Chapter 40: The Father of Marvel

"Got it, master!"

Stanley replied, setting aside his half-eaten hamburger and the pulp fiction magazine he was halfway through, and eagerly took the draft from Jack Kirby's hand to fill in the character dialogue bubbles.

Although his two mentors, Joe Simon and Jack Kirby, were making a fortune through this moonlighting gig of "drawing comics for a competitor," it didn't change the fact that he—Stanley Martin Lieber—was merely a humble apprentice earning an eight-dollar weekly wage.

Yet, in the depths of the Great Depression, even this was a rare and stable job, secured only because his mother had pleaded with her cousin—Stanley's uncle—to pull some strings and find him a position.

And that uncle's wife happened to be the sister of Martin Goodman, the owner of Timely Comics.

As it turned out, Martin Goodman was fond of employing his own circle. Though Stanley was merely his "wife's cousin's sister's son," he still counted as family of a sort.

Thus, Stanley got the job.

Though his duties consisted entirely of odd jobs—spending his days at the office cleaning up and running errands for his two mentors, Joe Simon and Jack Kirby—Stanley had loved anything related to "creation" since he was a child. Growing up in poverty without toys, he had even used a few matches as "little people" to imagine all sorts of grand stories. Consequently, he approached this job with utmost seriousness and dedication.

Sometimes, seeking to catch his mentors' attention, he would play his flute right there in the office until a thoroughly exasperated Jack Kirby, right in the middle of creative focus, would hurl objects at him, while Joe Simon watched the spectacle with amusement.

As an apprentice, Stanley had a very specific reason for finding his way into this secret operation: his sharp mind had noticed that for some time, his masters would mysteriously vanish every lunch hour without taking him along.

Determined to find out, Stanley quietly tailed them. Naturally, Joe Simon and Jack Kirby, engaged in the treasonous act of aiding the competition, were extremely cautious and managed to shake off their pursuer every single time.

Until one day, they let their guard down entirely... and Stanley caught them red-handed at the hotel.

To protect their secret, Joe Simon and Jack Kirby had no choice but to let Stanley in on the clandestine operation, bringing him on as an assistant and cutting him in on a little of the pay.

Even though it was just minor work like filling in dialogue, Stanley thoroughly enjoyed it. Right now, he was meticulously crafting lines that fit the persona of "Superman," neatly lettering them into the speech bubbles.

Just as he was deeply engrossed, suddenly—

Knock, knock, knock~~

A sound came from outside the door, followed by a voice calling out, "Is anyone in?"

Simon, Kirby, and Stanley: "..."

All three skipped a heartbeat, falling silent as cicadas in winter.

Doing shady things here inevitably kept them on edge.

"I'm from Room 204 downstairs! You guys accidentally got an extra White Castle combo!"

Simon, Kirby, and Stanley: "Phew~~"

All three instantly breathed sighs of relief... They thought they'd been busted!

"Jack, this is all your fault for wanting to eat so many burgers." Realizing it was nothing serious, Joe Simon relaxed and made a dry remark.

"Most of the artwork is drawn by me, of course I burn through calories," Jack Kirby retorted defensively.

"When you draw, you're just moving a pen; I'm the one expending massive brainpower to structure the plot," Joe Simon fired back, then turned to Stanley. "There's money in the drawer. Go pay that gentleman outside."

Stanley put down his pen, counted out thirty-five cents from the drawer, and opened the room door.

The moment the door cracked open, the haze of smoke lingering inside drifted out.

So the people living in here were heavy smokers!

Ernie, who had no smoking habits, instinctively took two steps back.

Seeing this, Stanley felt a bit sheepish, stepping out and pulling the door shut behind him. "Sorry, my two mentors like to smoke while they draw."

Looking at the clean-featured young man before him, Ernie made polite conversation. "Are you folks artists?"

"Well, comic book artists!" Stanley replied, handing the thirty-five-cent coin to Ernie. "Sorry about eating your burger. We happened to be a bit hungry, so we finished the whole thing."

Hearing that the food was completely gone, Ernie felt a twinge of regret and figured he'd just have to wait for the delivery guy to make a fresh run.

However, seeing that the young man was exceptionally polite, Ernie didn't make a fuss and took the coin. "No worries, no worries. Though you guys sure can eat..."

As Ernie raised his hand to take the coin, Stanley noticed the ink stains on his sleeve.

He paused for a second, a sudden thought striking him, and asked with a mix of curiosity and anticipation, "Are you in the creative industry too?"

"Ah, I write a little fiction now and then," Ernie nodded.

"You... you wouldn't happen to be that Ernie Reese, would you?" Suddenly, Stanley grew excited. "I've read your *The Last Question*. It's written so brilliantly, especially the 'AC' governing the universe—it totally sparked my inspiration."

The more Stanley spoke, the more animated he became, the smile on his face refusing to fade.

Ernie's first reaction, however, was: *How do you know me?*

He figured he wasn't some high-profile celebrity; he shouldn't be recognized like this. Surely parasocial fans didn't exist in this era!

Realizing he had lost his composure somewhat, Stanley extended a hand and said, "Let me introduce myself. I'm Stanley Martin Lieber, and I work in the comic book department at Timely Comics. The only reason I recognized your name is because when the White Castle delivery guy called Room 304 earlier, I answered. He asked, 'Is this Mr. Ernie Reese?' That's how it happened. The delivery driver mentioned your name, though I initially thought it might just be a coincidence of names."

Ernie had an epiphany and muttered, "You knew it was the wrong delivery, and you just ate it anyway?"

Stanley looked awkward. "Apologies, sir. I didn't expect us to be just one floor apart. What a massive coincidence."

As Stanley rubbed the back of his head, Ernie, recovering from his mutterings, replayed Stanley's earlier introduction in his mind.

Wait... What did he say his name was? Stanley Martin Lieber? And he worked at Timely Comics?

Ernie raised his eyebrows in mild astonishment. "The magazine your comic department handles—wouldn't happen to be *Marvel Comics*, would it?"

In truth, Ernie's bedroom already housed several issues of *Marvel Comics* and *Action Comics*. As a superhero comic fan from a later era, the very first thing he did upon arriving in this time period was collect comic books.

Namor the Sub-Mariner, the original Human Torch, DC's Superman... These were the rising, hot superhero icons of the day, and Ernie loved them all.

"Yes, *Marvel Comics* it is," Stanley smiled, desperately wanting to boast, but remembering he was still just an apprentice whose duties consisted of lettering and sweeping floors, his enthusiasm deflated slightly.

Looking at Stanley's youthful, handsome face, everything clicked into place... This young man was Stan Lee, the future Father of Marvel!