The next day…
Scott found himself walking through the streets of New York, hands in his pockets, hood up, and eyes wandering.
He'd seen New York in movies, photos, even the occasional vacation vlog—but seeing it in person, in this version of the world—the Marvel 616 version—was something else entirely.
Everything felt familiar… but also a little too perfect. A little too iconic.
"Yep," he muttered, "definitely not the same New York I knew."
In his previous life, he hadn't lived anywhere near the city. The closest he ever got to New York was probably scrolling past some viral video shot in Times Square. But here? Now?
This version of New York was alive in a way that normal cities couldn't match.
Sure, on the surface, the streets looked normal. The buildings were mostly the same mix of concrete, glass, and steel. People still grumbled on their phones, taxis still honked for no reason, and pigeons still ran this city like a mafia.
But then… there were the details.
Cars hummed with cleaner engines—sleeker models that hadn't hit mass markets in his previous life. Billboards projected subtle holograms in certain districts. Drones floated overhead, not just for delivery, but traffic control. And every now and then, you'd pass a building with reinforced windows or suspicious-looking antennas on the roof.
The advanced stuff was here. It just wasn't everywhere. It was compartmentalized—pocketed in places like Avengers Tower, or The Baxter Building, where the Fantastic Four lived. In this version of the city, you didn't see flying cars on every block, but you could see one parked outside a government building on the Upper East Side if you looked hard enough.
And that made it worse, in a way.
Because it was just close enough to being amazing—but still out of reach.
"I really wanna buy one of those cars," Scott thought as a sleek, silver-black coupe purred past him—so quiet it barely made a sound.
Then reality slapped him.
"Right. Money." His lips curled into a dry frown.
His financial situation was… well, medium-grim. He had enough pocket change to maybe get a decent slice of pizza and a soda. Beyond that?
Nothing.
He had no savings. No income. in this world beyond whatever resources his reincarnation gave him. And even if he did have the money, there was no way in hell he'd blow it on a car.
No—he needed to invest in things that mattered.
Like gear.
Materials to build the web-shooters. The right alloys, the chemicals, the housing mechanisms. And definitely a good one-handed axe—not some cheap junk you'd find in a camping store, but a weapon he could trust.
But that brought him back to the same question.
"What the hell am I gonna do?"
He stopped at a street corner and leaned against a lamp post, staring across the street while pretending to check his phone.
If he was being honest with himself… he didn't want a normal day-to-day life. Not anymore.
He didn't want to clock in at 9 a.m. and die a little inside behind a counter for minimum wage.
He wanted something better. Something easy. Something cozy.
"I wanna get rich and live lazy," he thought bluntly. "That's the dream."
He entertained the idea of becoming an investor—you know, smart passive income. Make a few decisions a day, check a couple graphs, rake in profits while sitting on the couch eating chips.
"That wouldn't make me Tony Stark rich," he muttered, "but it'd still make me comfortably rich."
But the problem was… he didn't know anything about investing. Not really. He had surface-level knowledge at best—whatever YouTube clips and memes could teach him in his past life.
And college? Yeah, that was off the table. No money. And my education isn't enough for a scholarship heck the school I went to wasn't that good to begin with.
Worse yet, he was still 18, just like before. Technically, today might've been his first day of college… if he hadn't, you know, died and landed in the Marvel Universe.
"I need money to get into college, and I need college to learn how to make money."
He scratched his head and let out a long sigh.
"This is a really tall order…"
But even as he said it, a small part of him felt a flicker of determination.
Because tall orders? That's all this world was made of.
As he kept walking, hands in his pockets and head half-lost in thought, Scott passed by a wide, open space surrounded by short fencing and benches.
It was a dog park—a pretty big one too.
He slowed down, then stopped completely, staring through the fence as a dozen or more dogs ran wild in the open area. Big ones, small ones, goofy ones. Some played fetch. Others just rolled in the grass like it was the happiest day of their lives.
A genuine smile crept onto his face.
He loved dogs. Always had. They didn't judge. Didn't expect you to explain yourself. They just… existed. Warm, happy, and excited to see you—even when no one else was.
He found himself drifting closer to the fence.
"I'd kill to have a dog," he muttered, eyes following a golden retriever bounding across the park with a tennis ball in its mouth.
But of course—money.
Even owning a small dog would cost him more than he had. Food, vet bills, grooming, and the kind of apartment that allowed dogs in the first place?
Yeah. Not happening anytime soon.
So for now, he just watched. It wasn't the worst way to kill time.
But then, something interrupted the calm.
Crying.
Scott's eyes darted to the side. A small kid—maybe six or seven years old—stood near the fence, sniffling hard. A tiny puppy was by his feet, ears drooping, and standing behind them were what looked like the kid's parents.
He didn't hear raised voices. No panic. Just quiet frustration and disappointment.
Scott walked over, not wanting to intrude but also unable to ignore it.
"Hey," he said gently, "is there a problem?"
The father looked over at him. "No, it's okay. He just lost his ball up there in the tree while playing fetch."
Scott followed his gaze—and sure enough, a bright red rubber ball was lodged high up in the thick branches of a tall oak tree just on the edge of the park.
It was no ordinary climb, either. The tree was dense and tall, the kind that city workers probably hated trimming. Even if someone tried to climb it, the bark was smooth in the lower areas and the first branches didn't start until nearly ten feet up.
"Yikes," Scott muttered. "Unlucky spot."
He paused, then gave a small nod to himself.
"You know what? I'll get it for you."
Before the father could say something like, "No, it's fine," Scott was already moving.
He took a few quick steps back, then ran forward, building momentum as he neared the base of the tree. Just before impact, he leapt, using the angle of his approach to take two bounding steps up the trunk before reaching high and grabbing onto the lowest thick branch.
He swung upward, his body flipping gracefully as he used his agility to climb higher—hand over hand, moving like he'd done it a hundred times.
A few seconds later, he reached the ball, plucked it from the crook of the branch, and turned to descend.
Instead of awkwardly climbing down like a normal person, he kicked off the branch, dropped clean through a gap, and landed on his feet with barely a sound, knees bent slightly to absorb the impact.
He casually walked back to the kid and held out the ball.
"Here you go, champ."
The boy's eyes widened like saucers as he slowly took the ball back, face full of awe. The puppy barked excitedly beside him, wagging its tail like crazy.
The father blinked. "Are you one of those parkour guys?"
Scott smiled. "I've got some parkour skills, yeah. But I don't do it just for fun."
"Oh?" the mother added, looking curious. "So are you one of those stunt doubles?"
Scott paused.
Then something clicked.
Stunt double.
The words echoed in his head—and suddenly, a lightbulb went off.
"Actually…" he said slowly, "I'm an aspiring stunt double."
It wasn't exactly a lie. He wasn't one yet. But that didn't mean he couldn't be.
The woman smiled. "Well, you've definitely got the moves."
Scott offered a small, grateful nod and turned away, walking down the sidewalk again—but his mind was already somewhere else.
Stunt double.
That was it. That was the answer.
A job that paid well. A job that let him use one of his abilities. That let him use his agility without looking suspicious. A job that fit.
Yes, it came with risk. Someone might eventually connect the dots. But as long as he didn't show off anything beyond what a talented, well-trained human could do, he'd be fine. No one would guess the truth without solid evidence.
And in the meantime? He could make good money. Build his gear. Stay independent. Support his goals. And one day, when he knew enough, he could still pivot into investing, or something bigger.
"This is perfect," Scott thought, excitement buzzing under his skin.
This is the plan.
(please check out my novel: Star Island: A Hero's path It's on Royal Road, but The first 102 chapters Are in WebNovel)