The White Spider-Man?

Wilson Fisk had prepared for this war for a long time. He had recruited a large number of men, stockpiled a huge arsenal, and pulled strings through nearly every channel, ensuring that neither The Hand, the most unfathomably powerful force in New York City, nor the terrifying figure codenamed "Shafolin" would intervene in this war.

Fisk had accounted for nearly everything. He had carefully analyzed every other gang's territory and strength, figuring out the moves each of them might make. He had absolute confidence that he could take down all his enemies in the shortest possible time and become the true king of New York's underworld.

But now, he realized he had overlooked one tiny detail.

George Stacy, the newly appointed commissioner of the New York Police Department. Unlike his predecessor, this man was the kind of rigid, idealistic fool who could not be bought off and refused to compromise—the type everyone in the underworld hated dealing with most.

According to New York's usual rules, in a gang war like this, as long as the innocent were not affected too severely and there was not too much collateral damage, the police generally would not intervene. That was precisely why Fisk had dismissed the police as a potential variable beforehand. As long as they moved quickly and precisely, struck directly at the key targets, and did not harm innocent people, the police should have stayed quiet by convention.

But this new commissioner refused to play by the rules. Fisk had barely declared war when the New York Police Department came charging in with great fanfare. Commissioner George Stacy righteously declared that his duty as a police officer was to protect the lives and safety of every citizen in this city. Even the most heinous crime lord could only be punished through proper legal procedures. Until then, no matter how guilty they were, the New York Police Department would protect them to the end.

As it turned out, Commissioner Stacy was not merely good with words—he was a man of action. That very day, he assigned dedicated personnel to provide round-the-clock protection for the gang figures who had been targeted, covering nearly every detail so thoroughly that Fisk's assassins had no opening at all. Meanwhile, the forces under the various factions and Fisk's side clashed repeatedly over the next few days in conflicts of varying scale, and everyone suffered considerable losses.

Fisk was furious enough to curse. Had those cops taken the wrong medicine or something? Why were they protecting those old bastards who dealt drugs, trafficked people, and committed every evil imaginable?

Then, as if things were not bad enough already, a new face had appeared in New York these past few days—apparently another superpowered individual, meddling in the gang war everywhere like a troublemaker. His allegiances were impossible to discern, but judging from his actions alone, he seemed to have no goal at all. He struck here and there, hitting whichever side he came across, seemingly at odds with every faction involved in the war.

And every gangster caught by this guy ended up bound in white webbing and delivered, neatly packaged, to the New York Police Department. He was practically an off-site helper for the NYPD—and an incredibly effective one at that.

When Jessica Jones mentioned this matter to him in the boss's office, Richard was quite surprised.

"White webbing, like a spiderweb?" he asked.

Jessica nodded firmly. "Yes. I saw it with my own eyes, on Thirty-Ninth Street. I took pictures with my phone."

As she spoke, she pulled out her phone and brought up the photos. Richard took it and looked. Sure enough, the screen showed battered gangsters sprawled everywhere, some tied to walls in spiderwebs and others hanging beneath streetlamps. The scene was almost comical.

Naturally, as a transmigrator, Richard immediately thought of a certain friendly neighborhood superhero who bounced around in red-and-blue tights. He continued, "Did you get any images of him?"

Jessica shook her head. "He was too fast. By the time I passed by, he'd already flown away..."

"Flown? He could fly?"

"Uh... more accurately, he swung," Jessica said. "I saw him grabbing something like strands of silk."

Wasn't that conclusive proof that it was Spider-Man?

But that was not right. If this followed the movie timeline, shouldn't Spider-Man still be years away from making his debut? Could it be that this was not the movie timeline, or that some shift in the timeline had caused Spider-Man to appear early?

That should not be the case, either. As far as Richard knew, Commissioner George Stacy's daughter, Gwen Stacy, was still in elementary school. Richard had not met Peter Parker yet—Spider-Man himself, as everyone knew—but he knew Peter and Gwen should be the same age. In other words, Peter should still be in elementary school too.

An elementary-school-aged Peter Parker could not possibly put on tights and run around fighting crime, could he?

Richard frowned and pressed on. "Did you see what he looked like? Was he wearing red-and-blue tights, looking like some kid in pajamas?"

"Red-and-blue tights?" Jessica froze. "Why would you think that?"

"Mm, I heard some... rumors. Just tell me, was he dressed like that?"

"No." Jessica shook her head. "He moved so fast that I did not get a good look, but I'm sure he was wearing white."

Richard was even more confused.

White? Was there a white Spider-Man?

Well... the Marvel Universe was so vast, with all manner of strange things. Maybe there was... a white Spider-Man too?

His head hurt. This was another blind spot in his knowledge. That was the problem with Marvel—there were too many parallel worlds and too many characters. Sometimes, even as a transmigrator, he felt pretty helpless...

Still, that made things interesting. "Very good. Then the task of investigating this white... spider guy is yours, Jessica."

"Me?" Jessica pointed at herself. "But I've never independently handled a report before."

"I know you can do it." Richard waved a hand.

Who was Jessica Jones? She was Hell's Kitchen's best private detective. Though whether she would still become a private detective in the future was uncertain at this point, her detective talent should at least be maxed out, right?

"Besides, didn't you say you were interested in superheroes and all that? Look, this is a living, breathing superhero." Richard interlaced his fingers. "Go on. Find out what this white guy is all about, then bring me back a good story."

Entrusted with such an important task for the first time, Jessica looked somewhat cautious. "I... um... all right. I'll do my best."

Jessica had already reached the doorway when Richard remembered something else. "Also, I know you're strong, but you're not invulnerable. So do me a favor and try not to get involved in trouble that could get you killed, okay?"

Jessica shrugged, but she clearly did not take it seriously. "I'll try."