The noise was deafening—a chaos of shouts impossible to parse, only their raw excitement cutting through.
This was a prison. Rows of cells lined a long corridor, and the inmates pressed against their bars, arms outstretched, howling at some new spectacle. But not everyone joined the frenzy. The cell at the far end of the corridor remained quiet.
A solitary cell. The newcomer inside had been there less than half an hour.
"I know first times go fast, but this fast? At least let me experience something before the second round. Transmigrating twice without any prep is just cruel." Jack Kadere lay on the narrow bed, staring at the ceiling.
To clarify: this wasn't about a boy becoming a man, nor the infamous prison specialty. This was about transmigration.
Transmigration happened all the time in novels, but the odds in reality were astronomically low. Jack Kadere had beaten those odds—landed in the Marvel Universe he knew so well, and gained the power of the Protégé.
The Protégé. A walking exploit in Marvel's cosmic hierarchy. Despite that androgynous face that earned him the nickname "cute Protégé," his abilities were broken beyond reason.
Infinite Copy. Infinite Superposition.
Any attack—ability, matter, consciousness, abstract cosmic force—he could copy it instantly, along with the full experience of wielding it. But that alone would only make him an equal. The truly absurd part came next: after copying an ability, he could stack its power infinitely. Once, ten times, a hundred times, without limit. Attack him, and you've already lost. The Protégé had rampaged through existence with this power, defeated the Living Tribunal, copied abilities from cosmic entities, and claimed powers rivaling TOAA itself. But abilities that broken attracted narrative correction. He'd been plot-killed—some character called the Scathan the Approver had inexplicably beaten him, then sealed him within the Living Tribunal.
Jack had inherited that power. He'd expected to run wild.
Instead, he'd inherited the fate too.
Plot-killed.
The moment he'd transmigrated to Marvel, before three minutes had passed—before he could understand anything, before he could copy a single ability—the universe went bang and ceased to exist.
He'd expected death. Instead: transmigration again, directly into this cell.
Hence the complaint about first times being too fast.
Transmigrating twice in under three minutes. Probably a record no one wanted. So for the past half hour, Jack had done nothing but wait, watching for another big bang or cosmic collapse.
None came.
"First time's clumsy, second time's smooth. First time's quick, then you build stamina. That's just how men grow." He sat up, ready to figure out where he'd landed.
Both transmigrations had been physical. The Protégé's ability remained. Different world, same potential for chaos. Being locked in a cell didn't worry him.
"It's gotten quiet out there." The corridor that had roared like a festival had fallen silent. Jack moved toward the bars to investigate—and stopped.
Two guards escorted a woman to his cell. Caucasian, both of them.
"Why's someone in here? This cell was empty."
"Asian guy. Threw him in without even changing his clothes. Must've pissed off the wrong people. Not our problem."
"Is that okay? I mean, she—"
"You saw what she can do. What's there to worry about?"
They had no interest in complications. The door opened, the woman was shoved inside, the lock clicked, and they left.
Putting two prisoners in a solitary cell was one thing. But a man and a woman together—was this some kind of starter bonus?
Jack studied the new arrival, his interest sharpening.
Brown hair fell past her shoulders in loose waves. The shapeless prison uniform couldn't disguise her figure—athletic, proportioned, unmistakably striking. Her face was cold, expressionless, but that only added to the effect. Dangerous and beautiful.
Most importantly, he recognized her.
"Now this is a beginner's benefit. Everyone else starts with a dog. I get a cat—a wild one that hasn't been tamed."