The locker glowed.
my, not like oh my someone put a light stick in their workout shorts again sort of shine. It glowed like reality was trying to nicely rip itself open and was using my locker as a doorbell.
I stared at it. It stared back.
Okay, maybe not literally. But you know that feeling when you're being watched? Imagine that, but the object observing you is probably a space-time anomaly with abandonment issues.
So, obviously, like any rational, definitely not-in-over-his-head reborn Marvel nerd with reality-warping powers... I did what any regular middle schooler would do.
I ran.
Fast.
Not simply from the locker—but from the temptation of opening it. Because let's face it: luminous objects in fictitious universes never signify good things. At best, it's extraterrestrial tech. At worst, it's a sentient fridge that eats souls.
No thank you.
Rohan caught up with me two hallways and a flight of stairs later.
"Dude!" he gasped. "You okay? You looked like you spotted Zoe performing karaoke again."
"Worse," I said. "The locker. It's... weird."
"Okay, define 'weird.'"
"You know how when you turn off a computer but the screen sort of lingers for a second?"
He blinked. "No?"
"Exactly."
Rohan stared. "Is this about that trench coat guy again? Because he's still here. I noticed him by the vending machine. He bought five chocolate bars. Five. No one needs that many. Unless you're bribing youngsters. Or... creating a chocolate golem."
"Chocolate golem sounds awesome, actually," I said. "But yeah, I think he's watching me."
"What did you even do?"
I hesitated.
"Did you steal something?"
"Define steal."
"Did you break something?"
"Define break."
"Did you *maybe accidentally alter the fundamental flow of time and space through casual use of a cosmic-level ability granted by a god who once showed up wearing bunny slippers?"
I gazed.
Rohan blinked. "...That was a joke."
"Oh. Right. Ha. Ha."
By the time I came home, my brain felt like a poorly written simulation. I dropped my stuff, slumped onto my bed, and stared at the ceiling like it held answers.
It didn't.
But my window did.
Because someone was standing outside it.
Not trench coat dude. No, this one was different. Dressed in black. Wearing a headset. Eyes scanning. Holding something that appeared extremely not school-approved.
I blinked. Time slid for a moment—my power reacting on instinct—and suddenly I saw everything freeze.
Birds mid-flight. A leaf suspended mid-fall. The man, frozen mid-blink.
I stood up slowly and headed to the window. The man's palm rested just over a little metallic device, one that pulsed faintly—like a tracker.
I opened the window.
Leaning forward, I grabbed the device out of his hand. It was smooth, chilly, strange in a way that shouted not from Earth. Definitely not school property. And definitely not something someone should be directing at my residence.
Then I heard a voice.
Not outside. Inside.
In my head.
"Subject anomaly located. Probability thread diverging. Intervention authorized."
I froze.
"What. The. Actual. Cosmic. Nacho cheese."
I didn't recognize the voice. But it sounded... mechanical. Artificial. Calculating.
I dropped the smartphone like it was radioactive—which, honestly, it might've been. Then, heart hammering, I unpaused time.
The man blinked. The birds flew. The leaf fell.
And the device? Gone.
He peered up at my window.
Our eyes locked.
I shut the window and dropped to the floor.
Panic? Rising.
Dinner was a blur.
Zoe complained about her math teacher. Dad showed out some dramatic photo of a seagull he took from underneath (I don't even know how). Mom reported her lab was missing a vial of bio-luminescent bacteria. I tried not to scream.
Eventually, I excused myself and hurried back to my room. My diary virtually opened itself.
April 13th.
Time stop: 1.2 seconds
Event: Glowing locker
Weird adult count: 2 verified, 1 perhaps government
Devices directed at me: 1
Voices in head: 1 (new record!)
Stress level: Mild existential dread
Snack ingested to cope: 3 cookies (plus Zoe's half-eaten Pop-Tart)
Then, just as I was capping my pen, a new entry appeared in the journal.
No, seriously. It WROTE ITSELF.
The page shimmered—and letters wrote across the bottom in shimmering ink:
"You're not alone. Keep moving. Watch the shadows. The timeline is bleeding."
I gazed.
"Okay," I whispered. "Now I am going to scream."
But I didn't. Because something else happened.
Outside, in the street—parked under a flickering streetlamp—was a black SUV.
With tinted windows.
Watching.
Next time, on Oops, I Got Reincarnated into Marvel:
Tony Stark, a scientist from S.H.I.E.L.D., and a school counselor come inside a gym. No, it's not a joke. It's the beginning of Manjil's really horrible week.
Will the locker finally be opened? What the heck is flowing from the timeline? And who just hijacked his notebook?
Find out in Chapter 8. Things are no longer just weird—they're MCU-level weird now.