Steven leaned back on his couch, stuffing a handful of popcorn into his mouth as he stared at the screen. "Man, Endgame never gets old..."
He had seen this movie at least a dozen times, but something about the final battle always gave him chills. Thor, Iron Man, and Captain America facing off against Thanos—an epic moment that defined an era. Steven grinned as he watched Thor summon both Mjolnir and Stormbreaker, ready to throw down with the Mad Titan.
Then came the scene. The one that had broken audiences worldwide.
Thanos, wounded but victorious, lifted his hand, the golden gauntlet glinting under the light of the ruined battlefield. "I am... inevitable."
Snap.
The screen went black.
For a second, Steven thought his power had gone out. He groaned, reaching for the remote, but something felt... wrong. The couch beneath him was gone. The warmth of his apartment, the sound of the movie, the faint hum of his refrigerator—it had all vanished.
A gust of wind brushed against his face. He smelled gasoline, exhaust fumes, and something greasy—like food carts. There were voices. Car horns. The distant hum of an urban jungle.
Steven's eyes flew open.
His heart nearly stopped.
Towering above him, stretching into the clouds, was Stark Tower.
"What... the actual... hell?" Steven whispered, barely able to breathe.
He was standing on a random sidewalk, surrounded by people who were walking past like everything was normal. No one paid him any mind, but his own mind was screaming.
This isn't right. This isn't right!
He took a step back, nearly stumbling. His clothes were the same—just a simple T-shirt and jeans—but everything else had changed. This was Marvel. The Marvel Cinematic Universe. The very world he had just been watching from the comfort of his home.
His thoughts raced.
'No, no, no. Maybe I'm dreaming. Yeah, that's it. Or maybe I fell asleep during Endgame. Any second now, I'll wake up back on my couch.'
He slapped himself.
Hard.
The sting confirmed it.
'Nope. Not a dream.'
His breath quickened. "Oh, shit. Oh, shit. OH, SHIT!"
How was this possible?! He had seen hundreds of transmigration stories, where the protagonist wakes up in another world, but that was fiction! This was real. And if this was real, then that meant…
'I'm in a world where gods, aliens, and super-powered psychopaths exist.'
Steven felt a shiver crawl down his spine. This is bad. This is REALLY bad. He had no superpowers. No genius intellect. No godly weapons. He was just… him. A normal guy.
As panic started setting in, something even weirder happened.
[Ding!]
A mechanical sound echoed in his head. Steven flinched, his eyes darting around. No one else seemed to hear it.
Then, in front of his vision, a translucent blue screen appeared.
[Welcome to the Dimensional Chat Group!]
Steven stared.
Then blinked.
Then rubbed his eyes.
The screen was still there.
"Wait… no way. Is this… one of those chat group systems?!"
Steven had read enough novels to recognize it instantly. A Dimensional Chat Group was a classic cheat in fanfiction. A system that connected people from different worlds, allowing them to chat, exchange skills, and sometimes even trade powers.
His heart pounded. "Oh, this might actually be good. This might be my ticket to survival!"
Another notification appeared.
[Current Status: No shelter. No money. No powers. No weapons. No connections.]
[Chance of survival in the next 48 hours: 12%.]
"..."
Steven took a deep breath, looking at the towering buildings around him.
No money. No shelter. No safety.
The system wasn't kidding when it said he had a 12% survival chance.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking.
'Alright, think. What are my options?'
Sleeping on the street was out of the question. This was Marvel—there were mutants, super-powered criminals, and who knew what else lurking around. Even if nothing supernatural happened, New York's regular crime rate was bad enough.
That meant he needed a place to stay for the night, preferably without spending money.
And if he didn't have money, that meant he needed to leverage something else.
Steven's mind raced. He wasn't a genius, he wasn't a fighter, and he didn't have some overpowered ability to break the world.
But… he wasn't ugly.
In fact, back on Earth, he had been told more than once that he had a pretty face. He wasn't some chiseled Greek god, but he had a certain charm—soft features, a clean look, and when he wanted to, he could act the part of a lost, innocent soul pretty damn well.
He wasn't exactly proud of it, but… desperate times.
Plan: Look Helpless, Get Help
Steven walked into the nearest upscale bar. Not a club—those were loud and chaotic—but a nice place where rich people drank after work.
It was a sleek, modern lounge with dim lighting and jazz playing in the background. Most of the people here were well-dressed, professionals unwinding after a long day.
Steven glanced at himself in the reflection of the glass. He didn't look too bad—his clothes were casual but clean, and his hair, though slightly messy, gave him that "I-just-got-off-a-flight" look.
Perfect.
He approached the bar and sat down, exhaling dramatically as if he had just been through hell.
The bartender, a woman in her late twenties, gave him a once-over. "What can I get you?"
Steven gave her a tired, sheepish smile. "Uh… actually, I just needed a place to sit for a bit. Long story, but my flight got delayed, my Airbnb canceled on me, and my phone died. Rough night."
She raised an eyebrow. "Damn. Sounds like you got hit with the worst luck."
Steven chuckled. "Tell me about it."
She didn't press further, just nodded and moved to serve other customers. That was fine. The real targets were the people around him.
It didn't take long before he caught someone's attention.
"Excuse me, are you alright?"
Steven turned toward the voice. A woman, mid-30s, dressed in business casual, sipping a glass of red wine.
Jackpot.
"Oh, uh, yeah," he said with a sheepish chuckle. "Just trying to figure out where to stay for the night."
The woman tilted her head. "You don't have a hotel booked?"
Steven sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I did, but… card issues. Bank froze my funds because I forgot to tell them I was traveling. Now I'm just trying to figure out a cheap place to crash until tomorrow."
The woman hummed, her eyes scanning him.
Steven recognized that look. She was considering something.
"New to the city?" she asked.
"Yeah. First time here."
There was a pause. Then, the woman smiled. "Well, I know a place you could stay for the night."
Steven raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
She chuckled, sipping her wine. "I have a guest room. You seem like a nice guy, and I hate the idea of someone wandering the streets in this city."
Bingo.
Mission Accomplished
An hour later, Steven found himself in a penthouse apartment, looking out over the city skyline.
The woman—Vanessa—had been more than happy to let him crash in her guest room, saying she'd "rather help someone out than let them end up in some shady motel."
Steven wasn't about to question his luck.
The apartment was insanely luxurious—a modern, minimalist design with floor-to-ceiling windows. Everything from the marble countertops to the ridiculously comfortable bed.
He wasn't sure what Vanessa did for a living.
As he lay down, another notification popped up.
[Skill Acquired: Social Manipulation (Beginner)]
[You've successfully talked your way into free shelter. Your ability to influence others has slightly improved.]
[Please choose a nickname for the chat group.]