Multiversal Wanderer: Starting in Naruto-Chapter 77: Black in New York

Brooklyn. A dark, sketchy street.

A thin Asian boy hurried along, clutching his textbooks tightly. This alley had a nasty reputation—robberies, muggings, even assaults happened here all the time. But he had no choice. He was nearly late for his main course, and the professor of his secondary class was notoriously strict. If he missed even a minute, he could lose his full scholarship. So he took the risk and darted into the alley.

"Hey, asian monkey! Hand over your valuables, or I'll make you!"

A dark figure leapt from the shadows, jamming a knife into the boy's stomach. It was a Black man, tall and menacing, eyes wild with aggression.

The boy froze, eyes wide. "I-I only have five dollars! Take it, just please don't hurt me!"

"Don't screw with me!" the man barked. "Everyone knows you Asians always carry cash. Search him!"

He shoved the boy hard and began rifling through his pockets. After a thorough pat-down, all he found was five crumpled dollar bills and a thick stack of textbooks.

"Only five bucks? You gotta be shitting me!" he spat, kicking the textbooks down the alley. "Wasting my damn time!"

The boy didn't fight back. He just crouched down, quietly gathering his books. No matter how big the guy was, or how sharp the knife—he couldn't win. Those textbooks were insanely expensive. He'd spend everything he had to replace them if he had to.

"You little shit. You really gonna pick those up?" the mugger snapped, then stomped down hard on the boy's hand as he reached for a book. The sadistic look in his eyes made it clear—he was enjoying this.

"Pick it up, huh? Try it again, I dare you!"

Suddenly, the light in the alley dimmed. The mugger glanced up and saw a tall man standing just a few feet away, silently watching.

"What the hell are you lookin' at?" the mugger snapped.

The stranger muttered something under his breath.

"What'd you say?"

"I said, trash like you needs to be cleaned up."

In a flash, the man grabbed the mugger's knife arm and twisted it—hard.

A sickening crunch echoed through the alley as the mugger's arm snapped. He screamed in agony, the sound loud enough to make the nearby street workers pick up their pace and pretend they saw nothing.

Su Xiuyu hadn't expected this during his morning walk in Brooklyn. He was just exploring the city, but seeing a fellow Asian get jumped like that—he couldn't ignore it. Knife or no knife.

But he didn't stop there. He shattered the mugger's other arm, then both legs—clean breaks, nothing life-threatening, but painful enough to teach him a lesson. Then, like tossing out trash, Su Xiuyu flung the man into a more visible part of the alley. He'd get picked up eventually. Su Xiuyu wasn't heartless—he just believed in giving scum what they deserved.

That sight alone would be enough to make other lowlifes think twice.

After Carol had flown off into space, Su Xiuyu's wooden clone had returned to him, bringing along memories from his orange cat surveillance network. He brought Mito, Madara and the others to the heart of America—the bustling, unpredictable New York City.

In a way, it made sense. For the next few decades, this city would be the epicenter of chaos, miracles, and opportunity.

Of course, they were hit with racial discrimination almost immediately. Not all of it was subtle, either. Su Xiuyu and his group weren't exactly easy targets, but America... well, it lived up to its name as the "holy land" of racism.

Unlike the Black community, who had fought long and hard for rights and visibility, Asians had no real protection. There was no legal backing, no strong voice in society. Just quiet contempt.

And this mugger had been the first trash Su Xiuyu had cleaned up since arriving.

"Hey, kid. You alright?" Su Xiuyu asked, turning to the boy who had just finished gathering his books again.

The boy looked up, face still pale, but offered a shy smile. "Thank you, sir. If you hadn't shown up, I might've lost more than five bucks today. And you should leave quickly... guys like him don't work alone."

Su Xiuyu chuckled. "You're a good kid. Here." He scribbled an address onto a torn page from his notebook and handed it over. "If you run into any more trouble, come find me."

The boy hesitated, then bowed politely. "Thank you," he said again, before disappearing down the street.

Watching him leave, Su Xiuyu muttered under his breath, "New York... a city of gold, wrapped in filth."

He glanced at his watch. "Damn. Just wanted to get some breakfast."

Meanwhile, in a nearby patrol car...

"Hey, boss," one of the officers said through his radio, "Got a Black male from Block 23 in Brooklyn—both arms and legs broken. Ambulance is on-site. Judging by the injuries, someone gave him a serious beatdown."

"Another one?" the other cop groaned. "That's the third this week."

"Yeah. No ID, but same M.O. as the last ones—scumbags get worked over, dumped in public. No fatalities though. Just... brutal."

"They're clogging up the ER and we're outta beds in the precinct holding cells. This mystery guy is killing my bonus."

"Serves them right though," the other muttered. "All lowlifes anyway."

In the heart of Manhattan, Su Xiuyu had just finished setting up a new company: Uchiha Office.

At first, the registration clerk barely gave him the time of day. But when Su Xiuyu pulled out a briefcase full of gold bars and casually purchased an entire building, the attitude shifted real fast.

Capitalism had no race—it only spoke the language of money.

Mito couldn't help but ask, "Where the hell did you get that much gold?"

Su Xiuyu grinned. "Found it lying around in some desert."

---------------

Capital is greedy—but powerful capital? That can silence even the most sinister forces.

When Su Xiuyu began the process of registering the Uchiha Office, he ran into a few not-so-subtle obstacles. Some were veiled, others brazen. But once he revealed the depths of his financial resources—flashing gold and fat checks—those so-called problems evaporated like morning mist.

Sure, the world has its fair share of fools. But in Manhattan? A real idiot wouldn't last a week. Most of them either learned to play the game or vanished without a trace. The moment Su Xiuyu displayed his wealth, every crook, corrupt official, and underground player instantly realized—Su Xiuyu wasn't someone to mess with. And if some moron dared test his patience? Well, there's always the Sharingan. No regular human could resist that hypnotic, overwhelming power.

Standing in front of the newly purchased, freshly renovated building, with the gold-lettered sign "Uchiha Office" gleaming above, Su Xiuyu couldn't help but let out a tired sigh. The whole process had drained him.

Being a lion trying not to crush ants underfoot? It was exhausting.

He could've let Madara handle it, sure. But that would've ended in a bloodbath. And while Su Xiuyu didn't mind using force when needed, this was Marvel Earth—not the ninja world. Crude, direct solutions would only invite disaster here.

He wanted power. He wanted to be the one standing at the top, targeted by all but feared by more. But he wasn't blind to the world's rules. Even tyrants played the game when needed.

"Madara," Su Xiuyu began as they stood inside the new office. "Even though we're free to pursue whatever business we want now, let's be honest—the Uchiha are better suited for security work. At least for now, we'll accept external combat contracts. If it's about making money, we can lock down a few key industries easily. Izuna can oversee the security side of things."

He paused, then continued, his tone serious. "We need to strengthen the Uchiha-Uzumaki clan. Crushing ordinary humans with ninjutsu is easy—but secular law matters here. We need subtlety, diplomacy, the legal route. We can't afford to act like we're still in the ninja world."

"In other words, we have to think like leaders. Like governors of a new domain. That's the only way we'll grow large enough to house more clans—and secure our legacy. I've got power, sure, but I'm short on real-world experience. We'll have to learn as we go."

Madara nodded slowly, arms folded as he thought. "Su Xiuyu, when do you plan on exploring the universe?"

His tone was flat, but the underlying disinterest was obvious. Madara never had much interest in the stars. For him, Earth was the battleground worth conquering. And handling the day-to-day affairs of a business? That wasn't exactly his thing.

Uzumaki Mito, standing nearby, spoke up. "Why don't we put Chisato in charge of managing the office? She and the others can handle the logistics. Izuna and Madara can handle field operations and security. Xiu Yu, you can supervise both. We should focus on stabilizing New York before thinking about the universe."

"That works for me," Madara said after a moment. "Izuna won't have any objections either. And we do have a solid group of young clan members now. Still... running this place won't be easy."

---

Word of the Uchiha's presence began spreading.

"Hey, you heard about those Asian folks in New York?" someone whispered in a diner. "Tall, built, always rollin' three or four deep. They're like... street superheroes. Saw one tackle a mugger just yesterday."

"No way," another said. "I saw one myself! Thief pulled a gun, and the guy—bam—snapped his arm like a twig! I thought all that kung fu stuff was just in movies, but now I'm not so sure."

"Don't be stupid," someone else interrupted. "All the Asian kids at school are meek as hell. And you can't just assume someone's Asian because of their skin color."

Still, the chatter continued. Whether it was admiration, suspicion, or pure gossip, the presence of the Uchiha and Uzumaki clans in New York wasn't going unnoticed. Patrols around the Uchiha Office—armed with real heat, not kunai—helped maintain order. This was America, after all. A place where gunfire spoke louder than words. Drawing a pistol here made more sense than throwing a shuriken.

Su Xiuyu knew it would only escalate from here. As superheroes and villains played their games, he was preparing for the real threat—Thanos. When that moment came, the government wouldn't matter. It'd be survival of the fittest.

In an alleyway lit only by flickering street lamps, a group of thugs were backed against a wall, surrounded by three Uzumaki clan members.

"You got a death wish messing with the Viper Gang?" one thug spat, voice shaky but defiant. "We ain't got no beef with you people!"

"Oh, but we told you to leave, didn't we?" growled Uzumaki Asaoka, eyes narrow and furious. "Two weeks ago, you were warned. Leave New York, or we make you leave."

The leader of the Viper Gang, young and brash, stood his ground. "Why should we? This is our turf—America's turf! Who the hell are you to take it from us?!"

The Viper Gang, small-time criminals who dealt drugs, ran rackets, and played loan sharks, had recently been humiliated by a group of "asian freaks" and were desperate for revenge.

"You think this city belongs to you?" Asaoka snapped. "This is your last warning."

"Like hell it is! Boys, get ready!"

Dozens of gang members pulled out guns, metal pipes, knives—whatever they could find. The alley crackled with tension.

Asaoka calmly raised a riot shield. He could dodge their attacks easily, of course—but not in front of surveillance cameras. Optics mattered.

"Yo boss," one of the Uzumaki behind him asked, "that shield gonna stop a bullet?"

"Hell if I know. It looks cool, doesn't it?"

Above them, the unmistakable thup-thup-thup of helicopters filled the air.

"Release your weapons! Final warning!" barked Sorachi's voice from a loudspeaker. Six choppers hovered above, onboard machine guns trained on the Viper Gang.

"OPEN FIRE!—Wait, no! DROP YOUR SHIT!" The gang's leader threw down his weapon in panic, immediately hitting the ground. The rest followed, dozens of them surrendering, lying face-down in the alley.

"Boss... Manhattan... heavy weapons?" one of the thugs muttered in disbelief.

"You dumbass. If they're bold enough to point that kind of firepower at us in broad daylight, then they've got serious connections. Don't mess with them unless you're tired of breathing."

Truth, as always, came from the barrel of a gun—or in this case, a mounted chaingun.

Of course, Asaoka hadn't planned on letting them off easily. He, along with his two clansmen, walked down the alley and, without a word, beat every one of the surrendering thugs to a pulp.

Let the world know—this was Uchiha territory now.

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