Friendly Neighborhood Daily Check-in

"What's the best thing about being Spider-Man? Hard to say!"

Early morning sunlight streamed across the New York skyline, and a red and blue figure was speeding along the glass curtain walls of skyscrapers. If any office workers noticed a fleeting shadow on the ground, they would look up and see Spider-Man, backpack slung over his shoulder. Today, he'd ditched his signature web-slinging for a run up a vertical wall.

"But not having to cram onto the subway every day is definitely top three, woohoo!"

Peter leaped onto the railing by the Hudson River. Amidst the roar of passing vehicles, he dove off like a diver. Just as he was about to hit the water, a web fluid shot out with a thwip, pulling him in a perfect arc under the Queensboro Bridge.

Uncle Ben and George were both busy with work and usually didn't drive them to and from school, unless it was a special occasion, like the first day of school.

"Hot dogs that Spider-Man loves to eat, these are hot dogs that Spider-Man loves to eat! New York's only officially licensed Spider-Man hot dogs!"

The hot dog vendor, who set up his stand on the streets of Midtown Manhattan every day, advertised his wares with a blank expression. After the Battle of New York, he had been selling hot dogs to Damage Control employees here. But now that the cleanup was finished, he had a new business opportunity: Spider-Man had allowed the vendor to use his image, and thus, New York's only hot dog stand with Spider-Man packaging was born.

The most eye-catching item at the hot dog stand was the plastic bag hanging from the top of the umbrella—it always held a special hot dog.

"Hey boss, are these really hot dogs that Spider-Man loves to eat?"

Eugene Thompson, a freshman at Midtown High, pushed through the crowd to the hot dog stand. He looked at the vendor with suspicion while opening his wallet to get money. "Give me one. Also, you put it on the umbrella, can Spider-Man really get it?"

"He's Spider-Man, of course he can."

The vendor looked at the customer in front of him with a blank expression and skillfully packed the hot dog. But Thompson was still babbling, "What if you put it out too early? What if it gets cold? If your hot dog gets cold and Spider-Man gets a stomachache, how can he fight—"

"Thanks, Paul!"

Thompson's incessant chatter was interrupted by Spider-Man, who swung by the hot dog stand on a web line, dropping two one-dollar bills as he passed. The hot dog on the umbrella had already vanished.

Thompson stared, dumbfounded. It wasn't until the vendor held the hot dog in front of him that Thompson snapped back to reality. He pulled out another five dollars and let out a deafening yell, "Give me two more of Spider-Man's favorite hot dogs! Thanks!!!"

"Good morning, Laurie! How's Carl doing today?"

"Carl says he's doing great, thank you for bringing him back for me."

The middle-aged man on the rooftop, preparing to release his pigeons, only managed to say this before the figure speeding along the wall disappeared around the corner. The startled pigeons began to coo nervously, and Laurie had to repeatedly pet his old friends. "Calm down, he just used his web to send you home, he didn't roast you for dinner."

This kind of morning patrol happened every day. Spider-Man, eating a hot dog, would high-five a newsstand owner, help an old lady with her shopping bags, and even give directions to a lost puppy—after all, what kind of "friendly neighborhood Spider-Man" would he be if he didn't know every neighbor in every block?

It wasn't until a certain moment that the red and blue suit disappeared among the skyscrapers of Manhattan.

At the subway station exit, Peter Parker, dressed in civilian clothes, "happened" to walk out. Of course, he hadn't taken the subway—this was just a plausible excuse for suddenly appearing near the school. Two more blocks and you'd reach Midtown High, New York's top public high school, a place that only existed in the Marvel universe. Early in the morning, the Midtown High television station was already at work, and on screens scattered throughout the school corridors, two hosts were broadcasting the news.

"Good morning, students, this is Midtown High. I'm your host, Betty."

"And I'm your host, Jessie."

Peter, who had briefly glanced at the screen, walked to his locker, put his backpack inside, and took out the stationery he needed for his morning classes. He hadn't closed the locker door yet when he heard a familiar, incredibly annoying voice.

"Parker!"

"Here we go again? Carl?"

Peter's Spider-Sense didn't react at all. He couldn't even be bothered to pretend to be startled. He simply closed the locker door and took a step back. Carl Ginn, striding forward, slammed his fist heavily onto someone else's locker, trying to look menacing.

Peter pointed at the locker that was hit.

"You know that's not my locker, right?"

Carl Ginn hesitated, then menacingly threatened, "Listen up, Parker. I won't hold grudges about what happened in middle school. And I don't care about your little friends, but if you keep sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, you're finished."

With another "bang," the locker was hit again, pitifully. Carl Ginn left without giving Peter a chance to react, leaving Peter quite bewildered.

"Is this a new form of bullying? The victim threatens the bully?"

Peter, completely failing to understand Carl Ginn's behavior, shook his head. The janitor passing by leaned on his broom and echoed a similar sentiment, "What times are these, still so many trash students. But I've seen plenty of punks. Kid, don't be afraid of them. Be brave, resist bravely, and defeat them!"

"Thanks, Stan."

After thanking the father of Marvel, who in a universe without Marvel comics could only be a janitor, Peter walked into the math classroom. He shared a math class with Amadeus and Harry. Gwen, however, was in a different teacher's class.

And Carl Ginn, you couldn't expect a muscle-bound idiot to be in the same math class as Peter Parker.

"Good morning, Peter," Harry said, sitting next to Peter. He placed his laptop on the desk and, before class started, opened it to search for news about Spider-Man online.

"Spider-Man? Why are you interested in him?"

"Nothing much. I heard people talking about Spider-Man, so I wanted to learn more. By the way, are you still planning to go to the detective agency? I'm thinking of checking it out."

"You can go, I quite enjoy mystery puzzles, they're quite relaxing."

Amadeus arrived late, apologized, and sat behind them. He wasn't tall to begin with, looking like the typical skinny, easily bullied bookworm. It was unclear if he could see clearly from the back. After Amadeus sat down, Harry turned his head to resume the previous topic.

"Hey, Amadeus, we're planning to apply to join the detective agency after school. Want to come along?"

"Sure, let's go together, it'll be fun."

Amadeus nodded. After a few seconds of silence, Peter looked at him. "Are you okay? Is someone bullying you?"

"No, no. It's just that I'm quite short, so people don't notice me, and I've been bumped into a few times."

Amadeus lightly brushed off the topic. At this moment, the teacher entered, interrupting their conversation.

High school studies are tedious no matter which country you're in. This class was Pre-Calculus—the mandatory math textbook at Midtown High was considerably more difficult than at other high schools, covering advanced algebra and introductory calculus courses. This was likely due to their collaboration with Osborn Industries and Stark Industries. In other high schools, the math textbooks might be much simpler, and Peter had even heard of schools where students organized to make math class an elective, which was absurd.

Listening to the Pre-Calculus class, which was not difficult at all, the bored Peter quickly started spinning his pen, then doodling on paper. He then switched to spinning his pen with his right hand and writing and drawing on paper with his left.

"You can write with both hands?"

Harry seemed to have discovered something extraordinary and whispered, "Can you write with both hands simultaneously?"

Peter's left hand wrote "yes" on the paper.

"Can you write different things at the same time?"

This time, his right hand wrote "No" on the paper.

"Alright, guys. We need to find a good day to build LEGOs together."

Harry, who had survived math class, seemed to have finally thought of something and smiled happily. It was clear he really wanted to build LEGOs, and he nodded with a smile.

"No problem, we just need to find a time. I'll talk to Aunt May, she'd be happy to arrange dinner for us."

As the group headed to their next class, the school's news program was broadcasting new information on the way.

"Based on this year's voting results, we have decided on the theme for the first day of spirit week before homecoming – Superheroes! Every student who wants to participate must dress up as a superhero or supervillain!"