The first thing Elias Mercer learned about death was that it was quiet.
No pain.
No light.
Just a gentle fading, like falling asleep after a long day of helping strangers who would never know his name.
In his previous life, Elias had been nobody special—no powers, no wealth, no fame.
Just a kind-hearted man who worked long hours, gave what little he had, and smiled even when the world did not return the favor.
When the accident came, swift and unceremonious, he accepted it without bitterness.
He thought that was the end.
He was wrong.
.
.
.
Elias awoke to the smell of bread. (No memories yet)
Warm, yeasty, comforting—like the embrace of a home he did not remember building.
Sunlight streamed through the front windows of a modest bakery, dust motes dancing in the air.
A brass bell chimed softly as the door opened, followed by the murmur of early-morning customers.
"Two honey rolls, please." A customer ordered.
"On it!" An employee answered.
Elias Mercer stood near the corner table, clipboard tucked under one arm, eyes quietly tracking the flow of his bakery.
The morning rush had passed. Customers lingered now—talking, laughing, tearing warm bread apart with their hands.
His staff moved with confidence, no longer needing his constant presence.
That was good.
It meant he had done something right in this life.
His hands—his new hands—were strong, calloused from work. He looked down and saw an apron tied around his waist, embroidered with a simple name:
Mercer's Hearth.
On the screen, reporters shouted questions as flashes of light popped like miniature explosions.
A familiar man stood at the podium—sharp suit, careless confidence, the kind of smile that said he had already won.
Elias glanced up absentmindedly.
Then—
"…the truth is…"
The world paused.
Tony Stark smirked.
"…I am Iron Man."
The sentence detonated.
Elias did not scream.
He did not collapse.
He simply stood there, frozen in the corner of his own bakery, as the world rewrote itself inside his mind.
Scenes slammed into him one after another.
A glowing arc reactor.
A hammer flying through the sky, a blond dude gripping it with a red cape bellowing behind him.
A man with a shield standing against impossible odds. Despite coming from the past, it's as if he was born for this era.
A purple giant raising his hand, on it was a gauntlet adorned with 6 glowing gemstones.
His purpose?
To save the Universe.
Elias' fingers tightened around the clipboard.
This wasn't imagination.
This wasn't madness.
This was memory.
He remembered sitting in a different world, watching these events unfold as fiction.
He remembered crying over heroes who didn't exist—then dying without ever knowing why he was given a second chance.
And now—
Now he was here.
Elias slowly turned his head, eyes drifting across the bakery. Customers laughed.
A child tugged at her mother's sleeve, pointing excitedly at a tray of star-shaped bread.
One of his bakers waved at him, waiting for a nod of approval. He did absentmindedly.
They had no idea.
And somehow… neither did he, until now.
Then-
Memories that were not his slid smoothly into place.
He was twenty-six years old.
An orphan.
A self-made baker who had taken out a risky loan, worked through sleepless nights, and somehow turned a forgotten corner shop into one of Queens' most beloved bakeries.
His bread was… different.
Not magically so, but crafted with care, patience, and an attention to detail that made people swear it tasted like comfort itself.
This life had weight.
Routine.
Purpose.
And for years, that was all there was.
Now?
Now it all seemed like the tutorial mode is over.
And that the first stage has already began.
.
.
.
That night, Elias locked the bakery himself.
The walk home felt longer than usual.
Sirens in the distance made him tense, their echoes sharper now that he understood what kind of world he lived in.
Streetlights cast long shadows, and for the first time since opening Mercer's Hearth, he felt small beneath the city skyline.
How the hell did he even survive in this neighborhood?
Everybody knows that queens is not a normal place to settle on.
His apartment was quiet. Familiar. Safe.
He set his keys down, removed his shoes, and sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the opposite wall.
"So… Where exactly am I?" he murmured.
The MCU? Because he could've swore it was RDJ he watched right on the screen today. Or worse? Marvel Comics?
Either way, Aliens would come.
Heroes would rise—and fall.
Governments would fracture.
Cities would burn.
And one day, half of all life would disappear in an instant.
Elias leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together.
"I'm not meant for this," he said quietly.
For a righteous person like him, knowing that this world's destruction and troubles that soon would come?
First instinct was to save it.
But.
He wasn't a hero.
He wasn't brilliant, powerful, or chosen.
He was a baker who made bread that made people smile. And pastries that lifts the heavy burden on their shoulder.
A man who preferred kindness because it was simple—and because cruelty took too much effort. Or was it the other way around?
But knowing what he knew now…
Could he really stay on the sidelines?
Interfering could destroy the future he remembered.
Speaking out could make him a target.
Doing nothing meant accepting the deaths of millions when he had foreknowledge of it all.
His chest felt tight.
"I don't want to hurt anyone," he whispered.
Silence answered him.
Then—
Something activated.
A translucent interface unfolded in front of him, sharp-edged and unmistakably unreal.
No voice accompanied it.
No presence.
Just data.
[SYSTEM LINK: ESTABLISHED
HOST: ELIAS MERCER]
His breath caught.
[SYSTEM DESIGNATION: VILLAIN SYSTEM]
The words sat there, stark and unmoving.
Villain.
The label felt fundamentally wrong—like being handed a knife when all he'd ever wanted was to share a meal.
Elias stared at the interface, heart pounding.
"I don't want this," he said softly.
The system did not react.
Another line appeared.
OBJECTIVE AVAILABLE: FIND YOUR FIRST VICTIM
No explanation.
No justification.
Just a prompt—waiting.
Elias sat alone in his small apartment, staring at the glowing words.
In a world that would soon need heroes—
He had been given a villain's system.
And it did not care who he was.
End of chapter 1