Hello everyone! Here's the first chapter of my new story.
First, you'll read the unedited version — straight from the original author. Then, I'll share the retranslated and rewritten version, where I've added a few minor tweaks to make it flow better.
I hope you enjoy the chapter, and please let me know what you think — it'll help me see if my writing is improving!
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"Harry, get out of the way!"
"You foolish man, you wasted the chance I gave you, Reyna Lance! You are not worthy to be my successor! Avada Kedavra!"
"Reyna! No! Voldemort! Expelliarmus!"
"Avada Kedavra!"
Light flashed before his eyes, and Abel suddenly opened his eyes, quickly jumping out of bed. His right hand instinctively reached for his side, but found nothing. He paused for a moment, then realized he was no longer in that world.
He let out a breath, his taut nerves relaxing, and Abel plopped down onto the bed.
Reyna Lance was his name in his previous life. Now he had been called Abel Shaw for six years. In other words, he had been in this world for six years. The original owner of this body had a persistent high fever at the age of ten, which ultimately benefited him.
Of course, Reyna Lance from the Harry Potter world wasn't a native of that world either. He had transmigrated from a world where both Harry Potter and Marvel were just comics and novels.
That's right, the world Abel was currently in was the Marvel world, at a point in time when Tony Stark, the 'village chief' of Marvel's Novice Village , was still just a playboy. This was his second transmigration.
He glanced at the digital clock on his nightstand, noting that it was only 4:40 AM. Abel quietly got up and walked to the kitchen, careful not to wake his mom, who had worked overtime until past midnight. He made himself a cup of lemon honey water, drank it down, then changed into his workout clothes and left the house.
Jogging along the edge of the street was Abel's daily morning ritual.
At this hour, there were almost no cars, the streets were quiet, and the air was fresh. It was perfect for a jog.
Of course, he had encountered hooligans looking for trouble before, but the combat skills he learned in his previous life to fight Voldemort and the Death Eaters weren't for show. They were genuine, no-frills practical combat techniques.
In his previous life, when Abel truly understood the Harry Potter world, he realized that battles between wizards were not what he had imagined. It wasn't just two groups of people blasting spells at each other with wands. There were various techniques involved, and close-quarters combat combined with wand magic was a mandatory subject for wizards aspiring to be Aurors.
Although his combat skills didn't make him invincible, dealing with two or three petty thugs was certainly no problem. If there were more hooligans, Abel could only turn and run.
Abel's magic power had reset to zero when he transmigrated, and it had been growing from scratch since the day he arrived.
Due to the fusion of the body's residual soul and his own soul from two different worlds, Abel's soul became extremely powerful. The growth rate and density of magic power depended on the strength of the soul, which made Abel's magic power grow at almost double the rate of his age group, and its density also exceeded that of normal wizards his age. He could now reach the level of a young wizard just starting magic school at eleven or twelve years old.
However, no matter how fast Abel's magic power grew or how dense it was, it had only developed for six years, equivalent to a child just starting magic school. Therefore, he couldn't use overly powerful spells, only basic ones.
Moreover, the most important point was that there were no wands in this world. Abel could only rely on wandless magic techniques to cast spells.
Without a wand and with low magic power, the effect of his spells was probably only slightly stronger than a third-rate magician's tricks.
If he hadn't specifically trained his wandless magic in his previous life to fight Voldemort and the Death Eaters, Abel might not even be able to cast a single spell now.
He returned home at six o'clock after his run and immediately saw his mom, hair messy, clearly not having showered last night, making breakfast while yawning.
"Mom, if you're sleepy, I can make my own breakfast."
"Yawn... Honey, you're so thoughtful, but I already can't prepare your lunch and dinner. If I can't even prepare your breakfast, that would be truly negligent."
Theresa Shaw walked over with a plate of bacon and eggs, kissed Abel on the cheek, then placed the plate on the table. She then brought Abel toast and milk, and sat on the other side of the dining table, watching Abel, who had finished washing up, eat breakfast.
Abel didn't reject Theresa's intimate behavior, perhaps because of their blood relation, or perhaps due to the soul fusion. In fact, he was equally affectionate towards Theresa. Whether on Earth at the beginning or in the Harry Potter world, he had always been an orphan. Having a mother was a first for him, and this feeling of having a blood relative who loved him was something Abel cherished deeply.
Theresa was a head chef at a Michelin three-star restaurant. A female head chef was truly rare, especially a beautiful head chef in her thirties who was still charming, making her even more popular. So her work was indeed very busy. Starting at ten in the morning, she would be busy until after nine or ten at night, rarely getting home early. Overtime was very common.
Abel had once asked about his father, but Theresa always prevaricated. Seeing Theresa like that, Abel stopped asking, simply assuming that Theresa was his only relative.
"Mom, if you're tired, take some time off to rest. Other Michelin three-star head chefs aren't as tired as you are."
"Honey, don't worry about that. Let Mom earn your college tuition first. Alright, it's getting late now, you should go to school."
American university tuition, textbook fees, and so on were extremely expensive. Most families relied on loans for schooling. Theresa didn't want her son to be so burdened. Moreover, a Michelin three-star head chef's salary included restaurant shares, so the money earned was substantial. If it weren't for Theresa having only recently become a Michelin three-star head chef and having many loans to repay from before, the money to support Abel's schooling actually wouldn't be a big problem.
After rinsing his mouth and wiping it, Abel chewed gum and said goodbye to Theresa.
Riding his bicycle, Abel headed towards Midtown School of Science and Technology, which was not far from his home.
Along the way, he greeted his high school classmates. Reyna parked his bicycle in the school's parking lot, took his backpack, and walked into the teaching building.
In the hallway of the teaching building, a large electronic screen displayed promotional videos of famous contemporary scientists, scholars, and businessmen.
"Tony Stark, a renowned contemporary scientist, businessman, and philanthropist. He graduated from MIT at the age of 17, earning doctorates in Mechanical Engineering, Electrical Engineering, and Physics..."
Abel glanced at the large screen and greeted a friend walking towards him. The two shook hands, bumped shoulders, and walked side by side to their lockers.
Abel put his backpack into his locker, took out the books and pens needed for his first class, and students, also heading to class, walked in twos and threes towards the classroom.
His peaceful school life began.
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"You foolish child! You've wasted the chance I gave you, Reyner Lance! You are not worthy to be my successor! Avada Kedavra!"
"Who ever said I wanted to be your damn successor, you snake-faced freak? Harry, get out of the way! You're going to get us killed!"
"But Reyna! We can't just leave and do nothing—Voldemort is still here!"
"Not for long," said a tired voice from the atrium.
"Professor Dumbledore—finally!"
I didn't even have time to greet our headmaster before Voldemort attacked.
At this point, I don't even know how many times I've relived this dream. No matter what I do, it never changes.
I knew the visions were a trap, but I couldn't reason with Harry fast enough before he took off.
And then… everything followed canon.
We arrived at the Ministry, walking straight into Voldemort's trap. Everyone fought for their lives. Reinforcements came with the Order of the Phoenix, but Sirius still fell through the Veil, and—
"Avada Kedavra!"
Here it is again… me dying.
The green light filled my vision before I woke up in a bed I still struggled to call mine—even after years of sleeping in it.
"Yep. Another dream," I muttered under my breath.
I exhaled slowly, trying to calm my nerves. Every time I have this nightmare, the same feeling claws at me: failure.
Reyner Lance.
That was the name I carried in my last life—a life set in the world of Harry Potter. I was thrown there without warning, without guidance, without purpose.
Just a freshly dead high schooler tossed into a world where a single word could kill you.
After some time mourning my old life, I decided to make that world better.
And I failed spectacularly.
Sure, I changed a few things without wrecking the timeline, but I still got myself killed—and not even in the final battle. For God's sake, I was dropped into Harry's fourth year. I couldn't stop Pettigrew or Voldemort's return even if I'd tried.
Now, I've been transmigrated again, this time into the body of a boy named Abel Shaw. Six years ago, I woke up as him, though my memories only resurfaced five weeks ago—after a fever that nearly killed me.
I suppose getting a third chance at life isn't all bad.
Well… actually, it is.
Because this time, I'm in the MCU—or at least a variant of Earth-199999.
That's right. I'm in the freaking Marvel Cinematic Universe.
It became obvious when I saw a young Tony Stark—who looked exactly like Robert Downey Jr.—still in his playboy era. Or when Captain America appeared in our history textbooks.
So yeah… I'm royally screwed.
The digital clock on my nightstand glowed: 4:40 a.m.
With a quiet sigh, I got up and padded to the kitchen, careful not to wake my mom. She'd been working overtime again last night.
I made myself a cup of lemon honey water, drank it, changed into my workout clothes, and slipped outside.
Jogging had become my morning ritual.
At this hour, the streets were calm, the air crisp, the city barely awake. It was the perfect time to run—and in this universe, if I wanted to survive, I had to stay in peak condition.
Of course, this was still New York at 4 a.m., so I'd run into my share of troublemakers before. But the combat skills I'd learned in my previous life—fighting Death Eaters—weren't for show. They were real, practical, efficient.
Wizard duels weren't what fanfictions made them out to be. It wasn't just people flinging colorful lights across a field. There was strategy, footwork, precision. Close-quarters combat mixed with wandwork was mandatory for aspiring Aurors.
So yes, wizards weren't as lazy as fanfics made them seem.
And yes—I learned martial arts. Hermione bloody Granger made sure of that. Harry was the magical instructor, but Hermione ran the show behind the scenes. I never asked where she got the training material. Best not to.
Right now, I can't use magic. My reserves completely reset when I transmigrated.
It's already a miracle I kept my connection to magic at all, so I'm not complaining. The real issue is that I can't cast even the weakest spell. My core's still rebuilding from scratch.
It's probably because I don't have a wand—and because I never took wandless magic seriously. Stupid mistake. I blame my past self.
Without a wand and with low reserves, i can't cast barely any spells.
BUT I still have my combat training and that's enough to handle two or three street thugs. If there are more… well, running still counts as exercise, right?
After another block, I returned home around six and found my new mom, Theresa Shaw, already in the kitchen.
Her ginger hair—same color as mine—was messy, her brown eyes heavy with fatigue, but she was still beautiful. She hadn't even showered after work last night, yet there she was, making breakfast.
"Mom, if you're still sleepy, I can make my own breakfast."
"Yawn... Honey, you're too thoughtful. I already can't prepare your lunch and dinner—if I skip breakfast too, that'd be truly negligent."
She walked over with a plate of bacon and eggs, kissed my cheek, and placed it in front of me. Then she brought over toast and milk, sitting down to watch me eat—like she always did.
The more time I spent with Theresa, the more she felt like my real mom. I might not be her biological child, but she was my mother. Not by blood—but by heart.
In my first life, I had no one. No family, no friends, no lover. Pathetic, really.
In my second life, I had friends—best friends even. I just hope they're safe.
Hermione's smart enough to find the book I left behind, the one where I wrote everything I remembered about the first timeline. I hope it'll help them.
Having a mother, for the first time, is something I'll protect with everything I have.
Theresa's the head chef at a Michelin three-star restaurant, constantly on her feet from morning till late night. Overtime is just part of her life, so I learned to cherish every moment we share.
You might be wondering about my father—I mean I obviously got my green hair and brown skin from somewhere.
Mom dodges the question every time. Honestly, I don't push. Why should I care about a man who's never shown up? Not even once.
For all I know, he could be Sebastian Shaw, leader of the Hellfire Club.
And yes—that's an actual possibility. Same last name, after all. And again… Marvel.
"Mom, you should take a break. You haven't rested properly in, what, five months? You're the most overworked Michelin chef I've ever met."
"Honey, don't worry about me. And did you find another chef behind my back? Because as far as I know, I'm the only one you know."
"Touché."
"Alright, it's getting late. Go get ready for school."
College tuition in the U.S. was absurdly expensive—tuition, books, dorms, everything. Most families relied on loans, but Mom didn't want that for me. That's why she'd been working extra shifts. Her pay was good, especially with restaurant shares, but old debts don't vanish overnight.
Ah yes… capitalism—the American dream.
After brushing my teeth and grabbing my bag, I said goodbye to Mom and hopped on my bike.
The ride to Midtown School of Science and Technology wasn't far. I greeted a few classmates before heading inside.
In the hallway, a large screen displayed videos of famous scientists and inventors.
"Tony Stark—renowned scientist, businessman, and philanthropist. Graduated from MIT at seventeen, with doctorates in Mechanical Engineering, Electrical Engineering, and Physics…"
I watched for a moment, then smiled faintly and walked to class.
Yeah… my life is peaceful.
Boring, even.
At least, for now.