The First Kryptonian in Marvel

Meanwhile, in a universe far, far away…

Lara (POV)

My eyes snapped open, greeted by an unfamiliar ceiling. Disoriented, I rasped, "What... what's happening?"

Consciousness flickered back in pieces, jagged fragments of memories clicking together like a broken jigsaw. The last thing I remember was facing down Hades, but looking around this place? Definitely not the Land of Shadows. It was a Japanese house, the furniture giving it away. Where the hell was I?

"Rebirth?" I muttered under my breath, struggling to piece together what had happened. Wait a second... The memories clicked into place like mismatched puzzle pieces. "So, I'm Laura Vandervoort now, not Lara. Canadian. Seventeen years old. Seriously?" A dry laugh escaped me. "Hold on... isn't that the actress who played Kara Zor-El on Smallville? Oh, fantastic. This has to be some cosmic comedian's idea of a joke. Not only did I fail to dissipate and disappear like I was supposed to as a clone, but I've been reborn as a fake Kryptonian."

I blinked, my gaze dropping instinctively to the curtain of blonde hair cascading over my chest, two loose strands curling rebelliously by my face. Something flickered in my chest—half self-conscious, half curious anticipation—as I took in the unfamiliar but oddly familiar sight. Rising, I crossed to the nearest reflective surface, a knot of unease and curiosity tangling in my gut.

The mirror didn't disappoint.

Staring back at me was a mane of golden-blonde hair that burned with warm undertones, somewhere between Rebirth Kara's halo and wild, windswept locks. It framed a face with piercing, bright blue eyes that carried an intensity capable of freezing someone mid-lie. My lips—delicate but full, like cherry blossoms in spring—contrasted with a pert, button nose that gave me just the faintest hint of softness.

As my gaze drifted lower, I caught sight of the tight-fitting pajamas still clinging to my form, the fabric strained across my chest, giving me an involuntary reminder of how much my body had changed. Not a girl anymore. Not a child. My mouth curled into a wry grin as I adjusted the strap of the top, aware of the way the material dug into my skin, revealing just a little too much of me for my comfort.

I tilted my head, my brow furrowing as I examined my features more closely. "Okay, so... definitely Laura Vandervoort vibes. But there's something... off. Not wrong, just different," I murmured, squinting slightly.

It was like staring at an alternate version of myself: the same foundations but remodeled with a new architect's flourish. Maybe I was a sibling of my old self. Same DNA, different dimensions.

Stopping my self-admiration felt overdue. Seriously, I'd already lived 17 years as Laura Vandervoort—no need to act like I'd just discovered mirrors. Shaking off the weirdness, I scanned the room until my eyes landed on a backpack. Rummaging through it revealed silk underwear (classy), a school uniform, a wallet, an ID card, and a transfer certificate.

"Uh... right," I muttered, piecing it together as I examined the transfer papers. "I decided to study abroad for a year in Japan of all places. Real original, Laura." My lips quirked into a smirk. "Fujimi Academy, Tokonosu City."

The familiarity hit like a freight train with no brakes. Turning on the computer, I pulled up maps and local cultural guides, my fingers flying over the keyboard. The moment the name Tokonosu City and Fujimi Academy popped up on the screen, a cold knot tightened in my stomach.

"Highschool of the Dead," I murmured, leaning back in my chair as the puzzle pieces snapped together. Vivid yet fragmented memories from a past life tumbled into focus. "Them." The horde. The nightmare. The chaos.

It had been eons since I'd even thought about that anime, and the details were fuzzy at best. But one thing was crystal clear: this wasn't just a bad dream. No use getting hung up on what had already happened or what was coming.

I glanced down at my pajamas, the barely-there fabric straining over my chest, and sighed. "What kind of perv were you, Laura? Or maybe Japan just doesn't stock sizes for women with D-cups."

Peeling off the flimsy material, I grabbed the Fujimi Academy uniform. The skirt was predictably short, like "breathe wrong, and you're giving a free show" short. Tugging it on, I hunted for the stockings to no avail.

"Seriously? No stockings? You expect me to walk around in this mini skirt with bare legs? Did previous me plan to fight zombies—or whatever they're called—dressed like a bad fanservice trope?"

Pausing, I realized she wouldn't have known what was coming. "Fine, I'll cut her some slack this time."

Adjusting the blazer and smoothing the skirt, I stuffed the transfer certificate and wallet into a small bag. A final glance at the map confirmed my route.

Today was my first day as Laura Vandervoort, freshly transferred from Canada.

Just as my hand reached for the door handle, an unwelcome thought froze me in place.

The outbreak.

The when of it all was maddeningly vague in my memories. The original story had danced around specifics, leaving only a nebulous timeline. What if it started right after my transfer? What if it all began today? Just my luck—zombies crashing my first day at school.

I turned on my heel and retraced my steps to the living room. If I was about to walk into an apocalypse, I needed more than a half-baked plan. Tests were in order. Precautions, too.

According to my memories, this body wasn't ordinary. I was two or three times stronger than an athletic girl my age. Nothing Kryptonian-level no solar energy absorption here, unfortunately, but still strong enough to get me banned from sports in Canada—turns out no one wants to play volleyball with a human wrecking ball. On the bright side, that strength had convinced my parents I'd be safe in Japan. Self-defense wouldn't be an issue.

But that thought didn't comfort me as much as it should.

Though I wasn't an energy construct anymore, I still carried over the degraded magic circuits I'd had in my previous life. The magical energy in my body was faint, barely there. Like static on a dead radio station. I sighed, the weight of that realization sinking in.

"Maybe it's something to do with the rules of this universe," I muttered. Whatever the cause, it left me feeling vulnerable. Weak.

Still, I ran a quick diagnostic of my abilities. Shadows? I could still manipulate them, and the shadow dimension was accessible. That was something. Telekinesis? Present, but weak. My control over the elements, including time and space, was there in the faintest capacity, practically a whisper of what it once was. Virtual Substance worked fine, though crafting anything complex—like a sword—would take time I didn't have now.

My gaze landed on the kitchen. I strode in and scanned the room, my eyes locking onto a long, gleaming kitchen knife. It wasn't exactly a katana, but it would have to do. I grabbed it, turning it over in my hand. The steel felt cold and foreign, like a harbinger of what was to come.

"Needs must," I muttered, slipping it into my backpack.

In a world about to be overrun by them, blind faith wasn't an option. Unlike the anime, where the characters always seemed well-stocked and relatively unbothered by the logistics of survival, this was real. Reality didn't come with convenient plot armor or endless resources.

At least I wasn't completely helpless. I had my strength. I had my knife. I had the fragmented remains of my magic, degraded as it was. My arsenal also included firearms proficiency, hand-to-hand combat skills, spearmanship, and swordsmanship. Not exactly superhero material, but enough to give me a fighting chance… hopefully.

Gripping the straps of my backpack, I took a steady breath. The magic I had once relied on so heavily was now a phantom limb, a constant reminder of what I'd lost.

But lamenting what was gone wouldn't help me survive. Survive. Adapt. Endure. That was the mantra now.

Opening the door, I stepped out into the day. As I walked with my map in hand, I remembered a weapon I never bothered using—point to me, reasons were obvious. My scythe, of course. It wouldn't be practical for everyday situations. You don't want "them" to be closer to you at all.

I could rely on my proficiency with firearms, but I needed to find guns or take the time to make one myself. Hand-to-hand combat? The thought of getting up close and personal with "them," running the risk of getting bit—hell no.

Following the map's guidance, I arrived at the nearest supermarket. I quickly grabbed an assortment of non-perishables, stopping only when my meager funds were nearly depleted. In this twisted reality, money held no allure—a useless scrap incapable of even the most mundane task. What good was it if it couldn't provide even basic comfort in the face of the impending chaos?

Finding a secluded alley, I swiftly stashed the provisions within the Shadow dimension. Hailing a taxi, I set off for Fujimi Academy.

…

The prominent chest and alluring curves of this body felt strangely intrusive, the way it drew the attention of everyone around me like a magnetic field. It was a fanservice scene straight out of a shonen anime, the kind where every move you make invites a flood of gawking eyes. "If I were into men, nah, that shit would still be annoying," I thought with a sigh. The taxi driver couldn't help but steal glances at my figure in the rearview mirror.

Uncomfortable, I paid the fare and stepped out, heading towards the school. The campus was eerily quiet, almost abandoned, with most students still in class. I walked toward a student standing by the edge of the playground, his posture slouched as if bored of his own existence.

"Excuse me," I started, addressing him. "Could you tell me where transfer students register?"

The student barely acknowledged me, yawning lazily as he turned his head toward the voice. His eyes lingered on me longer than necessary, a faint blush appearing on his cheeks. In the two years he'd been at Fujimi, he had never seen someone quite like me. His gaze drifted down to my figure before snapping back to my face, his words stumbling over themselves.

"Uh, sorry, you're... um... beautiful. You need to go straight to the principal's office for that. I-I can show you the way if you want?" His voice had that awkward desperation, like a character straight out of a fanservice scene, trying to offer his services to the new hot girl.

"Yeah, just point me in the right direction," I replied with irritation barely masked under my polite smile. I was aware of what this was—his eyes glued to my chest and curves. I was not in the mood for any of this.

With a subdued sigh, he gestured to the principal's office, clearly disappointed that I wasn't as interested as he hoped. After thanking him, I walked off, the boy snapping a few covert photos of me as I turned away. It didn't take long before the photos were uploaded, labeled with an over-excited caption: "Super beauty at Fujimi Academy, must see!!". Of course, it was during class, so the post quickly sank into obscurity with no responses, leaving him to stew in his disappointment as he watched others from the corner of his eye, imagining what could have been.

I reached the principal's office quickly. A stern voice greeted me from within, commanding, "Please, come in."

I opened the door to find the principal seated at his desk, the aura of authority emanating from him. I stepped inside, closed the door with a soft click, and bowed slightly. "Hello, Principal. I'm the new transfer student, Laura Vandervoort. Here's my transfer certificate." I placed the certificate on his desk, my movements precise and deliberate.

The middle-aged man glanced from the certificate to me, his gaze lingering just a bit too long. "Welcome to Fujimi Academy," he said, clearly surprised. "We don't usually get transfers this late in the year."

I gave him a polite smile, my thoughts adrift. There was little I could do about the timing. The real chaos was waiting for us, and this school was just a stop on the way to my real goal.

"Because of your exceptional transfer grades," he continued, "I'll personally escort you to Class 3-A. They're the top class. Your homeroom teacher is Koichi Shido. I trust you'll fit in well."

"Thank you, Principal," I responded, giving him a neutral smile. The name "Koichi Shido" rang a bell in my head. With my experience as a seasoned anime viewer, I immediately knew what kind of person he was—something akin to the scumbag teacher who would surely be problematic down the line. "Looks like I'll have to be on my toes," I thought with a mental eyeroll.

The principal led me down the hallway to Class 3-A. We found Koichi mid-lecture. The classroom went still as he introduced me, causing an undercurrent of whispers and excited murmurs to ripple through the students.

"Hey, why did the teacher get called out?"

"Maybe there's a transfer student? I bet it's a cute girl. I heard it's a beauty transfer season."

"Look, guys, you're all wasting your time. You want a pretty girl in class, but you can't even manage the basics."

"Shut up, man. Just look at this. All the attention's going to her, and I can't even focus on the lesson anymore!"

Koichi, a man used to being surrounded by beautiful women, gave me a quick glance, his eyes gleaming with that dark hunger I immediately recognized. He raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by my looks, but his expression quickly shifted to something more sinister as his smile deepened. I could tell right away this wouldn't be someone I could trust.

"She's in your hands, Koichi," the principal said with a slap on the teacher's shoulder. "Keep an eye on her. She might need guidance." His cryptic look didn't go unnoticed by me.

With a knowing nod, Koichi turned to the class. "Alright, class. We have a new transfer student today. Let's give her a warm welcome. Laura Vandervoort, come on in."

As I stepped through the door, every eye in the class was on me, scanning from head to toe. My uniform clung to my body, emphasizing curves that I knew wouldn't go unnoticed. My bangs partially hid my face, creating a sense of mystery, but the excitement in the room told me I was already a topic of conversation.

"Her legs—damn..."

"Her skin's flawless!"

"She looks like one of those rich heiresses. This is too much."

"She's transferring in the third year? What's going on here?"

I walked toward the blackboard with deliberate steps, the whispers growing louder as I wrote my name. The moment was becoming less about introductions and more about the spectacle I had become. I couldn't care less. They were all clueless about what was coming.

"Hello, everyone," I said, my voice smooth and calm, hiding the irritation I felt from the attention. "My name is Laura Vandervoort. I look forward to our future interactions." A polite bow, followed by a smile, and I could already feel their eager eyes lingering on me, as if I were some celebrity stepping into their mundane lives.

Koichi gave me a seat by the window in the second row, his gaze lingering on me just a moment longer than it should have. As I sat down, I could hear the students' whispers swelling. They couldn't stop talking about me, the new girl with the mysterious aura.

"She's like a goddess. Who does she think she is?"

"I wonder if she's from some famous family. Her etiquette... it's on another level."

I leaned back in my seat, feeling the eyes on me from all directions. I couldn't help but catch a few boys staring, their phones out, sneakily snapping pictures. "Let them," I thought, letting a bit of frustration slip into my internal monologue. "They're about to be the least of my worries."

Just as I tried to focus on my next move, the dismissal bell rang, signaling the end of the class. Before I could gather my things, a swarm of girls surrounded me, asking questions I had no interest in answering.

"Vandervoort, what's your skincare secret?"

"Are you, like, some kind of princess?"

"Can we be friends? I'll help you with anything!"

The guys, who had once been so bold in their stares, now seemed frozen in place, unsure of how to act in the face of overwhelming feminine energy. They muttered amongst themselves, clearly frustrated by their inability to approach me.

The attention was suffocating. I was the center of some unintentional spectacle, and none of them knew that their "youthful enthusiasm" wouldn't matter when the "Them" Apocalypse was upon us.

I kept my surprise in check and did what I do best—put on the mask. Smiling, I answered their barrage of questions, each word perfectly measured to deflect suspicion and maintain their fascination. My voice carried a melody of politeness, weaving a delicate web of charm that only seemed to draw them closer. But beneath the surface, unease coiled tightly in my chest. This wasn't part of the plan. The attention, while flattering, was counterproductive. So much for blending in.

As the girls around me giggled and gushed, the rumor mill roared to life. Whispers of "the goddess-like transfer student from 3-A" spread like wildfire, and curious faces from other classrooms began crowding the windows for a glimpse. The weight of their stares pressed against me, suffocating in its intensity. Every movement felt like a performance, one I hadn't auditioned for.

Thankfully, my late arrival meant I'd dodged the club recruitment frenzy, giving me the perfect excuse to slot into the "Go-Home Club." With a few well-placed smiles and polite nods, I maneuvered through the crowd, my true feelings buried beneath a carefully constructed façade. My mind had already shifted to more important matters—finding the protagonist's group and calculating my next move.

Across the courtyard, Takashi Komuro leaned against the railing, his expression unreadable as he watched the spectacle. His friend, Inoue, stood beside him, nudging him with a sly grin.

"Hey, Takashi! Check it out! They say she's the transfer student from 3-A. Gorgeous, right? And supposedly has this glamorous background to match!" Inoue's excitement was palpable.

Takashi glanced in my direction briefly but said nothing. His gaze flickered to Rei, who stood a few steps away, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"So what? A pretty face? Get over it, Inoue," Rei snapped, her tone sharper than usual. She grabbed his ear with practiced precision and tugged him forward. "Eyes forward, idiot!"

"Ow, ow, I give up! I wasn't even staring that hard!" Inoue whined, rubbing his ear as Rei released him. "You're so scary when you're jealous, Rei."

Takashi's jaw tightened as he watched their playful banter. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the knuckles whitening with the force of his grip. He'd told himself countless times that Rei's happiness mattered most, but watching her with Inoue stirred something dark and bitter inside him. A dull ache radiated through his chest—a familiar weight he'd learned to carry.

Rei had been his everything once. They'd promised each other forever under the canopy of their childhood innocence. That promise was supposed to mean something. Yet here she was, laughing with someone else, as if their shared history had been nothing more than a fleeting moment.

Takashi's expression darkened as he tore his gaze away. Without a word, he turned and walked off, leaving the oblivious pair behind. By the time he reached his room, his movements were heavy, deliberate. He slammed the door shut, the sound reverberating through the empty house.

Alone in the dim sanctuary of his room, he threw himself onto the bed, burying his face in the pillow. The quiet magnified the storm raging in his mind, memories crashing against him like relentless waves. He thought of her laughter, the way she used to look at him, and the promise that had once been their anchor.

The ache in his chest burned hotter, spilling over into a whispered accusation. "Why, Rei? Why him?" His voice cracked, raw with unspoken pain. He squeezed his eyes shut, a single tear sliding down his cheek. In the safety of his room, there was no one to witness the weakness he refused to show the world.

But self-pity offered no answers. With a frustrated groan, he sat up and rubbed his face. "I'll win her back," he muttered, the words barely audible. The resolve in his voice wavered, and as quickly as it had come, it faded, leaving only a sense of helplessness. He had no plan, no idea how to reclaim what had been lost.

The faint call of his mother broke through the oppressive silence, pulling him from his thoughts. With a sigh, he stood and shuffled to the door, pausing only to glance at the neatly framed photo on his desk—a snapshot of better times. The bond he'd shared with Rei felt like a lifetime ago, and as much as he wanted to mend it, the path forward remained shrouded in uncertainty.