Marvel's Strongest Mage

The fall semester had officially begun at Imperial University, and Daniel had spent the better part of the morning buried in errands. By the time noon hit, most of the logistics were out of the way.

Two major tasks had taken priority.

First, identity verification.

Thankfully, Daniel had already purchased a property nearby in advance, so instead of wrestling with bureaucracy for days like a normal foreign student, he'd secured a green card without breaking a sweat. The average person would've needed weeks. Daniel needed a wire transfer and a phone call.

Second, insurance.

Student visas came with their own set of restrictions, and insurance was one of the biggest drains for international students. But again, money made problems disappear.

Imperial University wasn't just any school. It was one of the most prestigious institutions in the United States—hell, in the world. Every year, thousands of the brightest minds clawed their way in.

Daniel didn't claw. He bought his way in.

His sudden admission and expedited documentation were all thanks to the right hands being greased, and behind those hands, the Bakshi family.

Sunil Bakshi, in particular, had proven to be a valuable asset. Efficient. Discreet. And ambitious.

A lot had changed since Daniel's last meeting with Justina. Days had passed, but headlines were already shifting.

As the biggest story was… Ivan Vanko wasn't dead.

The news exploded across every media outlet like wildfire. In a matter of hours, federal agencies redirected their attention, scrambling to locate him. Task forces were mobilized. Search operations reignited.

It was chaos.

For Justin Hammer, it was a miracle.

Vanko's alleged death had left Hammer holding the bag. He was supposed to take the fall, especially since he'd brought Vanko into the country in the first place. That was the prosecution's entire strategy: bury Hammer before the press could ask too many questions.

But now, with Vanko alive and on the loose, Hammer's case was suddenly… less urgent.

Iron Man—Stark—was the first to doubt Vanko's death. Despite the explosion, despite the injuries Vanko sustained in their battle, something hadn't sat right with Tony. He and Colonel Rhodes had both seen the detonation, but not the body.

Officially, one of the corpses found at the scene matched Vanko's identity.

And yet… here he was again.

Footage surfaced. Blurry surveillance from a New Jersey ATM camera. It showed a man—tall, limping slightly, wearing scavenged gear—loading something into the back of a van.

It wasn't crystal clear, but facial recognition gave a 79% match: Ivan Vanko.

And more disturbingly, the man had been spotted during the hijacking of a shipment at the Port of New Jersey.

A shipment belonging to none other than Wilson Fisk.

Kingpin.

Fisk, of course, would never admit to having his goods stolen, especially not millions of dollars' worth of contraband. But his media arms wasted no time. Within hours of the heist, stories began to circulate:

"Vanko Spotted Alive."

"Fugitive Armed and Dangerous."

"Links to Terror Cell Suspected."

It wasn't hard to connect the dots.

Fisk's pride had been bruised. And rather than retaliate openly, he used the press as a weapon. The authorities did the rest.

Even so, Daniel didn't buy the surface narrative.

Fisk's most trusted lieutenants had confirmed seeing Vanko at the port. But everything else was foggy. Conflicting reports. Dead ends. Nothing definitive.

But the surveillance footage had been confirmed by independent sources. Jarvis himself had analyzed it, but even Stark's AI couldn't enhance it beyond the grainy resolution. Someone had tampered with the digital trail.

That, more than anything, raised red flags.

Still, it worked.

Vanko's reappearance had pulled attention away from Hammer's trial. Media outlets refocused on the threat. The public grew restless. And pressure on Justina and her father suddenly loosened.

If it were before she met Daniel, Justina might've genuinely believed Vanko was alive.

But now, she suspected otherwise.

Things had shifted quietly, but unmistakably. The White House's involvement had dulled. The military's tone had softened. Even the prosecutors started posturing more than pressing.

Daniel hadn't just helped.

He'd orchestrated a change in narrative.

But this was only the beginning. While Justina regained her footing, Daniel moved forward with his true agenda, uninterrupted.

Sunil Bakshi had been waiting like a vulture. Once Hammer Industries' stock began to crash, he started buying. Slowly at first. Then in large blocks. Even with Vanko's sudden "resurrection," the stock hadn't recovered. Not truly.

Bakshi's strategy was clear: let the public nibble first, then swallow the rest.

Daniel didn't interfere.

He didn't lift a finger to stop him.

Whether Justina survived this fire or burned in it wasn't his concern anymore. He'd given her a chance. If she proved capable, she could earn a future. If not, she'd be discarded.

Daniel didn't need sycophants.

He needed builders.

Bakshi was one. He needed more.

Despite owning an off-campus home, Imperial University's housing policy for freshmen was strict. Daniel was technically 18 according to his forged records, which meant one thing. He was required to live in student dorms.

Whether he actually slept there was a separate issue. But a keycard, a name on the roll, and occasional appearances were mandatory.

The dorm itself was clean and modern, better than most. Two-man rooms, fully furnished. Daniel arrived to find his side of the room already prepped. Textbooks stashed. Desk clean. Not bad.

Still, there were some adjustments.

No hot water dispensers. Americans didn't seem to drink tea or boiled water much. If he wanted hot drinks, he'd need to buy his own kettle.

That's what brought him to the door now, he was headed to the campus supply store.

Just as he opened it, the door across the hall swung open too.

A guy and a girl stepped out.

Daniel paused.

They looked similar, olive skin, dark hair, Latin-American features.

The guy smiled and stepped forward. "Hey, you new?"

"I'm Van Gonzalez. Second year. Guess we're roommates."

He gestured to the girl beside him. "This is my sister, Michelle. Her dorm's across the hall."

Michelle smiled politely. She was striking—not in an exaggerated way, but naturally attractive. Smooth complexion, toned frame. Confident without trying.

"Daniel," he said. "From the Netherlands. First year."

"Michelle Gonzalez. Freshman. Computer science."

Daniel shook their hands, exchanging pleasantries.

"I'm studying bioengineering," he added.

"Economics, for me," Van said. "Looks like we're all scattered across departments."

He laughed. "Means no one's waking anyone else up for class. By the way, we were heading to lunch. You want to join us? We can show you around the dining halls."

Daniel hesitated—but only briefly.

"…Sure. Appreciate it."

Normally, he wouldn't bother. But blending in was important. His fake profile said he was barely eighteen. At least a dozen agencies had eyes on him—some covert, some less so. Making friends, laughing, even being seen walking around campus served a purpose.

Besides, Michelle's presence didn't hurt.

Van chatted enthusiastically on the way to the cafeteria. Michelle stayed quiet, but attentive. Daniel listened, playing the part of a curious freshman. Van was open, maybe… too open. He didn't strike Daniel as a threat, more like an extrovert trying too hard.

Still, he had some pull. The fact that Michelle's dorm was conveniently placed showed he knew how to grease the right palms.

They reached the cafeteria and settled into a table.

That's when Daniel's senses tingled.

A couple slid into the booth beside them.

"…Mary Jane, this place is where I'll be for the next few years. Isn't it nice?" the guy said with a nervous grin.

Daniel turned his head slightly, just enough to see.

That voice.

A bit too soft. But oddly familiar.

The girl across from him—long red hair, mischievous smirk.

Mary Jane?

Daniel's attention zeroed in on the boy.

Average build. The sweater was too big. But beneath the awkward demeanor… power radiated just below the surface.

Daniel narrowed his eyes.

Peter Parker.

So… Spider-Man was already here.

The multiverse, it seemed, was intent on throwing every chess piece onto the same board.

Iron Man. Hulk. Widow. Now Spider-Man.

And Odin only knew who was next.

"Parker," Mary Jane teased, rolling her eyes. "I've been to Imperial a dozen times. I know it better than you. And anyway, are you even enrolled here?"

She wasn't wrong.

Mary Jane wasn't a student here—she was attending a nearby performing arts school. Semi-famous, if only online. A few viral comedy skits. A theater credit or two.

Still small-time.

Peter grumbled something, but quickly shut up. "Let's just eat. Harry'll be here soon."

Daniel looked away before the boy noticed. He kept his aura tightly sealed, enough to avoid triggering the infamous spider-sense.

But the pieces were aligning.

Harry Osborn. Norman Osborn. The Green Goblin. Doctor Connors was already in custody. The Goblin's shadow loomed. Reports of sightings were already appearing in tabloid rags.

Daniel had read the files.

The storm was coming.

Kingpin was watching. Goblin was stirring. The streets would soon run red.

And Him standing at the center of it all.