three years ago, he'd woken up in this world. The Marvel world. And he'd been stuck in Hell's Kitchen ever since.
His old man — a real piece of work — got himself killed in some gang beef and left behind exactly one thing of value: this seven-story apartment building. Ethan had graduated college about a year ago, and now he ran the restaurant on the ground floor, picking up freelance gigs on the side to keep the lights on.
The masked maniac currently getting sweet-and-sour sauce on his spandex? That was Wade Wilson — a.k.a. Deadpool — whom Ethan had met on one of those freelance jobs. After they'd crossed paths, certain... system-related reasons made it beneficial to offer Wade free room and board.
Ah, yes. The System.
Look — every self-respecting isekai protagonist came with a cheat system. That was just the rules. And surviving twenty-three years in the Marvel Universe without one? In Hell's Kitchen of all places? Impossible. You'd last about as long as a popsicle in a microwave.
Ethan's particular cheat was called the Friendship System. The moment someone acknowledged him as a friend, he'd randomly receive a reward pulled from that person — money, stats, items, powers, you name it.
And the kicker? The higher the friendship level climbed, the better the rewards got.
As for Wanda and Pietro — the Maximoff twins — he'd pulled them out of a bad situation during a job. They had nowhere else to go, so he let them crash at the apartment. Win-win, really. If the Battle of New York ever kicked off, he'd need someone to hold down the fort. Couldn't have his building getting wrecked — a man's landlord dreams were at stake.
Suddenly, a chime echoed through his mind.
「DING!」
「Congratulations, Host! Wade Winston Wilson's Friendship Level has risen to ★★★!」
「Attribute Gained: Healing Factor!」
「Integrate immediately?」
Finally.
Ethan's heart pounded. The Healing Factor. The one power that meant he'd never have to worry about being cannon fodder in this insane universe ever again.
But hold on —
"System, quick question. In the original story, Deadpool's healing factor only worked because the cancer in his body gave the regeneration something to fight against. If I integrate this without the cancer... am I just going to explode?"
「Rest assured, Host. The System accounts for all compatibility issues. Please do not underestimate the System.」
"Then hit it. Integrate now."
「Integration initiated!」
The instant those words flashed through his mind, Ethan felt his body seize. Every cell vibrated, shifted, rebuilt itself from the inside out in ways that definitely weren't in any biology textbook.
A moment later, his eyes snapped open.
Across the table, Wade paused mid-bite. He tilted his head and gave Ethan a curious look through his mask — the kind of look a dog gives when it hears a weird noise.
Then he shrugged and went back to shoveling rice.
Ethan flexed his fingers under the table. His body felt... different. Stronger. Like someone had quietly swapped out a Honda Civic's engine for a V8 overnight.
"System. Open my stats."
[ Name: Ethan Cross ]
[ Race: Human ]
[ Skills: Combat Techniques Lv.10 · Healing Factor · Constitution Lv.10 · Quick Movement Lv.2 · Chaos Magic Lv.1 · Driving Mastery Lv.3 · Reflexes Lv.7 · Blade Work Lv.5 · Marksmanship Lv.3 · Animal Speech Lv.4 · Cooking Lv.5 · Lockpicking Lv.3 · Robbery Lv.2 · Five-Finger Discount Lv.3... ]
[ System Evaluation: You are no longer a helpless civilian. You could probably go toe-to-toe with Captain America — call it a coin flip. However, if you encounter Thanos, please drop to your knees and beg for mercy immediately. ]
The brief flicker of pride Ethan had felt evaporated instantly.
Great. Thanks for the reality check.
The real question was: which version of the Purple People Eater was running around in this universe? If it was the movie version — the "perfectly balanced" guy with the Infinity Gauntlet and a retirement plan involving a farm — that was manageable. Terrifying, but manageable.
But if it was comics Thanos? The "I will slaughter every living thing in the entire universe including myself just to make Death notice me" Thanos?
That wasn't a supervillain. That was the ultimate simp. The most down-bad being in all of creation. The guy who committed omnicide because his crush left him on read.
Then again, Ethan thought, simping never gets you the house — and we're still early in the timeline. Hell's Kitchen hasn't even finished its tutorial arc yet. Tony Stark is still out there being a glorified arms dealer and hasn't had his come-to-Jesus moment in a cave.
Before any of that went down, Ethan needed to stack friendships. Level them up. Turn acquaintances into allies, allies into family.
He was going to become the Family Man of the Marvel Universe.
...Too bad about the Ancient One, though.
He'd thought about swinging by Kamar-Taj and befriending the Sorcerer Supreme, but the risk was too high. If anyone could see through a transmigrator's soul and sniff out that he didn't belong in this universe, it was that bald mystic.
Speaking of which — is it Bald Guy Ancient One or Tilda Swinton Ancient One in this timeline? Asking for a friend.
What he really needed were multiverse-hoppers. America Chavez. Cable. Anyone with the ability to punch a hole between dimensions. With a power like that, he could travel to parallel universes and make friends across the entire multiverse.
Then it'd be game over. He'd be punching Loki off his Story Throne, curb-stomping Thanos into the dirt, and making Death herself kneel and sing his praises —
"Hey."
Wade's voice cut through the daydream. The merc was leaning back in his chair, picking his teeth with a toothpick in one hand and rubbing his belly with the other like a satisfied Buddha statue.
"Got a big job lined up. Real big. You in, Ethan?"
Ethan blinked, mildly irritated at being pulled out of his fantasy. "How big? What kind of job? You know I'm picky."
"Relax, it's not a hit." Wade held up his hands. "Rescue mission this time."
He paused, then added: "Honestly, dude, I gotta say — you're kind of a freak sometimes. Every time we run into some low-life thug on a job, you stick a gun in their face, ask them to be your best friend, and then immediately smoke them anyway. You know that, right?"
Wade leaned forward conspiratorially. "Word on the street is the mercs are talking. They're saying you've got... issues. With certain demographics. Which is not a great look."
Ethan rolled his eyes so hard they nearly did a full rotation. "Oh, please. I'm performing a public service. These guys spend their whole lives robbing stores and terrorizing innocent people. As their dear friend, I'm simply... expediting their trip to the pearly gates. I'm basically a humanitarian."
"Fifty million dollars." Wade held up five fingers and wiggled them dramatically.
Ethan froze.
Fifty million.
His biggest payday to date had been five million, and that had felt like winning the lottery. Fifty million wasn't just a different league — it was a different sport.
A rescue mission worth fifty mil? If Wade hadn't specifically said "rescue," Ethan would've assumed they were being hired to take out the President.
"Who's the target?" Ethan's expression hardened. A job with this kind of price tag was never simple.
Wade pointed at the TV mounted on the wall. The news anchor's voice filled the room:
"World-renowned industrialist, playboy, and billionaire Tony Stark has gone missing. Initial reports indicate that Stark disappeared during a private trip overseas. Stark Industries stock is in freefall —"
"Oh, you mean Tony Stark?" Pietro shot up from his chair, eyes blazing. "That murderer? No way. Hard pass. Guy's a war profiteer — he can rot for all I care."