The walk from the kitchen to the living room felt longer than the flight to Tibet. Every step Ethan took was a calculated exercise in atmospheric pressure. He could feel the weight of his mother's gaze on his back, and the silent, looming presence of his father waiting in the shadows of the sofa.
For a brief, flickering second, Ethan considered having N.E.A.R. trigger a false emergency at Metro-General Hospital to pull his mother away. But as he crossed the threshold into the living room, he killed those thoughts. This wasn't a tactical simulation against a rival syndicate; these were the two people who had provided the genetic and emotional foundation for his current life. If he broke their trust with powers now, he would never truly own the "Ethan Kane" identity again.
His father, Marcus, sat rigidly on the edge of the fabric sofa. On the coffee table lay a thick manila envelope, already unsealed. Beside it was a printout from Midtown High's attendance portal, bleeding red ink where "Absent" had been logged for many days.
"Sit down, Ethan," his father said. It wasn't a shout. It was worse. It was the low, vibrating tone of a man who had been practicing his composure for hours.
Ethan sat. He kept his posture slightly slumped, his hands tucked between his knees—the universal body language of a teenager caught in a lie.
"We talked to your principal yesterday evening," his mother said, her voice cracking as she sat in the armchair opposite him. "He said you haven't been in class. He said that when they called us, the numbers on file went straight to voicemail. Our numbers, Ethan. Apparently, someone changed the school records. Would you happen to know how such a thing happened? Tell us. The school is considering expulsion."
Ethan felt the Sage-enhanced portion of his brain kick into high gear. It started running every possible scenario, even ridiculous ones, to see what could get him out of this mess.
Simulation 2810: Deny everything. Claim a system error.
Result: Failure. Thomas is an investigator; he'll see the manual override fingerprints in the logs.
Simulation 2811: Claim a secret girlfriend or a drug habit.
Result: Failure. Out of character. They'd insist on a medical screening, which would reveal his lies.
Simulation 2812: The Truth (Partial).
Result: Optimal. Leverage the "Mutant" narrative. Connects to his father's known prejudice against heroes. High emotional resonance.
"I did it," Ethan whispered. He didn't look up. He let his voice tremble just enough. "I changed the numbers. I hacked the school and the portal."
His father's eyes narrowed. "You hacked into your school? You're sixteen, Ethan. You're supposed to be worrying about prom, not hacking. Besides, you've never taken a computer class."
"I'm not exactly normal," Ethan said, finally meeting his father's eyes. This was the pivot. "Not in my head."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Marcus asked, leaning forward.
Ethan reached out and grabbed a thick, hardcover medical encyclopedia from the bottom shelf of the coffee table—a book his mother Linda used for her nursing references. It was over eight hundred pages of dense text and complex anatomical diagrams. Ethan quickly flipped through the book and closed it within seconds.
"Ask me anything," Ethan said, sliding the book toward his father. "Pick a page. Read a sentence. I'll tell you the rest of the chapter."
His father looked at his mother, then back at Ethan, his expression skeptical. He flipped the book open to a random section in the middle. "Page 412. The section on... neurovascular pathways."
Ethan didn't even blink. "The superior cerebellar artery originates near the termination of the basilar artery. It passes laterally, below the oculomotor nerve, and winds around the cerebral peduncle. It supplies the superior surface of the cerebellar hemisphere and..." He continued for three minutes, reciting the Latin terminology with the cadence of a professional lecturer.
Thomas slammed the book shut. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the quiet room. "How?"
"It happened a few months ago," Ethan lied, his voice dropping to a vulnerable register. "After the... after the incident in the city. I woke up and the world was just... loud. My brain wouldn't stop. I can look at a page and it's just there, forever. I can see patterns in code, in the way people move, in everything."
He looked at his hands, feigning a slight tremor. "I think I'm a mutant, Dad. My power is... I'm too smart. I'm also good with machines, and can make almost anything I want."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Ethan knew his father's history—the way he looked at the news when the Avengers leveled a city block, the way he gritted his teeth whenever "enhanced individuals" were mentioned. To Marcus Kane, people with powers were the reason the world was broken.
"I didn't want you to know," Ethan said, the "overwhelmed genius" card finally hitting the table. "I've seen how you look at them. The 'capes.' I know you think they're all monsters or accidents waiting to happen. I tried to hide it. I skipped school because the teachers were too slow. Being in that classroom felt like being buried alive in slow motion. I started taking freelance jobs—consulting for tech firms—just to keep my mind from screaming. I changed the phone numbers because I didn't want you to be ashamed of me."
Ethan got up from the chair. He didn't move toward the door; he moved toward his father. He dropped to his knees on the carpet, a gesture of total submission that felt alien to his true nature but was perfect for the scene.
"I'm sorry," Ethan said, his voice thick with a simulated sob. "I don't want to be a hero. I don't want to fight in the streets and knock down buildings. I just wanted to help us. I wanted to make enough money, so you and Mom wouldn't have to worry about the baby, hospital bills, or the mortgage again."
Marcus looked down at his son. The anger in his face was being dismantled by something more primal. He remembered the hospital bed after the Doom attack; he remembered the fear of losing his only child.
"Ethan..." Marcus started, his voice rough. He reached out, his heavy hand landing on Ethan's shoulder. "I don't hate people with powers because of what they are. I hate them because they forget the little people. They treat the world like a playground and leave us to sweep up the glass."
He pulled Ethan up, wrapping him in a fierce, crushing hug. "You're my son. You're not a monster. You're just... you're just gifted. And I'm sorry I made you feel like you had to hide that from me."
Linda joined them, her arms wrapping around both of them, her tears wetting the shoulder of Ethan's shirt. For a long moment, they were just a family. Ethan held them back, his mind already noting the "Success" flag.
"Okay," his father said, finally pulling back and wiping his eyes. "Okay. No more lies. No more skipping. If you're bored in class, we'll talk to the new Massachusetts school about an accelerated program. But you are going to be a student, Ethan. You're going to have a normal life."
"And I'm going to make sure of it," his mother added, her nursing persona taking over. "Starting tomorrow, when your father drops you off at the front door, I want a text from your teacher confirming you're in your seat. No more 'consulting' job during school hours. Leave the money issues to us; we're your parents. Also, you're grounded."
Ethan's heart sank— genuinely this time. Grounded. In the middle of the most critical week of his operations.
"I understand," Ethan said, keeping his face calm. "And... I actually have something for you both. I've been working on it in my 'consulting' time."
He reached into his backpack and pulled out two sleek, silver smartphones. They were thinner than anything on the market, the glass seemingly edge-to-edge with a faint, pearlescent glow.
"I made these," Ethan said. "They're encrypted. No one can hack them, not even the government. I wanted us to have a way to stay connected that was safe."
He showed them the interface. It was simplified, elegant. "It has a built-in safety app. I called it N.E.A.R. It tracks our locations in real-time. If I'm at school, you'll see me there. If you're at the hospital, I'll know you're safe."
His mother took the phone, marvelling at the weight. "You made this? This is a phone, right? It's so light. From scratch? How?"
"I'm good with machines, and I used my money to buy the parts. I designed and coded the phone myself," Ethan said. "It's my way of showing you I'm not hiding anymore. You can see where I am, 24/7."
The part he would tell them is that N.E.A.R. had been programmed to initiate a 'Looping Protocol 01'. Where if, Ethan's phone were to leave the 500-yard radius of Midtown High, it would spoof the GPS signal to maintain a stationary hover over the school and shift to match his school schedule.
"It's beautiful, Ethan," his mother whispered.
"Go to your room," his father said, though the edge was gone from his voice. "You're still grounded for the truancy. No computer for a week."
"Fair enough," Ethan said.
He walked upstairs, each step feeling like a victory and a cage. He entered his room and closed the door, the silence of his bedroom felt deafening compared to the roar of the lab. He checked his "real" phone—as N.E.A.R. switched to its true interface.
The Nevada mission was happening today. Peter would already be prepping if he was awake. Felicia would likely tag along with him.
Ethan dialed Felicia's secure line. She picked up on the first ring.
"Hello, this is the Black Cat fan club. Sorry, there is no meeting today," she purred. "I'm still in bed, so call back later."
"Cute. Anyways, Felicia, I need a favor," Ethan said, his voice cold and professional. "I need you to use the 'Secretary' persona. I need you to go to the lab."
"Now?" she asked, her tone shifting. "Peter's leaving for Nevada in three hours. I was planning on going."
"This is kind of urgent," Ethan said. "Don't worry, it'll be quick. I need you to take Whitney—no ah, Madame Masque—to the lab. She'll be bringing some books and a hood. Leave those inside the lab. When taking her to the lab, be sure to use a blindfold or whatever. She cannot see or know the route."
"And why am I doing the heavy lifting so early in the morning?" Felicia asked. "Are you out of town or something? Usually, you like to be the one handling such things."
Ethan looked at his closed bedroom door, hearing the faint sound of his father's footsteps in the hallway.
"I can't make it," Ethan whispered.
"Oh? Are you hiding from someone? A bad guy got you trapped, and you need a rescue?"
"No," Ethan muttered, the humiliation stinging more than he cared to admit. "I'm grounded."
There was a long, pointed silence on the other end of the line. Then, Felicia Hardy let out a laugh so loud it nearly distorted the speaker.
"Wait, say that again. Grounded?" she gasped. "The man who just liquidated Wilson Fisk's assets is sitting in his room because he didn't do his chores or homework?"
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Just do me this favor, Felicia," Ethan sighed, though he couldn't stop the faint, begrudging smirk from forming. "I'll coordinate everything through the lab A.I., it's called N.E.A.R. Just get her to the lab, and N.E.A.R. will take care of everything."
"Whatever you say, 'kid,'" Felicia teased, holding back a laugh. "Normally, I'd pass on this, but you made me laugh this morning, so I'll handle it. You just make sure you don't lose your TV privileges too."
She hung up. Ethan leaned back against his headboard, staring at the ceiling. Outside, the world was moving toward an apocalyptic battle, yet here he was grounded.