Peter Tingle!

The penthouse atop Wayne Enterprises.

On the wall-sized screen, Chen Mo wore his cheap red-and-blue pajamas, looking down as he pinched a strand of webbing.

"With great power comes great responsibility."

Bruce dragged the progress bar back.

The footage rewound to before the hook fell, followed by the grenade, the injury, those few glances Chen Mo had stolen at him, and finally stopped on that line again.

His voice was still a little hoarse; he was probably going through puberty. When he said "responsibility," his delivery actually steadied.

Bruce pulled up the audio track and compared what he had said before and after it again.

"Master Bruce, this is the two hundred and fourteenth time."

Alfred walked in carrying a tray and set the coffee beside the console.

"If you intend to continue, I suggest having a photograph of Mr. Spider printed and hanging it above your bed. It would save you dragging the progress bar every time."

Bruce did not turn around.

"I can't find him."

The screen switched to a map of Gotham. The South End docks, an alley entrance in the East End, a convenience store in the west district—several recorded sightings lit up in sequence. Before those, there was nothing.

"He suddenly appeared half a month ago. There are no entry or medical records for him in the system, and none of the missing persons match."

"So you've watched it two hundred and fourteen times, hoping he'll volunteer his registration details in the video?"

Only then did Bruce turn to glance at Alfred.

The old butler's expression remained calm as he took away the cup of coffee that had gone completely cold and replaced it with a fresh one.

"Perhaps he's simply a good boy, Master Bruce."

"He knows how to use a line of gunfire to sever a steel cable, and how to direct a grenade's blast outward." Bruce opened the shot of Chen Mo crouching beside Scarface, checking his breathing. "The first thing he did afterward was make sure the other man was alive."

"He still sounds like a good boy."

Bruce fell silent.

He reopened Chen Mo's file and marked the recently manifested webbing ability on the timeline.

"I need to know where he came from, where he lives, and what other changes his body will undergo."

Alfred followed the map toward the South End.

"And once you've found him?"

Bruce did not answer.

Alfred pushed the coffee closer to his hand.

"You went out last night to determine whether he was in danger."

"He was dangerous."

"I saw. His shoulder was still bleeding, and his clothes were almost falling apart."

Bruce finally picked up the coffee and took a sip, only to discover it had already gone cold.

Alfred pretended not to notice.

"Once you've found where he lives, at least we'll know whether he has a bed."

"That has nothing to do with risk assessment."

"Of course, Master Bruce."

The red dots on the map connected, finally reaching into the densely packed old buildings of the South End.

Several kilometers away, Chen Mo was pushing at a window rusted shut, struggling to squeeze into his attic.

The window frame creaked, showering his head with rust and plaster dust.

"Ptooey, ptooey."

Holding his bleeding shoulder, Chen Mo squeezed into the room and kicked the window shut behind him.

The attic was the same as ever. The old newspapers on the walls curled at the edges, the roof leaked, and the musty smell mingled with the stench rising from the sewers.

As far as living alone went, it was actually pretty cozy.

As long as his standards for cozy were low enough.

Chen Mo had just sat down beside the bed when a series of crisp chimes suddenly rang out in his mind.

[Ding!

Phase one role-playing task complete.

Current character compatibility: 10%.

Distributing phase reward...]

Chen Mo froze for a moment, then instantly perked up.

"System, you finally remembered you've still got a host stranded out here?"

"Any later and I'd have gone to strip Batman's tires to buy protein powder."

The system interface unfolded before his eyes.

[Core ability unlocked: beginner Spider-Sense.]

The back of his head suddenly tingled.

Chen Mo instinctively stopped in his tracks. The next second, a drop of water fell through a crack in the ceiling and splashed just in front of his toes, bringing a rusty nail down with it.

He looked down at the nail, then felt the back of his head.

The tingling had already faded.

The room was still the same shabby room, but the splinter jutting out beside the bed, the loose window frame, and the floorboard beneath his feet that was nearly rotted through all had an indescribable presence now.

His body knew where trouble was before his brain did.

Chen Mo picked up the rusty nail, thought for a moment, then felt around on the windowsill for a bottle cap. He turned his back and flicked the cap at the wall.

The cap bounced off the wall, heading straight for the back of his head.

The tingling flared again.

Chen Mo tilted his head and snatched it out of the air. The cap landed in his palm; he had not even needed to turn around.

"Wow."

He flicked it again. This time the angle was farther off, and the cap flew past his ear, but he still intercepted it in advance.

Chen Mo looked down at the cap in his hand, his smile growing uncontrollable.

"So this is the Peter Tingle?"

Chen Mo broke into a wide grin. He took two steps back, preparing to celebrate properly with a superhero backflip onto the bed.

The takeoff was a success.

The flip was pretty impressive, too.

Crack!

The bed cobbled together from a few rotten planks fulfilled its historical mission. Chen Mo's backside smashed straight through the boards, landing him in the dust.

His Spider-Sense did not react at all.

Apparently, embarrassing himself did not qualify as mortal danger for now.

"Good news: I finally have Spider-Sense."

Chen Mo pulled one leg out of the broken bed and looked at the shattered planks.

"Bad news: I might have to sleep on the wall tonight."

"Hiss..."

Chen Mo climbed out, clutching his backside, his shoulder aching along with it. He dug into his pocket and poured his last few coins into his palm.

"System, let's talk."

"I just reformed Batman to his face. Where's my meal allowance? Medical reimbursement would work, too."

The system interface remained silent.

"Don't play dead. I know you're listening."

Still nothing.

Chen Mo put the coins away and shook his head in anguish.

"Systems these days should all be connected to AI. AI can chat, you know?"

"Hello? Anyone there? Moshi moshi?"

Only the sound of dripping water remained in the attic.

Chen Mo sighed and lay back on the broken bedboards, finding an angle that would not press against his wound.

He had been lying there for only a few seconds when the bottommost plank gave another ominous creak.

Chen Mo rolled over and sat up, binding several planks together with webbing. The bed barely regained its shape, at the cost of uneven legs that made lying on it feel like being in a little beached boat.

At least he could sleep on it.

Beyond the hole in the roof, Gotham was gradually darkening. Downstairs, someone rummaged through a trash can, bottles and cans clattering. A little later, people started arguing over half a piece of bread.

A siren swept past the street entrance without even stopping.

A drop of rain fell into an empty food tin beside the wall.

Plink.

Chen Mo dragged over the only reasonably clean piece of cardboard, covered his shoulder, and closed his eyes.

At the top of Wayne Enterprises, Alfred replaced the coffee with another hot cup.

Bruce still did not drink it.

He enlarged the map, zooming all the way in on the streets packed with old apartment buildings in the South End.

The recorded sightings expanded outward according to walking distance, and the overlapping area gradually shrank. Bruce pulled up the street cameras and began checking the entrances and exits of those old buildings one by one.

Rain fell silently against the floor-to-ceiling windows.