System, Add Points for Me

The night wind poured in through the open car window, chilling even Spider-Man—whom Iron Man had intercepted—as he crouched on the passenger seat, not for lack of seating, but purely out of habit.

When Spider-Man crouched, he felt more comfortable than sitting.

"Mr. Stark, are you... are you spying on me?" His voice shot up by an octave, carrying that touch of youthful, bristling indignation born from having one's privacy poked at.

Tony Stark held the steering wheel with one hand while waving the other in the air in a pointless circle.

The Mark Armor was on him, but inside the car, the mask was retracted to reveal the expression half-covered by sunglasses.

He remained unruffled, almost self-righting.

"Sorry, kid." He apologized without a single ounce of apology in his tone.

"This was a solemn commission from Ms. May. She begged me to take good care of you." He paused, turning his head to glance at Peter.

"Let's skip the surveillance talk for now—tell me, could you have beaten Russell that mutant in the past?"

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it.

He thought of that video—one hundred and forty bullets suspended mid-air before turning around.

He thought of the illustrious Cyclops and Wolverine from the X-Men, one getting his leg broken and snapped back, the other tossed around like a human punching bag.

He lowered his head to look at his own hands, finding nothing between his fingers except the cold metallic touch of his web-shooters.

He certainly couldn't imagine wrapping that man like a zongzi using web fluid.

"Seriously, Peter." Tony's tone was much more serious than usual, the levity of joking around at press conferences vanishing, replaced by the heaviness of one who had lived through too much and seen too much.

"I suggest you stay far away from mutant business. The mutant issue is a political minefield, far more troublesome than any street-level villains you've dealt with in the past.

You have a brilliant future ahead—MIT, Oxford, Cambridge, take your pick—no need to get tangled up in their fights."

Peter gazed out the window as rows of street trees flashed past rapidly in the night, the light of street lamps stretching into orange lines across the glass.

"If we avoid people who need help just because it's troublesome," he said softly, his voice almost drowned out by the wind noise, "then what kind of heroes are we?"

Tony sighed. The sigh was long, carrying a helpless I-knew-you'd-say-that resignation.

"That's idealism." His tone grew heavy. "I used to think that way too. But reality is that the mutant issue involves too many stances and interests.

Professor X wants peaceful coexistence, Magneto wants mutant supremacy, and human governments want to control all super-powered beings—this isn't a black-and-white story.

Peter, there are no good guys here, and no bad guys; there are only people of different colors, standing on different sides, arguing different reasons."

Peter turned his head to look at Tony.

The sunglasses reflected the night, making it impossible to read the emotions in those eyes.

"I know." He shifted from a crouching to a sitting position and fastened his seatbelt. "But the innocent people caught in the crossfire of battles don't get a choice, just like I didn't get a choice about whether to get bitten by that spider in the first place."

He paused, a hint of stubborn, youthful ease creeping into his voice:

"Besides, Mr. Stark, are mutants really as bad as you make them out to be? I think the X-Men's reputation in New York City is pretty good.

Honestly, before the Avengers made that name a household one, they pulled the world back from the edge of the cliff a few times. Who knows? Maybe Russell just lost control of his powers; he's not a bad person at heart, right?"

When Peter said this, his tone was contradictory.

He genuinely wanted to hear Tony's perspective—how this core member of the Avengers, this genius standing at the pinnacle of human technology, truly viewed mutants. His answer might shape Peter's stance for a long time to come.

Tony let out a snort. It was short and crisp, sounding like a champagne cork popping.

"Kid, you're too naive. Some things aren't as simple as they look on the surface." His voice became clear, carrying the mocking flavor of someone who had been through too much,

"The X-Men saving the world? Sure, they've done it, but have you ever stopped to think—nine times out of ten, that world-ending trouble started because some mutant lost control?"

He extended a finger and tapped the air. "According to that old bald guy Nick Fury, mutants are just a keg of gunpowder shoved under the seat of all humanity.

Wherever they show up, nothing good ever follows."

Peter glanced sideways at Tony.

The other man's expression was hidden behind his sunglasses, but the deja vu in those words made him mutter:

"Mr. Stark, these words... why do I feel like I've read them in the Daily Bugle? They seem to use that exact phrasing to describe that guy in the Fantastic Four who... um... always blows things up."

"I know who you're talking about." Tony waved a hand. "The difference is that Reed Richards messes up an experiment and blows up a building at most.

While an out-of-control Level Four Mutant—" He paused, tracing a large circle in the air with his finger, "—might make the entire continental plate take a nap in a different position. It's completely not on the same scale."

"Really?" Peter remained noncommittal. "Did you get it backward? I heard people say Dr. Reed is even more dangerous than Magneto."

Tony was silent for two seconds, as if organizing his thoughts. Ignoring the danger posed by Dr. Reed, he continued:

"Still, to be frank, I personally don't have any deep-seated prejudice against mutants.

Powers aren't the original sin; failing to control them is. Of course—" His tone abruptly shifted, carrying obvious irritation, as if he had remembered someone who got on his nerves.

"—except for that guy you mentioned who wears a metal uniform, sports a ridiculous helmet, and looks like he wants to stamp 'I'm the coolest' on his face every time he makes an entrance."

Peter knew who he meant.

Magneto.

He vaguely remembered some conflict between Tony and Magneto, but couldn't quite recall the details.

"I told you to stay away from mutants, kid." Tony's voice dropped, shedding its condescending command and edging closer to—advice.

"Not just because of Russell as an individual, nor solely because of their unstable powers that can blow up at a moment's notice. It's because of how society looks at them."

He glanced sideways at Peter, the eyes behind the sunglasses brightening, then dimming. "After what happened this-incident, do you still think the U.S. government, or even the rest of the world, is really as chummy with the X-Men as it looks on the surface? Are there really that few 'mutants aren't human' remarks online?"

His voice grew lower, as though speaking of something he had pondered for a long time yet never brought up to anyone else:

"Last century, the century before that—prejudice against skin color and race still lingers like a ghost today. How much more so for mutants who are directly slapped with the label of 'inhuman'?

That prejudice is rooted deep in the bone marrow, more stubborn than any virus. You think you can change it? Peter, you can't even shut Jameson's mouth."

At this, Tony rarely scratched the back of his head, revealing a trace of genuine perplexity—the kind of furrowed-brow confusion a genius feels when encountering an unsolvable problem:

"But there's one thing I've never figured out."

"Charles Xavier, this bald professor who advocates peaceful coexistence and possesses a mind kinder than anyone else's—why was he the very first one to step up and slap the label of 'mutant' on their entire population?

Didn't he foresee that this very name would become the start of a never-ending nightmare?"

Peter kept silent. He had never thought about the issue from that angle.

"Mr. Stark," he suddenly spoke up, his tone half-joking, half-probing.

"Then have you ever considered a possibility—maybe all humans across the world have mutant genes lying dormant in some corner of their DNA? Maybe you, me, all of us... in a sense, are we all mutants?"

"Who told you that?" Tony made a sharp wave of his hand, nearly striking the steering wheel and knocking his sunglasses crooked.

"That idea is so crazy it sounds like Bruce Banner saying he never loses his temper. If that's true, wouldn't the 'Mutant Registration Act' those old guys in Washington argued themselves hoarse to pass turn out to be this century's biggest joke?"

Peter shrank his neck back and fell silent.

If Russell heard the two of them chatting, he would undoubtedly say, Spider-Man, did you break the fourth wall?

"That's right, you, Iron Man, the Avengers, and every human on Earth are mutants."

The car fell quiet for a few seconds, save for the low hum of the engine and the whistling wind outside the window.

"Peter." Tony's tone abruptly turned formal, like he was reading a document he had already finalized. "Given that you and Russell both live in New York City now, I've decided to have JARVIS upgrade your safety monitoring protocol."

"You don't have to, Mr. Stark." A trace of dissatisfaction laced Peter's voice. "You're making me feel very uncomfortable. Spider-Man isn't a kid."

Tony didn't answer, merely shaking his head. "JARVIS, upgrade Peter's safety monitoring protocol to the highest level.

Especially the alert system for mutant-related activities; it must be set to top priority."

"Already done, Boss." JARVIS's voice issued from the car speakers, calm and devoid of emotion.

Peter frowned. "Mr. Stark, I really don't need—"

"It's my responsibility, kid." Tony's tone allowed no room for argument, standing like a wall you could only hurt yourself by crashing into.

"Since Mrs. May entrusted you to me—uh, I mean, since you've chosen to stand on my side, I have a responsibility to ensure your safety.

Mutant affairs are far more complex than you imagine, Peter. You're still young; a few years older and you'll understand that some trouble can't be resolved just by saying 'I can win'."

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it.

He thought of Aunt May's face, of what she had said—"Peter, be careful, stay safe." He sighed.

"Fine. You've already brought up Ms. May Parker, what else can I say."

Tony nodded in satisfaction. "Alright, anyway, dawn is almost breaking, and your energy level looks pretty good. Come with me then; I have something to do and might need your help."

Tony thought of Bucky's relationship with Captain America, as well as the fact that most of the Avengers were relatively close to Captain America.

For what came next, he might need heavy outside help like Spider-Man, even if the kid could be a bit unreliable at times.

Yet who hadn't gradually grown reliable from being unreliable?

Peter froze, then his eyes lit up. "Whoa, is this a secret Avengers operation? I get to join an Avengers operation? That's awesome!"

His tone grew brisk, carrying the joy of a youth selected for the varsity team.

The corner of Tony's twitching mouth was just about to say something—

The giant screen in Times Square lit up.

That familiar mustached man was beginning his daily broadcast once again.

J. Jonah Jameson, editor-in-chief of the Daily Bugle and Spider-Man's archenemy. His voice echoed across the entire neighborhood through the square's loudspeakers, clear as day even through the car windows.

"If you ask me, Spider-Man is no superhero at all! I strongly demand that the Avengers thoroughly investigate his background. Every time this little bug catches someone, he leaves the city in a complete mess—streets plastered with web fluid and traffic jammed for miles.

Once, he even glued a vendor's hot dog stand to a streetlight! I seriously suspect he's a masked mutant who's going to lose control and trigger a catastrophe at any moment!"

Peter clutched his forehead, emitting a groan of agony. "Spider-Man is a mutant?"

He muttered to himself, his tone dripping with an absurdity-laced helplessness, "Calling me a mutant makes about as much sense as claiming dear Mr. Jameson is Spider-Man."

Tony glanced at the red-faced visage on the giant screen, then back at the curled-up Peter in the passenger seat, an expression of schadenfreude curving the corner of his mouth.

"What's your deal with J. Jonah Jameson?" He asked with unmistakable curiosity.

"How come he's always targeting you while holding other superheroes in such high regard? I've seen footage of his interview with Captain America—his attitude was practically like interviewing God."

Peter spread his hands with an innocent look. "I don't know either! Could it be he has issues with my awesome suit? Maybe he prefers dark blue? Or maybe he just hates web-patterns?"

Tony let out a snort. "Need me to have a word with the editor-in-chief of the Daily Bugle? I can have JARVIS send him a very politely worded legal notice."

"No need." Peter shook his head, a maturity beyond his years coloring his tone. "I think Spider-Man can handle it."

Tony looked at him and said nothing more.

The sky outside the car window began shifting from pitch black to deep blue, and then to grayish white.

New York's skyline slowly emerged in the morning light like a painting rendered in watercolors.

The city was waking up once more—bearing its prejudices, its contradictions, its heroes, and its monsters.

And Peter Parker, the young man wearing a bodysuit swinging between buildings, still had to go on being your friendly neighborhood hero.

Hotel, presidential suite.

Russell finished his workout in the training room. Felicity raised her gaze to look at the back ahead of her, the tips of her ears turning slightly red as she lowered her head and walked forward on unsteady legs.

She had accompanied Lord Russell in the training room for hours, using her mind excessively until she walked in a dizzy haze.

"I'm so useless. Why couldn't I satisfy Lord Russell?" Felicity clutched the corners of her clothes tightly, secretly vexed.

Russell sank onto the sofa and brought up the system interface.

[Superhuman Healing: 1426/12500 Level Four]

[Telekinesis: 4/12500 Level Four]

[Mental Defense: 54/5000 Level Three]

[Molecular-level Control: Unlocked]

[Atomic-level Precision Control: Pending unlock]

[Emotion Points: 10034 points]

Emotion points had broken ten thousand, with three abilities—two at level four, one at level three.

Perhaps due to the enhancement brought by his abilities, Russell, despite a sleepless night, looked radiant and felt brimming with strength from head to toe.

Staring at the emotion points exceeding ten thousand before him, what was he waiting for.

"System, add points for me."