Ethan's breath clouded in the cool night air as he hurried through the quiet streets, the heavy backpack clutched in one hand, the cleaning supplies crinkling in plastic bags in the other. Street lamps buzzed softly above him, their light creating long shadows that stretched across the pavement. Every step he took seemed louder than normal, echoing in his ears along with one repeating thought:
I need somewhere safe.
Somewhere nobody will look.
His newly inherited house was only three blocks away. And tonight—after what he'd found—it felt like a sanctuary waiting for him.
He quickened his pace.
By the time he reached the front of the house, the street was nearly empty. The porch light, activated by a motion sensor older than he was, flickered to life with a buzz. The place still looked lonely—like it was waiting for a family that never came back.
Ethan unlocked the door and stepped inside.
The house smelled faintly of dust and disuse, but after hours of cleaning earlier that day, the downstairs living room looked less like an abandoned relic and more like a space someone could actually live in. He dropped the cleaning supplies near the entrance, his hands trembling slightly as he set the suspicious backpack on the old dining table.
The lamp he'd set up earlier flickered on with a soft glow. Boxes filled with his parents' old things lined the walls. Faded curtains fluttered faintly from a cool draft.
And in the center of it all sat the backpack.
Full of illegal money.
Full of opportunity.
Full of consequences.
Ethan exhaled, running a hand through his hair before collapsing onto one of the old chairs.
He stared at the bag, the silence pressing against his ears.
"This is insane," he muttered. "Fifteen-year-olds are supposed to worry about homework, not… not this."
He leaned back and covered his face with his hands.
He tried to think logically—to break it down the way his mind always did when faced with a complicated problem.
Scenario 1:Leave the money where it is.
—Impossible. He already took it.
—Too dangerous to return it.
—The criminal could be watching.
Scenario 2:Report it to the police.
—He'd be dragged into questioning.
—More eyes, more problems.
—He'd lose the money entirely.
Scenario 3:Keep it.
—Risky.
—Illegal.
—Life-changing.
He lifted his head and stared harder at the backpack.
"Was it wrong?" he asked the empty house.
His voice echoed slightly off the bare walls.
He thought about the man's behavior—the shifty eyes, the hurried movements, the way he shoved the bag into garbage without hesitation. No normal person hid money like that.
This money wasn't from a paycheck or savings.
It reeked of crime.
"So… did I really do something bad?" Ethan asked again, softer this time.
Nobody answered.
But deep down, Ethan already knew what he believed:He didn't take this money from someone innocent.He didn't hurt anybody.He didn't steal.
He simply found something discarded by a criminal.
His survival instincts whispered:
Use it.
Use it smartly.
Use it quietly.
And he needed it.
He needed it for the AI.
For the robotics.
For the house repairs.
For building something in this world that could keep him alive when things got dangerous.
This was Marvel's Earth, after all.
And Ethan was painfully aware that ordinary people didn't last long here.
He stood and approached the backpack slowly, like it was a sleeping bomb. Unzipping it again, he stared at the bundles of neatly packed bills.
They didn't glisten, didn't glow.
They were just paper.
Paper that could buy him time.
Resources.
Freedom.
"I'm not using all of it," he murmured. "Not openly. Not stupidly."
He'd funnel small amounts into safe uses—basic tools, computer parts, materials that wouldn't raise suspicion.
The rest?
He'd hide it.
This house was now his.
No one else knew about it.
No one visited.No one cared.
He breathed deeply, making up his mind.
"Okay… let's get this hidden."
He grabbed the bag, walked to the hallway, and opened the door leading downstairs.
The basement was pitch dark and smelled faintly of old wood and cement. He flicked the switch—an old bulb flickered to life.
Dusty shelves.
Old furniture pieces.
A workbench.
Stacks of boxes he hadn't opened yet.
Perfect.
He walked toward the far corner, moved a stack of unused wood panels, and found a narrow gap behind an old metal cabinet. He shoved the bag inside, covering it back with the panels.
Hidden.
Out of sight.
Safe—for now.
He exhaled in relief and wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve.
When he climbed back upstairs, the house somehow felt… lighter.Like he had finally taken control of something.
Still, a nagging feeling sat in his chest—fear mixed with excitement, uncertainty mixed with determination.
He grabbed his cleaning supplies and sighed.
"Alright… tomorrow I clean the rest. Then I start upgrading everything. Step by step."
He paused, glancing toward the hidden basement door.
"And nobody," he whispered, "nobody finds out about that money."
He locked up the house, double-checking windows and doors.Then he headed back toward his apartment through the quiet streets, the weight of the future pressing on him—
—but for the first time since arriving in this world…
He felt like he had a fighting chance.
Sunlight filtered through the blinds of Ethan Vale's new home—his home—and the quiet of the early morning wrapped around him like a blanket he wasn't used to. For years, mornings meant cramped rooms, rushing for the bathroom, grabbing cheap breakfast before running to school or his shift. But today…He woke up in a real bedroom.A room that didn't smell like the upstairs neighbor's curry or the downstairs tenant's cigarettes.A room that belonged to him.
Ethan rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up, seeing the faint outline of the backpack resting against the wall. The same backpack containing $150,000. A fortune for any teen. A miracle for someone who had lost everything.
He tore his gaze away.Later. One problem at a time.
Today was Saturday. No school. No excuses.The house needed to be cleaned—properly—not just dust brushed off furniture.
Ethan grabbed the bucket and cleaning supplies he had purchased the previous night.Multi-surface cleaner, detergent, gloves, a set of scrub brushes, microfiber cloths, a mop, and even a cheap vacuum. He had been planning to spend a part of his part-time salary on these anyway.
He opened every window on the ground floor, letting fresh morning air sweep across decades of stale memories. Then he started.
First, the hall.He sprayed the walls, wiped them down, scrubbed the corners, vacuumed under old furniture, and mopped the entire floor until it gleamed.For the first time, the place looked alive.
Halfway through, he paused and wiped sweat from his forehead.
"This house… Mom, Dad… you did good," he whispered.
He moved to the kitchen next—removing old utensils, wiping counters, and clearing out expired cans that looked like they belonged in a museum.He spent a good hour on just the fridge.
As he worked, he found himself smiling.Cleaning wasn't fun, but it felt… grounding.He wasn't surviving.He was building.
By noon, he took a break and checked his phone.Two missed notifications—from Ned.
Ethan called him back.
"Dude! You awake?" Ned answered immediately.
"Yeah. Cleaning the new place," Ethan replied.
"Oh right… your inheritance house. We still haven't seen it!" Ned said excitedly.
Ethan chuckled. "Yeah, I've been busy. And… thanks for helping yesterday."
"Always, man." Then Ned lowered his voice. "By the way… Peter's feeling better today."
Ethan's grip tightened on the phone.
Better?Of course he is.Spider-DNA doesn't leave you sick for long.
"That's good," Ethan said quietly.
"Dude, he woke up with way more energy. He said he slept like a rock. You should see him, he looks so refreshed it's weird."
Ethan forced a laugh. "Knowing Peter, maybe he finally had a day of rest."
"Well, we're planning to hang out today. Uh, can we come over? Peter wants to see your new mansion."
"It's a small house, Ned," Ethan corrected, smiling.
"Compared to our apartments, it's a mansion," Ned insisted.
Ethan looked around at the freshly cleaned rooms, the half-done work, and his bucket of supplies.
"Sure," he said finally. "You guys can come. I'll text the address."
"YES! FIELD TRIP!" Ned shouted before hanging up.
Ethan pocketed his phone, amusement flickering through him.
Peter is changing. The spider bite already happened. Spider-Sense, enhanced physique… everything.Ethan exhaled.He didn't know exactly what fate had planned—this wasn't the exact universe he knew from movies—but he did know things would escalate from here.
For now, he had to play the role of the normal friend.
He got back to cleaning—living room, bathroom, hallway—and slowly the house transformed from an abandoned relic into a real home.
By the time he finished, it was nearing 2 PM.Dust was gone, windows were clear, and the place smelled like lemon-scented cleaner instead of neglect.
Ethan stepped back, stretching his tired muscles.
"Not bad," he muttered. "Not bad at all."
Soon, Ned and Peter would arrive.Soon, the world would start shifting.And Ethan Vale—15 years old, orphan, coder, and silently the only one aware of the coming storm—would be right in the center of it.
The real beginning wasn't far now.