Chapter 1: Reborn in Marvel

It was a night of thunder and lightning.

A young man sat before his computer, the sound of his fingers tapping the keyboard unceasing. On the screen was DNF; he controlled his character to perform a Sword Draw, instantly slaying the Boss, then swiftly closed his eyes and pressed his hands together in a prayer to the air.

“Ephemeral equals one; Grand Ma, grant me a Breath of Aura!”

His name was Luke—surname Lu, given name Ke. Such a commanding name, yet it could not change the fact that he was terribly unlucky. He had run the Spacetime Rift countless times, but the final, vital piece simply refused to appear. After his lengthy prayer, Luke opened his eyes and his heart nearly stopped.

Was he seeing things? What was that beneath his character’s feet?

Breath of Aura!

It dropped! At long last, it dropped!

Excitedly, he maneuvered his character to pick up the item. Yet, he found himself unable to grab it.

What was happening? His fingers frantically hammered at the keyboard, but the Breath of Aura on the ground remained unresponsive.

Disconnected? Punished?

Luke clutched his monitor, utterly distraught. “No way! I’ve waited three years—three years for a chance to enter the raid, and now the heavens treat me like this?”

Thunder rolled outside, a bolt of lightning streaked past the window. Suddenly, the computer screen went black, the lights in the room went out, and darkness engulfed the space.

A loud crash echoed inside, and the air gradually filled with the scent of burning.

But Luke could no longer smell it.

…

Where… is this?

His eyes opened with difficulty and dryness; a torrent of memories, not his own, surged into Luke’s mind. His brain grew foggy, and he was secretly startled. “Is this legendary transmigration?”

Luke instinctively surveyed his surroundings, discovering he was in a small room, sparsely furnished—a single bed.

He looked down at himself and was speechless.

He’d become so small! How old was this body? Five? Six? Was this… an orphanage?

Memories belonging to the original owner of this body gradually sharpened.

Luke gathered more information: the original owner was also named Luke, a six-year-old Chinese American child residing in a children’s welfare institution—an orphanage. This was his room.

And astonishingly, this was New York City.

As Luke was reeling in surprise, the door to his room opened and a middle-aged woman, an African American, entered.

Luke searched his memory and learned that this woman was the director of the orphanage.

The director approached Luke, smiled gently, and said, “Luke, come meet your adoptive parents. We agreed on this.” She spoke in English, and Luke understood perfectly. Clearly, he had inherited the original owner’s language abilities.

Adoption? Luke thought for a moment; his memory confirmed it. Previously, seven-year-old Luke had agreed to be adopted by a couple.

Luke quickly considered his options and decided to go with the flow.

Being adopted and living in a family was surely better than staying in the orphanage. He was new here, this body was inconvenient, and being adopted might be a good thing—provided, of course, the adoptive parents were good people.

Following the director through the corridor, Luke entered the director’s office.

There, he saw a man and a woman, a young couple in their thirties.

The man wore a suit and tie, his figure slightly plump, his face friendly. The woman wore a simple floral dress, modestly dressed.

“Are these the people adopting me?” Luke scrutinized the couple, and they in turn appraised him. The couple seemed very satisfied with Luke.

It was no surprise. Luke’s appearance was delicate and clean, his eyes bright and clever—giving off an impression of intelligence. After all, a twenty-year-old soul resided in this seven-year-old body; such a gaze on a child appeared remarkably wise to outsiders.

The couple stepped forward, crouched down, and smiled warmly at Luke.

“Hello, Luke. My name is Fudge,” the man introduced.

The woman, somewhat emotional, her gaze full of affection, said, “I’m Karen.”

At that moment, Luke’s attention was entirely on the television behind them.

The TV was broadcasting a live news conference. On screen, a man in his thirties was telling a group of reporters, “I am Iron Man.”

Luke stared, dumbfounded.

Meanwhile, a deep, scheming voice sounded in his mind: “The apostles’ incursion into this world officially begins! Luke, as one of the apostles, it’s time to spread our glory across this world—”

…

A year later.

Luke was seven years old.

To be precise, his body was seven. He had just reached one meter in height, and after a year of care in his adoptive parents’ home, his body still showed signs of malnutrition. But it was much better than in the welfare home.

His adoptive parents were both middle-class. His father was a lawyer, working during the day and returning in the evening. His mother was a full-time homemaker. Luke’s arrival completed the family; the couple adored him. Luke, in turn, had a safe place to live, for which he was deeply grateful.

At this moment, Luke lay in his room on a small bed, arms behind his head, childlike brows furrowed in thought, his expression betraying a grown man’s manner.

Over the past year, he had gradually accepted the fact of his transmigration and rebirth.

After a year of observation, he was certain: this really was the Marvel Universe!

As for the story’s timeline, from what he knew, Iron Man had already emerged, the Hulk had yet to appear, and SHIELD was still at its peak. Mutants, Inhumans, and many civilian heroes were just beginning to surface. It was the early, stable period.

But even so, Luke felt immense pressure.

Why?

Because in the Marvel world, nothing is cheaper than the life of an ordinary person!

Whenever a superhero appears, or aliens invade, chaos inevitably ensues. After the chaos, no matter who wins, countless ordinary people die or are injured. Throughout Marvel, ordinary people serve as the backdrop for the superheroes' displays of valor.

And, unbeknownst to most, various extraordinary forces hiding in the shadows manipulate Earth’s strings. The Five Cosmic Entities, Dormammu of the Dark Dimension, Cyttorak of the Crimson Cosmos, all watch Earth with greedy eyes.

And Luke was just an ordinary person—a regular, unremarkable shut-in before transmigrating.

Faced with so many superhuman powers, he had no way to protect himself.

Not to mention, someday the universe’s family-planning director, Thanos, would snap his fingers... Even if he survived to that moment, Luke doubted he’d be among the surviving fifty percent. The unlucky must accept their fate.

Thus, ensuring his survival in this world was Luke’s top priority.

He concluded that there was only one way: he must become stronger, ever stronger!

Only by leaving the realm of ordinary people, gaining superhuman abilities, and joining the ranks of the extraordinary—perhaps even surpassing everyone in this world to become the strongest—could he seize control of his destiny.

Fortunately, he wasn’t entirely without hope.

He had not come alone; a system had crossed over with him, which he called the DNF System.

Just as in the novels Luke had read, this system possessed immense potential and infinite possibilities. He could obtain various treasures from it. The protagonists in those stories thrived thanks to their systems.

But unlike them, Luke found that his DNF System did not want him to succeed effortlessly. Instead, it demanded effort from him in exchange for rewards.

He had no objections. Earning rewards for labor was normal. In fact, a system expecting nothing in return would be odd and required caution.

Over the year, he had gained some experience in acquiring power from the system.

He owed much to another creature.

A self-proclaimed “guide,” which at that moment perched on Luke’s shoulder: a cephalopod mollusk, known scientifically as an octopus. Its eight tentacles were so short that it resembled a ball of flesh, adorably silly.

Its name was Rost; Luke called it Short-Legged Rost.

Despite its constant claims of being an apostle incarnate, Luke was unimpressed. Who ever heard of an apostle looking like a plastic baby octopus toy? Sometimes Luke wondered if it would squeak when squeezed.

Rost was a chatterbox. Over time, Luke discovered it also had a scheming side. Its favorite saying was, “I’m here to guide you onto the right path, young man.” If it didn’t occasionally urge him to eliminate random passersby, he might have believed it.

Nonetheless, Rost was extremely knowledgeable about the system, answering nearly all of Luke’s questions. Luke’s rapid progress over the year was largely thanks to it.

“I think your power is growing too slowly; a whole year has passed and you’ve only mastered three skills. If this continues, I’ll forget my purpose here. My duty is to guide you onto the right path. And you bear an even greater mission—to spread our apostles’ glory in this world called Marvel!”

Soft and limp atop Luke’s shoulder, Rost complained incessantly, its voice sly but rapid. Luke was accustomed to the constant nagging.

“Don’t worry. My aim is to live here—no, to survive. Spreading whatever glory the system asks for doesn’t conflict with that.”

Luke felt that, as long as his safety was ensured, completing the system’s tasks was reasonable—a mutual benefit. He had debated this with Rost more than once.

“Shh, someone’s eavesdropping at the door! Kill her! Kill her!!” Rost suddenly whispered excitedly, its eight tiny legs clinging tightly to Luke’s neck, quivering up and down.

Annoyed, Luke yanked it off and stuffed it beneath a pile of things.

At that moment, the door to Luke’s room was knocked thrice, and in came a blonde, blue-eyed woman—his adoptive mother. She smiled gently and said, “Time to eat, honey.”

“Alright, Karen.” Luke flipped off the bed, acting lively as a seven-year-old should.

Karen glanced around the room, curious. “Who were you talking to just now?”

“I was reading aloud,” Luke replied with a smile.

Karen smiled and patted his head, and the two went downstairs for dinner.

In the room, beneath a pile of books, a palm-sized octopus with stubby legs was desperately struggling to crawl out…