The morning sun always brings light and hope. But for Gwen Stacy, today's sunlight only served to fuel the roaring fire of justice in her heart.
The sights she had witnessed last night—the crimes festering in the dark corners of the city—had kept her awake.
Relying solely on her father and the NYPD would never be enough to illuminate every inch of New York's shadows. But she now possessed the power to walk through that darkness.
Glancing at the costume designs on her desk and the half-finished web-shooters, Gwen made a swift decision. She picked up her phone and messaged her teacher to call out sick, citing "feeling under the weather."
Next, she found Peter's number, her fingers dancing across the screen.
[Hey Peter, I'm not feeling great today, so I won't be able to make it to school with you.]
After hitting send, Gwen tossed the phone aside and returned her gaze to the blueprints, her eyes full of intense focus. Today, she was determined to finish both the suit and the web-shooters in one go!
Except...
Ding-dong!
The notification sound made her freeze just as she picked up a screwdriver. The name "Peter" lighting up the screen caused her heart to skip a beat for some inexplicable reason.
Taking a second to reply shouldn't hurt... right?
Queens, on the school bus.
Peter looked at the message, one eyebrow arching as a smirk played on his lips.
Not feeling well?
"Not feeling well" was likely code for "busy tinkering with secret gear." With that in mind, his fingers flew across the keyboard as he replied:
[Then you'd better get some rest. Should I stop by your place after school to help you catch up on the coursework?]
The reply was almost instantaneous.
[No need! It's just a minor thing, I'll be fine after a nap! Just focus on your classes, don't get distracted!]
The slight panic in her tone practically leaked through the screen. Peter chuckled; the girl really was a terrible liar.
Peter:[Really? As the perpetual #1 in our class, my lecture notes are worth their weight in gold.]
Gwen:[Give it a rest! It's not like I'm not a straight-A student too! My grades aren't that far behind yours! Anyway, gotta go, I'm taking a nap!]
Seeing the cute emojis in the message, Peter could practically picture Gwen's flustered face as she tried to balance her mechanical work while fending him off. Teasing the little Ghost-Spider was proving to be a delightful pastime.
But just as Peter was enjoying himself, an untimely nuisance boarded the bus.
"Well, well, if it isn't our 'Good-for-nothing Little Peter Parker'."
A voice dripping with malice and mockery rang out. Peter looked up, meeting a face that was as familiar as it was loathsome: "Flash" Thompson. The star quarterback of Midtown High and the ringleader of campus bullying.
Memories flooded back. The suffocation of being locked in a locker, the humiliation of a spilled lunch, the embarrassment of being mocked in public... the scenes were vivid. Now that he had power, it was only natural to settle the score for every grievance of the past.
Flash noticed that Gwen wasn't by Peter's side today, which immediately energized him. He hadn't managed to bully Peter yesterday, which had made him feel "off" during football practice. Today, he intended to double down and savor the thrill of crushing the weak.
Flash loomed over Peter, his eyes flickering with mockery as they landed on the phone in Peter's hand.
"Who are you chatting with? Smiling like that... let me see. Are you hallucinating that some girl actually likes a nerd like you?"
Before the words had even fully left his mouth, Flash's large hand swiped toward Peter's phone!
He had already written the script in his head: he'd snatch the phone, read the chat logs aloud in front of the whole bus, and relish the sight of Peter jumping in a desperate, pathetic attempt to get it back.
It was his favorite game; he found it more satisfying than just about anything else.
Hearing Flash, some students on the bus smirked in anticipation, while others looked away, pretending not to see for fear of becoming the next target. In their eyes, the scrawny Peter stood no chance against the star athlete.
A one-sided bullying session was about to begin.
But a split second later, Flash's grin froze on his face.
Before he could even touch the phone, a hand clamped onto his wrist like a steel vice, halting his movement instantly. Flash blinked, stunned. He looked down in confusion.
Peter hadn't even looked up. He was leisurely finishing a text with one hand while holding Flash's wrist in a casual, almost bored grip with the other.
Only after hitting "Send" did he put the phone away and look up at Flash with the gaze of a cat playing with a cornered mouse.
That nonchalant attitude instantly enraged Flash. He glanced at his peers, feeling as though their stares were now mocking him.
"You..."
Flash Thompson's face flushed a deep red. He strained with every ounce of his strength, trying to yank his hand back. However, the power emanating from Peter's grip was staggering. No matter how much he pulled, his wrist didn't budge.
How is this possible?!
Flash's mind went blank. Was this the same "loser" who usually didn't even dare to breathe too loudly around him? Where did this strength come from?
"Didn't your mother ever tell you it's wrong to take things without permission? Or..."
Peter finally raised his head. His eyes were calm, but his words were sharp and aggressive:
"Do you just not have a mother?"
As everyone knows, English insults are often repetitive and direct, usually revolving around variations of "Motherf***er".
So, when Peter applied a more "pointed" rhetorical style to Flash's parentage, Flash actually froze for a beat before realizing Peter was calling him an orphan.
And then, he completely lost it. It was a classic case of the "white-skinned pig" archetype: low attack, low defense, and a glass ego.
"F*** you! You're dead!"
In a fit of humiliated rage, Flash lost all reason. His free hand balled into a fist and swung toward Peter's face with a whistling gust of wind! He put everything into this punch. He wanted this arrogant nerd to pay a bloody price for those words!
A low gasp rippled through the bus. Some of the more timid girls closed their eyes, unable to watch the impending carnage.
"AAAAAAGH—!"
Sure enough, a split second later, a pig-like wail of agony echoed throughout the school bus.
Several girls winced, feeling pity for poor Peter. But as the scream continued, their sympathy was replaced by utter bewilderment. The voice didn't sound like Peter. It sounded like... Flash?
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