Obviously.
To the straightforward Steve Rogers, the name "Soldier Boy" simply meant a boy who became a soldier. He had no idea what lay behind that title—a character from The Boys whose existence completely upended moral boundaries.
At this point in history, only Herman truly understood how ridiculous "Soldier Boy" was. He hadn't expected his casual joke to leave such a deep impression on Steve Rogers… Could it be that Captain America would really start calling himself Soldier Boy one day?
"My The Boys wasn't a documentary," Herman thought with a helpless smile. He finally understood why protagonists in time-travel films always ended up changing things without meaning to—some consequences were impossible to foresee.
It had just been an offhand remark. He only hoped that, when he returned to the future, The Boys fans wouldn't dig up the origin of the name "Soldier Boy."
"Alright, Steve, it's getting late. You should head home and get some rest."
Herman hadn't intended to alter history; he just kept running into significant historical figures by chance. Maybe Earth in the Marvel Universe was simply too small.
As the horizon began to brighten, Herman spoke to Steve Rogers. His words caught the young man off guard.
"Sir, you know me?"
Steve Rogers was genuinely surprised. He was certain they had never met and hadn't expected Herman to call him by name.
Even in his own neighborhood, few people remembered him—a frail, unimpressive young man. The bullies who pushed him around usually just called him "that guy."
"Of course, Steve… You'll become a remarkable man. I look forward to seeing you again in the future."
As Herman walked out of the alley toward the main street, he lifted a hand and waved behind him.
Steve Rogers stood frozen, eyes wide in disbelief, unable to make sense of what Herman had said.
Was that a blessing?
Or sarcasm?
Steve was completely lost. He recalled something Bucky often said—"Riddlers deserve to die." Though Steve disliked cursing others, he finally understood the frustration of being left puzzled by someone's cryptic words.
"This gentleman… really has an odd sense of humor," Steve muttered as he turned toward home.
Herman's encouragement had reignited his determination. Maybe, through persistence, he really could become a soldier worthy of honor.
Rejected once? Then apply again. Try another recruitment office.
Some war zone desperate for soldiers would eventually take him—at this moment, Steve wasn't thinking at all about the dangers of battle.
His dream was simple: to become a soldier, to fight alongside his best friend Bucky, and to stand as a force of justice against the evil Nazi regime.
"Soldier Boy… that name sounds so cool. I'll become Soldier Boy for sure," Steve vowed silently.
As he walked through the alley, lost in his daydream, a rush of footsteps from afar snapped him back to reality. Had those thugs that gentleman had beaten called for reinforcements to take revenge?
Steve's heart tightened. He worried they might catch him, or worse—catch up to Herman instead.
How should one put it? A kind heart could be strange at times. Steve was clearly overthinking it, though he didn't realize it himself.
There were no vengeful thugs. The vampires who had tried to mess with Herman had already been completely wiped out.
"Phew... just the police."
Steve Rogers rounded the corner and spotted a squad of neatly uniformed armed officers. He immediately felt a sense of relief wash over him.
Just the police. Nothing unusual. Probably out hunting some criminal again.
Ever since the war had intensified, crime rates in cities across the world had skyrocketed. It wasn't rare to see police conducting full-scale manhunts every few days. Sometimes the target was a serial killer, other times an infiltrated spy. In this era, the line between police and military had blurred. Even outside war zones, officers often served in a defensive capacity.
"Halt!"
A burly officer spotted Steve Rogers and immediately raised his gun, aiming it down the alley at him.
"Officer... I'm not a criminal."
Steve instantly raised his hands and obediently moved to the corner of the wall. His practiced response caught the gun-wielding officer off guard.
Before the soldier could step forward to search or question him, the commanding officer smacked the man hard on the back of the head.
"Idiot! Look at this scrawny little runt! You think he's the one who killed several people? He probably couldn't even kill a chicken!"
Though the officer's words seemed to defend Steve, they carried a distinct tone of contempt toward his frail build.
The soldier who had raised his gun blinked, glanced again at Steve's thin frame, and quickly nodded in agreement.
"He really... probably isn't capable."
The group of officers burst into laughter. Steve felt deeply uncomfortable but kept his position against the wall. He didn't want to risk being riddled with bullets by some overzealous rookie just for lowering his hands.
With the recent spike in crime and the rising number of officer casualties, many police had developed the habit of overreacting—ready to unload their magazines at the slightest sign of threat. Countless innocent people had already died in such incidents. Yet, one couldn't entirely blame the officers; under non-cooperative circumstances, tension was inevitable.
Steve could only hope that once the war ended, things like this would finally improve.
"Steve, where did you wake up this time? Go home! It's not safe out here. I don't want Bucky blaming me for not keeping an eye on you."
The officer in charge joined in the laughter but, after it faded, fixed Steve with a stern look.
Clearly, he knew Steve Rogers.
Moreover, he was an acquaintance of Steve's best friend. Compared to Steve, who was constantly picked on, the young Winter Soldier Bucky had always been well-liked and well-connected.
"Alright, Lock, I don't want to cause trouble either."
Steve lowered his hands only after seeing the officers holster their weapons. He gave them an awkward smile before quickly leaving the scene.
It wasn't just because of the mockery over his height—he'd long grown used to that. What truly drove him to hurry off was his understanding of the situation.
Steve knew that, no matter who the police were after, things would almost certainly end in a fierce shootout. He had no intention of becoming collateral damage.
...
After Steve left, the squad of officers resumed their search through the alleyways.
"Stay alert, everyone! We're likely dealing with an extremely dangerous psychopath. The blood, flesh, and internal organs at the scene prove the killer didn't just slaughter one person!"
The lead officer barked orders as his team began searching door to door.
As for who they were chasing, the answer could be guessed from the crime scene photos in the officer's hand.
It was the very alley where Herman had previously encountered the vampires. Blood sprayed from the vampires' shattered heads had covered the walls, staining the narrow passageway with gore.
The sequence of events wasn't hard to imagine. The vampires had no time to call for help—communication wasn't yet widespread in this era. Someone must have stumbled upon the scene later and reported it to the New York police, prompting a major investigation.
After all, the scene was horrifying beyond belief. Yet not a single body had been found.
This was no ordinary case.
The higher-ups suspected something more complex, perhaps espionage, and ordered a citywide search.
"If it wasn't spies, then why destroy the bodies?"
To be fair, the police chief's reasoning wasn't entirely wrong.
However, solving this mystery was destined to be a fruitless effort. For New York's police, it was just another day of traditional incompetence. Even in the future, the city's police would be just as helpless when faced with supernatural crimes.
...
No one knew how the history of street literature would unfold. Perhaps Herman's act of destroying evidence had just added another unsolved mystery to history—another "Rainy Night Butcher" case to baffle future generations.
While the police were still scouring the area near the crime scene, Herman—having already parted ways with Steve Rogers—was far away.
If one wished to uncover hidden secrets about Earth, where else in New York could be more fitting than 177A Bleecker Street in Manhattan?
Morning sunlight poured over the old buildings of Manhattan, its rays filtering through narrow gaps to touch the streets below. Dust floated lazily in the golden beams, giving the entire scene an almost ethereal beauty.
In the midst of this tranquil sight, Herman stood silently in front of an ancient, grand building. Dressed in a well-tailored casual outfit, he gazed up at the structure that was far older than those around it. Despite its age and the traces of history that marked its walls, it appeared unremarkable—ordinary to the untrained eye, though cloaked in a faint, mysterious energy.
"The way this place makes normal people subconsciously ignore it as they pass by… heh, should I call it a Muggle-Repelling Charm?"
Herman examined the building carefully. From the outside, it stood three stories tall, its outer walls mottled and cracked with age. Dozens of ornate, carved windows lined the façade, yet not one was open. There wasn't a hint of light from within.
The whole place was silent.
At the very top of the structure sat a symbol resembling an intricate, circular lattice—something between sacred geometry and an arcane sigil—emanating an aura of mystery and ancient power.
"177A Bleecker Street, Manhattan."
Herman read aloud the number engraved on the front. To any seasoned Marvel fan, that address would be instantly recognizable.
In a sense, it was to Marvel fans what 221B Baker Street was to Sherlock Holmes enthusiasts. And at certain points in time, one might even say the same "Holmes" had lived in both.
It was one of those long-standing jokes back on Herman's Earth—Sherlock Holmes, realizing science couldn't save the world, became a sorcerer. That hint alone was enough for any fan to get the reference.
Yes.
The place where Herman now stood was the future base of Doctor Strange—the Sanctum Sanctorum of New York. It was also one of the barriers protecting Earth from the intrusion of outer-dimensional gods.
The New York Sanctum.
Located at 177A Bleecker Street, it was one of the Sorcerer Supreme's main strongholds, a nexus maintaining the dimensional barrier that shielded Earth. For anyone seeking hidden truths, the New York Sanctum was undoubtedly the best place to start.
After all, while the three Sanctums bore the duty of defending the planet, they also had the power to monitor it. No secret shift or ripple of power could escape their detection. If that weren't the case, Kamar-Taj would never have been able to hold back the countless dimensional entities for thousands of years.
The Ancient One was powerful, yes—but the tricks of the dimensional demon gods were far from simple. Her wisdom wasn't inherently greater than theirs, yet she had managed, time and again, to uncover and dismantle their schemes over the centuries.
That was thanks not only to her own strength but also to the powerful detection network formed by the three Sanctums.
Any dimensional demon god who so much as released a spark of energy or seeded its essence on Earth would be discovered instantly. The Sanctums could perceive every hidden shift across the planet.
"I hope you don't disappoint me."
Herman was confident that through this Sanctum, he could find what he sought. Choosing New York as his destination had not been a coincidence.
Despite being a single-universe-level lifeform, Herman's command over runic technology and magic was still inferior to that of the Sky-Father-level beings.
As the saying goes, every craft has its master.
Since something was blocking and concealing the voice that called to him, he needed the most specialized means to uncover and dispel it.
The New York Sanctum was the most fitting choice. Since ancient times, Earth had been enveloped by a vast magical formation—the three great Sanctums of Kamar-Taj serving as its anchors.
Every detail of the planet's state, no matter how minor, was under their watch. Few knew that the Sanctums were not created by the Ancient One but by someone even older and mightier—the founder of Kamar-Taj himself.
He was the one who sealed the Time Stone within a pendant—the ancient being known as Agamotto.
Agamotto was a being whose strength surpassed even Herman's current level—a being of the multiverse. Or rather, a part of a multiversal entity. Within the Vishanti, the divine trinity worshiped by Kamar-Taj, Agamotto represented one aspect—the embodiment of insight and will.
Such an existence would not have left behind ordinary sanctuaries or trivial protective wards.
"The only question now," Herman murmured, "is whether I'll run into that lunatic woman who banished me from the universe."
Standing before the Sanctum's great doors, he pictured the face of the Ancient One. His current state was entirely her doing.
He wondered if the Sorcerer Supreme of this timeline would still be unhinged. If he met her again and she tried to banish him once more, Herman felt his current universal-level power would be enough to teach her a lesson.
With that thought, he stepped forward and knocked on the door of the New York Sanctum.
The Ancient One might not play fair, but Herman prided himself on being civilized. After all, this era's Kamar-Taj hadn't offended him—at least not yet.
"Anyone home?"
"If no one answers, I'm kicking the door down."