Mastering the Rasengan, Kingpin's Deal

"Have you heard? That guy Flash..."

"He's unbelievably despicable. His very existence is a disgrace to Midtown High School!"

As the students on the school bus spread the word of their own accord, Flash's reputation for being "despicable" instantly spread throughout the entire school as though it had grown wings.

At lunchtime, the cafeteria was filled with nothing but discussions about Flash.

Flash was now in the same position as someone with mud in his pants—it might not be shit, but everyone would think it was!

Listening to the whispers around him, Peter finished the last bite of his lunch with satisfaction before quietly leaving the cafeteria.

This complete social death was precisely the ending he had carefully prepared for Flash.

Restricted by the fact that he could not expose his public identity, he truly could not kill Flash directly.

But he could use this method to strip the other boy of everything he once had.

This was also the principle by which he conducted himself after being reborn.

If others did not offend him, he would not offend them. But if they did, he would repay them double.

The school's athletic equipment storage room.

Hardly anyone came here, so he did not need to worry about anyone hearing the commotion.

Nor did he need to worry about H.Y.D.R.A.'s satellite surveillance noticing anything unusual. It was the perfect place for him to practice the Rasengan.

Just as Peter had imagined.

As long as he turned the chakra input required for the Rasengan into a mathematical model, training in it would become twice as effective with half the effort.

He did not even need water balloons, regular balloons, or rubber balls. Peter simply practiced forming the sphere normally while repeatedly writing and calculating on scratch paper to control the variables.

After only one lunch break of work, a rapidly spinning blue sphere of light appeared in his hand.

Peter looked at the blue sphere in his palm, hesitated briefly, then pressed it directly into the floor of the storage room.

With a thunderous boom, the sturdy floor was instantly blasted open, leaving a crater more than two meters wide and over half a meter deep.

After restoring the crater with the Horse Talisman, Peter nodded in satisfaction.

The Rasengan was complete!

And its power far exceeded Peter's expectations. Combined with the immense strength he already possessed, there was probably no supervillain in the Spider-Man Universe who could take one head-on.

Even Iron Man's armor would likely suffer localized damage after taking a hit from one.

"With the Rasengan, I temporarily no longer have any weaknesses in destructive power. I'll be even more confident when I rob the robbers tonight."

As night fell, Peter put on a black hooded sweatshirt and used the excuse of going to Gwen Stacy's house to tutor her, successfully leaving home.

Once outside, Peter quickly slipped into an alley, pulled up his hood, and concealed himself thoroughly with a mask and sunglasses.

He had no choice. Because his funds were limited, all he could do for now was cosplay as a bank robber...

After disguising himself, Peter moved like a phantom through the shadows cast by the towering buildings and soon arrived at Manhattan's infamous neighborhood... Hell's Kitchen.

He slowed his pace and focused on listening to the sounds around him.

As Peter passed an auto repair shop, he soon heard something that caught his interest.

"Listen up, boys! Tonight's shipment is important. Mister Kingpin had a hard time getting a share of it from Madame Gao!"

A hoarse, rough voice reached Peter's ears clearly.

"As long as we pull this job off, every one of us will get at least this much!"

"The location is Pier Nine in Brooklyn. The time is half an hour from now. The other side is a bunch of Russians. Bring all your gear, and watch out for them trying to rob us."

Kingpin? Madame Gao?

Upon hearing those two names, Peter abruptly stopped, a gleam flashing through his eyes.

Wilson Fisk was, on the surface, a successful businessman in New York City. In secret, however, he was the "crime emperor" who controlled New York's entire underworld.

Madame Gao, meanwhile, was one of The Hand's upper ranks and a notorious drug lord in Hell's Kitchen.

He had not expected his first time going out to "farm monsters" to run into business involving a major boss.

This was... perfect!

After all, the more famous someone was, the easier it would be for Peter to obtain items from them that he could sacrifice!

At that thought, the corners of his mouth rose uncontrollably.

It's decided, then! You, fat Kingpin!

Brooklyn, Pier Nine.

This place had been abandoned for years. The sea breeze carried the smell of rust and briny seawater, while dim yellow streetlights cast grotesque shadows from the surrounding shipping containers.

More than a dozen gang members with weapons tucked into the backs of their waists loitered around smoking and chatting, though their eyes vigilantly scanned the surroundings.

Before long, the roar of car engines came from the distance.

Three black sedans drove into the pier. Their doors opened, and a group of burly Russians jumped out.

The leader, a man with a mohawk, asked in heavily accented English:

"Where are Fisk's people? Why didn't he come see me himself?"

"Our boss is busy with countless matters. Something this trivial does not require him to show up personally."

A scar-faced man stepped out from Kingpin's side and answered with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

The scar-faced man then snapped his fingers, and one of the underlings behind him opened a briefcase containing package after package wrapped in tape.

At the sight of those packages, the mohawked Russian leader's eyes lit up.

He immediately called for his men to carry two heavy metal briefcases out of the cars.

The cases opened, revealing stacks upon stacks of crisp new American bills neatly arranged inside.

Just as both sides had inspected the goods and were about to exchange money for merchandise.

Whoosh!

A nearly imperceptible sound of something cutting through the air rang out.

The next second, one of the burly men standing on the outermost edge did not even have time to groan before his neck tilted and he fell straight down.

A tiny pebble had appeared in the center of his forehead.

"There's a sniper!"

The scar-faced man reacted quickly. He shouted at once, drew his pistol, rolled across the ground, and ducked behind a car, his dark gun barrel aimed directly at the Russians.

The Russians froze for a moment before flying into a rage.

These local gangsters had no manners at all. They were actually trying to frame them!

"Stop them!" the mohawked man roared, and the underlings behind him immediately pulled out their guns and began firing wildly at the gang members.

The mohawked man himself grabbed the case of money and took the opportunity to rush toward a black sedan.

But just as he was about to pull open the car door.

A figure dressed entirely in black suddenly emerged from behind a nearby shipping container and pounced like a hunting cheetah.

The mohawked man was an old hand himself. The instant he heard the movement, he pulled the trigger without a second thought, intending to empty the entire magazine!

But he had only fired two shots when he felt a black shadow rapidly closing in.

Bang!

The mohawked man's vision went dark, and his consciousness plunged into endless darkness.

Splat~

At the same time, glaring red-and-white matter splashed across the car window, nearly scaring the driver inside to death on the spot!

Oh God! What had he just seen?

That Russian powerhouse weighing over two hundred pounds had his head punched apart by a single blow from that masked man with the lean, well-proportioned figure?