The Guardian Of The Multiverse: A Hero's Burden

Cartful of Calm

(Marvel, DC, images, manhuas, and every anime that will be mentioned and used in this story are not mine. They all belong to their respective owners. The main character "Karito/Adriel Josue Valdez" and the story are mine)

Plaza Las Américas breathed like a living thing—glass atriums pouring morning light onto marble floors, palm fronds swaying under AC vents, a hum of laughter and rolling suitcase wheels. Peter, Ace, and Artoria drifted in from a side entrance, taking in the storefront map like tourists who'd somehow saved the city and immediately decided to buy socks.

Ace stopped dead. "Hold up. Is that a Cheesecake Factory?"

Peter followed his sightline to the gold-lettered façade. "Yup. USA classic."

Artoria squinted. "How would Qiyana even—?"

Peter shrugged. "At this point I assume she has admin access to Adriel's secret library."

Artoria nodded solemnly. "A woman in love moves mountains."

Ace, still staring at the menu panels like stained glass, muttered, "Only other time I saw one was that 'Existence' dimension I got yeeted into."

Peter blinked. "The webtoon world? Where the MC had every animal's instincts?"

"Yeah." Ace rubbed his neck. "Kid reincarnated through the whole damn food chain. Army tried to smoke me. People hated powers. Total mess."

Peter gave a low whistle. "So... not Cheesecake-and-chill."

"More Cheesecake-and-run-for-your-life." Ace slapped his cheeks lightly and grinned. "Anyway. We shopping or philosophizing?"

They stepped inside. The mall was a hybrid: Runeterran ateliers with shimmering threadwork shared space with 21st-century staples. A Ixtali tailor offered "enchanted hemming in ten minutes," right across from a sneaker wall that looked like a pantheon of foam.

They ducked into a clothing store that somehow sold both bomber jackets and ceremonial capes. Each grabbed an armful and hit the fitting rooms.

Ace came out first and leaned on the mirror's edge like he'd been born under a ring light: black slim jeans, a charcoal tee with a tiny flame icon over the heart, light denim overshirt open at the front, and white low-tops. His freckles popped; his grin did the rest.

Peter cocked a brow. "Influencer-core. Do you do unboxings now or...?"

Artoria circled him, arms folded, pretending to judge like a royal clothier. "Functional. Minimal armor class, maximal swagger. It suits you."

Ace tugged the overshirt hem. "Breathes better than a duster on a lava ship."

Peter disappeared and reemerged in classic Parker casual: blue jeans that had seen things, a soft red hoodie over a navy Midtown-style tee, scuffed high-tops, and his ancient backpack slung one-strap. He pushed his sleeves up, that old quick grin slipping into place.

Ace smirked. "Grandpa sweater speedrun."

Peter pointed at him. "This is heritage."

Artoria's mouth tilted. "It is... familiar. In a comforting way." She thumbed his hoodie. "Sturdy knit, though ill-suited to swordfighting."

"Working on a sword-friendly hoodie next patch."

Artoria hesitated at her curtain, then stepped out wearing Ace's pick: a white cropped tee under a light sage bomber, pleated navy skirt to mid-thigh, white sneakers, hair ribboned back instead of armored. It was simple—unfairly so—and it stole the fluorescent lights for itself.