Samuel placed the last of his books on the shelf, stepping back to make sure everything lined up just right. The room still smelled like new carpet and fresh paint, but it was already starting to feel like his space. A Ragnar Lothbrok poster hung above the desk, his intense stare almost daring anyone to question Samuel's taste. Across the room, a miniature longship sat on the dresser. Leaning against the corner was a simple recurve bow—nothing too advanced, but more than enough for target practice. In the mirror, Samuel caught sight of himself—standing tall, dressed in clean, freshly unpacked clothes, and wearing a flat cap that looked like it had come straight out of the 1920s. He adjusted it slightly. It wasn't exactly subtle, but he liked it.
It's 2009. No one wears flat caps. In this universe, there's no Peaky Blinders show yet to make it trendy, and the real gang it was based on? Practically unknown outside of niche history books. Back in my previous world, people only wore them because the show told them it was cool. But now? Now it actually made me one of the only people pulling it off before it got hijacked by pop culture. Something about it just felt right—even if it made me look like I'd walked out of an old photograph.
Samuel scanned the room one last time before heading downstairs. It looked like a strange mashup between a history buff's man cave and a prop room from a prestige TV drama. The Viking gear, the old-school cap, the sharp contrast of gritty and refined—it all felt a little out of place for a kid his age.
Do people think I'm obsessed with history? The thought made him grin. I just think it's cool. These were people I used to watch on a screen—myths and legends brought to life. And now I'm here. In the same world where all of that actually happened. That's just wild.
At this point, I could probably write some history books about half the shows I've seen—just slap some citations on an book cover and call it pseudo-history books
A knock sounded at the front door.
"Samuel! Can you get that?" Michael called from the back.
He adjusted the cap slightly, then opened the door—and found a man standing there with a bright, too-wide smile, holding a tray of cupcakes like a peace offering from another dimension.
"Hey there!" the man burst out, practically bouncing in place.
"I'm Phil Dunphy—your neighbor, just down the street! I saw you guys moving in and thought, you know what this moment needs? Cupcakes and a warm welcome. So here I am—new friend, full service!"
This man's energy is intense.
Samuel tilted his head slightly, taking a moment to look him over. The guy had the posture of someone trying to be casual but failing, a tray of cupcakes shaking just a bit too much for comfort.
Then it clicked.
"Phil Dunphy?" Samuel asked, a curious tone behind the question.
Phil's eyes lit up with surprise and satisfaction, like he genuinely didn't expect to be recognized but was delighted that he was. "Yes! That's me! Wow, already famous in the neighborhood, huh? Word travels fast."
Samuel gave a half-smile. "I think I saw your face on one of those real estate bus ads."
Phil puffed up a little with pride. "Ah yes, 'If you're looking for a house, I'll find you a home.' Classic campaign. Lot of windshield impressions."
While Phil was happily talking about himself, I had to stop myself from jumping up and down from excitment .
This is Phil Dunphy. The Phil Dunphy. One of the greatest sitcom dads of all time. The guy who somehow made awkward dad jokes into an art form. He's standing at my door. Talking to me. Offering cupcakes.
Then a word he said earlier finally clicked.
Wait… did he say neighbors?
"You said we were neighbors?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
Phil perked up again. "Well, not exactly next-door," he said, stepping slightly to the side and pointing with the tray. "My house is over there—about 300 feet that way, give or take."
I followed his gesture, spotting the familiar house just up the street. The Dunphy house.
It's real.
That's why it felt so familiar. So nostalgic. Even when I first walked by it, something tugged at the back of my mind. It looked kinda like the Modern Family house. And now…
I tried to search for more proof back when I first started suspecting this world wasn't just random. But it's kinda hard to do proper internet research from a forest with almost no WiFi—especially when your only connection to the outside world is your uncle's old laptop that he mostly used for work. The browser was slow, the keyboard was sticky, and most of the time I was lucky if Wikipedia even loaded.
Still, I'd found hints. Familiar names. Character echoes. A few faces in old books that shouldn't have been there. Enough to make me wonder.
And now I'm in society again. Back around people. Back around them.
"So," Phil said, shifting the tray in his hands and smiling like he was already halfway to planning a block party. "What school do you go to?"
I blinked, caught off guard for a second. Right. Normal conversation. Act casual.
"Palisades High School," I said smoothly. "Just enrolled. It's my first year."
Phil blinked. "Wait—first year? As in… freshman?"
I nodded.
He looked me up and down like he was trying to do the math but the numbers refused to add up. "Huh. You sure you're not secretly a transfer student from, like, a high school football team?"
His eyes drifted up to my hat. "And that hat... you kinda look like a gangster from the 1920s. My nephew wears weird accessories too—showed up to Thanksgiving in a bowtie. So hey, no judgment."
I knew where Phil was coming from. I was eleven and looked like any average fifteen-year-old. I stood at 174 cm (about 5'8"), and I wasn't even done growing. The only reason I could think of was TV logic—like how people in shows always looked way too old or too perfect for their age. Smallville. Euphoria. Just part of the rules here, I guess.
In two days, I'd be twelve. Almost time for another spin. But when I thought back to last year's spin… it had given me literally a rock. Nothing special. No skill, no upgrade—just a smooth, gray stone. Maybe the wheel is just extremely random.
Phil looked at me with a sudden spark in his eyes, like he'd just remembered he was the king of neighborhood hospitality.
"You have to come over for dinner tomorrow," he said. "My wife Claire loves to cook—well, she tolerates it—but she's good at it. And two of my kids go to Palisades too. My middle child's a freshman as well."
Did I just get invited to the Dunphy house? I felt my face freeze mid-expression, somewhere between polite smile and full-on shock. I mean… that's the Dunphy house. Claire, Phil, the kids—Modern Family. The actual people. And I'm going to have dinner there.
I looked at him and nodded. "Yeah, I don't think we have plans for tomorrow," I said casually, "but I'll have to check with my uncle."
Phil grinned. "Perfect! Looking forward to it. We'll keep the cupcakes coming."
He turned and walked off with a spring in his step, already halfway down the path when he shouted over his shoulder, "See you tomorrow!"
Well… it's not like he'd accept 'no' anyway.
Phil left happy. Claire called him out for embarrassing the family, but in that moment, I could see the way Phil was thinking. "I'm pretty sure I just looked like the coolest guy on the street.
Just as I closed the door, I heard footsteps from the hallway behind me.
"So… who was that?" Michael asked, raising an eyebrow.
I turned casually. "Our neighbor. Phil Dunphy."
Michael waited, clearly expecting more.
"Oh, and," I added, trying not to sound too excited, "he invited us over for dinner tomorrow."
Michael nodded. "Oh. Would you like to go?"
I shrugged, keeping my voice steady. "Yeah, sure. Could be nice to meet some people."
Totally calm. Not even a little giddy. Nailed it.
Meanwhile, at the Dunphy household...
Phil burst through the front door with a tray of empty cupcake wrappers and a grin that could power a small city.
"I just met the new kid down the street," he announced proudly. "He's definitely going to remember me as the first neighbor to welcome him. I'm practically a legend already."
Claire, sitting at the kitchen island with her laptop, didn't even look up. "Phil, you said that last week about the plumber."
"Okay, but this time it's legit," Phil said, setting the tray down like it was a trophy. "Flat cap. Vintage vibe. Polite handshake. Mystery in his eyes. This kid is basically a teenage James Bond, and he accepted my cupcake offer. That's a win.
Claire finally looked up—slowly. "Phil… I baked those cupcakes for a birthday."
Phil blinked. "Oh."
"And I already punished Luke for sneaking two of them," she added with narrowed eyes. "So congratulations—you just out-parented your own son."
She closed her laptop and crossed her arms. "Do they at least seem like nice people?"
Phil gave her a smug grin. "I just met the son, but you'll see tomorrow at dinner."
Claire's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean tomorrow at dinner?"
"I invited them over," Phil said, proudly puffing out his chest. "Told them you're a great cook. Oh—and he's starting as a freshman next week. Just like Alex."
Claire stared at him, blinking slowly. "You invited a total stranger into our home… and you volunteered my cooking… and you set up our daughter to have a surprise boy at dinner?"
Phil nodded confidently. "I know. I crushed it."
Claire stood up, folding her arms. "Phil, what if this kid is weird? Or what if he's one of those too cool types that throws off Alex's entire social balance?"
Phil waved a hand. "He's not weird. He's interesting. Like... sophisticated mysterious. Honestly, I think she's gonna be impressed."
Claire groaned. "Phil, Alex doesn't get impressed. She corrects people for saying 'less' when they mean 'fewer.'"
Phil shrugged. "All the more reason to expand her horizons."
Just then, Luke popped his head around the corner, crumbs still stuck to the side of his mouth.
"Wait, did you say neighbor kid? Did he have anything cool in his house? Like swords or a hoverboard?"
Phil blinked. "Uh, no hoverboard, buddy. But I did see a bow. Like an actual bow and arrow setup."
Luke's eyes lit up. "No way! What kind? Like Robin Hood or that… uh… that elf guy? The one Alex has a book about? Le-Legolas?"
Phil gave a thoughtful nod. "More Robin Hood. But, like, serious Robin Hood. He's got that whole medieval-meets-street-style vibe going on."
Luke grinned. "Cool. Can I come to dinner too?"
Claire sighed and rubbed her temples. "You live here, Luke."
From upstairs, Alex's voice rang out, dry and unimpressed. "I can hear you, you know. And I do get impressed—just not by people who confuse Elves with comic book characters."
From the couch, Haley didn't look up from her phone, but her voice cut through the room like a blade dipped in sarcasm. "If he's bringing a bow to dinner, maybe he'll shoot Alex when he figures out how boring she is."