"The truth is…"
"I am Iron Man."
The silence that followed that declaration seemed to weigh upon the entire world.
Cameras flashed, reporters exchanged bewildered glances, and an entire nation held its breath before Tony Stark's audacity.
Among millions of spectators, a young man with blond hair and crimson eyes sat on the couch of his house in Queens, watching the live press conference.
A faint smile — half amused, half exasperated — curved his lips.
"He actually went ahead and did it…" he muttered under his breath.
His name was Arthur Morgan — twenty years old, athletic build, and marked by two distinct scars on his left cheek that formed a cross. His gaze carried a quiet irony, the kind that comes from someone who had already seen too much.
A bizarre accident, years ago, had brought him to this world.
And the way he died… well, it could almost be considered funny — if it hadn't been so tragic.
---
That fateful day, Arthur had been walking down the streets of his hometown, shoulders slumped, the weight of yet another failure pressing on his back.
Another job interview gone wrong. Another "We'll call you" that would never come.
Frustration clung to him like a second skin, a suffocating knot in his chest that made it hard to breathe.
A drizzle began to fall, soaking his suit and his already weary thoughts.
He didn't even notice the "man" calling his name behind him — not until a firm hand tapped his shoulder.
"Arthur."
He turned around, irritation already bubbling to the surface, ready to snap — and then saw something completely absurd.
And no, this wasn't a JoJo manga.
A truck was barreling toward him — but not an ordinary one.
It was Truck-kun.
The metallic monstrosity transformed right before his eyes, mechanical arms unfolding, bright blue eyes flaring to life, and a jagged metal grin spreading across its front. It looked like something straight out of a Transformers movie.
"Isekai time, bitch!"
Those were the last words Arthur heard before a massive robotic fist came crashing down, plunging him into total darkness.
When he opened his eyes again, he was nothing but a baby — crying in a crib.
A baby reborn into an entirely different world.
---
xXx
His new family, to put it simply, was wealthy.
His father was a successful foreign businessman, and his mother, a proud, elegant Japanese woman from a traditional lineage — with flowing red hair and kind, gentle eyes.
He grew up in Tokyo, surrounded by comfort, affection, and a serenity that masked the chaos waiting for him in the years ahead.
They named him Kenshin Himura.
According to his mother, the name came from his great-great-grandfather — a wandering swordsman with a pure heart who believed in redemption.
From a young age, Kenshin was trained in his family's sword style: Kamiya Kasshin-ryu — a school founded on the principle of the sword that gives life, rather than the traditional sword that takes it.
At the same time, he was also instructed in another art passed down by his great-grandfather, Kenji — a deadly style born from the blood-soaked battlefields of the Sengoku era.
A style created so that a single swordsman could face ten opponents at once.
The Hiten Mitsurugi-ryu.
Born a natural prodigy, Kenshin mastered both disciplines with uncanny ease.
But, as always, peace never lasts.
---
xXx
When he was just thirteen, fate took everything from him.
Assassins came one night — silent as shadows.
Perhaps they had been sent by business rivals of his father, or maybe it was simply the act of someone with a personal grudge.
He tried to fight back, tried to protect his parents — and failed.
All he gained from that night was a cross-shaped scar on his cheek and a memory that would haunt him forever.
The killers spared him — maybe out of negligence, or maybe because they simply didn't think he was worth killing.
But something inside him died that night.
And in its place, a cold, burning, and merciless desire for vengeance was born.
---
xXx
Driven by hatred, Kenshin took the entrance exam for a secret institution known as the JCC — a school specialized in training assassins.
Its graduation rate? Only ten percent.
The other ninety… died or went insane before the end.
It was four years of pure hell.
Brutal training.
Instructors that seemed ripped from sadistic nightmares.
Tests that bordered on suicide.
Ironically, it was in that inferno that he found something unexpected — friendship.
Two companions, in particular, stood out.
The first was a young man with white hair, glacial eyes, and a calm, stoic demeanor — a person who seemed to be made of ice and steel. Always collected, always precise. Kenshin respected him deeply, though he would never admit it aloud.
The second… was the complete opposite. Loud, irritating, talkative, and impossible to ignore — the kind of friend who seemed to exist solely to test human patience.
And yet, despite everything, Kenshin couldn't bring himself to hate him.
In a place like the JCC, that idiot somehow managed to bring laughter — and maybe that was why he stayed close.
Among those companions, there was also his first love — a tall, slender woman with turquoise hair cut to her shoulders, golden eyes with white pupils, thin brows, and long lashes.
She was carefree, wild, and did whatever she pleased — no matter the consequences.
Perhaps that was exactly why Kenshin had been so drawn to her.
He often thought that if it weren't for those idiots, he might have turned into some gloomy, self-destructive emo.
---
xXx
After a certain incident — one that got him and his group of idiots expelled from the JCC — Kenshin spent years working alongside his white-haired friend as a professional assassin.
At the same time, he continued seeing the woman he loved whenever their chaotic lives allowed it.
It was during that period that he was reborn once again — as The Slasher.
Perhaps as a cruel joke of fate, he ended up continuing the bloody legacy of his ancestor.
His reputation spread like wildfire throughout the underworld.
Unfortunately, one day, his beloved suddenly disappeared.
He searched for her desperately, using every contact and resource he had… but he never found her.
Not alive, at least.
She had been murdered — by one of their former friends.
There's no need to describe what Kenshin did to that bastard afterward.
He continued working as an assassin for some time, until one day, purely by chance, he finally tracked down the people responsible for his parents' deaths.
He took his revenge — and with it, lost the very purpose that had kept him alive for so many years.
With nothing left to fight for, Kenshin retired.
He used a few contacts, called in a few favors, and vanished completely off the grid.
From what he later learned, not long after, his white-haired friend also retired from that bloody world.
Kenshin left Japan and moved to the United States, seeking a new beginning.
There, he took on a new name: Arthur Morgan.
Why that name?
Arthur had been his father's name in this life — and "Morgan" was just a joke he made, inspired by a certain figure from Arthurian legend.
After pulling a few strings, he secured a stable job as a self-defense instructor for the NYPD.
It was supposed to be a new beginning.
But something unexpected happened during his very first month on the job...
---
(End of Chapter)
This chapter is just a small bonus — a little taste of what's to come. Think of it as a sneak peek designed to spark your curiosity before the official release of the story.
The full serialization of the fanfic should begin soon — most likely sometime between the middle and the end of next week, or maybe even earlier if everything goes as planned.
In the meantime, enjoy this chapter as a gift for the readers who are eagerly waiting for this new journey. The true adventure is just about to begin, and when it does, I promise it'll be worth every moment of anticipation.
If you have any interesting ideas, feel free to share them in the comments!
Get ready — new chapters and intense moments are on the way. Keep an eye out, because the best is yet to come!