Ah, Little Boy...

The Daily Bugle mobilized its entire staff, every department working in concert, maneuvering and coordinating as the heads of each division gathered together in nonstop communication.

That day, the Bugle operated with unprecedented efficiency. They rushed out a new edition of the paper, sparing no expense to spread it far and wide, drawing crowds of buyers, while countless netizens flocked to the official website to check the news.

"Spider-Man's Shocker! The Man Who Pees Three Yards Against the Wind!"

The headline was explosive and direct, instantly grabbing people's attention. Humans love novelty—it's instinct. They chase after things that stand out, hoping it makes them stand out too.

But when everyone chases novelty, they all end up the same.

Still, Spider-Man got a massive boost in fame.

Take a look at old James's article. He wrote with gusto: "Spider-Man has always been arrogant, recklessly exercising power beyond the law. He fights crime with his fists, stops violence with his webs—stupid, conceited, and full of himself, making a mess of what the police should be doing.

Until he met The Mechanic—allow me to call this mysterious mutant who appeared in a crisis that—Spider-Man was utterly shaken. Before this man who pees three yards against the wind, he finally realized just how small and weak he really is. In the presence of a true adult, he's nothing but an underdeveloped child who'll never grow up...

Let us mourn for him deeply, for you cannot blame such a short little boy. Please, let us forgive him with hearts we can hardly fathom... Ah, the short little boy..."

Beside the text was a picture of Spider-Man nearly kneeling on the roof of the Empire State Building, greatly boosting the article's credibility.

When Spider-Man, exhausted and worn out after spending a ton of effort like driving away a plague, dumped Donnie in an underground parking lot and angrily fled, he was pleasantly surprised to find many people stopping to watch him.

More and more pedestrians spotted Spider-Man swinging through the air, pausing to look up with gazes so profound that his Spider-Sense couldn't decode them.

That look was pity.

But he was still thrilled, his depression swept away, replaced by a huge sense of glory. He'd been a high schooler, usually unnoticed, always bullied by school thugs, until he became Spider-Man and got the attention of the city.

More people would watch him, respect him in the future! Spider-Man believed that!

More and more people stopped, whispering among themselves, giving detailed explanations to those out of the loop.

Finally, another young man spotted Spider-Man showing off as he swung between skyscrapers and shouted excitedly, "It's Spider-Man! Ah, the short little boy..."

Huh?

The red figure moving swiftly through the air suddenly stiffened. His other hand didn't shoot a web in time, and he plummeted straight down, drawing gasps from the crowd.

Thud. Spider-Man hit the ground with momentum, sliding forward a good distance before crashing into a mannequin outside a clothing store, hugging it tightly.

"How pitiful. Seeing a female mannequin gets him like this. What does he usually do? He must not have a girlfriend willing to be with him... Ah, the short little boy... So sad..." The crowd murmured and whispered.

Spider-Man struggled to his feet, movements stiff and mechanical. Under his mask, his face went from red to purple. His heart trembled, and his Spider-Sense screamed a frantic warning.

Something huge, something incomprehensible, had happened—and it was happening to him.

Something was definitely wrong.

What the hell was going on?

The kid was depressed and frustrated, everything going wrong, driving him nearly crazy. In his gloom, he decided to buy a hot, fresh hot dog—his favorite food.

When he swung over to his usual shop, the owner spotted him and exclaimed in surprise, "You! You actually came! Ah, the short little boy..."

In his brain, Spider-Sense blared an alarm, sharp and piercing, warning him over and over, making his hair stand on end. A massive crisis and conspiracy were upon him, more dangerous than all the criminals he'd ever fought combined!

Spider-Man turned and left.

"Hey, hey, don't go! Ah, the short little boy, why are you always in such a hurry..." The owner chased after him, sighing, holding a fresh hot dog.

Spider-Man's eyes were bloodshot, hysterical. He'd never gotten this much attention, never felt so stifled and pained. Who could tell him what terrible change had happened?

Roar!

The angrier he got, the more he swung through the air, looked up at the sky, and let out a roar that shook the world, drawing everyone's gaze. He vented his frustration this way.

People pointed and whispered, "See that? That's the guy from the news... Ah, the short little boy..."

Roar! Roar! Roar!

Spider-Man roared more and more, one after another, nonstop.

Some old folks who'd seen a lot in life heard the cries from the sky and clearly detected bitterness and resentment. They shook their heads and sighed, "What a poor kid, so young... Ah, the short little boy..."

In short, Spider-Man was a sensation. The fire spread beyond New York, beyond the American continent, to the whole world.

People elsewhere gradually learned about this pitiful hero through various channels and couldn't help sighing, "Ah, the short little boy..."

The kid was in tears, staring speechlessly at the sky. What happened? Who was setting him up?

The Daily Bugle was buzzing with excitement. The paper had gone global off this, raking in a huge boost in reputation, with sales and website traffic breaking historical records. In the background, the faint sound of big boss James's laughter echoed: Spider-Man, you piece of trash, you still drank my bathwater...

The meeting with the kid was just a chance encounter, pure coincidence, even surprising Donnie himself.

He hadn't gone to the top of the Empire State Building for something boring like sightseeing, enjoying the breeze, or taking a leak. He had a purpose.

After personally burying his parents' coffins and placing a bouquet in sorrow and tears, Donnie had turned down S.H.I.E.L.D.'s invitation again, riding his motorcycle alone to the Empire State Building.

He came here with a plan.

Certain people lurking in the shadows would foolishly think that with his brain damage and downgrade to a Tertiary Mutant, he was no longer a major threat and could be attacked without restraint.

Whether to recruit him or dissect him to unlock the secrets of high-level mutants, they could do whatever they wanted—just act boldly and strike once for success.

But some idiots might have forgotten that a Tertiary Mutant isn't a pushover. Take Wolverine, a Tertiary Mutant—he could slaughter an entire army like butchering pigs and dogs.

Donnie was waiting for that bunch of Black Hand to come to him. His new understanding of his Coreflame ability gave him the confidence to take this step.

Even if he was only a Level 3 now.

Donnie walked slowly into the underground parking garage where his motorcycle was parked.

In the corners of the garage, and inside some cars, figures could faintly be seen—people waiting specifically for him.

Countless factions, big and small, along with those with ulterior motives, watched silently through various means. No one spoke, no one warned him.

Everyone understood that when Donnie refused S.H.I.E.L.D. and failed to promptly contact Professor X or Magneto, he had already made a certain choice.

Many had their minds racing. Donnie leaving S.H.I.E.L.D. and ascending the Empire State Building had caught those who had already given up hope off guard—and even more so, filled them with delight, giving them time to deploy their people.

Many organizations and institutions hadn't expected Donnie to be so solitary—so solitary it bordered on foolish.

This was a real world. Some choices, once made, left no room for regret—until he fought his way through a river of blood, carving a path even where none existed.

Donnie did this on purpose. He gave those factions a chance to move against him. The Empire State Building was densely packed with people and housed countless organizations. Even if someone wanted to kill him, they'd have to consider the official response before making a move inside.

Many, including Donnie, understood clearly: it had finally begun.

"It's finally begun. Let me see, you high-level mutant—just how much weight you really carry. Whether you'll rise through this battle or end up as dissection material in a lab."

Countless people watched in silence, their minds churning with thoughts, formulating plans.

They tracked Donnie through every channel, waiting to see what he would do.

Donnie stopped in his tracks, looking at the people in the parking lot who had quietly risen and were creeping toward him. Finally, he bared a vicious grin.