A Rider Kick in Marvel Rewrite

The DenLiner hums along the Sands of Time, its rhythmic motion a comforting constant for Ace. He lounges in one of the dining car's plush seats, idly flipping through a magazine he found in the train's surprisingly well-stocked library. The magazine featured All Might on the cover.

The Taros were nowhere to be seen, probably off causing some sort of mischief somewhere within the train's seemingly endless corridors. Naomi was likely polishing the coffee machine to an impossible shine, lost in her own world of caffeinated dedication.

At the head of the table, the Owner is attempting a new personal record in his ongoing battle with a bowl of fried rice. The dish, piled high and adorned with a tiny, precariously balanced flag, represents his latest challenge. He approaches each grain with the intensity of a seasoned warrior, his chopsticks moving with swift precision.

Ace glances up from his magazine, a small smile tugging at his lips. He's been aboard the DenLiner long enough to find amusement in the Owner's eccentricities.

The Owner pauses, his gaze flicking towards Ace. "You have been doing well, Ace," he states, his tone surprisingly serious. "The Imagins have been causing quite a stir in that world, but you've managed to keep things relatively stable."

Ace shrugs, trying to downplay his accomplishments. "Just doing what I can," he replies, his voice casual. "Gotta keep the timeline from getting too tangled."

"Indeed," the Owner agrees, his attention returning to the fried rice. "A tangled timeline is like a poorly brewed coffee. Bitter, confusing, and ultimately unsatisfying."

He lifts another mouthful, carefully navigating the chopsticks around the base of the flag. The tension in the room is palpable, Ace thinks.

Suddenly, disaster strikes. A slight tremor shakes the DenLiner, causing the flag to wobble, then topple, landing unceremoniously in the rice.

The Owner freezes, his chopsticks suspended mid-air. He stares at the fallen flag, his face contorted in mock horror. A dramatic gasp escapes his lips, and he clutches his chest as if struck by a mortal blow.

"What a shame…" he exclaims.

Then, as quickly as it appeared, the exaggerated expression vanishes, replaced by his usual enigmatic composure. He sighs, picking up the fallen flag with a delicate touch.

"Ah, well," he says, his voice calm. "There is always next time."

He returns to his meal as if nothing had happened, devouring the remaining fried rice with renewed vigor. Ace shakes his head, chuckling softly.

The Owner glances up again, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Keep up the good work, Ace," he says, his voice low. "The fate of that world, and perhaps more, rests on your shoulders."

With that, he returns to his meal, leaving Ace to ponder his words. The weight of his responsibility settles heavily on his shoulders, a reminder of the battles yet to come.

[DOOR SLIDING OPEN]

Ryutaros saunters into the dining car, headphones blasting music only he can hear. He spots Ace and bounces over, his steps light and energetic.

"Ace, Ace! It's my turn to go out, right? Right?!" Ryutaros asks, already halfway to an answer, his eyes wide with anticipation.

Ace sighs, remembering the last time Ryutaros had free rein. Graffiti, impromptu dance-offs in the middle of crosswalks, a near-arrest involving a stolen ice cream truck… It had been a chaotic afternoon, to say the least.

"Ryutaros, I don't know…" Ace starts, but the dragon Imagin is already pleading.

"C'mon, Ace! I promise I'll be good! Please? Please? I want to find a pet, or maybe even a new toy! Can I? Can I? I won't hear your answer!" Ryutaros finishes, punctuating each plea with a hopeful bounce.

Ace rubs his temples, the Taros already beginning to pipe up in his mind, Momotaros scoffing at Ryutaros's antics, Urataros suggesting Ace take him instead, and Kintaros merely observing. The voices intensify his headache.

Just say yes, already! they shout inside of Ace's head.

He knows he can't keep them cooped up forever. He sighs again, relenting. "Alright, fine, you can go. But—"

"Yatta!" Ryutaros shouts, cutting Ace off.

"Hey," Ace says. "Listen to me. No trouble, got it? And… wear a mask. I think some people recognize my face after, you know, the incidents."

Ryutaros freezes, his usual cheer faltering slightly. "Oh, right…" he says, his voice subdued. "I forgot about that…"

Momotaros, never one to miss an opportunity to jab, chimes in, "Yeah, try not to get us arrested again, Brat."

Urataros smooths his nonexistent collar, adding with a sly grin, "And perhaps avoid any more public displays of… artistic expression."

Kintaros simply nods, his gaze steady. "Be mindful of your surroundings," is all he says before he goes to sleep. "ZZZZ…."

A mischievous glint returns to Ryutaros's eyes. "Don't worry, guys! I'll be the bestest boy ever!" He then focuses, and Ace's body slumps forward.

Ryutaros, now in control, straightens up, a newfound energy surging through him. A black cap materializes on his head, doing little to tame his messy, curly hair that pokes out at odd angles. His purple eyes spark with childlike wonder, framed by the stark white of the face mask pulled up to conceal his nose and mouth. The ever-present headphones still hang loosely around his neck. With a final wave, Ryutaros bounds off the DenLiner.

The train doors slide open, revealing a bustling street corner in Musutafu. People hurry by in a kaleidoscope of colors and Quirks, their voices blending into a cacophonous hum. Ryutaros, utterly unfazed, steps into the crowd, his head swiveling as he takes in the sights.

"Alright," Ryutaros says aloud, his voice echoing Ace's but with a distinctly higher pitch and playful lilt. "Time to make some new friends!" He then skips off, ready to cause some sort of mischief somewhere within the sprawling city.

The city's vibrant energy pulsates around him, a symphony of sights and sounds that fuels his impulsive spirit. He is in search of a pet or a toy, but anything that catches his eye becomes a worthy distraction. Ryutaros doesn't have any directions, he lets his feet do the walking.

Rounding a corner, the thumping rhythm of a bassline washes over him. Drawn to the music, Ryutaros finds a group of dancers gathered in a wide plaza. They're breakdancing, their movements fluid and explosive as they spin, flip, and contort their bodies to the beat. A small crowd has gathered, cheering and clapping in appreciation.

Ryutaros's eyes widen, a grin spreading across his masked face. He feels the urge to join in. Without a second thought, he steps into the circle, his presence immediately drawing attention.

The music pulses, and Ryutaros drops into a crouch, his body swaying to the rhythm. He launches into a series of windmills, his limbs blurring as he spins across the ground. He follows it with a headstand, balancing effortlessly as he kicks his legs in a rapid-fire sequence. The crowd erupts in cheers, impressed by his skill and energy.

The other dancers exchange excited glances, their faces alight with admiration and amusement. They clearly recognize a kindred spirit, someone who understands the language of movement. One of the dancers steps forward, challenging Ryutaros with a complicated sequence of footwork and spins.

Ryutaros grins, accepting the unspoken invitation. He responds with his own moves, upping the ante with each step. He blends classic breakdancing with his signature flourishes, incorporating elements of popping and locking as he twists and contorts his body in ways that seem to defy gravity.

The crowd roars, captivated by the impromptu dance battle. Ryutaros and his challenger feed off the energy, pushing each other to new heights of creativity and skill. The music builds to a crescendo, and Ryutaros finishes with a final flourish, landing in a pose that exudes confidence and exuberance.

The dancers and crowd cheer. Ryutaros, panting slightly but beaming with joy, approaches the group. "You guys are amazing!" he exclaims, his voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. "I wanna be friends! Will you? Will you? I won't hear your answer!"

He snaps his fingers, a surge of strange energy rippling outwards. The dancers' eyes glaze over for a moment, their expressions shifting to a vacant, almost dreamy state.

Ryutaros, oblivious to the oddity of the scene, begins to dance away, his steps light and carefree. To everyone's surprise, the dancers follow, their bodies moving in perfect synchronicity with his. They mimic his every move, their faces blank and unseeing, their movements precise and strangely unsettling.

They danced down the street, a parade of entranced followers trailing behind the purple-eyed dragon Imagin.

Ryutaros can control the minds of others in a way that's unique to him. He makes them dance and follow his lead. It's not clear if he's capable of more complex forms of mind control, or if his childlike nature simply makes him use it to create impromptu dance troupes. Either way, he gets people to do what he wants with this peculiar power.

***

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Advance chapters are in my P@|r3on - Najicablitz