The First Night

Aunt May's worries were not unfounded; she really should have been concerned about Peter not making friends. At this dinner party, which should have been warm and convivial, Peter was like a silent quail, burying his head in his pancakes and completely unable to join the conversation between the two girls—though, in his opinion, being excluded from the girls' chat was perfectly normal.

Until the topic turned to part-time jobs at school.

"I found out Midtown High has a partnership program with the Daily Bugle," Mary Jane excitedly described the internship she saw. "They recruit intern reporters from our school every year. It's super cool, maybe I'll become a famous reporter in the future."

"This kid always has a short attention span," Aunt Anna teased with a smile. "She wanted to be a star before, even auditioned for a TV show and played a few minor roles. Now she wants to be a reporter."

"The Daily Bugle is indeed a good media outlet," Sheriff George agreed while cutting his pancakes. "J. Jonah Jameson is a rare independent media person, not favoring either the Donkey Party or the Elephant Party. He reports the news based on his own moral standards." He hesitated, "It's just that his attitude towards masked vigilantes is too extreme. Spider-Man has helped our police a lot, but Jameson never acknowledges the gratitude we have for these vigilantes."

Especially Spider-Man, Peter thought while eating his pancakes. The reasons why J. Jonah Jameson in different universes hated Spider-Man were different, and he hadn't interacted with the J. Jonah Jameson of this universe yet, so he wasn't sure why the other man hated Spider-Man. But if it wasn't out of pure malice, perhaps he could even make friends with J. Jonah.

A Spider-Man who was friends with J. Jonah Jameson? Haha, that would certainly be interesting.

"But didn't the surge in superhuman crime come from these vigilantes?" Mary Jane threw out a popular opinion. "Two years ago, before Iron Man and Ant-Man appeared, the world was so peaceful."

Mary Jane voiced the opinion of many who were currently anti-superhuman vigilantes. Before Tony Stark and Hank Pym, two top geniuses, became superheroes two years ago, everyone lived ordinary lives. Of course, there were superhumans like the X-Men and the Fantastic Four in the world, but the X-Men were mainly responsible for counteracting the retaliation of mutant extremists against humanity, and the Fantastic Four were essentially explorers and researchers. Except for Human Torch Johnny, no one would proactively take the police's job.

As for the others, Thor was still a mythical figure at the time, Captain America was frozen in the Arctic, and the Hulk was simply an urban legend and an internationally wanted criminal. Superhumans were synonymous with dangerous individuals back then, not admired by everyone as they are now.

"And ever since Iron Man burst onto the scene, things have gotten more and more chaotic, even New York was invaded by aliens before."

"But there aren't many real superhumans in the Avengers," Peter couldn't help but retort. "Iron Man and Ant-Man rely on technology, Captain America is a super-soldier, the Hulk gained superpowers due to gamma radiation, and Thor, Thor's race is divine—"

"Peter." Aunt May interrupted him. "Remember, there is only one God, and that is a merciful Lord."

"...I'm sorry, May."

As a materialist, Peter didn't want to argue with Aunt May, so he apologized and dropped the subject. Mary Jane, however, provided an answer to the question: "But don't they only provoke supervillains? Aren't many supervillains who gained superpowers specifically to deal with them?"

"Not entirely," Peter explained earnestly. "Like Spider-Man, and the devil of Hell's Kitchen, they mainly deal with ordinary criminals..."

"Devil? Good heavens, what good person would name themselves 'Devil'?" Aunt May made the sign of the cross and prayed, then looked at Sheriff George. "Don't you think so, George?"

"That's not my jurisdiction," Sheriff George said vaguely. But everyone in the NYPD knew that besides the "Devil," Hell's Kitchen also had a serial killer wearing a skull T-shirt who specialized in eliminating criminals.

"How do you know about Hell's Kitchen, Peter?"

"Learned it at school! You know, May, Hell's Kitchen is in New York." Peter quickly tried to move past the topic, but Aunt May wouldn't let him go. She pointed at Peter with her fork and emphasized, "Listen, you are absolutely forbidden to go to a place like that!"

"I'm fifteen..."

"Peter Benjamin Parker!"

"Got it, got it..." Peter quickly changed the subject. "I also saw on the school's internship bulletin that the Daily Bugle is looking for website maintenance staff. I'm pretty good at that, and I can do it remotely from home."

"Wow!" Mary Jane's eyes lit up. "Maybe we can work together?"

"Uh, I'm not so sure. Usually, this kind of work can be done from home."

"Peter," Aunt May sighed helplessly again. "You need to get out more. You should stay at the company when you go to work."

"Okay, Aunt May," Peter sighed and continued to bury his head in his pancakes, secretly praying for this ordeal to end soon. Gwen looked at the two of them and wondered if she should also look for a part-time job at the Daily Bugle.

Herman lay on the moldy mattress. This pigeon coop had housed his father and two older brothers before him, and perhaps in a few years, if he didn't live here anymore, his younger brother would move in.

The smell of mold from the old mattress mixed with the stench of sweat entered his nostrils. The scenes from the day flashed through his mind: the meticulously planned robbery, the sudden failure, witnessing Spider-Man's invincible form, and that Scarecrow launcher that accidentally severed an entire building.

Even more glaring was the red and blue figure on the front page of the Daily Bugle—the whole of New York was talking about him, whether positively or negatively.

"Just a freak," Herman muttered, gradually drifting into dreams.

In his dreams, he wore a white coat, and his clinic was filled with patients who came seeking his help; he wore gold-rimmed glasses, walking the streets of Manhattan as an elite lawyer; he wore a Stark Industries uniform, personally helping Iron Man debug the Iron Man suit...

He dreamed of the day he moved out of Harlem, and the TV station came to interview him. He bid farewell to everything that came with his skin color and became someone superior.

Until thunder struck.

"That damn Spider-Man!"

A roar shattered the beautiful dream. The photographers suddenly turned their cameras, and the host abandoned him and rushed towards the giant screen in Times Square—it was all close-ups of Spider-Man, all Jameson's curses against Spider-Man.

Below the big screen, countless people wore Spider-Man masks, shouting slogans in support of Spider-Man.

"Come back! I'm here!" Herman shouted in vain.

"Of course, you are here!"

Herman returned to the day after he graduated from junior high. The gang leader handed him a machete: "Stick close, rookie. Tonight, we're gonna teach those Karufa bastards a lesson."

"I shouldn't be here..." Herman looked at the leader in a daze. "I should be going to school..."

"And then carry tens of thousands more in student loans than white people, maybe never pay them off, get rejected by universities, and just mess around at community college?" the leader sneered. "Wake up, kid. Look at your skin, look at where we live. We were born to belong here! Do you want to become a black person trying to be white and stand with them? You, like your father and your brothers, can only stay here!"

"I won't stand with them. I can give up engineering, I'll study law! I have excellent grades, I can be the gang's lawyer!" Herman suddenly knelt down. "When I finish my studies, I can help the brothers win all their lawsuits! Please, boss, let me continue going to school. I'll do anything."

He seemed to have convinced his leader, who intended to sponsor him through high school and have him manage the gang's accounts first. He shouted excitedly, watching his boss walk out of the alley and onto the street.

He saw a stray bullet, saw his boss's head explode, and saw the "avengers" who arrived later—perhaps police, perhaps Avengers, or even that red and blue figure. They eradicated evil, arrested the criminals, and left Herman alone in the alley.

"No! No, no, no!!!"

Herman, roaring, returned to the morning. Holding the Scarecrow launcher, he frantically pulled the trigger, and the shockwave tore through the night sky. But that agile figure could always dodge it easily; he was so fast that the shockwaves couldn't keep up, and he was so strong that he tore down a utility pole and smashed him away.

"You think fighting me will make you famous, Herman?"

Spider-Man walked over so casually. He bound Herman and his most prized weapon together with webbing, making him unable to break free.

Spider-Man grew larger, the red and blue on his suit beginning to melt, to bleed, to spread, covering everything around him. His voice echoed in every corner, layering over itself.

"Even if you beat me, you're still just a nobody. No one will remember some nobody Spider-Man just beat!"

Herman himself began to melt, his hands fusing with his weapon. Spider-Man seemed to have turned into some kind of pure oil paint, enveloping Herman, wrapping around him.

"Shut up!"

Herman swung his fists, the melted Scarecrow launcher emitting a shocking energy that shattered the vibrant colors. Sunlight pierced through the curtainless window, stinging Herman's eyes. He stared at his trembling hands, slowly clenching them into fists.

"Just you wait, New York," he vowed to the morning light. "I'll make everyone remember my name."

Contract signed, hooray!