Central Park's south entrance, right by 59th Street, was my little world. It was late 2009, a cold but sunny November day. The trees had shed their leaves, bare branches stretching into the sky; the park hummed with joggers, dog walkers, and tourists. My cart was in full swing—döner skewer spinning lazily, köfte sizzling on the grill, fresh simit straight from my scrap-built oven filling the air with a toasty aroma. Turkish tea steamed in the pot, salep warmed with cinnamon. Since Natasha's heartfelt visit that evening, I'd felt a quiet peace, but I stayed focused on my work. After the Ottoman Sherbet hit with Tony Stark, my cart's fame had spread beyond Queens. That day, as I sliced döner, two men approached. One was tall, broad-shouldered, blond, with piercing blue eyes—looked about 25-30, but carried a strange nobility, his gaze tinged with deep sadness. The other was dark-skinned, bald, with an eyepatch over one eye, scanning the area with a serious edge. "Welcome, make yourselves at home," I said, smiling, but inside I thought, "That blond… looks like Captain America." Steve Rogers was frozen in 1945 after Captain America: The First Avenger, waking up in 2011. But it was 2009—something off here?
The dark-skinned man—Nick Fury, no doubt, though I'd play dumb—spoke first. "This the place Natalie was talking about?" His voice was deep, authoritative, but not threatening. "Sure is—Ali Usta's cart," I said cheerfully. "Natalie's a customer, must've said nice things." Fury nodded. "Heard good stuff," he said, his face neutral but approving. Fury as S.H.I.E.L.D.'s director, using Natasha—aka Natalie Rushman—to keep tabs on Tony Stark right now. The blond guy looked around, almost lost, his eyes lingering on the simit, the döner skewer, even the tea glasses, like he was seeing it all for the first time. "What'll it be?" I asked, knife in hand, smile on my face. Fury said, "My friend's had a long trip—suggest something soothing." I turned to the blond—Steve. "Simit and tea sound good? Light, but filling," I said warmly. He gave a small smile. "Sounds nice," he said, his voice calm but carrying a nostalgic lilt, like it belonged to another era. Fury ordered a coffee, "Make it strong," he said, short and sharp.
I plated the simit, poured tea into delicate glasses, and brewed a frothy Turkish Coffee—my Barista (Master) profession ensured perfection. Steve picked up a simit, sniffed it, and mumbled, "Didn't have these in 1945." He caught himself, falling silent, his eyes distant. I blinked but played it off. "1945? Whoa, slip of the tongue, huh?" I said, laughing. "You don't even look 30—young like me, and tall as hell, mashallah. Must be road fatigue. Been abroad for years, just back to New York?" Steve paused, his eyes locking onto mine, then he smiled faintly. "Yeah, I've been… away," he said, choosing his words carefully. Fury shot him a sharp glance, but I kept the warmth going. "You'll settle in, don't sweat it," I said. "Everything changes, right? New city, new start—sip some tea, it'll pass." Steve took a sip. "You're right," he said. "This… it's comforting. Thanks." Fury drank his coffee, "Good work," he said, but his eyes darted around, like trouble could pop up any second.
They sat on stools by the cart, eating quietly. Steve finished his simit. "This… it's different," he said, "but good. Back in the day, streets had pretzel vendors—kinda like this, but… warmer." I grinned. "Turkish style," I said. "Simit and tea, classics where I'm from." Fury drained his coffee. "Not big on Turkish food," he said, "but it's solid." "Try döner next time," I said. "You'll like it—spicy meat, pairs great with tea." Steve nodded. "Maybe next visit." Inside, I was piecing it together: Steve would wake in 2011, after Iron Man 2's Stark Expo in 2010. But it was 2009—Tony was still tinkering with his new element, the Expo hadn't started. "Something's weird," I thought. "Was Captain America found early?" The timeline felt off, but I kept quiet. I knew them—Steve Rogers, Captain America; Nick Fury, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s boss—but I had to act clueless, and the system's existence stayed my secret.
Fury pulled out $20 and set it on the cart. "Thanks, Ali," he said. "You took care of us." Steve stood. "I… really appreciate this," he said. "This place… it's welcoming. Feels like home." For a moment, his eyes held 1940s New York—old streets, old friends. "My pleasure," I said. "Come back anytime." Fury nodded, Steve smiled again, and they vanished into the park's paths. As I packed up, my head spun. "Seventy years on ice," I muttered, "and he's still sharp." Then Ding! hit my ears. A blue screen flashed:
"Achievement Unlocked: First Sale to Steve Rogers!"
"Here we go again," I thought. I'd gotten one for Tony Stark, but not Natasha. "Maybe these aren't tied to sales?" The screen continued:
"Reward: New Skill: Acrobatics & Parkour Mastery (Rare) and New Profession: Confectioner (Master).
Customer Satisfaction Tokens (CST): +50."
"Parkour? What?" I said, stunned.
Acrobatics & Parkour Mastery (Rare): "Elite body control, agility, and navigation through obstacles—swift, fluid movement in any environment."
"What's this got to do with anything?"
Confectioner (Master): "Mastery in crafting sweets—equivalent to years of expertise; specializing in baklava, lokum, helva, and more."
"Baklava, huh?" I said, chuckling, but my mind was still on Steve. Fifty CST—MCU headliners always delivered big points. Packing up, I sank into thought. "Did the timeline slip?" I wondered. Steve's nostalgic murmurs, Fury's cryptic vibe… I'd served tea and simit to a legend fresh from seventy years on ice, lifting his spirits with my sincerity.
Walking home, the park's quiet wrapped around me. Empty tea glass in hand, I mulled over my new skills and the future. "What's this system planning?" I said. Steve Rogers—Captain America—had come to my cart. Ali Usta, mobile vendor, was meeting MCU legends, guiding them through a new world with a glass of tea and a simit. "Let's see," I said, "what's this timeline glitch about?" The sky was clear, but my mind was a tangle of questions.