The autumn air carried a faint chill, stirring the dry leaves into gentle swirls.
In a quiet corner of New York, within a run-down yard bearing a crooked sign that read Mary Orphanage, golden leaves fluttered in the breeze, drifting lazily past the window. The scene exuded a strange kind of peace.
A pale but strikingly handsome boy stood by the window, his eyes fixed on the unfamiliar cityscape outside. His expression was complex, far too mature for someone his age.
He looked to be about five or six, with featheryhair and Eastern features. But what truly set him apart were his eyes—one golden, the other amethyst. Heterochromatic. Left eye gold, right eye amethyst. Vivid and clear, his eyes sparkled with starlight, like twin galaxies quietly orbiting in his gaze. It was impossible not to be drawn in.
( Mc Image )
"The world's changed… and so have I."
The boy's tone was low, his words far too calm for a child. That was because he wasn't just a child. His name was Kurogai.
Just days ago, Kurogai had been an ordinary university student back in his original world. But after waking up in this unfamiliar place, his body had reverted to that of a five-year-old—and he'd become just another abandoned orphan in some rundown American orphanage.
The shift was terrifying. Who could stay calm after realizing they'd been reborn into a new world, with a different identity? At first, he'd panicked—shocked, scared, utterly lost. But after a few days, he started to accept it.
Step one in surviving a new world: understand it.
Kurogai had spent his time observing, listening, and gathering information. He quickly confirmed he was still on Earth—countries like the United States and Japan still existed—and it was the 1990s. For a while, he assumed this was just a parallel version of his original Earth. That assumption… didn't last long.
At first, he had grand plans. He thought, If this is a world without Marvel comics, I'll write them myself. Comics, movies, games—he was ready to ride the wave of plagiarism to fame and fortune.
Then he heard something that shattered that fantasy.
During World War II, a real-life superhero named Steve Rogers—Captain America—had fought on the front lines.
"Damn it!"
So, there weren't no Marvel comics… This was the Marvel Universe.
That gut-punch of realization hit him hard. He had thought he'd hit the jackpot, but instead, he'd landed smack in the middle of one of the most dangerous fictional universes ever imagined.
Aliens, gods, magic, high-tech weapons, interdimensional threats—it was chaos incarnate. Entire cities could be destroyed overnight. Forget luxury and indulgence. This world was a powder keg.
"I don't think you dropped me here without a backup plan… right?" he muttered into the empty room, voice low.
He reached up, brushing the hair from his forehead.
There, faintly glowing, an ancient totem emerged from his skin—a circular symbol etched into his very being. Twelve interconnected rings spiraled in layers, each marked with strange, runic patterns. It had the aura of something ancient, something powerful. Something... watching.
It vaguely resembled the Rinnegan from Naruto—if the Rinnegan had evolved into something far more complex. Where the Rinnegan bore three rings, this totem had twelve. Twelve concentric circles, each layer marked with unfamiliar, almost alien sigils.
This was the reason he was here.
Back in his old life, Kurogai had stumbled upon a strange stone at a street stall. The stone had twelve circular patterns carved into it—eerily similar to an eye. He'd bought it out of curiosity. The next thing he knew, he'd awakened in this world… with that same symbol burned into his forehead.
It didn't take a genius to connect the dots.
He had a theory: his heterochromia might be linked to this mysterious totem. His eyes used to be black. Now they gleamed gold and violet. It had to be related.
"Could be some kind of mutation… an X-Gene?" he whispered, considering. "If so, I'm not complaining."
Mutants existed in this world. And while some feared the X-Gene, Kurogai didn't. In a world this hostile, power was survival. And if this strange totem or his eyes gave him even a sliver of an advantage, he'd take it.
"Totem… Little Totem… hey, come on. Don't go quiet on me now. I know you're not just a fancy tattoo. What the hell's going on with my body?"
He tapped his forehead gently, as if trying to coax a response from the mark. But the totem remained still. Silent. Unyielding.
Even so, Kurogai knew it wasn't just a symbol. It was alive, in some way. And if he could just figure out how to communicate with it, maybe—just maybe—he could unlock the power he needed to survive here.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Footsteps echoed through the orphanage yard, drawing closer.
Someone was coming.
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