"Breaking news!. This evening, a lavish wedding reception at the Four Seasons Hotel in downtown New York was taken hostage by a notorious crime syndicate."
The voice of a female anchor echoed from an old television set, delivering the evening news bulletin.
In the kitchen of a small diner, Ethan Yukihira was busy cooking, occasionally glancing up at the screen from behind the counter.
The open-layout kitchen let customers watch their food being prepared, giving the place a warm, homey feel.
"Authorities have confirmed the mastermind behind the attack was none other than Valon, the leader of the Blackhand Syndicate."
The broadcast flashed an image of a man in a dark green tailored suit, calm and menacing.
"Reports say the Blackhand Syndicate has been linked to a string of kidnappings and high-profile jewel heists across New York, costing victims millions. NYPD officials have yet to make an arrest…"
"Man, this city's a mess," Sora Yukihira muttered as he walked into the kitchen, holding a menu in hand. But as his eyes landed on the live footage, his jaw dropped.
"Dad! Look at this—Valon's name! He… he's a Player too!"
He frowned, confused.
"But why is his name red, while ours is white? Are Players separated by factions?"
Ethan paused mid-stir, his expression growing serious. After a moment, he sighed with relief.
"That's what I was worried about when I told you not to talk in the faction channel. It seems he's not part of our group."
A Player pulling off a stunt this big would never stay silent on their faction chat. Knowing Valon wasn't on their side was a small blessing.
Their goal was simple: survive the "main storyline" of this world. If they made it to the end alive, there was a chance they could return to their original world.
Ethan patted his son's shoulder.
"Business is slow anyway, and I just got a call from a supplier. Our last shipment had problems. I'm heading out to sort it."
They needed a steady supplier, not just for food, but because their diner generated White Shards, the mysterious currency Players used to exchange for things from their real worlds. It wasn't much, but it was safe and consistent income, enough to keep them afloat.
As his father hurried out, Sora watched him go with a sigh.
One month ago, a strange game-like package appeared in their world. The moment they opened it, they were both dragged into this strange "Marvel game dimension," penniless and homeless.
If not for his father managing to earn a few White Shards on the first day, they never would've been able to open "Yukihira's Diner" here. Without it, they'd be on the streets right now.
White Shards were a Player's lifeline—a currency to pull items from their old world or buy essentials here. They had been assigned to the Earthborn Faction (White), with its own private channel, but… nobody ever talked there.
Were they the only two Players in this faction? Or was everyone else just staying quiet? Sora figured it was the latter. This world was too big for there to be only two Players.
Suddenly—BANG!
The diner's front door swung open, slammed by a man in a green-striped T-shirt leading a pack of low-level thugs.
"Magia gang business! Anyone not involved, get out!"
The few customers in the diner glanced up, recognized the name, and quickly left without a word. In Hell's Kitchen, you didn't cross the Magia mob unless you had a death wish.
Flint Marko sneered, scanning the diner like he owned the place. "Nobody's got the guts to stop us here."
Soon, only Jessica Jones, quietly finishing her meal in the corner, remained seated, seemingly ignoring them.
"Hey, girl, you deaf or somethin'? I said get out!" Flint barked, swaggering up to her table.
"Hey!" Sora stepped forward, planting himself between Jessica and the gang. "You came here for the diner, right? Leave her out of this."
Flint eyed him up and down. "So, you're Ethan Yukihira's kid?"
"I'm his son. My father's not here. What do you want?"
"What do I want?" Flint grinned, voice dripping with menace. "This is Magia turf. Your little shop's ruining the other restaurants' business. And you're not paying protection money."
"Protection money?" Sora tilted his head innocently. "Wait… you guys work for City Hall?"
Flint's smirk widened. "City Hall? Kid, in Hell's Kitchen, we make the rules. You don't pay, you don't stay."
Sora scratched his head. "Huh. Guess I really don't know your rules, then."
Flint's grin vanished, replaced with a snarl. He kicked over a nearby table, sending plates clattering to the floor. "Let me teach you what Hell's Kitchen rules look like!" He reached out to grab the boy—
CRASH!
Jessica slammed a bottle on the counter, the sharp sound cutting through the chaos. She arched an eyebrow.
"Kid, you want me to throw these guys out for you?" she asked casually, not even sparing Flint a glance.
Sora shook his head, exhaling slowly.
"No. I'll handle this my way."
He stripped the white bandage from his arm, tied on his apron, and pointed at Flint."You say we're breaking the rules? Then let's make a deal."
"If I can cook you a dish that blows your mind, you swear never to step foot in this diner again."
Sora's eyes burned with determination.
"Let's settle this with food. One-on-one."
Flint smirked, pulling out a chair and leaning back with a mocking grin.
"Fine, kid. Show me what you've got. Let's see if you can cook your way out of this."