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A World Apart (MCU)

When sixteen-year-old Joseph Henswick wakes up in the body of his six-year-old self, he's disoriented enough by the sights and sounds of 1990 London. But discovering he's landed in the Marvel Cinematic Universe changes everything. With no guide and no way back, Joseph-now David must adjust to his new reality, one where both heroes and villains roam a world on the brink of chaos. Armed with a powerful ability known as New Order—allowing him to command reality with spoken words—David faces moral dilemmas, dangerous alliances, and the burden of unimaginable power. Each step draws him deeper into this world, forcing him to navigate his role between the heroes he once idolized and the forces that could reshape his future. Can David carve his own path in this altered universe, or will he be consumed by the power that makes him a target? -Disclaimer I do NOT own marvel, mha or any other franchises, people, places, things mentioned in this fanfiction-

Eddy_6249 · Anime & Comics
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31 Chs
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chapter 7

Chapter 7

Date: March 25, 1990

Location: St. Augustine's Orphanage, London

David sat cross-legged on his bed, deep in thought, the soft hum of the orphanage bustling around him. With his order for telepathic protection in place, he felt a sense of relief and security that he hadn't experienced since he'd woken up here. But he knew there was still a lot more he needed to learn and develop if he was going to survive this world.

He had a plan to continue his training and build his stamina. He'd spent countless hours researching stamina-building techniques in his old life, but he realized he was missing key details, some fragments of knowledge that could be helpful if only he could access them. If he could sharpen his memory, even briefly, he might be able to recall information he'd forgotten.

He closed his eyes, focusing on the command he was about to give himself. "I… have an eidetic memory."

A ripple of warmth spread through his mind, and suddenly, it was as if a film had been lifted from his thoughts. Memories flooded back — things he hadn't thought of in years, vivid images, conversations, and even random facts that he hadn't needed until now. It was overwhelming, like sifting through a library of his life, each detail sharp and in focus.

As the memories settled, one in particular came into view: a YouTube video he'd watched in his old life, where an instructor explained that playing the flute could build stamina by strengthening lung capacity and breath control. It was an unexpected revelation but exactly what he needed. Flute practice would help him increase his endurance and stamina naturally — and without raising suspicion.

Satisfied, he canceled the memory order, letting his mind return to its usual clarity, though the memory of the flute video lingered. He left his room, heading down the hall toward the small office where the orphanage's caretakers worked. He knocked on the door, bracing himself as one of the caretakers, Mrs. Carmichael, looked up from her paperwork.

"Hello, David. Is there something you need?" Her voice was gentle, though her eyes were scrutinizing.

"Could I get a flute?" he asked, keeping his tone casual. "I read that playing music can help with, um, breathing and focus. I want to try it."

Mrs. Carmichael raised an eyebrow, her curiosity evident. "A flute, hm? That's not a usual request." She studied him for a moment. "All right. We can get you one, but you'll need to show us that you're using it. If it turns out you're not, we'll take it back. Deal?"

David nodded, keeping his expression earnest. "Deal."

A few days later, the flute arrived — a simple beginner's instrument, nothing fancy, but it would do. He began practicing immediately, spending hours each day blowing into it, feeling his breath control and lung capacity improve little by little. The deep breaths, the controlled exhalations, the constant need for steady airflow — it was challenging but effective.

One afternoon, as he practiced, Mrs. Carmichael came in with another caretaker, both watching him play. He took a deep breath, subtly placing a hand over his chest, and whispered, "I… am an intermediate flute player."

As the warmth settled over him, he lifted the flute and began playing a melody that sounded clear, confident, yet modest enough not to draw suspicion. Mrs. Carmichael looked impressed, nodding to herself.

"Looks like you've been practicing, David," she said, smiling. "I didn't know you had such a talent."

David gave a small, humble smile. "I like it."

From then on, he practiced regularly, under the watchful eye of his first-grade music teacher, Ms. Phillips. She even offered to give him extra lessons after school, and David accepted eagerly, knowing this training would benefit his stamina — and maybe one day save his life.

The flute became more than just an instrument to him; it was a tool, a secret weapon in his arsenal, a way to grow stronger without anyone realizing the true purpose behind his dedication. And as the days went by, his breath control and lung capacity steadily improved, preparing him for the challenges that lay ahead.

End of chap.