Morning poured gold across New York, and the city answered like it had been waiting its whole life for this exact sunrise.
Banners stretched across avenues, draped from skyscrapers, wrapped around streetlights. Every screen, every billboard, every corner of Manhattan echoed the same message: today, Noah Vale would take the throne.
The ceremony site stood at the heart of the city. What had once been a dense cluster of buildings had been cleared and rebuilt in record time. In just ten days, with an absurd mix of manpower, cutting-edge tech, and relentless coordination, a colossal structure had risen from the ground. A towering ceremonial platform, its staircase climbing skyward like it was trying to punch a hole through the clouds.
Leaders from every major region had arrived days in advance, settling into New York just to witness this moment firsthand. Now, their motorcades moved in sleek black lines toward the platform, engines purring in quiet formation.
Above them, authorized news helicopters circled like patient vultures, cameras locked in. Every major network on the planet was broadcasting live.
Every detail had been curated. Even the official portrait of Noah had been chosen through a global selection process. The final image—sharp, imposing, almost mythic—was plastered across the city.
And hidden in plain sight, agents occupied rooftops and windows, watching everything. No one wanted surprises today.
—
In a quiet room far removed from the spectacle, Noah lay in bed, arms wrapped around a girl who didn't seem in any hurry to let him go.
She pressed closer, reluctant to break the moment. "Noah… you should get up. Today's kind of important."
"Mhm." His voice was muffled, face buried comfortably against her. "Give me a minute. I can be there in three seconds."
He didn't move.
A few minutes passed like that, stretched in lazy defiance of history.
Eventually, he sighed and sat up, letting her help him into his clothes. The outfit waiting for him was ceremonial, but practical. Elegant without being overdone.
"I'll head out first," he said.
She nodded.
The next instant, he was gone.
—
Mid-flight, something tugged at his attention.
A scream. Faint, distant. A few kilometers away.
Noah tilted his head slightly, then changed direction without hesitation.
Of all days.
—
In a narrow alley, a man held a knife to a woman's throat, his voice low and threatening. "Don't move. Just—"
He never finished the sentence.
A thunderous impact cut him off.
For a fraction of a second, there was a man.
Then there wasn't.
The alley was painted in red.
The woman stood frozen, blood splattered across her, her mind struggling to process what had just happened.
Noah didn't linger.
—
By the time agents arrived minutes later, all they found was the aftermath. They exchanged looks but said nothing.
There was nothing to say.
—
Back at the ceremony site, Noah appeared again, now fully dressed for the occasion.
The moment he arrived, the atmosphere shifted. Conversations stalled. People instinctively gravitated toward him, like iron filings snapping into place around a magnet.
"Everything under control?" Noah asked.
"Completely," said Tony Stark, sounding unusually serious. "We spent all of yesterday cleaning house. Anyone who might've caused trouble… they're gone."
Noah gave a small nod.
Then, with a flick of thought, he reached into the Interdimensional Chatroom and sent out an invitation.
Five figures appeared beside him.
"Hey! Good morning!" Kana Kimishima chirped, stepping forward first.
"Mr. Vale, it's been a while," said The Exorcist, dressed noticeably better than the last time Noah had seen him.
Master Ronin chuckled. "Feels like we should be calling you 'Your Majesty' now."
Noah waved it off. "Relax. Just use my name."
Nearby, Sasuke Uchiha scanned the surroundings, his expression sharp with curiosity. The sheer scale of everything clearly caught his attention.
The group chatted naturally, but the people around them weren't nearly as comfortable.
They stared.
Not at Noah—but at the five strangers casually talking to him like equals.
Kana leaned in slightly. "Why is everyone looking at us like that?"
Noah didn't even glance around. "Ignore it. Today's a celebration. Just enjoy yourselves."
He knew exactly why.
No one could understand how these people could stand beside him without fear.
—
Noah turned to Sasuke. "So. Have you made your decision?"
Sasuke didn't hesitate. "Yes."
His voice was steady.
"For my clan… Itachi has to die."
A pause.
"And the others… the ones he killed…" His gaze hardened. "When I'm strong enough, I'll bring them back."
Noah studied him for a moment, then smiled faintly. "Sounds like you've made peace with it."
He continued, "The book I sent. How's that spreading?"
Sasuke exhaled slowly. "It's everywhere. People are talking about it nonstop. Some believe it. Some don't. But everyone's seen it."
He hesitated.
"And… I'm being watched. Constantly."
Noah nodded, unsurprised.
At this rate, the entire world Sasuke came from would soon know its own future.
"Good," Noah said. "I'll stop by your world in a few days."
—
A sudden crash cut through the conversation.
A server had tripped nearby, sending a tray of glassware shattering across the ground.
The sound echoed.
And just like that, the air turned brittle.
Every official, every guest—including Stark—went pale.
No one moved.
No one breathed.
The server lay there, shaking, clearly expecting the worst.
Noah glanced over.
For a second, silence stretched thin.
Then he smiled.
"Did you get hurt?" he asked casually. "Be more careful next time."
He gestured lightly. "Get him checked out. No need to make a big deal out of it."
The tension snapped.
People exhaled almost in unison.
The server was quickly helped away, still trembling, but unharmed.
—
Soon after, the ceremony began in earnest.
One by one, representatives stepped forward, presenting gifts from their respective regions. Each offering was announced with theatrical precision, each more extravagant than the last.
But none of it really mattered.
All eyes were on Noah.
—
At last, he moved.
Step by step, he ascended the staircase.
Nine hundred and ninety-nine steps.
Each one deliberate.
Each one watched by billions.
There were no rituals. No bows. No prayers to higher powers.
Noah didn't kneel.
He didn't need to.
At the summit, he turned to face the world.
Cameras locked onto him. Satellites tracked him. Every screen, every device, every eye—fixed.
He spread his arms.
And spoke.
"I am the king of this world."
—
And just like that, history tilted onto a new axis.