Chapter 253: Preparations Begin for the Hell's Kitchen Grand Prix
Fisk Tower
"This race is a good idea. Hell's Kitchen could use a little entertainment for once — might even pull in some outside residents while we're at it. I'll handle smoothing things over with the city," Fisk said, cigar between his fingers, a shrewd glint in his eye that made clear he genuinely liked the plan.
He understood exactly what a successful race could do — not just morale for Hell's Kitchen, but outside attention, fresh energy flowing into the neighborhood.
Ethan had gathered every key figure in Hell's Kitchen to lay out the plan for the tournament.
"Only five days feels a little tight, doesn't it? If we're doing this, we should go big." Wanda's voice cut through Ethan's thoughts. She stood off to the side, arms crossed, a faint line of concern on her face.
She backed Ethan unconditionally, of course, but she couldn't deny the timeline felt rushed.
"I see this as a good opportunity to build some real goodwill between the mutants and the rest of Hell's Kitchen," Magneto said, with characteristic gravity. "And naturally, the winner will be a mutant."
Ethan shot him a flat look. "No powers allowed. How exactly are the regular folks in Hell's Kitchen supposed to compete against that? You're disqualified from entering, obviously."
If Magneto actually entered, nobody else would even need to bother — one flick of magnetism and every car on the track would be floating helplessly in midair. The man could win without even knowing how to drive.
Magneto glared at Ethan, silently offended that the kid hadn't given him an inch of deference.
"That said — if the power's applied to the vehicle itself, that's fair game," Ethan added. He explained that a plain, ordinary race probably wouldn't do much for Hell's Kitchen's residents — no spectacle, no draw, nobody would even bother watching.
So he wanted to encourage racers to get creative — modify their cars, incorporate powers into the build itself, make it something worth watching.
Hell's Kitchen needed its own flavor on this.
The moment he finished, Wanda raised another concern. "What about the new construction? Won't a race like this end up wrecking half of what we just rebuilt?"
"Don't worry about that part — I've got it handled," Ethan said. He'd already realized the Homestead system let him spend Friend Points to reinforce buildings across Hell's Kitchen — sturdy enough to shrug off a truck slamming straight into them.
"Sounds like a fun one. I'll put up two million — on the condition Stark Industries gets naming rights," Tony chimed in, clearly already invested.
"What about the actual prize, though? Two million alone won't draw the real talent," Wanda pressed again, a faint crease of worry between her brows.
Ethan smiled, perfectly at ease. "Don't worry about that part either. We'll announce it publicly — whoever takes first place gets one wish granted, within my own capabilities.
Whatever they're after — raw power, a fortune, my personal protection — I'll do what I can to make it happen."
The moment he finished speaking, the room went dead silent. Every eye in the room locked onto him, a mix of shock and open curiosity.
Wanda's brow furrowed deeply. "Are you sure about that? Any wish at all? Isn't that just asking for trouble?"
"Within my capabilities," Ethan clarified. "Anything outside that, I'll just ask them to pick something else. No need to worry."
This was Hell's Kitchen's first real public event, after all — worth going all in on. Wouldn't do to have people saying Hell's Kitchen was cheap.
Magneto's eyes flickered with something sharp the moment he heard the terms. If he could just get his hands on that prize, he could ask Ethan to boost mutant capabilities across the board — maybe even shift their standing in society entirely. The temptation was almost too much to resist.
Tony, too, couldn't help getting swept up in it — already imagining what he'd do with Ethan as his personal errand boy for a day, all the ways he could mess with him. The thought alone had him grinning.
Vongola Primo spoke up next, entirely serious. "The Vongola will be entering as well. Old friend — if we win, you're coming back to take up the mantle of Vongola Boss." His tone carried both genuine hope and a hint of playful challenge.
Wanda, meanwhile, was blushing furiously, lost in her own fantasy — if she won, she could make Ethan marry her. The thought left her equal parts thrilled and nervous. She stole a glance at Ethan and thought she caught a flicker of anticipation in his eyes too.
Fisk, saying nothing, was quietly thinking to himself: We need to get this boy married off and having kids, and soon. Guess I'd better find someone to enter this race myself.
Ethan watched everyone's expressions shift, each clearly lost in their own private scheming, and couldn't help laughing.
He waved a hand. "None of you are entering personally — that'd be completely unfair to everyone else. Send your people instead. Keeps things fair, keeps it fun."
Nobody argued. It made sense, honestly — if any of them entered personally, no ordinary resident of Hell's Kitchen would dare sign up at all.
"The rest of the promotion, marketing, whatever — I'll leave that to you all," Ethan said, and with that, opened a portal back to Hell's Kitchen, leaving the room behind, each of them still tangled in their own private thoughts.
"No offense," Tony said confidently, "but I'm taking this one."
"Not a chance. The winner is going to be one of my people," Wanda shot back, eyes already flashing red, chaos magic humming just beneath the surface. Nobody was standing between her and a date with Ethan.
"You'll back me on this, won't you, Dad?" Wanda turned to her father, fixing him with a look.
Magneto, faced with his daughter's not-so-subtle threat, could do nothing but nod along — already mentally drafting a message to Professor X to send someone in on the mutants' behalf. He knew exactly what Wanda was really angling for — a date with Ethan — and honestly, that felt like a criminal waste of the prize.
She's still young, doesn't know what she's doing. Better leave this one to the professionals.
Just then, Fisk broke the mounting tension in the room. He stood, clapped his hands together once, and said, "Alright, everyone. I'll go round up my people. The rest of you get moving too — let's get this race organized properly. If nobody shows up to this thing, that's an embarrassment for all of Hell's Kitchen."
Everyone nodded in agreement at that, understanding exactly how much this race meant for Hell's Kitchen's reputation, and got to work preparing for the coming spectacle.
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