The Soldier in the Seventh Row
By all means, it was a pretty normal day. There were no surprises, such as slipping and falling on ice or forgetting any of my stuff, and I finished all that I’m supposed to. Now I’m sitting in the front row of band, all alone, while the rest of my friends are in the third row.
To tell the truth, I wasn’t good at the flute, seeing that I learnt it just during the summer while the rest of the people had two years before me, but I was learning quickly. Honour band though… I signed up just because I thought it would be interesting, something to do, something that would force me to play better.
Then I saw him.
He was sitting in the seventh row of the auditorium. At first, I thought he’s just a teacher, but something about him felt different. It doesn’t feel like he belongs here, in this auditorium. He looked like he belonged on a battlefield, or maybe in some kind of action movie.
He was tall, with dark hair that fell just past his shoulders, wearing a leather jacket and a baseball hat. His posture was relaxed and rigid at the same time, crossed legs and right hand on his chin.
My thoughts went to the fanfics I’ve read, the videos I watch, and all the different times when I talked with my friend about the MCU. HIs face was exactly the same as the videos, as the movies, as how he was portrayed as a fictional character.
I forced myself to focus back on the piece we’re practising, but I can’t stop sneaking glances at him. If my friend was here, she would agree with me—there is no way this wasn’t him. But still, I thought of him as a teacher, one that looks astonishingly similar to a certain character.
Until I noticed the black gloves on both of his hands. No…a few seconds before the teacher didn't have gloves on, his hands were bare. I’m sure of that.
I blinked, squinting my eyes trying to see if what I’m seeing is real, or is it just a trick of the light.
The black gloves are still there.
I reached for my phone, tapping for it to open. The lock screen lit up.
February 7, 2025.
Then—
The screen flickered.
A glitch. A brief distortion of numbers before the date shifted.
February 7, 2016.
No, no, no. This is not happening. This only happens in novels and stories, not in real life.
I pressed the button again. Screen off. Then on.
Still 2016.
Suddenly, everything goes dark before my eyes. When I could see again, everything was different. The auditorium changed, the teachers and the students in the auditorium changed, even my clothing and phone had changed.
A notification popped up on my phone. It was a Twitter update.
Tony Stark @IronMan · 5m
My breath stops for that second.
Without thinking about it, my hand clicked open the tweet.
I stared at the name, at the little blue checkmark beside it, at the profile picture that was unmistakably Tony Stark.
This isn’t real. This can’t be real.
But everything stayed there, the phone didn’t glitch, the tweet didn’t change, and the date on my phone still read February 7th, 2016.
It was then I realized I was no longer in my world, no longer in my time.
Then this is not a hallucination, then he was real too.
In that far seat of the Seventh row, sat James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes.
What the hell.
Realization struck me.
And if all this is real—
I knew exactly what year this was, what it meant.
I read too much fanfiction to be sure of that date.
One month before the Sokovia Accords.
Four months before the Bombing of Vienna International Center.
Four months before everything fell apart.
I am in a completely different universe, a world where heroes and villains, aliens and mutants exist. A world where, statistically speaking, I probably wouldn’t survive for long.
I took a deep breath.
Of course, I had imagined this scenario before. My friend and I had joked about it plenty of times—how civilians wouldn’t last three years in the MCU, especially if they were from New York. The worst part? From the memories I now had, I was from New York.
I can feel a headache pressing at my temples, but I forced myself to ignore it. Think, don’t panic, it won’t do you any good.
A thousand thoughts clashed and overlapped in my mind, flashing through my mind all at once. Events. Places. People. Things I knew were coming. Things I knew I couldn’t change.
And that was the thing, wasn’t it?
I couldn’t change anything.
I wasn’t some all-knowing, omnipotent entity. I am just a sixteen-year-old high school student who happened to know way more about the future than I had any right to.
Even if I tried, who in their right mind would believe me if I tried to say something?
“Hey, Tony Stark, you don’t know me, but in two years, a giant purple alien is going to snap his fingers and erase half the universe.”
Yep. That would go really well.
I inhaled deeply through my nose, forcing the thoughts away. No. I needed to take this one step at a time. No unnecessary risks. No reckless attempts to play hero. Just live, survive.
My grip on my flute tightened as the conductor called for attention. I barely registered what piece we were about to play as my fingers automatically moved into position. The band started up, and I followed, my body moving on autopilot even as my mind spun with the weight of realization.
I was here in Bucharest for a music program. For two weeks.
Today was the first day.
And somewhere, a few rows behind me, sat Bucky Barnes.
A man on the run.
A man being hunted.
Not that post-endgame Bucky Barnes who was clear of HYDRA’s control, who made peace with his past, but the man who was hunted by it.
I had two weeks to figure out what on Earth I am going to do next.
And I had to do it without getting involved.
Without getting noticed.
Without making a single mistake.