Ethan Cain was, for lack of a better word, exhausted.
The kind of exhaustion that didn't show up on your face so much as it radiated from your bones. Ten major hits in three weeks. Ten. Not to mention the dozen smaller jobs in between, all with varying degrees of risk and personal moral ambiguity.
But a man had to eat and make very questionable financial decisions, and his gear wasn't going to repair itself. Neither were the increasingly expensive gadgets Gwen kept designing for him like a sugar-fueled, blonde little weapons goblin.
He was now back in school, somehow, with fewer financial worries and considerably more experience than when he'd left for winter break. His savings account had gone from a desperate bleeding wound to a stable fortress. Not impressive by millionaire standards—not yet—but enough that he no longer felt the constant pressure of scraping by.
He had also probably induced at least seven aneurysms among gang leaders across the five boroughs by redirecting a few million in their revenue streams. Temporarily. They always came back. But the message had been sent, loud and clear.
Yet, all of that—the vigilante life, the telekinetic progress, the risk of someone with the last name Xavier knocking on his door with a telepathic warrant—faded away when he crossed the street and saw Gwen Stacy waiting on the curb.
She was in jeans, a dark red coat, and her hair pulled up into a half-bun, her breath visible in the crisp January air. When she saw him, she beamed.
And just like that, Ethan felt lighter.
"Hey, stranger," she said, hands in her pockets.
"Hey yourself," he replied, falling into step beside her.
"Back to the grind. How was your break?"
"Productive. Violent. Economically irresponsible."
She snorted. "So, the usual."
"You?"
"Spent a week in Boston with my dad. Regretted it by day two."
"He still trying to figure out why you have custom soldering burns on your fingers?"
"Please. I told him it was from curling my hair."
He laughed, and she bumped her shoulder into his.
"So," Gwen said, glancing at him from the corner of her eye, "you're not dying or going broke, and you didn't get arrested. That's a pretty solid winter vacation in your book."
"You forgot the part where I now have a thigh holster for your EMP shuriken."
"And the world is better for it," she deadpanned.
They passed a vendor pushing a cart of steaming bagels. Ethan bought two and handed her one.
"A classic gesture of peace," he said.
"Flattery and carbs. My weakness."
"Also blunt force trauma."
"Only if you're holding the carb."
He grinned and took a bite.
By the time they reached Midtown High, the building was swarming with students trying to squeeze in last-minute gossip before the first bell. They found Peter Parker looking unusually sharp, wearing a button-up shirt and cologne Ethan could smell from several feet away. Unfortunately, he was being held in place by a very real human leash: Harry Osborn, who had wrapped one arm around his friend's neck.
"You will die," Harry said calmly.
"This is a mistake," Gwen added.
"You all underestimate me," Peter said, trying to escape the chokehold. "Liz and I have chemistry."
"You're in the same chemistry class. That's not the same thing," Ethan replied.
"Besides, she and Flash are practically joined at the hip," Gwen said, raising a brow. "You think she's going to leave him for you because you answered a bonus question on the midterm?"
"She said I was smart!"
"She also says that about her dog," Harry muttered.
Peter adjusted his collar. "I'm doing it. This is my year."
"Peter," Ethan began, choosing his words carefully, "I respect your bravery. I do. But there's a difference between confidence and delusion."
"Watch and learn," Peter said, brushing off his shoulders like he was about to give a TED Talk.
They watched.
Liz Allen was laughing with a group of her friends near her locker. Flash Thompson stood close by, leaning against the wall like a walking testosterone ad. Peter approached. Spoke. Smiled.
For a second, things were quiet.
Then Liz laughed. Not kindly.
Flash turned.
Peter was suddenly a source of great amusement to a semicircle of upper-class hyenas.
Mockery. Dismissive gestures. A shove that didn't knock Peter down but sure as hell knocked the wind out of him. The crowd dispersed, leaving Peter staring at his shoes while Liz twirled her hair and moved on without a second glance.
He walked back toward the group with the dignity of a man who had just been pantsed on live television.
Harry clapped him on the back. "I told you."
Gwen offered a sympathetic wince. Ethan remained silent.
Peter looked up, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright. Maybe I miscalculated."
Harry turned to Ethan. "You could've stopped it."
"How? With interpretive dance?"
"You're terrifying when you want to be. Flash would've backed off."
Ethan shook his head. "Liz is with Flash. Peter's the one who interrupted their moment."
"Wow. Cold."
"Accurate," Gwen added.
Peter sighed. "I need to go cry in a broom closet."
"Nope," Ethan said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You need to go to class like you didn't just become a cautionary tale."
Gwen raised a finger. "Also, maybe stick to girls who don't actively ignore your existence next time."
Peter nodded solemnly. "Noted."
The bell rang.
As they filed into the school building, Ethan lingered a second longer, eyes scanning the courtyard, the parked cars, the shadows behind the bleachers. His suit was under three layers of regular clothes. His earpiece was disguised as a generic Bluetooth. His gloves looked like cold-weather gear, but they were anything but.
He had grown. He had adapted.
But things were moving faster now. His powers were growing, creeping along the edge of what he could logically explain. That itch in the back of his mind was more insistent these days, the one that warned him when someone was watching. When someone was reading too deeply.
He wasn't just playing the game anymore.
He was changing it.
And that meant others would notice soon.
But not today. Today was about walking to class with Gwen and Peter and Harry. About carbs and cologne and mistakes you had to make to grow. About the breath of normalcy he still managed to snatch before the world inevitably tilted again.
And when it did, he'd be ready.
Author's Note:
If you're enjoying the story and want to read ahead or support my work, you can check out my P@treon at [email protected]/LordCampione. But don't worry—all chapters will eventually be public. Just being here and reading means the world to me. Thank you for your time and support.