If Sokovia had a national sport, it would be surviving tragedies and pretending they didn't leave scars.
If it had a second national sport, it would be weddings—big, loud, expensive weddings that screamed we're still here even when history kept trying to erase the country off the map.
Carl Hudson's wedding was the second kind.
---
The lawn sprawled like an emerald carpet beneath the afternoon sun, too green, too perfect—as if someone had bribed nature itself into compliance. White chairs sat in militant rows, their silk ribbons fluttering in a breeze that felt professionally hired. At the periphery, reporters prowled with cameras worth more than most people's yearly income, their lenses trained like predators on the gathering crowd.
And what a crowd it was.
Sokovia's wealthiest families occupied those pristine white chairs, their designer suits and couture gowns forming a tapestry of old money and new ambition. They smiled—those calculated smiles that never quite reached the eyes—the kind sharks wore when dinner walked willingly into the water.
This wasn't just a wedding. It was theater. A performance staged for a nation that desperately needed to believe in fairy tales.
At the center of it all stood Carl Hudson.
Twenty-three years old. Six feet of controlled composure in a tailored charcoal suit that probably cost more than the average Sokovian made in six months. Dark hair swept back with just enough casualness to seem effortless. Jawline sharp enough to cut glass. Eyes—those calculating grey eyes—that had learned early to see through people's masks.
He looked every inch the genius entrepreneur the tabloids painted him as. The tragic heir who'd risen from his parents' ashes to build an empire. Sokovia's golden boy.
Only Carl knew the truth: the real Carl Hudson had died three years ago in an accident so mundane it didn't deserve poetry. One moment, a spoiled heir with too much money and too little discipline. The next, a cooling corpse.
Then someone else had woken up inside that body.
Someone who'd learned in a previous life that fairness was a luxury, survival was a skill, and power was the only currency that truly mattered. Someone who'd spent years in underground fighting rings where one mistake meant waking up on a hospital floor—or not waking up at all.
That someone wore Carl Hudson's face now. Wore his name. Inherited his fortune.
And standing beside Wanda Maximoff, of all people, was the first time in three years he'd felt something that didn't taste like calculated strategy.
---
Wanda stood to his right in a gown of ivory silk that seemed to capture and hold the sunlight, making her appear almost ethereal—like the world had decided, just this once, to be kind. The dress wasn't the most expensive piece at the wedding. It didn't need to be. On Wanda, it became something more than fabric and thread.
Her auburn hair fell in soft waves past her shoulders, crowned with delicate white flowers. Her face—those elegant Slavic features that could shift from stern to gentle in a heartbeat—wore an expression that made Carl's chest tighten.
She wasn't scanning the crowd for networking opportunities like the other guests. Wasn't measuring the value of every handshake or calculating social capital.
She was looking at him.
Only him.
Her green eyes held something terrifyingly simple: trust. Complete, unconditional trust. The kind that didn't come with escape clauses or hidden agendas.
The kind that could destroy you if you weren't careful.
Carl's throat constricted. He forced himself to breathe normally, to maintain the mask of the confident groom. But inside, something vulnerable and dangerous stirred—the realization that this woman beside him actually believed in this moment.
Believed in them.
---
The priest stood at the altar, solemn and traditional, dressed in ceremonial robes that seemed to deny Sokovia's blood-soaked recent history. He was old, white-bearded, the kind of man who'd probably officiated weddings through regime changes and civil wars without once adjusting his liturgy.
He turned toward Carl, his voice carrying across the lawn with practiced authority.
"Carl Hudson," the priest intoned, "do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? To enter into this sacred covenant of marriage with her, in sickness and in health, through prosperity and hardship, to love her, honor her, cherish her, and remain faithful to her for all the days of your life?"
The crowd fell silent. Even the reporters seemed to hold their breath, cameras poised to capture this pivotal moment.
Carl's mind did something spectacularly inconvenient: it began replaying every reason this moment mattered.
Not the optics. Not the business advantages of the merger he'd orchestrated between his corporation and the political goodwill this marriage generated. Not Sokovia's elite watching him like he was a rising stock they wanted shares in.
The real reasons.
Three years ago, when he'd first opened his eyes in this world, this body, he'd been disoriented and terrified. The memories that weren't his had flooded in like a dam breaking—Carl Hudson's privileged childhood, his parents' deaths, the vultures circling the family business.
He'd spent the first month simply trying to function. Learning to walk in legs slightly longer than his old ones. Speaking with a voice that wasn't quite the right pitch. Pretending he hadn't noticed the wealth, the servants, the empire teetering on the edge of collapse.
Then he'd discovered the truth that made everything else seem trivial: this wasn't just another world.
This was the Marvel Universe.
The realization had hit him like a freight train when he'd seen the news report—"Stark Industries CEO Tony Stark Missing in Afghanistan." That name. That headline. Suddenly, everything clicked into terrible, crystalline focus.
This was a world of gods and monsters. Of cosmic threats that could erase civilizations with a snap. Of power so vast it made wealth meaningless.
And he was just... human. Ordinary. Fragile.
The fear had been paralyzing at first. Then it became fuel.
If he was going to survive—truly survive—in a universe this dangerous, he needed more than money. He needed power. Real power. The kind that could stand against what was coming.
The System had appeared three months after his arrival, like the universe acknowledging his desperate need. It offered quests. Rewards. Access to other worlds, other power systems.
His first Main Quest had been deceptively simple:
*╔══════════════════════════════════════╗*
*║ MAIN QUEST: Wanda Maximoff ║*
*╠══════════════════════════════════════╣*
*║ Contact her. Build a bond. ║*
*║ Establish connection. ║*
*║ ║*
*║ Quest Tiers: ║*
*║ • Basic: Become a trusted friend ║*
*║ • Intermediate: Become boyfriend ║*
*║ • Advanced: Marriage ║*
*╚══════════════════════════════════════╝*
At first, he'd planned to stop at intermediate. Marriage was a step too far for a quest reward, no matter how valuable.
Then he'd actually met Wanda.
---
She'd been working at a small convenience store in Novi Grad, the kind of place the elite never noticed. Carl had gone there personally—no assistants, no security detail—following the System's guidance.
He'd expected... he didn't know what. Someone flashy, perhaps. Someone who screamed "future Avenger" even in civilian clothes.
Instead, he'd found a serious young woman carefully stocking shelves with the kind of precise focus that suggested she took pride in even mundane work. She'd looked up when the door chimed, her expression polite but guarded.
"Can I help you?" she'd asked in Sokovian, her voice carrying a slight rasp that made it distinctive.
Carl had improvised. "I'm looking for... cherry soda. The imported kind. Do you carry it?"
A small smile had tugged at her lips. "Aisle three, bottom shelf. We only get one shipment per month, so if you want more than two bottles, you should probably buy them now."
That smile—brief, genuine, completely unaware of who he was—had done something unexpected to Carl's carefully constructed plans.
Over the following weeks, he'd found excuses to return. Small purchases. Brief conversations. He'd learned she lived with her twin brother Pietro in a cramped apartment near the store. That she was saving money for university. That she read voraciously—philosophy, poetry, anything she could borrow from the library.
That she looked at the world with old eyes, like someone who'd already lost more than she should have at her age.
When he'd finally asked her to dinner, she'd hesitated. Not because she wasn't interested—he could read that much in her body language—but because she didn't trust easy things.
"Why?" she'd asked bluntly. "You're Carl Hudson. You could have dinner with anyone in Sokovia. Why me?"
He'd told her the truth, or at least the version that mattered: "Because when I walk into places like this, most people see a bank account. You just see someone who likes cherry soda."
She'd studied him for a long moment, those green eyes searching for deception. Then she'd nodded slowly. "Okay. One dinner. But somewhere normal. No five-star restaurants."
That dinner had turned into a second. A third. Weekly meetings that became the highlight of Carl's carefully scheduled life. Wanda was unlike anyone he'd known in either existence—genuine in a way that seemed almost defiant. She didn't perform for cameras or calculate social advantages. When she laughed, it was real. When she argued with him about philosophy or politics, she held nothing back.
And when she loved... she loved completely.
Conservative. Traditional. She'd made it clear early on: she didn't believe in casual relationships. If they were going to be together, it meant something. It meant forever.
Pietro had been suspicious at first, protective of his sister in that fierce way twins sometimes were. But Carl had won him over gradually—not with money or influence, but by genuinely caring about Wanda's happiness.
Three years. Three years of building something real beneath the quest notifications and system rewards.
And now, standing at this altar with cameras flashing and Sokovia's elite watching, Carl realized the truth:
He wasn't marrying Wanda for the quest.
He was completing the quest because he was marrying Wanda.
---
Carl met her eyes—those trusting, hopeful eyes that believed in happy endings despite everything Sokovia had taught her about the world.
His smile came naturally this time, slow and genuine.
"I do," he said, and his voice carried clearly across the lawn—steady, certain, real.
Please, he thought to whatever cosmic forces might be listening, let this be the one moment the universe doesn't ruin.
The priest nodded, satisfied, then turned to Wanda with the same solemn gravity.
"Wanda Maximoff," he intoned, "do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? Will you enter into this sacred covenant of marriage with him, in sickness and in health, through prosperity and hardship, to love him, honor him, cherish him, and remain faithful to him for all the days of your life?"
Wanda's smile bloomed like sunrise—small but radiant, dangerously sincere.
Her voice didn't waver. "I do."
And in the exact instant those words left her lips, another voice spoke—cold, emotionless, utterly inhuman—directly inside Carl's skull:
*╔══════════════════════════════════════╗*
*║ MAIN QUEST COMPLETE ║*
*╠══════════════════════════════════════╣*
*║ Quest: Wanda Maximoff ║*
*║ Tier: Advanced ║*
*║ Status: SUCCESS ║*
*║ ║*
*║ Initiating Small World Extraction...║*
*║ Extraction Complete ║*
*║ ║*
*║ → Check [World Options] ║*
*╚══════════════════════════════════════╝*
Carl didn't blink.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't glance upward like a man hearing divine whispers.
His hands remained steady as he lifted the ring—an elegant band of white gold with a single diamond, tasteful rather than ostentatious. Wanda had chosen it herself, refusing the elaborate designs jewelers had shown them.
"Simple," she'd insisted. "I want to wear this every day for the rest of my life. It should feel like part of me."
Now, as Carl slid it onto her finger, he felt the slight tremor in her hand—the only betrayal of how much emotion she'd been containing all day.
Her eyes shimmered, threatening tears she was too stubborn to shed in front of cameras.
The crowd exhaled collectively, as if they'd all been personally invested in this romantic conclusion.
The priest's voice rang out with ceremonial finality: "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Applause erupted—genuine from some guests, performative from others, but thunderous either way.
Camera flashes created a strobe effect that would have been disorienting if Carl hadn't trained himself to ignore such things.
Wanda stepped closer, closing the small distance between them.
For just a moment, the world narrowed to her face—those expressive eyes, that hopeful smile, the slight flush on her cheeks.
Carl cupped her face gently with both hands and kissed her.
Not the brief, chaste kiss of a staged performance. Something real. Something that acknowledged the vows they'd just spoken actually meant something.
When they finally pulled apart, Wanda was definitely crying now—happy tears that she didn't bother hiding anymore.
"We did it," she whispered in Sokovian, just for him.
Carl smiled. "We did."
And somewhere invisible behind his eyes, the System panel waited with its quest rewards, treating their marriage like a video game achievement unlocked.
---
*That* was the story Sokovia would remember.
The headlines were already writing themselves in Carl's mind:
"Genius Entrepreneur Marries Convenience Store Clerk in Fairy Tale Wedding"
"Carl Hudson Proves Love Transcends Class in Lavish Ceremony"
"Sokovia's Richest Man Chooses Heart Over Status"
They would paint him as a romantic hero. The tragic orphan who'd built an empire from ashes, then found love in the most unexpected place.
Sokovia News would chronicle his rise—how after his parents' death in that suspicious car accident three years ago, young Carl had taken control of Hudson Industries. How he'd transformed it from a struggling third-rate company into the most powerful private enterprise in the nation.
They'd call him a prodigy. A visionary. The youngest self-made billionaire in Sokovian history.
They'd praise his charitable foundation, his public housing initiatives, his investments in Sokovia's devastated infrastructure.
What they wouldn't mention was the simple, ugly truth:
A dead man hadn't built that empire.
A survivor had.
---
When Carl had first woken in this body, it had been a wreck—soft from indulgence, dulled by alcohol and lazy privilege. The original Carl Hudson had been a disappointment to his ambitious parents, a spoiled heir who'd never had to fight for anything.
That body had been a prison.
So Carl had rebuilt it, day by methodical day, like repairing a weapon left to rust. He'd started with basics—running, calisthenics, proper nutrition. Then progressed to serious training. Boxing. Krav Maga. The muscle memory from his previous life had returned faster than expected, his new body gradually learning what his old instincts remembered.
Not because he wanted to look good in expensive suits.
Because in the Marvel Universe, physical strength wasn't a luxury.
It was rent you paid to keep breathing.
He'd trained in private, away from servants and security staff who might report his unusual behavior. Early mornings before the household woke. Late nights after business obligations ended. Pushing this new body until it stopped feeling foreign, until the movements became natural again.
The discovery that this was the Marvel Universe had only intensified his training regimen.
Carl wasn't a hardcore fan. He hadn't memorized every timeline and plot point like scripture. But he knew the broad strokes. Everyone knew the broad strokes.
Iron Man. Avengers. New York. Aliens.
And then the part that made every other concern seem trivial:
Thanos.
A being—and an army—that erased worlds with the casual indifference of someone wiping marks off a whiteboard.
Money alone wouldn't stop that.
But without money, Carl wouldn't even survive long enough to worry about cosmic threats.
---
Fortunately, he hadn't arrived in this world empty-handed.
The System had appeared three months after his awakening, manifesting as a translucent interface visible only to him. No dramatic voice from the heavens. No angelic messenger. Just... there, one morning when he woke up.
*╔══════════════════════════════════════╗*
*║ SYSTEM INITIALIZED ║*
*╠══════════════════════════════════════╣*
*║ Welcome, User ║*
*║ Synchronization Complete ║*
*╚══════════════════════════════════════╝*
It operated on game logic—quests that unlocked rewards, both material and supernatural. Main Quests granted access to "Small Worlds," allowing him to travel to other universes and learn their power systems. Side Quests provided more immediate benefits: weapons, rare items, potions, and most importantly, resources.
Wealth. Information. Opportunities that would have been impossible to obtain through conventional means.
The first Main Quest had been Wanda Maximoff.
At the time, Carl had barely recognized her name. Just another person in Sokovia, according to the quest description. The System hadn't explained why she mattered, only that establishing a connection with her would unlock significant rewards.
He'd approached it pragmatically at first. A calculated relationship. Strategic befriending.
Then Wanda had surprised him by being... herself.
Genuine. Thoughtful. Someone who treated "forever" like a vow rather than a convenient phrase.
Her dream life was almost painfully simple: a home, a husband, children, peace.
And in a universe careening toward Infinity War, peace was the rarest treasure of all.
So Carl had made a choice.
He'd marry her. Not because the System demanded it, but because he wanted to.
Because protecting Wanda from what was coming felt more important than any quest reward.
Because in three years of calculated moves and strategic decisions, she was the one thing that felt real.
---
The reception was exactly what Sokovia's elite expected: lavish, tasteful, expensive enough to make a statement without being vulgar.
Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over tables draped in silk. A string quartet played classical Sokovian compositions. Servers in crisp uniforms circulated with champagne and hors d'oeuvres that qualified as art.
Carl played his role perfectly—the gracious host, the attentive husband. He shook hands, accepted congratulations, posed for photos with important guests whose names he'd memorized along with their net worth and political connections.
Wanda handled it with more grace than he'd expected. She'd been nervous about this part—"I don't know how to talk to these people," she'd confessed during planning—but her natural warmth compensated for any social awkwardness. She didn't try to be someone she wasn't, and somehow, that authenticity charmed even the most jaded socialites.
Pietro hovered nearby, protective as always, glaring at any guest who looked at his sister too long. Carl had made sure to seat him at a table with people close to his age, hoping it would ease some of his obvious discomfort.
As the evening wore on, Carl found himself watching Wanda more than the crowd.
The way she laughed at something an elderly guest said, genuine delight lighting her features.
The way she caught his eye across the room and smiled, like they were sharing a private joke.
The way she leaned into him when they danced, trusting him to lead, her head resting briefly against his shoulder.
This, Carl thought, is what I'm protecting. Not Sokovia. Not the company. This.
---
Hours later, long after the last guest departed and the reporters finally ran out of questions, they returned to the Hudson estate—a sprawling property on the outskirts of Novi Grad that Carl had extensively renovated.
Wanda moved through the master bedroom with quiet exhaustion, carefully removing her jewelry, stepping out of the beautiful gown that had made her look like something from a dream.
Carl watched from the doorway, loosening his tie.
"You okay?" he asked softly in Sokovian.
She turned, now in simple sleepwear, and smiled—tired but genuinely happy. "I think so. It was... a lot. Good, but a lot."
"You were perfect."
"Liar." But she was pleased, he could tell. "I forgot Ambassador Kozlov's name twice and almost spilled wine on your uncle's wife."
"Ambassador Kozlov is an ass, and my uncle's wife has terrible taste in conversation topics. I'd say you showed remarkable restraint."
Wanda laughed—that real, unguarded laugh he'd worked so hard to earn. She crossed to him, rising on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Thank you. For all of this. For... choosing me."
Carl's chest tightened. "Wanda—"
"I know what people think," she continued, her voice soft but steady. "That you could have married anyone. Someone from a powerful family, someone who could help the business. Instead you chose a girl who works at a convenience store."
"I chose the woman I love," Carl said quietly. "Everything else is just noise."
Her eyes shimmered again—happy tears she was too exhausted to contain. "I love you too. So much."
She kissed him properly this time, then pulled back with a yawn she tried unsuccessfully to hide.
"Sleep," Carl murmured, guiding her toward the bed. "We have the rest of our lives for everything else."
Wanda nodded, already half-asleep as her head hit the pillow. Within minutes, her breathing had evened out into the deep rhythm of exhausted sleep.
She looked younger like this, Carl thought. Peaceful. Like the world had finally stopped demanding things from her.
He stayed beside her for a while, watching the rise and fall of her breathing, feeling the warmth of her presence.
Then, careful not to wake her, he slipped out of bed and moved to the balcony.
---
The night air was cool against his skin as Carl stepped outside, sliding the glass door shut behind him with barely a sound.
Sokovia's lights glittered in the distance—a city trying desperately to rebuild itself, to pretend the wars and regime changes hadn't left permanent scars.
Somewhere far beyond that skyline, the world was turning toward disasters it hadn't earned. Toward conflicts and catastrophes that would make Sokovia's troubles seem quaint by comparison.
Carl leaned against the balcony railing and focused inward.
The System panel materialized instantly—clean lines of light forming text and interfaces visible only to him:
*╔══════════════════════════════════════╗*
*║ MAIN QUEST COMPLETE ║*
*╠══════════════════════════════════════╣*
*║ Quest: Wanda Maximoff ║*
*║ Tier: Advanced ║*
*║ Status: SUCCESS ║*
*║ ║*
*║ REWARDS UNLOCKED: ║*
*║ ║*
*║ Small World: NARUTO ║*
*║ ║*
*║ • Five-Attribute Chakra Affinity ║*
*║ • Enhanced Naruto Physique ║*
*║ • Identity: Prince of Fire Nation ║*
*║ (Son of Fire Daimyo's younger ║*
*║ brother) ║*
*║ ║*
*║ TIME LIMIT: 3 Months ║*
*║ (Extendable via Side Quests) ║*
*║ ║*
*║ NOTES: ║*
*║ • Main World time freezes ║*
*║ • Items cannot transfer ║*
*║ • Skills/enhancements permanent ║*
*╚══════════════════════════════════════╝*
Carl's eyes widened slightly despite himself.
Naruto.
Even without encyclopedic knowledge of every plot detail, he understood the fundamentals. Chakra—an energy system that combined physical stamina and spiritual energy. Ninjutsu—techniques that could level mountains or create life. Elemental affinities that determined what types of jutsu you could master.
Five-attribute affinity wasn't just rare. It was elite. The kind of potential that marked someone as extraordinary even in a world of ninjas.
And the enhanced physique—that might be even more valuable. Naruto-world biology was absurd by normal human standards. People regularly survived injuries that should have been fatal. Stamina reserves were orders of magnitude higher. It was a better vessel for power, plain and simple.
Plus the identity package.
Prince of the Land of Fire meant wealth, political protection, and resources. A starting position that wouldn't get him killed in the first week while he learned how chakra actually worked.
"Advanced completion really does pay off," Carl murmured, scrolling through the details.
Then his gaze snagged on the time limit again.
Three months.
Short. Too short.
If he was going to truly master chakra control, learn ninjutsu, and acquire the skills necessary to survive back in the Marvel Universe... three months wasn't enough. Learning power systems took time. Repetition. Getting your ass kicked by reality until reality stopped winning.
He navigated to the Side Quests menu, searching for anything that offered additional time extensions.
Several options appeared, but one immediately caught his attention:
*╔══════════════════════════════════════╗*
*║ SIDE QUEST ║*
*╠══════════════════════════════════════╣*
*║ Relocate to New York City ║*
*║ ║*
*║ OBJECTIVE: ║*
*║ Establish permanent residence in ║*
*║ New York City with Wanda ║*
*║ ║*
*║ REQUIREMENTS: ║*
*║ • Purchase property ║*
*║ • Establish legal residency ║*
*║ • Relocate household (6 months) ║*
*║ ║*
*║ REWARD: ║*
*║ +6 Months Small World Time ║*
*╚══════════════════════════════════════╝*
Carl stared at the glowing text, his strategic mind already analyzing implications.
"New York," he said quietly to the night.
Not exactly the safest location.
If memory served, the first Avengers battle happened there. Alien invasions. Chitauri pouring through a portal in the sky. Catastrophic damage to Midtown Manhattan.
But Sokovia wasn't safe either. Not in the long run.
Not with HYDRA roots buried deep in the government and military. Not with Ultron's future creation tied directly to this country. Not with the events of Avengers: Age of Ultron looming somewhere in the timeline.
And there was another consideration: the System's quests kept pointing toward New York. Like the city was a nexus of fate, not just geography.
There was no punishment for ignoring quests.
Just no rewards.
And in the Marvel Universe, no rewards meant no growth. No growth meant stagnation. Stagnation meant death.
Carl had learned that rule long before the System ever appeared—back in underground fighting rings where complacency got you killed.
He pulled out his phone and dialed a number from memory.
The call connected after two rings.
"Master Hudson," Jack answered, alert despite the late hour. Jack Morrison—head of Carl's security detail and one of the few people who'd proven genuinely loyal over the past three years.
"Jack," Carl said, his voice low and controlled, "I need you to take the advance team to New York. Immediately."
A brief pause. "New York City?"
"Yes. Accelerate the expansion plan we discussed last month. I want full implementation—real estate acquisitions, legal framework establishment, corporate presence. We move the timeline up by six months."
"That's... aggressive, sir. We'll need significant capital deployment, and the board—"
"I'll handle the board," Carl interrupted smoothly. "You handle New York. I want properties identified by the end of the week. Manhattan, primarily. Something suitable for headquarters, and residential options in upscale neighborhoods."
"Understood." Jack's tone shifted to pure professionalism. "I'll assemble the team tonight. We'll be wheels-up by morning."
"Good. Keep me updated on progress. And Jack?"
"Yes sir?"
"Discretion. I don't want this leaking to Sokovian media until we're ready to make an official announcement."
"Of course, sir."
Carl ended the call and set the phone on the balcony railing.
New York.
The city where gods walked among men. Where the Avengers would assemble. Where cosmic threats would eventually descend.
But also where opportunity concentrated. Where power—both mundane and supernatural—could be accessed by those smart enough to position themselves correctly.
Money wouldn't protect him from Thanos.
But without money, he'd be vulnerable to everything smaller that killed people long before cosmic threats arrived. Muggers. Criminals. Corrupt officials. Simple human malice.
He wasn't going to be poor in a world like this.
And he sure as hell wasn't going to be powerless.
---
Carl returned to the bedroom quietly, sliding back under the covers beside Wanda.
She stirred slightly, unconsciously seeking his warmth, and murmured something soft and unintelligible in Sokovian before settling again.
He lay there in the darkness, listening to her breathe, feeling the weight of what he was about to do.
Tomorrow—or whenever he activated the System's world transfer—he would step into another universe. Learn another power system. Become something more than human.
All to protect this.
This moment. This person. This fragile, precious thing called home.
Because in a universe of gods and monsters, love was the most dangerous vulnerability.
And the only thing worth fighting for.
Carl closed his eyes and let himself feel it—genuine warmth, real connection. Not strategy. Not calculation.
Just... peace.
For a few hours, at least.
---
Dawn hadn't yet broken when Carl opened his eyes again.
Wanda still slept soundly beside him, exhausted from the emotional weight of the wedding day.
He rose with practiced silence—movements honed by years of training—and made his way to his private study.
The room was exactly as he'd designed it: soundproofed, secure, with technology that would make most intelligence agencies jealous. Bookshelves lined with volumes on everything from quantum physics to ancient philosophy. A desk that had cost more than most cars, equipped with computers running custom encryption.
This was where Carl Hudson the businessman worked.
But it was also where the transmigrator planned for survival.
He locked the door and activated the privacy systems. Then, standing in the center of the room, he opened the System interface one final time.
The prompt pulsed at the bottom like a heartbeat:
*╔══════════════════════════════════════╗*
*║ SMALL WORLD TRANSFER ║*
*╠══════════════════════════════════════╣*
*║ Destination: NARUTO UNIVERSE ║*
*║ ║*
*║ Confirm Transfer? ║*
*║ ║*
*║ WARNING: ║*
*║ Main World time will freeze during ║*
*║ journey. You will return to exact ║*
*║ moment of departure. ║*
*║ ║*
*║ [YES] [NO] ║*
*╚══════════════════════════════════════╝*
Carl stared at the glowing options.
Three months in another world. Learning chakra. Mastering techniques that defied physics. Transforming his body into something beyond human limitation.
All while Wanda slept peacefully in the next room, unaware her husband was about to disappear into another dimension.
But she'd never know. Time would freeze here. He'd return to this exact moment, enhanced and empowered, ready to protect her from what was coming.
Carl took a deep breath.
Then, without hesitation, he reached out and selected *[YES]*.
---
The world went silent.
Not the quiet of a peaceful room, but the absolute absence of sound—like someone had pressed mute on reality itself.
The study around him began to... fracture. Not violently, but methodically, like reality was carefully disassembling itself piece by piece.
Colors bled into impossible hues. Space folded in ways that shouldn't exist. His body felt simultaneously solid and insubstantial, present and absent.
Carl stood perfectly still, watching reality peel away.
He thought of Wanda, sleeping peacefully in the next room.
He thought of the Marvel Universe, counting down toward catastrophes already in motion.
He thought of power—real, tangible power—finally within reach.
The last thing he saw before the transfer completed was the System's final message:
*╔══════════════════════════════════════╗*
*║ TRANSFER INITIATED ║*
*╠══════════════════════════════════════╣*
*║ Destination: Naruto Universe ║*
*║ ║*
*║ Your journey begins now. ║*
*╚══════════════════════════════════════╝*
Then the world went white.
And Carl Hudson disappeared from the Marvel Universe.
For exactly three months.
And no time at all.
---
*[END CHAPTER 1]*
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Hey guys, and welcome to Scarlet Convergence.
If you want to support my work, you can also find me on Patreon : patreon.com/AureliusDBlack
There will be around 25 chapters in advence.
I'll be publishing 6 chapters per week. Bonus chapters will be released when we hit 100 Power Stones!
If you're enjoying the story, please consider supporting it—every bit helps! Your reviews, comments, and Power Stones really help this story grow and keep me motivated.