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AND
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"You almost died!" Valentina snapped again, pacing the room like a storm in heels.
Jason, sitting back in his chair with a lazy smirk, shrugged. "No, I was threatened. Beat the fuck outta them. Then killed them. It's different. I wasn't even close to dying."
Valentina spun around, fists clenched. "But you're not good at fighting yet! You could've gotten yourself hurt! You're my baby brother—I can't just sit around while you get torn apart out there!"
Jason tilted his head, amused. "Uhm… I'm nineteen now. You know that, right?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him in a tight, bone-crushing hug. "You'll always be my baby bro, no matter what," she whispered.
Jason blinked, the warmth catching him off guard. He gave in, resting a hand lightly on her back. "Aight, aight, I'm okay with that. But you have to understand—your baby brother's becoming stronger. You should ask Nia... she'll vouch for me."
Valentina pulled back, eyes narrowing. "I still don't like it…"
Jason shrugged again, casually leaning back in his chair. "You don't have to. Just don't get in my way."
She sighed. "Fine. I'll let you be you. But promise me you'll be safe. Aight?"
"I promise," Jason said, meeting her gaze sincerely for a brief moment.
Valentina finally smiled, tousling his hair before turning around and walking out the room. The door clicked shut behind her.
Jason let out a long breath, then flopped back onto his bed.
He stared at the ceiling, mind running fast.
"Let's see…"
Dominic Silva… aka Dominic Anderson. Age 50.His father. A man with a dark past and a carefully polished future. Jason had dug deep—learned that Dominic had taken the Anderson name from a man he deeply respected. A gringo who apparently saved him from the cartel, raised him like a son, then died with bullets in his back. Dominic buried his old name, the bloodstained Silva, and walked forward as an Anderson. Now? Billionaire. Power broker. The devil in a tailored suit.
Maria Luciano. Age 48.His mother. Daughter of a former Mafia Don. The Luciano bloodline was drenched in legacy and violence. When the old man retired, he handed his empire to Dominic—not out of weakness, but out of respect. Maria's family trusted Dominic to keep their legacy alive. And he had.
Marco Anderson. Age 29.Firstborn. College graduate. Businessman. The white sheep. Made the family look legitimate. Investments, fronts, charity projects. The one on Forbes lists and talk shows. But Jason wasn't fooled—he knew Marco kept the books clean while Alessandro made sure the streets stayed dirty.
Sofia Anderson. Age 28.College teacher. Married. A kid. Jason was technically an uncle—though he hadn't met the kid or even talked to Sofia. She stayed out of the business completely. Probably the only one in the family with a clean conscience.
Alessandro Emilio Anderson. Age 25.The one everyone whispered about. No smile. No mercy. Every guard flinched when his name came up. He was the enforcer. The ghost in the black car. The storm in the night. People said he was Dominic reincarnated. Ruthless. Cold. Brilliant. And oddly… fond of Jason.
Valentina Anderson. Age 22.His sister. College student, business track, smart and sharp with a wicked smile. She was the people person. The one who charmed clients and blackmailed politicians with a wink. Protective of Jason like a lioness.
And finally… Jason Anderson. Age 19.The youngest. The disappointment. No Italian name. Given the title of "Anderson" directly—like a legacy from the dead man who'd saved Dominic's life. Everyone in the family saw Jason as a failure. Playboy. High school dropout. Party animal. Strip club regular. Scum by most accounts.
Jason smirked to himself.
"I like it."
In a world full of gods and capes and cosmic threats, his reputation as a careless brat was the perfect cover. Just like Bruce Wayne played dumb billionaire, Jason would wear his trash label like armor. No one would expect what was coming.
"I'm in DC, baby," he whispered. "The perfect playground."
He rolled over, staring at the ceiling.
"What would my dad say if I told him I knew the real identities of all our hero enemies?" He chuckled. "He'd probably laugh… then start planning."
Yeah. Jason was going to love this new life.
....
Jason took a long, undisturbed sleep that night—his first real rest in this new life. But the moment morning light filtered through the curtains, he was up, alert, and moving like something inside him refused to sit still.
He didn't waste time. After a quick shower and a protein-heavy breakfast, he made his way to the family gym. The moment the heavy doors shut behind him, he locked them. No distractions.
This wasn't vanity training. It was survival.
For the next few hours, Jason pushed his body to the limit—punches, kicks, grapples, footwork drills, and weight training. It wasn't just impressive… it was unnatural. Every movement came to him like muscle memory. Perfect posture, flawless strikes, instant reactions.
He wasn't trained.
He was programmed.
"I feel like a machine…" he muttered between breaths, sweat dripping down his chest.
And it wasn't just his technique. His body—whatever it had become—was something else entirely. He'd tested himself already.
A kitchen knife—brand new, razor sharp—snapped when he tried to press it against his ribs.
A pistol he'd swiped from the gun locker? Emptied into his forearm at close range with a silencer attached. The bullets flattened on impact. Not a drop of blood.
Strength-wise? He wasn't throwing cars around, not yet. But he felt the potential beneath his muscles—coiled, ready, waiting.
Still… he knew something was missing.
He had no access to Sukuna's true powers. No Domain Expansion. No immense cursed energy. No Fuga. Just fragments of physical enhancement and instinctual combat. Like the king's presence was there, but sleeping.
He didn't even know how he had Sukuna's power. Only that it was there… somewhere inside him.
But something else had started to worry him. Or maybe intrigue him.
He felt… hollow.
Jason had always been distant, even in his old life. The orphanage, college—none of it had ever felt real. But here? It was worse. He could feel the disconnect growing deeper. He didn't care about strangers. At all. He could step outside, stab someone in broad daylight, and he doubted he'd even blink.
It wasn't sociopathy. It wasn't some textbook psych condition.
It was efficiency.
He still cared—about his family. His father, Valentina. Maybe even Nia. The guards, the loyal ones, the people who worked with respect. He wasn't heartless.
He was just… selective.
And the rest of the world?
Expendable.
Just as he was finishing his final set, drenched in sweat and blood from a shattered training dummy, the gym door creaked open.
Nia stepped in, dressed sharply, clipboard in one hand.
"Mr. Jason," she said with a cool, respectful tone. "Your father is awaiting you. It's time."
Jason rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck with a grin. "That business meeting from before, right?"
"Yes. Your father is conducting a serious trade with members of the new Black Mask gang."
Jason's brow twitched. Black Mask. That name had weight, even in a world like this. Dangerous, ambitious. Brutal.
He grabbed a towel, wiped the sweat from his face, and reached for his black jacket.
"Ho… Black Mask, huh?" he muttered, a grin curling on his lips. "Interesting."
He glanced at his reflection in the gym mirror. The same face. The same eyes.
But behind them?
A storm.
"Yeah," he said. "Let's get to it."
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If you Like this story! Check out my other storys ! Lord of Chaos In Dc! and Dragon Slayer in Marvel!
AND
If you wish to read more or simply support me just because ? than check out my patreon at
"https://www.patreon.com/Riadooo"
You can Get Access to 3 More Chapters OR 7 More Chapters if you want !