NYPD Headquarters, conference room.
The walls were covered in photos and maps, with red lines and arrows marking the intelligence gathered over the past few days.
The projector displayed slide after slide—Murakami's face, the storefront of the Kun-Lun Trading Company, that room on the third floor of the Old Shu Capital Hot Pot Restaurant, and that shuriken pinned to the wall.
George Stacy stood in front of the whiteboard, holding a marker, his gaze sweeping over everyone present.
"Alright," he began, his voice steady and powerful, "everyone has seen the evidence collected over the past few days. Today, we are going to plan our next steps."
He turned and wrote a few names on the whiteboard: Murakami, Madame Gao, Kingpin.
"The Hand," he said, "is a transnational criminal organization, primarily active in Asia and the East Coast of North America. Their operations in New York include human trafficking, organ smuggling, illegal gambling, and loan sharking. We have reason to believe that the recent cases of missing Asian individuals are all linked to them."
Butler—a middle-aged detective with a buzz cut—raised his hand: "Chief, have we traced the source of that anonymously sent video?"
George shook his head: "No. But we have verified the content of the video. The person in the footage is indeed Murakami, one of the leaders of The Hand in New York. The 'goods' he mentioned are likely the kidnapped victims."
Another detective, Williams, asked: "What about that Spider-Man? The video was clearly filmed by her. Should we list her as a witness?"
The conference room went quiet for a moment.
George's expression didn't change.
"There is currently no evidence to suggest she is involved in these cases," he said, "but she did provide important clues. Do not list her as a subject of investigation for now."
He paused and added: "Of course, if she appears at the scene and interferes with law enforcement, that is a different matter."
Williams nodded and asked no further questions.
George continued to assign tasks.
"Butler, you are the lead; you are responsible for keeping an eye on the Kun-Lun Trading Company. Williams, take your team and investigate the warehouses at the Brooklyn Docks, focusing on the rental records of Warehouse Number Three."
He opened his notebook and read out a few more names.
A young officer raised his hand: "Chief, what about me?"
George glanced at him—Jimmy, a young man who had only joined the police force two years ago; he was diligent but inexperienced.
"Jimmy, I'll give you a safer task," George said. "Go check these clinics and see if there are any suspicious records of illegal organ transplants. Remember, just conduct interviews; do not alert the enemy."
Jimmy nodded, looking a bit disappointed but not daring to say anything more.
In the corner, another voice spoke up.
"Brother, what about me?"
George turned his head to look at the person who spoke.
Arthur Stacy, in his early thirties, was wearing casual clothes with a slightly cynical smile on his face. He was George's younger brother, who had just transferred to New York last year and was currently working at the NYPD.
George's expression turned serious.
"Use my title while on duty."
Arthur stopped smiling and straightened up: "Understood, Captain."
George looked at him and was silent for two seconds.
"You and Jimmy go together," he said. "Visit the clinics. Look out for each other."
Arthur raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything more.
"Yes, Captain."
The meeting continued.
George drew routes on the whiteboard, detailing every aspect. His voice was steady and powerful, making people involuntarily trust him.
But deep down, a thought lingered.
That Spider-Man.
Those videos.
And the one on his daughter's shoulder—
He shook his head and pushed the thought away.
Now was not the time to think about this.
Osborn Estate, deep in the garden.
Peter and Gwen walked slowly along the path leading to the fountain, their fingers intertwined.
The scenery around them was beautiful—neatly trimmed shrubs, flowers in full bloom, and butterflies occasionally fluttering by. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting mottled light and shadows on the ground.
But Gwen's mind was not on this.
She lowered her head, looking at her hand intertwined with Peter's, but her heart was thinking about something else.
"Peter," she suddenly spoke up, "lately, the way my dad looks at me is very strange."
Peter turned his head to look at her: "Strange?"
"Yeah." Gwen nodded. "Like he's scrutinizing something. Sometimes when I get home, he's sitting on the sofa, staring at me. That look…"
She paused, not knowing how to describe it.
"Like suspicion?" Peter asked.
"Something like that." Gwen bit her lip. "Could he have found out something?"
Peter thought for a moment and gently squeezed her hand.
"Doesn't he think you're dating?" he said. "Maybe he's just observing you to see if it's true. Don't all dads do that?"
Gwen shook her head: "It's more than that. The way he looks at me doesn't feel like he's looking at a daughter dating; it feels more like he's looking at… a suspect."
Peter was silent for a few seconds.
"What about your wound?" he asked. "Has it healed?"
"Completely healed," Gwen said. "Not even a scar."
"That's good," Peter said. "As long as he didn't see you injured with his own eyes, there's no direct evidence. And—even if he suspects something, what can he do? He can't just arrest you."
Gwen looked at him and suddenly smiled.
"Are you trying to comfort me?"
"Yeah." Peter nodded earnestly. "I want you not to worry."
Gwen looked at his earnest expression, and a wave of warmth welled up in her heart.
"Peter," she said softly, "thank you."
Peter's ears turned red again.
"What are you thanking me for? I, I haven't done anything."
Gwen smiled and didn't call him out.
The two continued walking forward, and the fountain appeared before them. It was a white stone fountain with a young girl holding a pitcher in the center; clear water flowed from the pitcher's mouth, glistening in the sunlight.
Gwen stopped and looked at the fountain.
Peter stood beside her, also looking.
"Gwen," he suddenly said, "that… I have something I want to ask you."
Gwen turned to look at him: "Hm?"
Peter's face was slightly flushed, but he tried to maintain his composure.
"Do you… do you like watching movies?"
Gwen was stunned for a moment: "I do. Why?"
"Then…" Peter took a deep breath, "tomorrow night, do you want to go see a movie together? Just the two of us."
Gwen blinked and then smiled.
"Are you… asking me out?"
Peter's ears turned red again, but he didn't look away.
"Yeah."
Gwen looked at him, suddenly finding this version of Peter especially cute.
"Sure," she said.
Peter's eyes lit up: "Really?"
"Really."
A smile bloomed on Peter's face, brighter than the sunlight.
"Then… what kind of movies do you like?" he asked. "Action? Sci-fi? Or romance?"
Gwen thought for a moment: "I'm fine with anything. What about you?"
"I'm fine with anything too," Peter said. "But… I should ask Mary Jane and the others what girls usually like?"
Gwen was stunned: "Why ask them?"
Peter scratched his head: "Because… I want you to have a good time. I don't really know about these things, and I'm afraid of picking the wrong one."
Gwen looked at him, a feeling she couldn't quite describe welling up in her heart.
This boy, just to ask her to a movie, was going to ask her friends what kind they liked.
"Peter," she said, "no need to ask."
"Hm?"
"As long as I'm watching it with you," Gwen said, "any genre is fine."
Peter froze.
Then his face, starting from his ears, slowly turned red all the way to his neck.
"Oh… oh." He nodded foolishly.
Gwen looked at his dazed expression and couldn't help but laugh out loud.
The sound of the fountain splashed, and the sunlight gilded everything in gold.
The two stood by the fountain, their fingers still intertwined.
After a while, Peter's brain finally rebooted.
"Uh…" he began, his voice still a bit floaty, "I'll pick you up tomorrow night?"
"Okay."
"What time?"
"Six o'clock?"
"Okay."
"After the movie…" Peter paused, "I'll take you home."
Gwen looked at him and nodded with a smile.
She knew what Peter was thinking—take her home, and incidentally build some goodwill in front of her dad.
Even though it might not be very useful.
But she received his sentiment.
The afternoon sun gradually slanted westward, and the group prepared to leave the Osborn Estate.
Harry saw them to the main gate and patted Peter's shoulder with a smug look.
"How was that? My assist was pretty good, right?"
Peter blushed and whispered his thanks.
Mary Jane laughed from the side: "Harry, you could open a matchmaking agency in the future."
Harry raised an eyebrow: "Only for friends, and the fees are high."
The group burst into laughter.
When getting into the car, Gwen looked back at the magnificent estate.
Norman Osborn did not appear.
But Gwen knew he was behind some window, watching it all.
She remembered those sharp blue eyes and the comment about being "not a bad person."
She hoped he really was "not a bad person."
The car drove out of the estate gates, heading home.
Gwen leaned back in her seat, watching the scenery retreating rapidly outside the window. Beside her, Peter's hand quietly reached over and held hers.
She didn't speak, just gently squeezed back.
On the way back, the car was lively.
Mary Jane and the others were discussing what they had seen today, and Betty was still rambling about the lobster they didn't finish. Harry occasionally chimed in, making everyone laugh non-stop.
Only Gwen was silent.
She was thinking about tonight.
Tomorrow night, she was going to Fisk Tower.
Kingpin's territory.
Madame Gao and Murakami were both there.
"Gwen?"
Peter's voice pulled her back.
She turned her head and saw his concerned gaze.
"What are you thinking about?"
Gwen was silent for two seconds, then lowered her voice and said: "Tomorrow night, Fisk Tower."
Peter's expression changed.
"Your wound just healed—" he lowered his voice, speaking at a volume only the two of them could hear.
"I know," Gwen said. "But there's been no movement from The Hand; Murakami must be planning something. If we wait until they act, it might be too late."
Peter looked at her, his eyes full of worry.
But he knew he couldn't convince her otherwise.
"I'll go with you," he said.
"You'll go with me?"
"Yeah." Peter nodded. "I'll keep watch outside for you and let you know if anything happens. You can wear an earpiece, and I—"
"Peter," Gwen interrupted him, "do you know how dangerous that is?"
"I know," Peter said. "But you're in more danger inside."
Gwen looked at him, suddenly not knowing what to say.
This boy, who clearly had no superpowers, was willing to accompany her into the dragon's den.
"You…" she opened her mouth, "aren't you afraid?"
Peter thought for a moment.
"I'm afraid," he admitted honestly. "But I'm more afraid of you going alone."
Gwen looked at him, her eyes stinging a little.
She took a deep breath and pushed that emotion down.
"Okay," she said. "Tomorrow night, we go together."
Peter nodded.
The two hands, under the seat, held each other even tighter.
Outside the window, the setting sun dyed all of New York orange-red.
The tall buildings in the distance shimmered in the afterglow.
One of them was Fisk Tower.
Kingpin's empire.
Tomorrow night—
Gwen looked at the building that was getting closer and closer, and said silently in her heart:
"Just wait."