The comic shop's air conditioner hummed, but it could not disperse the stares gathered around Peter Parker. Those gazes were like sticky syrup, envy mixed with bitterness. After all, a lucky guy who could bring a pretty girl like Gwen to buy cosplay outfits was a rare sight in a shop full of nerds and potato chips.
However, he neither read comics nor chatted with anyone else. He simply waited for Gwen to change while scrolling through his phone, checking the latest New York crime map J.A.R.V.I.S. had sent him.
The good news was that New York had indeed been quite peaceful lately—so peaceful that Spider-Man had no room to be useful at all.
The bad news was that someone was probably doing his work for him.
Quite a few new videos of Spider-Man fighting various thugs and villains had appeared again. The style was completely his, with movements similar to his own. If Chameleon had not already been caught, he would have suspected Chameleon was behind it.
Or rather, it was Chameleon. Maybe he had escaped from prison or been released. After Herman had simply run away, Peter should not have held any expectations for the NYPD's security. It was practically as nonexistent as the breakfast Sheriff George made for Gwen.
"Are you sure this suits me?"
Peter looked up and saw Gwen emerge from the fitting room. She was now wearing Supergirl's classic comic-book costume. After turning around once, she asked Peter uncertainly, and Peter naturally gave her an encouraging smile.
"Of course. It suits you well."
"When I first picked it up, I was worried about the skirt length. But it's fine. Even my dad probably wouldn't say anything about it at this length."
"If Uncle George is worried, you can just wear pants underneath."
Gwen looked puzzled. "Are you sure? Wearing long pants under a superhero uniform?"
"We're just taking part in the school's theme day, Gwen. It's not like we're going to San Diego Comic-Con. Even if it looks wrong, no one will say anything. Besides, you've already seen superheroes like Sherlock Holmes and people in Pikachu mascot costumes at school."
"Okay, wait for me. I'll go change back."
After Gwen entered the fitting room, Peter continued scrolling through his phone. He sent J.A.R.V.I.S. a request to investigate the fake Spider-Man appearing around the city. This fake Spider-Man was still not just a simple cosplayer. There were complete recordings of him swinging on webs, along with an inhuman fighting style. Even without Chameleon, that Mysterio who had yet to show himself was causing trouble in the shadows.
Peter just did not know why Mysterio still had no intention of revealing himself and was staying behind the scenes. Was it because his equipment was not complete enough? Could he only use projectors to create fixed images, unable to produce illusions around himself at will or fool thermal imaging, so he chose to hide?
Peter frowned, unable to determine what the other man was thinking. Mysterio's little orb was still with him. Once night came, he could go to Avengers Tower and analyze it properly.
"Do you have anything else to do?"
Gwen asked Peter after buying her cosplay outfit. Peter asked back in surprise, "What?"
"Um... you know, I told you before, right? After starting high school, I could never catch you. You get up early every day, and we don't go home together after school anymore. So I was wondering if you were really busy, always out somewhere."
For a moment, Peter did not know how to explain it. Holding his phone, which had not received any unexpected messages, he shook his head. "No, really. Just club activities, evening runs, that kind of thing."
"Really?"
"Really. Nothing going on. Want to head home together?"
Gwen looked at Peter suspiciously, but she did not say anything more.
"Then let's go."
Peter let out a long breath and gripped his phone, hoping nothing that needed Spider-Man would happen on the way.
Not everyone was in such a good mood. For example, Carl King. Today, when Peter Parker had caught him searching through his locker, Carl had felt terrified for some reason. It was as if he feared that Peter Parker would turn into that freak in a Spider-Man costume the next second and rush over to break his legs.
Whenever Carl thought Peter Parker might be Spider-Man, he felt afraid. He thought about how he had bullied Peter and others since childhood. With his superior build, he had never thought there was anything wrong with bullying whoever he wanted.
But if the person he had bullied was someone who could yank up cars and throw them at people, Carl King felt terrified whenever he thought of it. Yet beyond that, whenever he thought about how that skinny Peter had actually made him so anxious, Carl King felt even more furious.
He was actually afraid of that little runt?!
Furious and afraid, Carl returned home. There was no one there except his mother. Mrs. King asked her son nervously.
"Are you okay, Carl? You don't seem to be in a very good..."
"If you can tell, then stop talking nonsense! Is dinner ready?!"
Speaking rudely, Carl threw his backpack onto the table, then turned on the TV and began watching a live ballgame.
Carl stared at the family photo above the fireplace. The hand his father had draped over his shoulder wore a Rolex Submariner—by now, that watch was probably rotting in prison along with its owner. His father could not help him deal with his worries. Otherwise, the old man would probably hand him a gun and tell him in that whiskey-scented voice Carl remembered.
"Hey, if you're scared, follow him and shoot him dead. You'll never have to be afraid of a dead man again."
"I miss you, Dad." Carl muttered as he picked up a can of beer from the coffee table, opened it, and drank deeply. Then he thought of Peter Parker again and crushed the can in his hand with gritted teeth.
"Oh my God, Carl, you're bleeding."
Mrs. King only noticed the cut in Carl's hand from the can when she brought over dinner. She hurriedly found alcohol and gauze, but Carl King slapped her hand away, took the gauze himself, and disinfected the wound.
"This little food isn't enough for anyone!"
"There's more, there's more."
After chasing his mother away, Carl disinfected his hand. Once he finished dinner, he returned to his room.
He could not stop thinking about the threadlike material he had found in the chemistry lab, as well as the similar webbing he had found on the day Scarecrow fought Spider-Man. He had originally planned to check the next day whether they were the same thing, but by then, the stuff had completely disappeared.
Damn Peter Parker.
Lying in bed, Carl King pulled out his phone and searched for Spider-Man. Some clips of Spider-Man fighting for justice had clearly occurred while Peter Parker was still at school, yet for some reason, Carl felt that something was wrong.
He took the brightly colored spider from his backpack—the Osborn Industries spider. He had placed that spider on Parker's neck. It had been his masterpiece, specially prepared to repay Parker for resisting him throughout three years of middle school.
That was also why he had made the spider into a specimen and used it to scare other people.
"Even if Parker really became Spider-Man because of this spider, it doesn't matter anymore... The flesh has all been removed. It's just an empty shell."
Carl King was about to put the spider down when a bold thought occurred to him—should he try eating it?
It had been preserved in alcohol rather than formalin, and several months had already passed. Even if he ate it, he would not die. At worst, he would feel sick for a few days? If this shell really still worked...
Carl King hesitated. He placed the spider on the table, then lay down on the bed.
He closed his eyes, and before he knew it, an image flashed through his mind: Spider-Man fighting Scarecrow, smashing an entire huge billboard down onto Scarecrow.
Carl King jolted upright in fright. Looking at the spider specimen on the table, he grabbed it, stuffed it into his mouth, chewed the entire specimen into pieces, and swallowed it.
He did not know why he had done that, but perhaps after truly gaining a little sense of security, Carl King finally fell asleep peacefully.
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