Year: 1988 – Midtown Science Academy, New York
The school bell shrieked like it was trying to kill someone's eardrums.
"Another day, another chance to disappoint my teachers," Ethan Stark announced as he strolled into homeroom. He swung his backpack like it weighed nothing, flashing a grin at a group of girls near the front. "Ladies, if you need me later, I'll be available for tutoring. Subjects include chemistry, physics, and advanced kissing techniques."
Half the class laughed. The other half groaned. The teacher, Mrs. Carver, pinched the bridge of her nose as if she'd aged ten years in one second.
"Mr. Stark," she said in a weary voice. "Do you ever take anything seriously?"
Ethan leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. "Of course I do. I take naps very seriously."
The laughter doubled.
Mrs. Carver sighed. "Sit down before I fail you on principle."
Mask: secured, Ethan thought. Another successful morning of convincing everyone he was the clown prince of Midtown. Beneath the grins and bad jokes, his mind was running calculations: analyzing timelines, remembering future villains, cataloging the rise of heroes still in their larval stages.
But nobody saw that part of him. Nobody could.
At lunch, Ethan found himself surrounded by the usual suspects: Hope Van Dyne, Hank Pym Jr., and a tall, quiet kid named Daniel Rand who had an oddly intense way of staring at his apple like it held the secrets of the universe.
"You know," Ethan said, pointing with his fork, "if you stare at that thing any harder, it's going to turn into applesauce."
Danny blinked. "…I was meditating."
"Over fruit?" Ethan smirked. "Man, remind me never to invite you to a strip club. You'll put the poor girls into existential crises."
Hope nearly spit out her soda, laughing despite herself. Hank groaned. "Why do we sit with you again?"
"Because deep down you love me," Ethan said, giving Hank finger guns. "And because without me this table would be a social void."
Hope rolled her eyes but smirked. "You're insufferable."
"Correct. But charmingly insufferable."
Ethan winked, earning another laugh.
Later that day in chemistry, Ethan let his goofy façade slip just a hair. Hope was working on a formula, muttering under her breath about catalysts.
"You're adding the wrong stabilizer," Ethan said, casually doodling on his notebook.
Hope froze. "What?"
"Try manganese instead of cobalt," Ethan murmured, still pretending not to pay attention. "Slows the chain reaction just enough. But what do I know? I'm just the class clown."
She narrowed her eyes. "You… you play dumb."
Ethan gave her a grin that was all teeth and no answers.
Hope didn't press further, but he caught her glancing at him for the rest of the period.
Good, Ethan thought. The less they know, the safer they are. But planting seeds? That's safe enough.
After school, Ethan didn't go home right away.
Instead, he cut down the alleys near Hell's Kitchen. Shadows lengthened across the walls, and the city breathed differently here—like it was holding secrets in its lungs.
Rumors were starting. Whispers of masked men fighting crime in the night. Ethan had heard kids talking about it in hushed voices: a blind lawyer in Hell's Kitchen taking down thugs, a whisper of a skull-headed biker seen near the Hudson. Nothing concrete yet. Just foreshadowing of the vigilantes to come.
But Ethan felt it. The System pulsed faintly at the edge of his awareness.
[System Synchronization: 64%...]
The world was waking up. Heroes, villains, monsters. All of it was moving toward the surface.
And if Ethan wanted to be ready, he couldn't just sit back.
He pulled the hood of his jacket higher and slipped deeper into the alleys, scanning for trouble.
It didn't take long.
Three older boys had cornered a kid near the dumpsters, shoving him against the brick wall. One held a knife, the other two laughed like hyenas.
Ethan sighed. "Really? Middle schoolers with a knife? That's the big crime wave today?"
The thugs turned. "Beat it, Stark."
Ethan spread his arms. "No can do. See, I promised myself I'd get some cardio in today. And punching your faces seems like a perfect workout."
The kid they'd cornered blinked. "You're insane."
"Accurate," Ethan said, stepping forward.
The first thug lunged with the knife. Ethan sidestepped smoothly, grabbing the boy's wrist and twisting just enough to make him yelp and drop the blade. He'd trained too long in the Stark basement to be sloppy now.
The second thug swung. Ethan ducked, then slammed his palm into the boy's chest, sending him sprawling back.
The third one froze, unsure. Ethan leaned in, whispering: "Run. Or I'll show you where I keep my Batarang."
The thug frowned. "The hell is a Batarang?"
"Exactly," Ethan said with a grin. "Wrong universe, buddy."
The kid laughed nervously as the bullies scrambled away.
"You… you're Stark, right?" the kid asked.
"Ethan. The less memorable Stark. Don't tell anyone, yeah?"
The kid nodded quickly.
Ethan turned away, heart still pounding. That had been easy. Too easy. But it was only the beginning.
This city is starting to boil, he thought. And when it boils over, I'll be ready.
That night, lying in bed, Ethan stared at the ceiling.
His playboy mask worked at school. His body grew stronger every night. His mind was sharper than anyone guessed.
But the System was still incomplete. He needed it. Soon.
Because playground thugs were nothing compared to what was coming.
And he had four years left before his parents' date with death.
[System Synchronization: 68%...][Warning: Dungeon Break Approaching…]
📖 Chapter 3 – Status Window
[SYSTEM SYNCHRONIZATION: 68%...][WARNING: Dungeon Break Approaching…]
Name: Ethan StarkLevel: [N/A] (Locked)Job/Class: [N/A] (Locked)HP: 135 / 135MP: 15 / 15
Stats:
Strength: 14 (+2)
Agility: 13 (+2)
Vitality: 13 (+1)
Intelligence: 20 (Still capped)
Sense: 15 (+1)
Skills:
[Vigilante Instinct] – Passive (Developing)Street-level combat experience sharpening reflexes.
[Locked]