Heroes Are Human Too (Part Two)

Strange swallowed, looking into Schiller's gray eyes. He truly did not have the nerve to refuse. After all, anyone with half a brain could see that Schiller was no ordinary person.

Strange was dragged into the car, but he still said, "I need to tell you first: I'm a doctor, not God. If your friend is already dead, then no matter how you threaten me, I can't bring him back to life."

Schiller drove expressionlessly. "We're both doctors. I understand that better than you do. I came to find you because I'm certain you can save him."

Strange let out a breath of relief, though he still frowned stubbornly. "You're just a psychiatrist. When it comes to neurosurgery, you'd better not jump to conclusions so casually."

Before he could finish, he saw a ballpoint pen pressed against his forehead again. Both of Schiller's hands were on the wheel, yet the pen floated silently in midair. Strange made a zipping motion over his mouth, indicating that he absolutely would not say another word.

Meanwhile, Spider-Man stood outside the operating room, overwhelmed by crushing guilt and self-blame. He did not want to let even a fly inside.

But Matt's ex-girlfriend, Elektra, had also secretly made her way to the operating room.

Elektra had not come to kill Matt. Quite the opposite—she had learned of those people's plan before Peter did. She had wanted to find a chance to tell Matt, but he had left too hurriedly, and Elektra had only arrived after the incident.

Her feelings for Matt were complicated. They had been classmates and lovers, yet they had broken up because of irreconcilable conflicts. This time, Elektra had accepted Kingpin's commission to assassinate Matt, but she had held back at every turn and never truly intended to kill him. Yet while she had looked away for only a moment, Matt had been ambushed by someone else. How could she not be anxious?

Elektra came from a wealthy family and had seen plenty of the world. She knew Matt's injuries were severe and his condition critical. Without the aid of some mystical power, he likely could not be saved at all. She had to act. Perhaps only the power of the Beast could keep Matt alive.

Using a Ninja concealment technique, Elektra reached the operating room door. She did not take the high-school-looking figure standing there seriously at all. After several days of observation, she knew Peter was merely a high school student without any fighting skills. Elektra intended to slip past him and enter directly.

But Peter happened to possess Spider-powers, and the most important of them was Spider-Sense. His nerves were stretched to the limit, making his Spider-Sense several times sharper than usual. The moment Elektra approached, Peter turned and stared fixedly at the empty air in the corner. He sensed someone there, and he swung his fist at Elektra.

Elektra knew Peter possessed abnormal strength and did not dare take the blow head-on. But Peter's movements were riddled with openings. He had never received professional training; when he punched, his upper body leaned too far forward, his legs were not spread apart, and his center of gravity was unstable. Elektra wrapped an arm around Peter's wrist and yanked him forward. Peter instantly lost his balance and fell.

Elektra tripped him, knocking Peter down. But perhaps his anxiety had stimulated his use of his powers. The instant he hit the ground, he sprang back up and clamped his arms tightly around Elektra's waist.

Elektra herself was anxious, and both of them were furious. But Elektra was, after all, a female Assassin trained by The Hand. The moment Peter grabbed her, she viciously swung the short blade in her other hand backward.

The short blade, trailing an edge of force, slashed from Peter's shoulder to beneath his last rib, nearly cutting half his body apart.

In an instant, an overwhelming agony consumed Peter. It nearly unleashed all his potential. With a burst of strength, he flung Elektra away. She crashed down at the far end of the corridor and could not get up for a long while.

Peter also collapsed into a sitting position. He felt as though the pain was killing him. That short blade had not only cut open half his back—the force edge had sliced into his lung. Now, every time he breathed, blood surged up his windpipe.

It was the first time Peter had ever felt pain like this. The immense agony of every muscle in his back being torn apart nearly made him pass out.

He was only a high school student. The greatest pain he had experienced in his life had been getting punched a few times several days ago. Compared to this wound, that was heaven and earth apart.

His entire back had nearly been pierced through, and his lung was injured too. Even his breathing carried the taste of blood, and every inhale came with excruciating pain. Tears streamed from Peter's eyes involuntarily as a pained groan squeezed out of his throat.

He suddenly realized that heroes could be injured and bleed too.

And when heroes were hurt, the pain was unbearable as well. It did not get any better, nor were they spared just because they possessed special abilities.

His Self-Healing let him recover somewhat within a few breaths. Through blurry peripheral vision, he looked into the operating room. Through the frosted glass, he could see Daredevil lying there.

Daredevil's head was tilted to one side, his eyes open. He was still conscious, but he could not move.

Peter knew that Daredevil had no Self-Healing ability. He was about to die.

He was only a blind man who knew martial arts. Now his entire spine was broken. He must have been in terrible pain—far worse than Peter's—yet he could not make a sound.

Peter felt terrified and desperate. He was grieved and furious over how fragile a hero's life could be, but more importantly, enormous guilt and self-reproach drowned him.

An ordinary man without superpowers had fought an underground boxing ring to save him. Yet when Peter had overheard those criminals plotting, he had thought it was none of his business and left. As a result, his friend—a true hero—had suffered such terrible pain and was even close to death.

Matt was a real hero, and he was not.

Those intense emotions made his Spider-Sense buzz. In an instant, Peter's Spider-powers were amplified to their limit. Fierce emotions churned within him, and before his eyes, the entire world changed.

Elektra instantly activated her concealment technique and hid herself, but Peter's eyes were bloodshot as he locked onto her position in an instant.

The boy who had been so clumsy moments ago nearly vanished in an instant. Then an enormous force slammed Elektra into the wall. She spat out blood and used the last of her strength to escape with her concealment technique. When Schiller returned to the hospital, he saw Peter sitting blankly beneath a wall on the verge of collapse, his eyes bloodshot.

Strange entered the operating room. By then, night had fully fallen, and Schiller stood before Spider-Man.

"Peter. I never thought we'd meet under these circumstances," Schiller said.

Peter was still somewhat slow to react and did not understand what Schiller meant. Schiller crouched down and looked into Peter's eyes. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for that checkup. As you can see, I no longer work at this hospital."

Peter regained some clarity. "It's you. You're that doctor."

Clearly, he remembered the Doctor he had been chatting with online.

Schiller said, "Yes. It was me."

Peter lowered his head in silence. "I must have disappointed you. I'm not nearly as good as I seemed when we talked online. I made a whole pile of mistakes and nearly got my friend killed."

Schiller said, "I think you've already understood some things."

"Yes, yes..." Peter said hoarsely. "I understand the greatest lesson of all: getting hurt really hurts."

"It hurts this much, but he still chose to do it." Peter lowered his voice. "He's a hero, and I'm not. Maybe I'll never become a hero..."

Schiller's voice remained calm. Peter could not hear the slightest trace of blame in his tone. He merely said evenly, "Perhaps you have already realized that if everyone with ability in this world refuses to save others, then no one will come to save you either."

"Perhaps you think your life is terrible right now, but even that terrible life was built for you by people willing to give something of themselves."

"Even those people living like beggars only have that much because Daredevil cleared the thugs from their street."

"Peter. Perhaps I shouldn't be the one saying this, but right now, I'm afraid only I can say it in his place," Schiller said.

"With great power comes great responsibility."

Spider-Man closed his eyes in silence.

At dawn, in the darkest hour of the night, Strange walked out of the operating room while removing his gloves. "Congratulations. The surgery was a success. There's an eighty percent chance his nerves will fully recover."

When Peter heard that, he finally let out a great roar, as though he wanted to vent all the emotions built up in his chest. He leaped straight out the window, rapidly climbed the side of the building to the roof, then began racing across the rooftops of New York City.

Then he saw that red-and-gold armored suit again. As though it were trying to lead him somewhere, it circled around him constantly. Peter followed it, and together they leaped and ran all the way to the New York TV Tower.

The two stood at the very top of the New York TV Tower.

Peter desperately wanted to roar, but he could not make a sound. Every emotion was trapped in his chest, and he felt as though he were going mad.

Stark's faceplate lifted. Peter saw his face and said in surprise, "You're Stark! Iron Man is Stark!"

"That shouldn't surprise you, kid. Other than the owner of Stark Industries, who else could develop armor like this?" Stark said.

"But the news said you were kidnapped. Taken to Afghanistan."

"Yes. But do you want to know how I got out?"

Peter looked at him. Stark said, "I built an energy core and installed it right here." Stark pointed to his chest.

"There's still an Arc Reactor here now."

"In a cave in Afghanistan, I cut open my own chest and shoved a piece of metal inside. My own blood soaked through my pants."

Just imagining the scene made Peter's chest ache faintly. "That must have hurt terribly, didn't it?"

"Of course. It hurt," Stark said lightly, but Peter could hear the tremor in his voice. He seemed unwilling to remember that day.

"You have to cut open your chest with a bone saw that isn't even sharp, then sew electrical wires into your flesh."

Peter felt a chill run down his back.

He had never imagined that Stark, who always appeared in the news as a playboy—the enormously wealthy man who seemed to live an incomparably privileged and carefree life—had also endured such a painful past. He had bled so much and suffered pain that ordinary people could scarcely withstand.

"Though I always like to call myself a genius, I'm very clear-headed. I know that if I'm hit by a bullet, I'll bleed a lot. If shrapnel tears apart my heart, I'll die. If I lose a leg, I won't be able to walk either."

"But I've done plenty of work that carries those kinds of risks. Do you think I do it for thrills?" Stark said.

"I'm the richest man in the world, and I possess power that most people in this world do not. There isn't the slightest need for me to wear my expensive armor to save ordinary people whose monthly salary cannot even buy one screw on my body, much less take such enormous risks."

Spider-Man closed his eyes. After a moment of silence, he said, "...With great power comes great responsibility, right?"

Stark did not answer. He merely pointed to his heart.

And Peter already understood what he meant. He thought his heart had already given him the answer.

Facing the sunrise over New York City, Peter and Stark stood atop the TV Tower, watching that streak of golden light split the clouds and gild every building in New York with brilliant gold.

From this day onward, Peter Parker—Spider-Man—understood one truth—

So-called heroes were human too. They felt pain, they were injured, they bled, they were lonely and lost. The only difference between them and the mediocre ordinary people on the ground was that they possessed a sense of responsibility ordinary people lacked, as well as the great determination to uphold justice until death.

No one was born able to endure such intense pain. As they walked through darkness, they forged bones and blood engraved with suffering into sturdy armor around themselves. Then, when dawn came, they used those unyielding bones to save the world.

For the first time, Spider-Man rose from the steel framework of the TV Tower. He had not yet put on Spider-Man's suit. He was not yet tall or strong, but his soul had risen to its feet, standing straight and proud. The surging emotions in his chest became a force that spread from his wounds through his entire body.

Facing the first ray of dawn, he thought, Daybreak had come—

It was time to save the world.

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