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A Rider Kick in Marvel Rewrite Vol 2 Ch 2
🕑 Added 2025-05-14 14:35:23 +0000 UTCAmi guides Ace through the intricacies of Starry, demonstrating the espresso machine, explaining the different coffee blends, and even sharing the secret recipe for their signature "Cosmic Latte." Ace proves to be a quick learner, picking up the techniques with surprising ease. The cafe slowly transforms from a quiet space into an inviting haven.
A few hours pass in a blur of coffee grounds and milk frothing. As the afternoon sun begins to dip, the bell above the door CHIMES again, signaling the arrival of Starry's regulars.
"Ami-chan!" a voice calls out.
Ace turns to see three men enter. One is tall and lanky, wearing a bright yellow suit that seems a little too flamboyant. Another is stocky, with a neatly trimmed beard and a serious expression. The third sports a cowboy hat and a bolo tie.
"Welcome, welcome!" Ami beams, her face lighting up. "Just in time for your usual afternoon pick-me-up. How's everyone doing today?"
"Ready for my usual cosmic concoction, Ami-chan!" the flamboyant one exclaims, striking a pose. "Though, I see we have a new face behind the counter. Who's the newbie?"
Ami giggles. "Everyone, this is Ace. He's our new barista. Ace, meet Ozaki, Miura, and Montana – the Starry regulars."
Ace bows slightly, offering a polite smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you all. I'm Ace, and I'll be working here at Starry."
The regulars exchange glances, a flicker of suspicion in their eyes. Ozaki, the flamboyant one, eyes Ace up and down. "Ami-chan, you sure about this? A young whippersnapper behind the counter? We wouldn't want you getting overworked, now."
Miura, the stocky one, nods in agreement. "Yes, Ami. Is everything alright? It is not like you to hire a boy. It would have been different if you hired a girl. This is a bit sudden."
Montana, the cowboy, tips his hat. "Seems like you're taking on a lot, darlin'. You sure you can handle it?"
Ami smiles warmly. "Oh, don't worry about me. Ace is a big help. And he's also staying in the spare room upstairs."
The regulars' eyes widen, a collective gasp escaping their lips. Ozaki's flamboyant smile falters, Miura's serious expression deepens into a scowl, and Montana's hand tightens on his hat.
"Staying here?" Ozaki sputters. "Ami-chan, are you sure about this? I have been bringing you gifts from around the world, how could you do this?"
"Yeah, Ami. What's going on? I have been cleansing this cafe so it is free of bad spirits, how could you do this?" Miura asks.
"Darlin', you know I care about you, how could you do this?" Montana adds.
Ace raises an eyebrow, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. They don't like me.
Ami notices their unease, but remains unfazed. "Now, now, everyone. There's nothing to worry about. Ace is a kind person, and he needed a place to stay. Besides," she says, clapping her hands together, "since you're all here, it's the perfect opportunity to teach him how to brew our special blend."
Ami grabs a bag of coffee beans and turns to Ace. "Alright, Ace, let's get you started on the brewing process. This is where the magic happens." She winks, completely oblivious to the tension radiating from the regulars. "First, you gotta grind the beans just right..."
Ami's enthusiasm fills the small space as she explains the precise art of grinding the Starry blend. Ace listens intently, his focus unwavering as he absorbs every detail. The regulars, however, remain fixated on him, their gazes sharp and scrutinizing.
"See, you want a coarse grind for the French press," Ami explains, holding up a handful of the freshly ground beans. "And a finer grind for the espresso machine. It's all about extracting the perfect flavor."
With a practiced hand, Ami guides Ace through the process, showing him how to tamp the grounds, adjust the water temperature, and time the extraction. Ace mimics her movements, his brow furrowed in concentration. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, a comforting scent that momentarily softens the tension.
Once the coffee is ready, Ami pours the regulars their usual drinks. "Here you go, everyone. Ozaki, your triple-shot espresso. Miura, your herbal blend with a sprinkle of cosmic dust. Montana, your black coffee, strong as the Wild West."
The regulars accept their drinks, their eyes still fixed on Ace. They take tentative sips, their expressions unreadable.
"Passable," Ozaki finally concedes, swirling the espresso in his cup.
"Acceptable," Miura murmurs, closing his eyes as if searching for spiritual validation.
"Not bad, kid," Montana grunts, taking a long swig.
Ace ignores their judgment, focusing on Ami's instructions. He steams milk, froths foam, and learns to create latte art, his movements becoming smoother with each attempt.
As the afternoon progresses, more customers trickle into Starry. Among them are several young women, their eyes widening as they take in the sight of Ace behind the counter. His lean frame, sharp features, and focused demeanor exude an undeniable charm. They giggle amongst themselves, whispering about the new barista.
One of the women approaches the counter, her cheeks flushed. "Hi," she stammers, "I'll have a caramel macchiato, please."
Ace smiles warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Coming right up."
As Ace prepares the drink, the women watch him with undisguised admiration. They whisper excitedly, marveling at the combination of Ace's good looks and Ami's gentle beauty. The scene, they decide, looks like a beautiful painting – a perfect blend of charm and warmth. The combination of Ace and Ami in the cafe created a mesmerizing atmosphere, making the customers feel like they were in a world of their own.
As the last customer strolled out, the evening sun painting long shadows across the café, Ami sighed contentedly. "Wow, Ace, that was quite the day! I haven't seen this many customers in ages. Maybe you're our lucky charm?" She beams, her eyes sparkling with genuine appreciation.
Ace shrugs, a faint blush rising on his cheeks. Lucky charm? I just made coffee. "I didn't do much, Ami. Your food and drinks are amazing. That's why people come here."
Ami giggles, playfully nudging his shoulder. "Oh, stop it, you flatterer! But thank you, Ace." She sobers up, her gaze sincere. "Really, though, thank you for your help today. It meant a lot."
"Anytime," Ace replies, returning her smile.
With a shared sense of purpose, they begin the closing routine. Ace wipes down the counters, meticulously polishing the espresso machine, while Ami restocks supplies and sweeps the floor. Their movements are synchronized, a silent dance of efficiency born from shared effort.
Once the café gleams, they head to the small kitchen, where Ami prepares a simple but hearty dinner of rice and miso soup. As they eat, they chat about the day, sharing stories and observations. The regulars, Ami admits, are a bit eccentric, but they’re ultimately good people. Ace listens intently, piecing together the intricate social fabric of Starry.
After dinner, their bellies full and their hearts content, they stand at the foot of the staircase. "Well, goodnight, Ace," Ami says, her voice warm. "Sleep well."
"Goodnight, Ami," Ace replies, a genuine smile gracing his lips. "Thank you again for everything."
He watches as Ami climbs the stairs, her silhouette disappearing into the soft glow of the upstairs hallway. Turning, Ace heads to his room, a small but cozy space tucked away at the back of the café. He shuts the door, a sense of gratitude washing over him.
The room is sparsely furnished, but clean and comfortable. A small bed sits against one wall, covered in a patchwork quilt. A wooden desk occupies the corner, a lone lamp casting a pool of warm light. Ace sighs, feeling exhaustion creeping in.
He changes into a simple t-shirt and pants, then sits on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. His mind drifts back to the events of the day, the chaotic arrival in this new world, the chance encounter with Ami, the subtle hostility of the Starry regulars. It was a long day and now Ace wants to rest up before he makes any moves in this world.
Ace lies back on the bed, the soft mattress a welcome change from his usual travels. Dai-Shocker, he thinks, his mind drifting back to his mission. He needs to find out what they’re planning in this world. This is the world of My Hero Academia, he knows, but his knowledge is limited. He only watched the first two seasons of the show.
What could Dai-Shocker be after here? he wonders. Do they want Quirks? Or something else entirely? The thought sends a shiver down his spine. He knows Dai-Shocker well enough to know that whatever they are planning, it can't be good.
Ace decides he needs to investigate, explore the city, and gather intel. But that can wait. It’s been a long day, and his body aches for rest. He’ll start fresh in a few days.
With a final, determined thought, Ace reaches over and flicks off the lamp. The room plunges into darkness, the sounds of the city fading into a distant hum. Sleep comes quickly, a welcome oblivion after a day of constant surprises.
The clock strikes 2:00 AM. Under the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp, a lone figure stumbles through the alleyways of Musutafu. The man, reeking of cheap sake, wears a hard hat and a faded construction vest—a uniform now rumpled and stained. He kicks an empty can down the street.
"Damn it, Tanaka," the drunk man slurs, his voice echoing off the brick walls. "Treatin' us like dogs! No respect, no nothin'!"
He pulls out another bottle from his vest, the glass clinking against metal. He gulps down the remaining liquid, the alcohol burning its way down his throat.
"Workin' us overtime, payin' peanuts... Damn Tanaka and his fancy suits!" He throws the empty bottle, [CRASH].
Unseen, a small orb of light floats through the sky. It pulsates gently, as if searching for something. The light dips and weaves through the alleyways. Drawn by the drunk man's frustration and anger, the orb veers toward him, accelerating rapidly. The drunk man doesn't notice.
Suddenly, the orb slams into him. The drunk man coughs and chokes.
"What the—"
A strange sensation washes over him. His skin tingles, and a gritty feeling spreads through his veins. He feels heavier, grounded, yet lighter, as if a part of him floats away. Sand begins to pour out of his pores, cascading onto the grimy pavement. Piles of sand accumulate around him.
"What's happenin' to me?" He cries, fear replacing the alcohol-induced haze.
The sand rises, taking form. From the ground, a torso emerges, sculpted from coarse grains. The figure is muscular, and menacing. Above it, separated by a gap of swirling sand, floats a pair of legs, kicking and churning as if swimming through air.
"W-What is this?!" The drunk man backs away, tripping over a pile of his own spilled sand.
The sand figure speaks, its voice a deep rumble that resonates through the alley.
"What is your wish…?"
Comments
T.0.PA.CI.0
Perhaps they want All for One itself?
