Marvel and Beyond

The warm rays of the sun streamed through the window, falling on the man lying on the bed, casting a soft glow over his bare face.

His eyelids fluttered, as though disturbed by the brightness, and his hand instinctively rose to shield his eyes.

After several moments of restlessness, his eyes slowly opened. He yawned, stretching his arms above his head, his body loosening as he sat up on the bed.

Max glanced around the room, a faint sense of disorientation lingering in his mind. Still, he had long accepted the surreal truth—he was no longer the struggling man from his previous life.

Now, he was wealthier and somehow living in the Marvel Universe.

His eyes fell on the nearby clock.

7:00 AM.

He blinked.

"I slept that long?" he muttered to himself, realizing with mild disbelief that he'd crashed sometime in the early evening and hadn't stirred until morning.

For someone who had once been a corporate worker, such indulgence almost felt like a sin—a guaranteed way to get fired. 

But now, he chuckled softly. He no longer had to answer to a boss just to keep the lights on.

Still, judging by how rested he felt, he must have been completely exhausted the day before.

The stress, both mental and physical, from his time in the Resident Evil world, had clearly taken its toll.

That likely explained the sore muscles and heavy limbs. While he didn't fully grasp the mechanics of dimension-hopping, one thing had become obvious: exhaustion and mental fatigue carried over with him—regardless of whether he inhabited different body in that world.

The body he'd used in that dimension looked nearly identical to his current one—just a few years older—but that muscle soreness was undeniable.

Maybe it was just psychological.

Maybe not.

With a groan, Max swung his legs off the bed and stood up. He took his time stretching—ten whole minutes—before finally deciding it was time to freshen up. He had plenty of work waiting for him.

The previous day had passed in a blur. Much of his energy had gone into surviving the dimension-hopping ordeal and then promptly collapsing into bed.

He still knew little about this universe, and he needed to fix that.

Before heading into the bathroom, his eyes shifted to the small icon lingering in the corner of his vision. When he focused on it, the display expanded.

Still, no new worlds are available for mercenary tasks.

That confirmed his suspicion: the system didn't assign jobs frequently. Which meant he had time. 

Time to integrate the rewards he'd already earned and use them to his advantage here.

He'd rise slowly—but surely.

And it wasn't just about gear or powers. The real value lay in something far more subtle: experience.

His combat instincts had sharpened. Handling firearms now felt almost second nature. His reflexes and aim had improved dramatically.

Even without rewards, the skills and conditioning gained from those missions were proving invaluable.

Smirking, Max stepped into the bathroom, eager to wash away the remnants of sleep and freshen up for the day ahead.

…

About half an hour later, Max emerged from the bathroom with a bathrobe wrapped around his torso, water dripping from his hair. 

His wet bangs clung to his forehead as he moved around the room, humming softly.

He headed to his wardrobe and picked out a casual yet tidy outfit—a pair of trousers and a simple shirt.

He felt light, refreshed, and better than he had in days.

As he got dressed, he muttered inwardly, 'What a lovely day. Let's see what it has in store for me.'

This was only his second day in the Marvel Universe, and yet there was an odd sense of familiarity settling over him.

His vivid memories of this place didn't leave him disoriented or anxious. Instead, they grounded him.

Once dressed, he took a few moments to dry and comb his hair, then stood in front of the mirror. He grinned at his reflection, feeling good enough to give himself a moment of self-praise.

Satisfied, he stepped out into the hallway.

He hadn't made it far before he encountered Martha, who was heading toward his room. She froze for a split second, surprised to see him already up.

Her expression softened.

"Morning, Grandma," Max greeted warmly, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Morning," she replied with a gentle smile of her own, her eyes scanning him briefly. She seemed pleased by his neat appearance.

"You've woken up early. Good habit," she added approvingly, then after a pause, continued, "Let's have breakfast. You didn't eat anything since yesterday."

Max rubbed his stomach and chuckled. "Yeah, I'm starving. Let's grab a bite."

Together, they made their way to the dining room and settled in for a light breakfast—just toast, butter, and a glass of juice.

Nothing too heavy this early in the morning, especially with a long day ahead of them.

The quiet between them wasn't awkward, just reflective. Neither was much for small talk.

Maybe it was their personalities—reserved, focused—or maybe it was simply the newness of their shared living arrangement.

But even in silence, there was understanding. The occasional nod, a soft smile, the way Martha filled up his juice without asking—these little things spoke volumes.

Max mentally began organizing his to-do list. Now that he wasn't being whisked off to another dimension, he could finally turn his attention to unfinished matters—starting with understanding the full scope of his father's company.

He needed to figure out where he stood within it, what role he was expected to play, and whether he even wanted to stay tied to that legacy.

More pressing, however, was the lab connected to his father—the one whose business card Victor handed to him with other documents.

That lab was a thread, and Max intended to pull it.

If it led to knowledge, power, or even more connections—especially relating to something like the biotech—it might prove invaluable.

He also planned to explore other avenues for profit and advancement. No sense in putting all his eggs in one basket. The Marvel Universe was rich with opportunity. He intended to take full advantage.

As he pushed his chair back and prepared to leave for the study, Martha's voice stopped him.

"Max," she said, as though remembering something, "Victor sent a box yesterday. He said it had some materials you might need. I left it in the study. You were still asleep."

Max raised an eyebrow. A box from Uncle Victor?

He had some idea what it might be.

"Thanks, Grandma. I'll check it out. And hey—don't wear yourself out, okay?" he said with a reassuring smile.

"I'm not that fragile," she replied dryly, but with warmth in her voice.

Chuckling softly, Max left the dining room and headed for the study. The day had barely begun, but he could already feel the gears turning.

….

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