(Marvel, DC, images, manhuas, and every anime that will be mentioned and used in this story are not mine. They all belong to their respective owners. The main character "Karito/Adriel Josue Valdez" and the story are mine)
It was midday by the time Adriel finally woke up.
Half the day—gone. Just like that.
He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling like it had answers. It didn't. The room was quiet in that way a palace never truly is—soft distant footsteps, muted voices, the faint clink of life happening outside his door while he did absolutely nothing inside it.
He looked to his side.
As expected, Qiyana wasn't there.
She probably woke up not long after he did earlier—saw he was dead to the world—and decided to leave him alone instead of starting a war over his sleep. He appreciated that. If someone had shaken him awake when he finally got comfortable, he would've been pissed on principle alone.
"Fuck..." he mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.
He dragged an arm over his eyes, the frustration already settling in his ribs.
He hadn't felt this lazy in a long time. Not like this. Not the honest kind that reminded him of before—before Runeterra, before Darks, before the word war became a daily schedule.
Back home. Puerto Rico. Real life.
The thought came with that weird ache he always tried to ignore: a nostalgia that wasn't soft or sweet, just heavy.
He stared at the ceiling again, jaw tightening.
Where did everything go wrong?
Maybe it was him wishing his life wasn't so boring. Maybe it was the stupid, childish fantasy of being someone bigger—someone heroic—someone who mattered.
Or maybe it was the moment he got exactly what he wished for... and didn't realize he'd been handing the steering wheel to something else.
A Gamer System. A concept he used to think was cool as hell—especially after reading Solo Leveling.
Now it just felt like another chain he'd broken, but still remembered the weight of.
"Ugh... I should get up," he told himself, like saying it out loud would make his body obey.
He sat up too fast and almost tripped over his own leg the moment he stood, catching himself with a quiet hiss.
"Great start."
He shuffled to the closet, grabbed joggers, and reached for what his brain classified as a plain shirt—
—except it wasn't plain at all. It was a Valentino Valentin shirt. The kind of shirt that was "casual" only if your life had been warped into a royal soap opera.
Before he put it on, his eyes drifted over his upper body.
The scars were still there.
Shoulders. Chest. Back.
Big ones. Ugly ones. The kind that didn't look like a single battle, but like a long history of battles nobody was supposed to survive.
He winced anyway, like he hadn't seen them a thousand times already.
Then he pulled the shirt over his head and forced himself toward the door.
He mentally called his system—more out of habit than anything—and his HUD blinked up with unread messages.
Two hours ago.
Peter and Ace. Both basically saying the same thing: hang out.
Artoria's message was the same invitation, just... written like she'd handed it to him on a silver tray.
Adriel didn't mind the difference. He actually found it kind of grounding—how even their personalities showed up in the way they typed.
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I need to stop thinking about it," he muttered, like he could physically squeeze the anxiety out of his skull.
He replied to all three, apologizing for sleeping in and asking if they were still around. Then he closed the interface and finally let the simplest thought in:
He missed breakfast.
"Fuck it," he said, opening the door. "Lunch it is."
He took five steps before his system pinged three times.
Adriel paused. His eyes narrowed.
"They wasted no time. Goddamn."
He reopened the HUD, skimmed the replies, and then—
—his brain snagged on one line.
We're taking a dip in the recently opened pool. We reserved the place just for us.
Adriel stared at it.
A pool.
A reserved pool.
In this story.
He blinked once. Then he genuinely tried to remember—
Did we ever have a beach episode?
He couldn't recall. Not cleanly. Not with everything else stacked on top of his memory like rubble.
His mouth twitched.
Then his brain betrayed him with a very simple, very human thought:
...Looking at bikinis wouldn't be so bad. Not gonna lie.
He froze for half a second, annoyed with himself.
"Fuck," he muttered, rubbing his face. "Cyberpunk Edgerunners really fucking ruined me."
He paused.
"...Or was it the League Rule 34 section?"
That thought made him grimace harder.
He shoved it away before it could dig in. He wasn't doing this right now. Not in the morning. Not with war looming.
He sent a quick message back:
On my way. Gonna eat first. And I'm debating bringing shades.
He didn't miss the irony that his self-control was somehow the thing he was proudest of lately.
Then he headed for the mess hall.
The second he walked in, he regretted it.
Every head turned.
Every single one.
And then the greetings started falling over each other like a chant.
"My lord—"
"Your grace—"
"My king—"
"Lord Adriel—"
Adriel's soul briefly left his body.
He contemplated jumping out a window. Genuinely.
Instead, he forced a wave, the kind that meant please stop looking at me like that, and moved toward a private table like his life depended on it.
The moment he sat, a waitress appeared.
And she looked like she was going to pass out.
Adriel stared at her for one long second with the dead-eyed patience of a man who had fought gods and still couldn't win against social awkwardness.
She looked like she'd hit the jackpot.
Breakfast: Ace and Peter.
Lunch: Adriel.
In her brain, she was probably drafting her last will and testament out of sheer happiness.
She stood there, staring like her mouth had forgotten what words were.
Adriel snapped his fingers once, sharp and clean.
The girl flinched so hard she almost dropped the menu.
"S-sorry—! I— I'm sorry, my lord—"
"Here we go again," Adriel thought, and forced his face into something neutral.
He ordered his go-to without hesitation.
"A tripleta," he said, like it was holy scripture.
The waitress's eyes widened like he'd just spoken ancient magic.
And then—somehow—she nodded like she knew exactly what he meant.
Adriel paused.
...How the hell does she know that?
He didn't ask out loud, but the suspicion slid in immediately.
Qiyana.
Qiyana had definitely been in his library again.
He wasn't even mad. Not really. She knew what she was allowed to touch and what she wasn't. She had boundaries—annoyingly competent boundaries—and it wasn't like she was pulling Type-4 civilization tech into Runeterra.
Still.
It was a little unsettling how fast she was learning everything he liked.
A few minutes later, his food arrived.
And as if the waitress had read his mind, she set down a tall glass beside it.
Iced tea.
Adriel stared at it.
"...Okay," he thought. "That's actually getting suspicious."
But he didn't say anything. He just ate.
And for a moment—just a moment—his shoulders loosened.
The tripleta hit like home. Like a memory with flavor. Like a bite that reminded him of being a kid with nothing cosmic on his back, just hunger and a plate.
He swallowed hard and had to blink a couple times like an idiot.
Not crying.
Just... not letting it get him.
After he finished, he stood, already deciding:
Alright. Pool episode.
He would pack a swimsuit, and a rash guard because he wasn't trying to get roasted alive by the sun, and he wasn't trying to show scars to an entire crowd either.
He was halfway out of the private room when he paused.
A thought landed like a weight.
Shen and Karma.
Still in the medbay. Still recovering.
He wasn't sure if Ace or Peter had checked in on them since they woke up. He couldn't assume. Not with everything going on.
And honestly?
It wouldn't hurt to check on them himself before he went to pretend the world wasn't ending tomorrow.
He changed direction.
The nursery wing wasn't far. Two minutes of walking, a few turns, and the air shifted into that sterile-clean blend of magic and modern tech—the weird hybrid Ixtal had become under his influence.
He reached the counter.
The nurse looked up—
—and almost fainted.
"Lord Adriel," she breathed like she was saying the name of a god.
Adriel visibly cringed, but held it together.
He ignored the look in her eyes—the one that said she'd build a shrine if he stood still too long—and asked plainly:
"Shen and Karma. What rooms?"
The nurse practically trembled with joy at being useful. She tapped at the new computer system—the one that definitely didn't exist in Ixtal before his library got raided by a certain queen—and gave him the room numbers instantly.
Adriel nodded once.
"Thanks."
And then he left immediately, because staying any longer felt like risking psychic damage.
Behind him, the nurse made a tiny sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a squeak—Adriel pretended he didn't hear it and walked faster.
He reached Shen's door first.
He knocked twice.
From inside, a calm voice answered, guarded but steady.
"Who is it?"
"It's Adriel," Adriel said.
A brief pause.
Then the door opened.
And Shen let him in.
The moment Adriel stepped into Shen's room, he wasn't expecting much—just an injured man, a survivor, somebody still shaking off a year of running through a jungle that wanted to eat him alive.
Shen, on the other hand, was expecting much.
Not because he wanted a spectacle—he'd stopped expecting good things a long time ago—but because the nurse outside had talked about their king like he was a living miracle. Like he was some kind of divine correction the universe had finally bothered to write.
So when the door opened and Adriel walked in—
Not glowing. Not haloed. Not floating.
Just... a young man in a decent shirt and joggers, looking tired in a way that didn't come from sleep.
Shen blinked once, slow, recalibrating. The only "unreal" thing about him at first glance was the unfairness of his face—like someone had built him with too much confidence and too good a mirror.
But Shen didn't judge a blade by its sheath.
He'd learned that lesson in blood.
"Lord Adriel," Shen said carefully, voice even. He gave the kind of respectful nod you give to someone you're not sure you're allowed to look at too long. "I... wasn't told you would be visiting."
Adriel's expression twitched, like that title hit him in the teeth.
"Yeah—no, you really don't have to do the 'lord' thing," he said, walking further in. Casual, almost too casual for a room that still smelled like antiseptic and survival. "I'm just... checking in."
Shen's eyes narrowed slightly. "Checking in," he repeated, like he was trying to understand why someone that important would spend time on someone like him.
Adriel nodded once. "On you. On Karma. On Lillia too. You guys—" He exhaled through his nose, the sound short, controlled. "Ionia got turned into a straight-up nightmare. I know."
That landed heavier than any dramatic speech could've.
Shen's posture softened a fraction. Not because his guard fell, but because Adriel didn't talk like a stranger reading a report. He talked like somebody who'd seen the thing in his head.
Shen swallowed. "It was... difficult," he said, because horrific felt like an understatement that would embarrass the dead.
Adriel's eyes flicked around the room—monitor, IV, the little tray with untouched food, the chair pushed slightly too far from the bed like nobody had wanted to get too close and disturb him.
He looked back at Shen. "They told me Ace and Peter brought you here?"
Shen nodded. "Yes." His voice turned quieter, more sincere. "If not for them... I would not be speaking to you now."
Adriel's face did something complicated for half a second—something like relief, like guilt, like he'd been carrying this list in his head and hated the empty lines.
"I'm glad they got to you," he said. "I'm... sorry it took so long."
Shen studied him. That didn't sound like a king. That sounded like a man who'd been running himself into the ground and still believed he owed everybody more.
He chose his words carefully. "We are alive," Shen said, simple and true. "That is more than most can say."
Adriel's shoulders loosened just a little, like he'd been holding them up by pure stubbornness. "Yeah." He pointed vaguely at himself. "And you don't owe me anything. None of you do. Don't even start thinking about repayment."
Shen's brow lifted. "Then... why are you here?"
Adriel didn't flinch at the question. Didn't get offended. Didn't get grand.
He just shrugged, like the answer should've been obvious.
"Because I wanted to see you with my own eyes," he said. "Because y'all been through hell. And because..." He hesitated, then said it anyway, like ripping a bandage off. "Because it matters to me that you're okay."
That silence afterward wasn't awkward.
It was stunned.
Shen's gaze dropped to the blanket, then back up. "You are... not what I expected."
Adriel snorted softly. "Good. If you expected some holy dude with a lightshow, you would've been disappointed."
Shen almost smiled—almost. The motion didn't fully make it, like his face still remembered how to survive more than how to relax.
He shifted slightly, wincing at a lingering soreness he couldn't hide. Then, like he'd been holding it in and finally decided he had one shot to say it out loud:
"There is something I would ask," Shen said.
Adriel's response came instantly. "Say it."
Shen looked him straight in the eye. "Please tell Ace and Peter... thank you. Properly." He spoke like it mattered to get the sentence right. Like if he didn't say it now, he might lose the courage. "I did not have the strength to speak to them before. But I owe them my life."
Adriel held his gaze for a beat, then nodded once, firm.
"I got you," he said. "I'll tell them. No problem."
Shen let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. His shoulders lowered. "Thank you."
Adriel waved it off like it was nothing, but his eyes stayed serious.
Then he glanced at the tray again. "You hungry? Want something? Snack, drink, anything—"
Shen shook his head quickly, almost alarmed. "No. No, I cannot ask more of you."
Adriel's mouth pulled to the side. "Bro, you're not burdening me."
Shen didn't argue—only because he could hear in Adriel's voice that arguing would be pointless.
Adriel moved toward the door, pausing with his hand on the frame.
He turned back.
And when he spoke, it wasn't kingly. It wasn't even heroic.
It was gentle.
"You don't have to fight anymore," Adriel said. "Not like that. You can breathe now. You can... exist, man. Let us handle the rest."
Shen's eyes sharpened at the words handle the rest. Like he heard the weight hiding underneath them.
"Will you succeed?" Shen asked, quiet.
Adriel didn't smile. He didn't boast.
He just nodded, like the promise was the only thing keeping him upright.
"One more thing," he said. "Then I swear to you—this is done."
Shen believed him.
Not because he was naïve.
Because he could see what it cost Adriel to say that out loud.
Shen lowered his head in respect—this time not because of a title, but because of truth. "Then... may you return safely."
Adriel blinked, like the sincerity hit him harder than any punch. He recovered with a crooked little grin.
"Yeah," he said. "You too. Hit that alarm if you need anything—nurses will handle it. And when you're back on your feet... Ixtal's not what you remember. It's... kinda wild now. You'll see."
Shen's lips finally managed a small smile. "I will."
Adriel nodded once, satisfied, and slipped out into the hall—already moving, already thinking.
He made his way down the infirmary wing like he was running an errand he'd done a hundred times—face neutral, steps steady, shoulders relaxed on the outside.
On the inside, his mind was still chewing.
He'd checked on Shen first. Now Karma.
And somewhere between those rooms, a thought kept poking him in the ribs: Ace and Peter really didn't swing by?
He let out a quiet breath through his nose, not quite a sigh.
It wasn't anger—more like... that familiar, automatic sense of responsibility he'd had before the isekai nonsense, before the Gamer System, before "Guardian of Fiction" became a title people said with trembling voices. He'd always been the type to check on people after the storm. It was a habit. An instinct.
And yeah—if someone left you hanging on purpose, they could go to hell. But these weren't those situations. He knew that too.
Ace was... Ace. Built like a wildfire with legs. Peter had a brain that never shut up, which meant his body sometimes forgot to do basic, normal things—like sleeping, eating, or remembering that three traumatized Ionians were recovering down the hall.
Adriel scrubbed a hand down his face once, then dropped it.
Can't expect everyone to think like you, cabr— He caught himself mid-thought and just shrugged it off.
Whatever. He'd handle it. He always did.
After a minute of walking, he stopped at Karma's door.
He knocked.
On the other side: silence.
Not the calm kind. The frozen kind. The kind you get when your brain hasn't updated the reality patch yet—when you've lived a year with predators in the trees and nightmares in your lungs, and your body still believes every sound is a warning.
Karma stiffened in her bed before she even realized she'd done it.
Then she remembered: Ixtal. Clean walls. A monitor beeping steady. A nurse with gentle hands. No symbiote screeching in the canopy.
She forced her shoulders down. Forced breath back into her ribs.
"Who is it?" she called, voice controlled—still careful.
Adriel leaned closer to the doorframe, making sure his tone didn't come in too loud.
"It's Adriel," he said. "Just checking in."
There was another pause—shorter this time, but still loaded.
The nurse had told her stories. Their king. The one who restored Ixtal. The one who brought technology and safety and order back to a world that had forgotten what those words meant. The nurse had described him like a miracle with a pulse.
So for a second, Karma's mind tried to paint him as something huge.
Then she exhaled and spoke again, steadier.
"...Come in."
Adriel opened the door and stepped inside.
Karma's gaze flicked up—
And, like Shen, she had that brief moment of wait, that's him?
No crown. No aura. No divine choir.
Just a young man with unfairly good looks and tired eyes that didn't match his age. A man who looked like he'd been through too much and still decided to keep going anyway.
Karma's fingers tightened slightly on the blanket.
Adriel gave her a small nod, casual. "Morning."
Karma instinctively straightened, as much as she could. "Lord Adriel—"
"Ah. Nope." Adriel lifted a hand gently, cutting it off before it could fully form. "Don't do that. Please."
Karma blinked. "I... apologize. It's just—"
"I know," he said, and his voice softened. "They've been calling me that. It's... a whole thing."
He made a face like the words tasted bad, and Karma—despite herself—felt the corner of her tension loosen.
Adriel stepped further into the room, keeping a respectful distance from the bed like he didn't want to crowd her.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
Karma's eyes darted to the monitor at her side—beeping steady, matching her heart like a metronome. She didn't miss the way her own body still held itself like it expected impact.
"Alive," she answered honestly.
Adriel nodded once. "Good start."
Then, after a beat, he added more quietly, "And?"
Karma's throat tightened. It took her a second to pick the right words.
"My body is healing," she said. "But my mind..." She paused, swallowing. "It still thinks I'm in the jungle."
Adriel didn't look surprised. He didn't look pitying either.
He just nodded like that was exactly what he expected.
"Yeah," he said. "That takes time."
Karma studied him, really looked at him now—at the way he carried himself. Not stiff, not regal. Just... used to holding things together.
"You didn't have to come," she said finally, voice cautious. "You are busy. You are... responsible for—"
"For a lot," Adriel finished, then shrugged. "True."
Karma waited for him to say so I'll keep this quick.
Instead, he said, "Still wanted to check on you."
That landed heavier than any royal speech.
Karma's eyes dipped for a moment. "Thank you."
Adriel waved it off like it was nothing, but his eyes stayed sharp. Present.
Karma hesitated—then asked the question that had been sitting behind her ribs since she woke up.
"The nurse said I was brought here by two... Guardians," she said carefully. "Ace. Peter." She looked up again. "Who are they, truly?"
Adriel's expression shifted into something that looked dangerously close to amusement.
"Oh," he said. "You want the lore dump."
Karma blinked, unsure what that meant, but she didn't interrupt.
Adriel leaned back against the wall like he was about to tell a story at a cookout instead of a hospital room.
"Peter Parker," he began, counting on his fingers like he was reading off a menu. "Spider-Man. The Amazing one—he'll insist on that part if you say it wrong."
Karma's lips twitched before she could stop it.
Adriel caught it and smirked. "Yeah, that's him."
He lifted a second finger.
"Ace D. Portgas," he continued. "Big fire. Big attitude. Eats like a black hole. Acts like a dumbass on purpose even when he's smarter than he pretends."
Karma's quiet amusement grew—small, reluctant, but real.
Adriel lifted a third finger, eyes glinting with that "I'm gonna be annoying on purpose" energy.
"Ace's unofficial titles include: 'The First Flame,' 'The Prometheus Flame,' 'That One Guy Who Won't Shut Up,' and—my personal favorite—'Stop Touching Things.'"
Karma actually let out a soft laugh at that.
Adriel pointed at her like he'd won. "There we go. Proof you're still human."
Karma shook her head slightly, trying not to smile too wide, like she didn't trust happiness yet.
"And Peter," Adriel added, "is my apprentice. Not in the 'obedient student' way. In the 'learned the hard way and somehow didn't die' way."
Karma's amusement faded into something gentler. "They saved us."
"They did," Adriel confirmed. "And I'm glad they did."
Karma's gaze dropped again. "I don't know how to repay them."
Adriel's tone sharpened—not harsh, but firm. "Don't."
Karma looked up, confused.
"Don't turn gratitude into debt," Adriel said. "You staying alive is enough. That's literally all I want from you."
Karma held his gaze, searching for any hint of performance. Any hint of false heroism.
She found none.
She nodded slowly. "Then... I would like to thank them properly."
Adriel considered that.
His mind flicked to the pool, the "rest day," the attempt at normalcy. Karma wasn't fully recovered, but she wasn't made of glass either. And she deserved something that wasn't a white room and a beeping monitor.
So he offered it without pressure—like placing a choice on the table.
"We're doing a pool thing today," he said. "Just... hanging out. You could come by if you're up for it. No expectations. If you feel too tired, you don't go. Simple."
Karma blinked, surprised by how normal that sounded.
"A... pool?" she repeated, like the word belonged to a different lifetime.
Adriel smiled, small. "Yeah. A very unserious activity."
Karma breathed out, the closest thing to relief she'd felt in a while. "I will... think about it."
"That's all I'm asking."
Adriel pushed off the wall and glanced toward the door.
"Anything you need?" he asked. "Food? Something from the garden? A book? Ixtal's got weirdly good snacks now, by the way."
Karma's lips curved again. "I'm alright."
Adriel nodded. "If that changes, don't be stubborn. Hit the alarm. Nurses will handle you."
Karma's eyes softened. "You speak as if you are not exhausted."
Adriel's mouth twitched, like he almost laughed.
"I am exhausted," he admitted. "But you don't gotta worry about me."
Karma looked like she wanted to argue.
Before she could, Adriel lifted a hand and cut in gently—almost the way someone would reassure a friend at the edge of a cliff.
"You don't have to fight anymore," he said. "Not here. Not today. You're safe."
Karma stared at him for a long second, like she was trying to memorize the sentence.
Then she nodded, slow and sincere.
"Thank you, Adriel," she said—no title. Just his name.
Adriel smiled back, just as simple.
"Yeah," he said. "Rest up."
Adriel exited Karma's room and let the door click shut behind him.
Only then did he breathe out—slow, controlled—like he'd been holding something in his chest the entire time and needed a second to set it down.
Mission accomplished. Shen was stable. Karma was stable. The "don't call me Lord" speech had been said twice and ignored exactly zero times—miracles do happen.
Now?
Pool.
He rolled his shoulders once, then stretched an arm out like he was reaching for a light switch that didn't exist.
His Hacker skill answered anyway.
Reality, for Adriel, was less mystical and more... editable.
A string of invisible code lit behind his eyes. He "typed" without typing—input in an instant, a clean little program that told space where to fold and why.
The air in front of his palm rippled.
Then tore.
Not violently—more like fabric giving up the illusion of being seamless. A vertical seam split open with a soft, hungry shhhrrk, edges shimmering like glass that couldn't decide whether it was liquid or light.
On the other side: the castle pool.
Bright sun on water. Blue reflections jittering across pale stone. That lazy, living sound of splashes and laughter echoing off high walls. A few bodies already in the water; a few lounging near the edge like they owned the world for a day.
Adriel's eyes scanned automatically.
He spotted them almost immediately—two familiar silhouettes near the far side, unmistakable even from a distance.
Ace and Peter.
Of course they had drinks.
Of course they looked like they'd already started a debate about something stupid.
Adriel's mouth quirked, almost a smile, almost a sigh.
Gotta make the most of it, he thought, gaze lingering on the scene like he was imprinting it into memory. Last day we actually get to breathe without the universe trying to punch us in the teeth.
He flicked his focus down and called up the Gamer System with a thought.
A translucent HUD bloomed in front of him: clean menus, familiar icons, the Inventory tab sitting there like a promise.
He selected it.
Then, quick as a blink, his clothes swapped out mid-stance—casual shirt and joggers replaced by a swim fit that made sense for the setting: a dark rash guard that would keep him from getting fried by the sun, swim shorts, and slippers that appeared on his feet like reality was polite enough to finish the outfit.
He didn't even bother to admire it. He'd done too much weirder with that system to get impressed now.
Adriel stepped through.
The portal swallowed him and spat him out poolside, heat hitting his skin immediately—the kind of warm that's comforting until you remember heat can also be a warning.
The seam behind him resealed with a quiet hiss, leaving only sunlight, chlorine-sweet air, and the sounds of people trying—really trying—to be normal.
Adriel stood there a beat, watching the water glitter, listening to the laughter, letting the moment exist without dissecting it.
Then he started walking toward Ace and Peter, ready to cash in whatever peace the universe was willing to loan him.
To Be Continued...