SWNOVELXO Chapter 9: The Starting Line
Levi stepped out of the bank, sunlight catching on the freshly minted card in his hand. His name gleamed against the sleek plastic. It felt surreal, holding the tangible proof of his existence in this world.
One week. That's all it had taken to go from a ghost to an upstanding member of society with a name, a bank account, and a balance that could fund a few lifetimes for the average Joe. Levi's gaze snagged on a reflection in the bank's polished glass door. For a moment, he didn't register it as his own.
The guy staring back had shoulders that filled out his jacket like he was auditioning for a sportswear catalog. His arms, once a bit reedy, now flexed like coiled steel cable. His jawline seemed sharper, his skin clearer. Even his posture carried a loose, almost predatory ease. He'd come a long way from a week's worth of relentless training at Fogwell's Gym. The System really was a proper cheat.
Move over, Hemsworth. Levi smirked and adjusted his jacket. There's a new heartthrob in the MCU. AL, can you show my character sheet?
[Status]
> Host is near peak human athletic performance, with optimized strength, reflexes, endurance, and recovery.
> Enhanced resilience and efficiency ensure exceptional physical and neural precision, supported by advanced thermoregulation and metabolic stability.
> Sustained high performance requires elevated caloric intake.
Damn, Gina! This is exactly why you never skip leg days.
Shaking himself free of his action-hero daydream, Levi tucked the card into his wallet. His fingers brushed against the deposit slip—millions, perfectly laundered and wrapped up in a bow by Felicia and Jessica. The System was great, but he had to admit: money laundering and fake backstories were a close second. He was so thankful for inheriting Aunt Pearl's fortune.
Now I'm a man in finance. Trust fund. Blue eyes... 5'11". AL, pump some points into my height stat.
[Observation]
> Host will always be 5'11" on the inside.
> Suggest not using newfound wealth in typical mammalian mating rituals.
Relax, AL. I'm not interested in sifting through gold diggers. I'll let my natural charm and animal magnetism do all the work.
[Encouragement]
> Statistically, at least one female meatbag with defective judgment should find host acceptable.
Oh please, AL. I had no trouble wooing the finest gal this side of the Mason-Dixon line in my old world.
Levi paused, the thought of her catching him off-guard. For a fleeting moment, her laugh echoed in his mind—free and unrestrained, a burst of joy that chased away shadows and filled the room with light. It glowed in the dark corners of his memory, as vivid and untamed as the day he first heard it. The weight of what he'd lost pressed down on his chest, sharp and unyielding, but he shook it off with a smirk. Best not to linger on what's gone, he'd promised her to never stop moving forward.
He pulled out his burner phone, scrolling through his contacts. His thumb hovered over another number, one he'd written down days ago, knowing it would come in handy. Nelson & Murdock.
"Time to start wading through the red tape," Levi muttered, dialing the number.
"Nelson & Murdock, Attorneys at Law," a chipper voice answered.
"Hi, this is Levi Wilder. I'd like to set up an appointment to establish a business entity."
A brief pause, then: "Mr. Nelson has some availability this afternoon. Would that work?"
"Perfect. I'll wear a rose in my lapel so you recognize me," Levi said with a grin.
The receptionist chuckled. "Noted. See you then."
Levi ended the call and slipped the phone into his pocket, glancing up at the skyline.
Now, only the IRS and form SS-4 stand between us and the foundation of our grand Empire.
[Definition]
> Bureaucracy: A self-replicating organism of man's own making, eroding efficiency to sustain its growth.
Indeed, Sancho. Let us commence with the windmill tilting!
Levi smirked, heading toward the curb to hail a cab. Two weeks since he was dropped unceremoniously into another universe. One week since he was bleeding out in an abandoned tenement. Now he was more jacked than the Old Spice man, and starting a trading firm.
Well, well, well, how the turntables…
---
Levi stepped into the office of Nelson & Murdock, greeted by the hum of a box fan and the comforting scent of coffee and ink. It wasn't sleek, but it had a kind of charm, like a hobbit hole stuffed full of legal documents. Behind a desk stacked with files and a steaming mug of coffee sat Foggy Nelson, offering a smile that was surprisingly warm for someone knee-deep in paperwork.
Foggy stood and extended a hand. "Levi Wilder, right? Welcome. I'm Foggy Nelson."
Levi shook his hand, smiling back. "In the flesh. Appreciate you squeezing me in."
"No problem. You're looking to set up an LLC?" Foggy gestured to a chair.
"Yeah, something simple and quick. I must share my financial genius with the world," Levi said, sliding into the seat. "I want to keep the IRS happy and the paperwork minimal."
Foggy chuckled, opening a folder. "Single-member LLC, tied to your trading activities—no shareholders, no board, just you. After that, you'll need a business bank account to keep everything separate."
"So, this keeps everything legit?" Levi asked. "No surprises down the road?"
"It does the job," Foggy replied, sliding a few pages across the desk. "But surprises? That depends on how clean you keep things. No mixing funds, no skipping filings. Do things by the book and you won't have any issues."
"Fair enough," Levi said, glancing at the documents. "What about scaling this up? Real estate, employees, micronation. You know, baby steps."
"If you're thinking big," Foggy said, leaning back slightly, "you'll need someone to handle compliance, contracts, and filings. That's when you'd want to look into keeping someone on retainer. Keeps them available whenever you need."
Levi tilted his head. "Let's say I keep you on call. What's that look like?"
"Depends on the workload," Foggy said. "For regular filings and quick advice, maybe ten grand a month. Bigger projects or litigation are extra."
Levi considered that, signing the papers Foggy had pushed across the desk. "Wilder Ventures, huh? Has a nice ring to it."
Foggy chuckled as he gathered the documents. "It does. You'll have your certificate and EIN by the end of the week. After that, you're all set."
As Levi stood, Foggy leaned back, an easy grin on his face. "You're the kind of client we like. You pay your bills. Most of the folks we help aren't so lucky."
"Pro bono cases?" Levi asked, quirking an eyebrow.
"Plenty," Foggy said. "Matt, my partner, he's got a soft spot for lost causes. Tenants being evicted, small businesses being squeezed. It's the right thing to do, but sometimes it feels like bailing out the ocean with a teacup."
Levi smirked faintly. "Hell's Kitchen must keep you busy."
Foggy's expression darkened for a moment, just a flicker of something heavier. "You have no idea. A lot of the folks we help aren't just fighting landlords—they're up against… well, people with influence. You'd be surprised how many doors slam shut when you try to do the right thing."
Levi tucked that note away, his grin dimming as Foggy's meaning sank in. People with influence, huh? In this neighborhood? That has to be Fisk. Who else has the reach to lock down Hell's Kitchen so thoroughly?
Levi glanced over at Foggy, his brow still creased as he thought of numerous cases. Foggy wasn't the sharks in a suit or soulless paper pusher Levi expected of a big city lawyer. He wasn't getting fat off the teat of these big money interests. Instead, he was in the trenches, fighting the good fight: A hopeless battle that paid little for the toll it took.
"Well," Levi said, extending a hand again, "if this LLC holds up, maybe we'll talk about scaling. I might need a lawyer like you. Until then, good luck keeping those lights on."
Foggy shook his hand, chuckling. "I'll hold you to that."
Levi stepped out onto the streets of Hell's Kitchen, slipping his hands into his pockets. Wilder Ventures was officially on its way, but Foggy's words stuck with him. Fisk wasn't just running the city's shadow economy. He was landlord, creditor, and enforcer. He owned the streets and held the neighborhood in a chokehold. There weren't many Nelsons and Murdocks to push back.
That would have to change. Even if I have to change it myself.
---
Levi leaned casually against the brick wall outside the first property, scrolling through his phone while AL's voice hummed faintly in his mind.
[Commentary]
> Search for residence has begun.
> Calculating probability of host developing taste: negligible.
"Good to know you're optimistic, AL," Levi muttered under his breath, slipping his phone back into his pocket as a black sedan pulled up to the curb.
Before the realtor could step out, another figure caught his attention. Platinum hair gleamed in the sunlight, and the confident sway of her stride was unmistakable even without the mask. Felicia Hardy, unmasked and unapologetic, stopped a few feet away, her smirk as sharp as ever.
"Well, well," she said, crossing her arms and tilting her head. "Mr. Wilder, going domestic? What's next—an SUV and a golden retriever?"
Levi blinked, his surprise evident. "Felicia Hardy, in the flesh," he said, recovering quickly with a lopsided grin. "You know, I almost didn't recognize you without the whiskers."
Felicia rolled her eyes but stepped closer, brushing imaginary dust off her sleeve. "Cute. But after our little alley escapade, I figured you'd earned the full face. Besides, you already know my name. Why not save us both the charade?"
Levi arched an eyebrow, his tone still playful. "That's awfully trusting of you. You're not worried I'll run to the nearest precinct?"
Felicia's smirk widened, her green eyes glinting. "Let's be honest, Wilder—you're too much fun to lose just yet."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "So, what brings you here? Stalking me, or are we calling this fate?"
She stepped closer, slipping her arm through his in a dramatic flourish. "Let's call it curiosity. Someone like you, shopping for luxury real estate? I had to see it for myself."
Levi laughed, letting her guide him toward the realtor, who was now watching them with a bemused expression. "Well then," he said, gesturing toward the building, "shall we tour our dream home, dear?"
Felicia patted his arm with mock affection. "Lead the way, sweetie."
The elevator doors opened with a quiet chime, revealing a sleek, modern condo that screamed luxury. Polished marble countertops gleamed under recessed lighting, and the open floor plan led to floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. The air smelled faintly of lavender, almost unnaturally perfect.
The realtor stepped forward, gesturing grandly. "Welcome to luxury living at its finest. A true gem in the heart of Manhattan, perfect for entertaining or enjoying peaceful evenings above the city."
Felicia strode inside first, her sharp gaze sweeping over the pristine furnishings. She brushed her fingers along the edge of the couch before turning to Levi with a smirk. "Nice. Very… McPenthouse," she said dryly, glancing at the realtor. "Let me guess—self-cleaning windows and a concierge who knows your Starbucks order?"
Levi followed her in, his eyes scanning the space with a faint frown. "And a kombucha tasting flight," he added, stepping onto the balcony. The view was breathtaking, but his expression didn't change. "It's shiny, I'll give it that."
Felicia leaned against the kitchen counter, watching him with curiosity. "It's not your style," she said after a beat, her tone more thoughtful than teasing.
Levi glanced over his shoulder, arching an eyebrow. "Oh? And what's my style?"
Felicia tilted her head, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "Still figuring that out. But it's definitely not this." She gestured to the sterile décor. "Too much gloss."
He stepped back inside, running a hand through his hair as he surveyed the space again. "It's like… I don't know. You'd live here for the Instagram photos, not because it feels like home."
Felicia snorted softly. "McPenthouse," she repeated, her smirk returning. "Nailed it."
The realtor, oblivious to the subtext, launched into a monologue about the property's state-of-the-art amenities: the gym, the rooftop pool, the 24-hour concierge. Levi listened with half an ear, his gaze wandering to the unscuffed floors and perfectly symmetrical furnishings.
Finally, he raised a hand, cutting the realtor off mid-sentence. "Got anything that actually feels lived in?" he asked, his tone light but genuine.
Felicia raised an eyebrow at him, intrigued, as the realtor hesitated, blinking. "I think I have just the thing," they said at last.
---
As the car rolled to a stop in front of the next property, Felicia linked her arm through Levi's again. She caught his faint smile, the kind that always seemed to keep something back. Intriguing, yes—but exhausting if you weren't in the mood to guess.
Her focus shifted to the scene outside the window. This wasn't the lifeless hush of a luxury high-rise or the brittle edge of an abandoned street. This place buzzed with life—families, laughter, motion. She took it all in as they stepped onto the sidewalk, the hum of the neighborhood enveloping them.
Her gaze lingered on him for a moment before the car's groan brought her attention back to the street. The neighborhood unfolded before them as the car rolled to a stop, its hum threading through the air. This wasn't the sterile hush of gentrified blocks, nor the brittle silence of forgotten streets. No, this place was alive. Families. People. Community.
Children darted across the cracked pavement on scuffed bikes, their laughter breaking against the faint rhythm of a basketball bouncing nearby. A group of kids shouted over one another, caught up in a heated debate about the rules of tag, their sneakers kicking up little clouds of dust from the sidewalk. On a makeshift court across the street, a teenager dribbled lazily between shots, his movements unhurried and steady.
Felicia's sharp eyes swept across the stoops of the brownstones lining the street. Parents sat chatting, their voices blending in a melody of Spanish and English, warm and unhurried. She caught the faint, nostalgic pull of an accordion drifting from an open window, and the hushed murmur of two older men bent over a chessboard in the corner park. One gestured animatedly, a cigarette dancing between his fingers, while the other squinted at the board, clearly weighing his next move.
Her attention shifted to the buildings themselves, her mind cataloging their wear and resilience. The bricks were weathered, patched in places, the paint on the doors and railings fading to muted shades. And yet, there was beauty here—small rebellions against time. Flower boxes spilled bright blooms onto the windowsills, and laundry lines stretched between balconies, heavy with clothes that flapped lazily in the breeze.
Felicia turned her gaze to the brownstone where they'd stopped. It looked perfectly at home in the neighborhood, its porch sagging slightly as though it, too, carried the weight of years. She tilted her head, taking in the building's worn edges and the potential hidden beneath them. This was a place that kept secrets, she thought. A place that had seen things.
Inside, the brownstone's story continued. The wooden floors groaned faintly beneath her heels as she wandered ahead, letting the others trail behind. A layer of dust clung stubbornly to the banister, and faint water stains streaked the ceiling in the corner of the living room. A cobweb stretched across one of the doorways, its delicate threads catching the light.
"Plenty of space for renovation," the realtor said, their voice carrying the forced optimism of someone trying to sell a project. "And the layout offers a lot of flexibility. You've got a great rooftop view, too."
Felicia ran her gloved fingers along the banister, pausing when they brushed over an intricate detail carved into the wood. The molding had survived the wear of time, its edges softened but not lost. She let her gaze sweep over the room, taking in the faded wallpaper and the scuffs on the floorboards. "This place has stories," she murmured. Her voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. "You can feel it."
Levi didn't respond, his attention caught by something else. Felicia followed his gaze as it drifted upward toward the staircase. The realtor was already leading them up, launching into a polished pitch about the house's potential, but Levi wasn't listening. His focus had narrowed, his expression shifting into something Felicia couldn't quite place.
Her curiosity sparked, she trailed behind him as they reached the second floor. It was only when he stopped in front of a doorway at the end of the hall that Felicia noticed the stillness in his posture. She leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, her sharp green eyes fixed on him as he stepped inside. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though he were stepping into a memory rather than a dusty bedroom.
Her attention drifted to the height chart etched into the door frame. Faded crayon marks climbed unevenly.
Lily, 4 — 3'5"
.
Lily, 3 — 3'1"
Levi reached out, his thumb brushing over one of the marks. His fingers hovered there, tracing the name and the line with a quiet reverence that made Felicia pause.
He wasn't just looking. He was somewhere else. She could see it in the way his shoulders curved inward, as though he was holding onto something fragile. The scene was pulling him in, and she could feel its weight from where she stood.
The sound of children's laughter filtered through the grimy window. Felicia tilted her head, catching sight of the street below. A boy pedaled a tricycle in looping circles, his father walking behind with a small, proud grin. On the cracked sidewalk, kids darted through a game of tag, their voices rising and falling in chaotic rhythm.
Her eyes shifted back to Levi. He'd moved to the window, his hand resting lightly on the sill as he stared outside. His chest rose and fell steadily, but his other hand brushed against his side—a small, unconscious motion. Felicia studied the gesture, her brow furrowing. It was the kind of reflex she'd seen in others, a tell for someone searching for something they couldn't quite grasp.
A flicker of warmth and ache stirred in her chest. Her father's laugh came back to her—low and full of life, the kind that always felt too big for their cramped apartment. She remembered the way his hands were always moving, quick and deliberate, fixing a hinge, smoothing her hair, tucking the collar of her coat just right. He'd been larger than life when she was young, all bright eyes and terrible jokes. Even now, with years of distance, the love and the ache refused to separate.
"You okay?" she asked, her voice soft enough to avoid breaking the moment.
Levi didn't turn. His fingers left faint tracks in the dust on the sill as he shifted his weight. "It's been so long," he murmured, his voice low. "I thought I might forget what it felt like."
Felicia blinked, the words landing harder than she'd expected. Her gaze moved between the height chart, the scattered drawings on the wall, and the rocking chair in the corner. The story etched into the room—and into him—was painfully clear. She wasn't sure if she wanted to look closer or turn away.
"You don't forget," she said softly. "Not really."
Levi straightened, his hand dropping from the sill. When he turned back to her, the smirk was there, but it didn't come easily. It fit awkwardly, like a mask worn too long. Felicia caught the brief flicker of something raw in his expression before it disappeared.
The realtor cleared their throat hesitantly. "So… what do you think? Should we keep looking?"
Felicia's lips curved into a hint of a smile as she glanced toward the realtor waiting in the hall. Her gaze lingered on Levi for a moment longer. "I think we'll take it, right, honey?"
Levi blinked, her words pulling him from his fog. He nodded, his voice rougher than usual. "Yeah… let's make it ours."
As the realtor moved away, Felicia slipped her arm through Levi's as they descended the stairs. "You've got layers, Wilder," she said, her smile edged with something softer.
He glanced at her, his expression subdued but genuine. "Careful. You might start thinking I'm worth the trouble."
Felicia smirked, looking ahead. "Maybe. Maybe not." But the thought remained in her mind, quiet and unspoken: You're harder to walk away from than I expected.