"I have multiples girlfriends in Marvel."

Some say robbery is a fast way to get rich.

Ethan Cole thought, "Ha."

If he had drawn Harley Quinn as his first girlfriend card, maybe he would've been robbing banks already.

But instead, he drew Gwen and ended up with Spider-Man's powers. With such a heroic identity, doing something illegal just didn't feel right.

Sure, robbery's illegal—but if he really wanted quick cash through shady means, he could just pull a few gray cards and hustle on the streets.

At least he'd be standing while earning money. A little contribution to society, right?

> "Hard work is glorious," he muttered to himself.

"Making money through effort? Even more glorious, little brother!"

The next day after school, Ethan stuffed a cheap Iron Man helmet into his bag—something he'd bought from a novelty shop—and headed toward the underground wrestling arena near the New York Public Library. It was the address listed in the newspaper ad.

Underground wrestling was usually half-scripted. The fighters were more like performers, and most of the flashy moves needed cooperation to look good.

That's why good wrestlers often made good actors.

Take Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson or Dave Bautista—look where they ended up.

As soon as Ethan stepped into the arena, he could feel the raw energy of the crowd.

In the center ring, two massive men were going at it—fists flying, sweat dripping—and the audience was screaming like lunatics.

> "Big Mac! Big Mac! Big Mac!"

Big Mac McGregor stood like a tank in the ring, muscles bulging in every direction. He'd just finished pulverizing someone built just like him and was now basking in victory with his arms raised high.

The defeated masked wrestler lay stretched out on a gurney, wailing so dramatically that even the best comedians would cringe at the overacting.

Big Mac McGregor had already racked up more than twenty straight wins. If everything went as expected, he'd keep dominating until the prize pool against him swelled, at which point he'd "accidentally" lose to a conveniently chosen opponent. Fatigue, bad luck, or a miraculous performance from the other guy—pick your excuse.

Underground wrestling wasn't just about watching two muscled-up brutes trade punches. The real show was the gambling—win or lose, people bet heavy. The louder the crowd, the more money had been won.

Right now, the cheers came from those who bet on McGregor. They were grinning ear to ear. The ones who bet against him… well, they looked like they'd just been mugged in an alley.

> "Anyone who can last three minutes in the ring with Big Mac McGregor will receive a $3000 reward! Who's next!"

The announcer's voice boomed across the arena, hyping up the crowd.

Three minutes didn't sound like much. But against someone like Big Mac? You'd think twice—then maybe think again. Still, three grand was three grand, and that was enough to lure in a line of reckless challengers.

Ethan Cole quietly pulled the cheap Iron Man helmet over his head and stepped into the line.

Big Mac didn't waste time—each challenger dropped faster than the last—so Ethan's turn came quicker than expected.

The woman at the registration desk was... hard to miss. Sturdy, broad-shouldered, and oozing sarcasm. Her curled lip said it all before she even opened her mouth.

She looked Ethan up and down and smirked.

> "You kids will do anything for money these days. You even know who you're fighting? That's Big Mac McGregor up there. Dozens of wins, built like a wrecking ball. And you—skinny arms, chicken legs—you think you'll last three minutes?"

Then she leaned in, lowering her voice, but not the volume.

> "Honestly, if you're that broke, I can hook you up. Way easier than getting your ribs broken. And it'll feel a hell of a lot better too…"

She winked.

The guys behind Ethan burst into laughter.

> "Hey, Iron Man! Maybe go back to Stark Industries, huh?"

"Don't cry for mommy when he knocks the helmet off!"

"Bro, come back when you've had your growth spurt."

"Kid, want me to let you feel the thrill of battle first? I don't mind if you're a guy, and I go hard!"

Ethan Cole slowly turned to the bulky guy who had offered to "help" him feel the thrill of battle.

"Go ahead. Hit me."

"...What?"

Anyone signing up here wasn't a coward, but the bulky man couldn't understand why Ethan would make such a request. Still, since he asked for it, the guy figured he might as well oblige.

"My punch hits pretty hard!"

As he spoke, the man threw his fist without hesitation, not caring if it might seriously injure Ethan.

Bang!

A flash.

In an instant, the bulky man was sent flying backward like a human cannonball.

Ethan calmly lowered his leg from a clean side kick and looked around with a slight smile.

"That was self-defense. Anyone got a problem with that?"

The entire area fell silent.

From that one kick—strong enough to launch a 200-pound man across several meters—no one dared to mock him anymore.

Ethan turned back to the registration clerk.

"The ad said $3000 for lasting three minutes. What about after three minutes?"

"I... I don't know." She shook her head, her earlier sarcasm completely gone.

"Got a phone?" Ethan asked.

"Uh, yeah!"

"Then call and find out."

"O-Okay, right away!"

She quickly pulled out her phone and made a call. Not long after, a man in a black suit approached, wearing the same smug expression the clerk had earlier.

"Are you the one who asked the question?"

He looked Ethan up and down, clearly not buying the story he'd just heard about someone getting kicked across the room.

In a wrestling arena, people get kicked and thrown around all the time. Who isn't an actor here?

But since someone had raised a question about the ad, the man in black didn't mind sweetening the deal a little.

"After three minutes, it's $2000 per minute. Over five minutes, $5000 per minute. If you last ten minutes, I'll throw in an extra $50,000."

The man in black wasn't worried about offering more prize money. No matter how much he gave out, he'd earn it all back from the betting audience if someone managed to pull off an upset.

$5000 per minute for ten minutes meant $50,000, and with the bonus, it totaled $100,000.

Ten minutes for $100,000—that was $60,000 an hour. Around four million RMB. Ethan Cole thought, Oh man, I'm set!

"Alright, let's sign the contract!"

The paperwork was quickly drawn up, and with the staff's guidance, Ethan made his way toward the ring.

The moment he stepped inside, the entire arena erupted in cheers and shouts.