Ethan didn't even glance at the clock as he stepped back into his family's hotel suite. School was already half over, and he hadn't shown up once today. He didn't care.
There was no time for classrooms, no patience for equations and essays that would never matter in the battles ahead. Not when there were empires to dismantle and kingdoms to build.
The print shop needs to be fully operational within ten days, he reminded himself as he dropped his bag by the door and headed straight for his workstation. 'Once that's secured, I can stop thinking about it. I need my focus free for the real threats: Osborn, Delilah, and Rose.'
He settled into his chair and powered on his triple laptop setup, the blue glow washing over his face. A deep breath. Then his fingers began moving, steady and precise.
"Name first," he murmured to himself, pulling up the state's business registry.
The cursor blinked accusingly as he scrolled through possible newspaper names he'd been workshopping.
'The Lion's Voice? No—too aggressive. The Manhattan Chronicle? No—too generic. The Daily Prism? Too Jameson…'
He paused, fingers hovering.
'Insight.'
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Insight to gain an accurate and deep intuitive understanding… basically to see through lies and find the truth… it fits and it's catchy."
He typed it in and submitted the search for availability.
Available.
"Perfect."
He filed the Articles of Organization under Insight, LLC, listing the print shop's address as their business location. The registered agent? Peter Parker, naturally. Peter's adult status gave them a legitimate front, while Ethan stayed invisible behind his masks.
For "managers/members," he used his fifth identity: Isaac Maddox. Columbia University student. Political science major. Community volunteer. All of it built from carefully layered digital footprints—fake transcripts, donation receipts, even photoshopped photos of Isaac with his back turned, handing out meals at a homeless shelter.
Within minutes, Isaac Maddox was officially a co-owner of an upcoming New York newspaper.
Ethan paid the filing fee with an untraceable prepaid card he set up. One step down.
Next came the LLC Operating Agreement. It was tedious but vital—outlining ownership percentages, roles, and decision-making processes.
He set himself, as Isaac Maddox, the silent majority shareholder. Peter would be listed as editor-in-chief and would be given 30% percent of the shares, in charge of all content and editorial decisions. Felicia, should she agree to it, would be given 25% of the shares and would oversee security and logistics.
He drafted clauses about profit sharing and voting rights, embedding safeguards to ensure no outsider could ever wrest control from their small team.
By the time he finished, the document read like something drafted by a seasoned corporate lawyer.
Two steps down.
Ethan pulled up the IRS website and applied for an Employer Identification Number under the LLC. He filled in the forms in seconds, his fingers flying across the keyboard, and a little hacking to move his processing document to the forefront and within minutes had their EIN.
This number would be the key to hiring employees, managing taxes, and setting up a business bank account.
But that last step wasn't his to handle.
Peter would have to do the account setup in person, Ethan thought with faint irritation. I don't have time to play banker or hack through layers of federal systems just to create a checking account. Focus on priorities.
With the legal scaffolding complete, Ethan pivoted to the digital realm.
First, he purchased a domain: insight.net, hosted through a privacy-focused provider that scrubbed all ownership metadata.
He set up a basic website template—clean, modern, and flexible. Placeholder articles filled the homepage, and a "Coming Soon" banner floated prominently across the header.
Next came secure communications. Ethan installed end-to-end encrypted email servers and configured VPN protocols for their team. He would personally oversee all data traffic through onion-routing proxies, ensuring their network was untraceable.
For public-facing website, Isaac Maddox became the figurehead. The posts were carefully curated: thoughtful commentary on media ethics, quotes about transparency and truth, photos of "Isaac" visiting community events, ready to be uploaded whenever he was ready.
By the time Ethan leaned back, Isaac Maddox looked like a young media mogul in the making.
Ethan rubbed his eyes, the glow of the screens searing into his brain.
The newspaper's skeleton is done. Now I can stop thinking about it.
But as soon as that thought settled, others surged forward, louder and more insistent.
Norman Osborn. Delilah. Rose.
The "Big Three" looming over his mental chessboard.
Osborn: The Oscorp plan was airtight in theory, but it relied on flawless execution. One mistake and Norman would pivot from defensive to offensive, and Ethan couldn't let that happen—not with Peter, MJ, and Aunt May in the line of fire.
Delilah: Recruiting her wouldn't be simple. She wasn't a villain in the traditional sense, but her loyalty to Rose and her own ambitions made her volatile. Ethan would have to offer her something irresistible—something even Rose couldn't counter.
Rose: Taking down his criminal network was Peter's fight, but Ethan had no intention of leaving it fully in Peter's hands. Rose's empire was intricate and poisonous. Cutting it out cleanly would require precision—and leverage.
Ethan exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders.
Three predators on the board. Ten days to neutralize all of them.
If he succeeded, the city would be changed forever.
If he failed…
'I don't fail.'
By the time Ethan finally shut his monitors, the afternoon sun was already sliding toward evening. He pushed away from the desk and stretched, his muscles stiff from hours of focus.
The groundwork was laid.
Now came the hard part: execution.
Ethan stared at the ceiling of his dark room, the blue glow of his monitors painting faint geometric halos across the walls. His mind had been spinning violently—timelines, logistics, contingencies—until picking up his phone felt less like a choice and more like a reflex.
He scrolled to Peter's name.
His thumb hovered.
Then he pressed call.
The line rang once, twice—
"Ethan?"
Ethan didn't waste time. "I need to talk to you."
Peter let out a weary breath. "Yeah. I figured."
Silence swelled between them—thick, weighted, full of all the things neither had said out loud yet.
Ethan broke first.
"My life… this entire double life I'm building… it's dangerous," he said quietly. "Not just for me. For everyone attached to me."
Peter didn't interrupt. Ethan sounded different—less calculating, less cold. More like someone pacing in circles inside his own skull, trying to outrun a truth that kept catching up.
"My parents don't know anything," Ethan went on. "They shouldn't. They never should. But recently they told me about the baby. My mom's pregnant. And, Peter… I keep thinking about how many ways this could all go wrong."
Peter's voice softened. "Ethan—"
"No," Ethan cut in—not harshly, just firm. "Let me finish."
He took a slow breath.
"You've lived with this longer than I have. The double identity. The split life. The constant risk. You—more than anyone—know exactly what it means to put a target on the backs of the people you love."
Peter's grip tightened on the phone. Ethan could hear the tension in the pause that followed.
"And now that I'm deep in all this…" Ethan's voice dropped to something rawer. "I'm scared. Not of Norman. Not Fisk. Not the Rose. I'm scared of what I'll drag into my parents' lives. Into the life of a kid who isn't even born yet."
Another pause.
"You think you're going to hurt them?" Peter asked quietly.
Ethan closed his eyes. "I know I could."
The truth of it landed between them like a stone dropped into still water.
"So what?" Peter asked. "You're thinking of leaving them?"
Ethan didn't answer.
Peter sucked in a sharp breath. "Ethan—are you seriously considering walking out on your family? On a baby that hasn't even met you yet?"
Ethan swallowed. The words he'd been avoiding gathered like weight on his tongue.
"I don't know."
There was a rustle on the line—Peter shifting, maybe sitting up straighter. Ethan imagined him in some dim hospital hallway, eyes tired from everything he'd been through.
"That's a better answer than what I expected," Peter said softly. "I thought you were going to say yes."
Ethan blinked. "Why would you think that?"
"Because you sound like someone already building a life without them," Peter said. "A guy with another identity, a hundred plans, and a thousand exit routes. People who talk like that… usually already made their decision."
Ethan's fingers tightened around the phone. "I haven't."
"And that," Peter said, "is why I'm relieved."
Another long silence, but gentler this time.
"You know," Peter murmured, "I used to think leaving was the answer too. Especially when things got really dangerous. Especially when May got hurt. When MJ got pulled into all this. Every instinct I had screamed to push them away, disappear, keep them safe by not being in their lives."
"And?" Ethan asked quietly.
"And it didn't work," Peter said. "Leaving doesn't protect them. It just hurts them. Makes them vulnerable. Makes you alone. Distance doesn't make danger go away; it just makes you feel less responsible when it hits."
Ethan let the words settle.
Peter wasn't lecturing—he was remembering.
"Look," Peter continued, "I get it. You're scared of being the reason something happens to them. But leaving? That's giving up before anything even starts. And from what I've seen, you're not the giving-up type."
Ethan gave a quiet, humorless huff. "You don't know me as well as you think."
"I know enough," Peter replied. "If you didn't care, you wouldn't be calling me right now. You wouldn't be afraid. And you wouldn't still be there with them. You could vanish if you wanted to. But instead? You're asking me to talk you out of it."
Ethan pressed the heel of his palm to his eyes. His voice came out lower—more vulnerable than Peter had ever heard from him.
"I just don't want them to get hurt because of me."
"That isn't weakness, Ethan," Peter said. "That's caring. And caring is one of the strongest things a person can do. The real cold thing would be leaving and pretending none of it mattered."
Ethan didn't answer for a long moment.
Then—
"What if staying puts them in danger anyway?"
"What if leaving hurts them worse?" Peter countered. "Ethan, you're not a god. You can't stop every bad thing in life before it happens. You can only prepare. And you're good at that. So do what you always do—predict the risks, plan for them, and be there."
Ethan's breath stilled.
It hit deeper than Peter probably realized.
"And listen," Peter added quietly, "you're not alone in this. You don't have to figure everything out by yourself. I'm here. I always will be. So don't run just because you're scared of what comes next. Because trust me… the person you become when you run? That's someone you won't like."
Ethan stared at the glow of his monitors—lines of code frozen on-screen like a half-built escape route.
"So… you think I should stay."
"You already think you should stay," Peter said. "I'm just agreeing with you. Give yourself time. Time to breathe. Time to see what kind of big brother you could be. Because a good family… that's a miracle, Ethan. Not everyone gets one. So don't throw yours away before you know what you're losing."
Something twisted deep in Ethan's chest.
"And if I make the wrong choice?" he asked.
"Then we fix it," Peter said simply. "Together."
Ethan didn't respond immediately. The silence stretched long enough that Peter wondered if the call had dropped. But then, quietly—almost reluctantly—Ethan breathed out a soft sound.
A laugh.
Not sharp or sarcastic. Not cold.
A tired, disbelieving, almost human laugh.
"…You really are impossible," Ethan murmured, the edge in his voice finally loosening. "I call you late at night to tell you I might abandon everything, and somehow you end up giving me a lecture on miracles."
Peter huffed. "Yeah, well. Someone has to keep you from doing anything stupid."
"You realize the irony in you saying that, right?" Ethan said.
"Shut up," Peter replied, but there was a smile and a chuckle in it.
Another small laugh escaped Ethan—quieter this time, but real. "Alright. Fine. You win. I'll stay. For now." For now felt like the most he could give. But it was also more than he ever thought he would.
"For now is good enough," Peter said softly.
Ethan exhaled, long and slow, the tension easing from his voice in a way Peter had never heard before. "Yeah. It is."
There was a pause. But it wasn't heavy anymore. Just two people sitting in the quiet after surviving yet another storm.
"Get some sleep, Ethan," Peter murmured.
"You too, Peter."
A beat.
"Thanks… for you know picking up," Ethan added.
Peter smiled faintly. "Always. Well, not always, I close after midnight."
Ethan chuckled, "I'll remember that next time."