First Steps for the Little Spider

Peter Parker had been having a great time lately. Ever since that spider bit him, he'd gained unparalleled superpowers. No longer was he the scrawny, powerless nerd—now he had superhuman strength and agility. For a high school kid, this was the best thing that could have happened.

But he wasn't without worries. The doctor he'd been chatting with online had arranged a thorough checkup for his whole family, and that checkup had uncovered quite a few problems.

Peter himself was fine—he was disgustingly healthy, and the hospital's machines hadn't detected anything unusual about him.

The problems were with his uncle and aunt, Ben and May Parker. They were getting on in years, so a few minor ailments were to be expected. But the test results revealed something more serious: the doctor told Peter that his uncle had a shadow on his lung. That wasn't good news.

Anyone with a bit of common sense knew what that sentence usually led to—either cancer or a tumor.

The doctor recommended that Ben Parker undergo a full lung examination, but that wasn't cheap. Especially considering the possibility of an open biopsy down the line, the Parkers simply couldn't afford the surgery.

Even though some medical costs could be reimbursed, this type of exam wasn't on the reimbursement list. No insurance company would cover it.

If the doctor Peter knew online were still working at this hospital, maybe Peter could have asked him for help. Even if this good hospital was out of reach, they could try a cheaper one.

The Parker family had always been tight on money. Peter often went a whole year without a single new piece of clothing. But he knew his uncle and aunt had done their best to give him a good life. They just earned too little, and Uncle Ben would never accept a single penny of ill-gotten gain. With a meager fixed salary and Peter's school expenses to cover, there was simply nothing left over.

Ben Parker himself took it in stride. A shadow on the lung didn't necessarily mean cancer or a tumor—it could just be some harmless inflammation that would heal on its own. He tried to comfort Peter, saying it might just be the big hospital scaremongering. But Peter's heart ached too much.

He couldn't help feeling resentful. Thompson, the kid who always bullied him at school, wore sneakers that probably cost hundreds or even thousands of dollars. Meanwhile, his own family couldn't scrape together even a few hundred for a medical exam.

But Peter thought things would be different now. He had all these superpowers—what else was he supposed to do with them but make money?

Peter was smart, of course. Using his quick mind, he came up with the fastest way to earn cash: joining underground boxing matches.

Sure, playing cards at a casino might be faster, but Peter knew his Spider-Sense was unreliable. If it didn't kick in, he wouldn't just fail to make money—he might lose it.

Underground boxing was different. His strength was enough to beat any ordinary person. No matter how brutal or vicious they were, his absolute physical dominance would make him unbeatable.

Where in New York was the underground boxing scene most thriving? Hell's Kitchen, of course—that godforsaken place.

But Peter had been a good student his whole life, never getting near such chaos. Whether out of fear or caution, he'd wandered around the edges of Hell's Kitchen for days without ever going in.

Finally, one day when Peter came home from school, he learned that his aunt had twisted her back. They couldn't afford medicine, so she could only lie in bed and rest. He couldn't take it anymore. All his pent-up frustration turned into rage. He really wanted to go beat someone up.

He put on his homemade masked costume. It looked ridiculous, but after gaining his Spider Mutation, his build had filled out a bit—he wasn't so scrawny anymore—so he didn't look half bad.

He stumbled around Hell's Kitchen like a headless fly. But since no one could beat him, and his Spider-Sense let him dodge bullets, he eventually found his way.

On Bill Street, about two blocks away from Mary Street in Hell's Kitchen, there was a gang-run underground boxing ring. After Peter knocked out their strongest fighter with one punch, the manager took a liking to him and recommended him to the biggest ring at the end of the street.

There, Peter gave himself a codename: Spider-Man.

Everything went smoothly. Peter won match after match. Hardly any fighter could withstand his flurry of punches. The power from his Spider Mutation was just too overwhelming. In just a few days, Peter had earned tens of thousands of dollars.

Meanwhile, Daredevil had been lying low at Schiller's place for a few days. He didn't have any superpowers, so his wounds healed at the same rate as any ordinary person. Still, the assassin who'd tried to kill him had clearly held back—the bullets hadn't hit any vital organs. After a few days of rest, Matt was feeling much better.

So that night, Matt said goodbye to Schiller. He had to get back to his crusade for justice. If he stopped just because of Kingpin's assassination attempt, that would be letting the bastard win. Instead, Matt was determined to strike back hard.

His target was Bill Street. Two nightclubs, a casino, an underground boxing ring, and an illegal auto-mod shop—all of them were Kingpin's properties. That whole street was controlled by Kingpin's gang, raking in millions of dollars in profit every year.

Matt's first target was the underground boxing ring.

He hadn't forgotten how his father died. These underground rings had no reason to exist. They only wanted to fleece degenerate gamblers, caring nothing for human life. Matt's father had been brutally murdered by the gang because he refused to throw a fight, wanting to give his son a victorious performance instead, costing the bookies money.

That had been the birth of Daredevil. Matt would never let a single underground ring slide. In fact, he'd already crippled much of Kingpin's underground boxing gambling empire.

That was exactly why Kingpin had sent an assassin after him. As long as Matt lived, Kingpin would never make money from underground boxing again.

Of course, Matt was a seasoned hero. He didn't just charge blindly into the ring. His usual method for dismantling these underground organizations was to observe for a few days, then find some drunk stumbling out of the place. He'd squeeze all the intel he needed out of them, then grab a few managers to apply pressure. After disrupting the betting a few times, the gamblers would take their business elsewhere.

After a few days of observation, Matt heard the name "Spider-Man" from quite a few people. He'd caught a glimpse of the kid once, just a brief encounter, but he knew this boy's good times wouldn't last long.

That day, the underground ring's boss came to Peter. He wanted Peter to throw a fight. Anyone familiar with betting rules knew that with Peter's winning streak, his odds had become very low. Everyone would bet on him to win; hardly anyone would bet on his opponent.

If Peter lost, the house would only have to pay out to the few who'd bet on his opponent, while taking all the money from those who'd bet on Peter. That was a huge pile of cash.

That was how underground boxing rings worked. There was no fair competition here. The house manipulated the odds to fleece people who'd gotten hooked on gambling.

The ring boss offered Peter a cut of the profits, but Peter wasn't keen. First, he figured he'd already earned enough. Tens of thousands of dollars would cover Uncle Ben's full exam, and even if Aunt May's back needed major surgery, it would be enough.

Besides, Peter was just a high schooler. His mind wasn't mature yet. The thrill of continuous victory was addictive. For a teenage kid full of hormones, deliberately losing to an opponent was nearly impossible. Peter had finally gotten to hold his head high—there was no way he was doing that.

The ring boss didn't say much more, and Peter naively thought there was nothing the guy could do. After all, with his incredible strength, what ordinary person could beat him?

Daredevil, Matt, saw all of this.

He'd slipped in earlier, posing as a drunk and slumping in the audience seats. His superhuman hearing let him catch every word of the conversation between the ring boss and Peter backstage.

The next day, during the match, Matt was there too.

When Peter stepped into the ring, the crowd roared. Peter raised his arms to acknowledge them, ready for his next victim.

Up came a muscular Black boxer. Peter noticed a sly grin on the guy's face but didn't understand what was going on.

As the fight started, Peter felt fine. He nearly sent the guy flying with one punch. But the boxer didn't engage head-on. He kept dodging and weaving, as if stalling for time.

Soon, Peter felt something was wrong. His stomach started cramping. His legs went weak. His vision darkened.

Just as his mind started to blur, the Black boxer landed a punch to his cheek. Peter staggered back, dizzy and seeing stars.

The boxer pressed his advantage. The moment the blow landed, Peter's Spider-Sense screamed. He could feel heavy lead weights inside the guy's gloves. If he took a hit like that to the head, his brains might fly out.

Peter ducked, barely dodging the strike. The crowd booed. Spider-Man never dodged in his previous matches.

Peter couldn't care less. He was in agony, barely able to breathe. The boxer threw another punch, and Peter hit the ground. This wasn't a regulated match—there was no real referee. Once Peter was down, the boxer's fists kept raining down, and no one stopped him.

Peter could only curl up, protecting his head. But the lead-weighted gloves slammed into his body, making him feel like his internal organs were being rearranged. Finally, he couldn't hold it in anymore. He vomited onto the floor as the crowd erupted in jeers.

Knowing that their money was about to be lost, the curses from the audience below grew even more piercing.

Peter heard profanity he'd never encountered in his life being hurled from their mouths and thrown at Spider-Man.

Right before he blacked out, Peter saw a figure leap up from the stands. A cane whistled through the air and thudded against the opponent's neck. The brutal beating finally stopped, but Peter could hold on no longer and passed out.

Happy Lunar New Year, everyone! Happy New Year!

It's a new month—asking for monthly votes! And recommendation votes too!

Wishing you all the best in everything, peace and joy!