Peter was in a terrible mood.
Not long ago, he and Mary Jane had argued because a newspaper had published an article smearing her reputation. The girl had been deeply upset when she saw it, but Peter had tried to comfort her in a dismissive way.
"It doesn't matter. Spider-Man gets smeared every day, and I'm still the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man."
Mary Jane had angrily accused him of not understanding her at all, then turned and walked away without looking back.
Fortunately, he had rescued a beautiful woman earlier. Now, Peter crouched on a rooftop, smiling as he watched the blonde girl below giving a speech. She was graceful and confident… and for some reason, Peter found himself inexplicably drawn to her.
After being Spider-Man for so long, this was the first time someone had stood in a park and publicly expressed gratitude to him.
It moved him deeply—and made him act a little irrationally.
"Woohoo!!"
"Hey! Are you okay?"
"Spider-Man! Spider-Man!"
Peter swung down on his webbing into the crowd. His striking appearance drew cheers from fans, and many children dressed in Spider-Man costumes shouted excitedly like devoted little fans.
"Kiss him! Kiss him! Kiss him!"
Wearing his suit, Peter hung upside down from the edge of the stage. Gwen, a little shy, avoided looking directly at her savior, her gaze darting away.
Peter got caught up in the cheers. The unpleasant argument with Mary Jane faded from his mind. Right now, he just wanted to enjoy the moment.
"Come on, give me a kiss!" he said, so carried away that he spoke words he normally never would.
"Ah? Here?" Gwen asked, startled, her face instantly flushing.
"That's right. Didn't you hear them? They'll love it!"
Encouraged by the crowd, Gwen let go of her hesitation. She gently lifted Peter's mask up to his nose, then leaned in and kissed him.
The two of them—and the entire crowd—were immersed in the excitement.
All except one person.
Mary Jane stood at a distance, staring at the man on stage in disbelief. This was Peter—the man who had once made promises to her, the hero everyone admired, the boy who had sworn to take care of her.
"To hell with those sweet words…" Mary Jane felt utterly disappointed. Losing her job had already shattered her confidence—but now…
She gave a bitter smile and quietly turned away.
At that moment, a gust of yellow sand swept through the air. The people present were surprised, but no one paid it much attention, assuming it was just some strange natural occurrence.
A guard on a cash transport truck casually tossed a bag of money inside, preparing to continue his dull routine. In recent years, with Renzo and Peter active, New York's crime rate had plummeted. Even cash truck robberies had practically disappeared, making the job far less "exciting."
"I know a place with great hot dogs—just three blocks away," said the guard in the back, a heavyset man leaning lazily against his seat as he yawned.
"You keep eating like that, your wife's going to leave you," the driver joked, making everyone in the truck laugh.
Boom!
"What was that? Did you forget to refuel?"
The driver checked the rearview mirror and suddenly saw a shadow spreading across the roof. Startled, he shouted, "Hey! Something's on top of the truck!"
Before he could finish, the roof was torn open by a surge of yellow sand. Just as the two guards in the back reached for their guns, the sand gathered into a humanoid shape. With a casual motion, it whipped up a mass of sand and hurled one of the guards out of the truck.
"Ahhh!"
The other guard panicked and tried to fire, but the compressed sand engulfed him, burying him inside the vehicle. The driver could do nothing—terrified, he screamed as the partition glass shattered and sand flooded into the cab, burying him as well.
A mass of gravel slammed onto the accelerator, forcing the truck to speed forward uncontrollably. It swerved wildly through the streets, crashing into cars and pedestrians.
Flint examined the bag of money carefully. This was his only hope.
Flint Marco—a robber who had recently escaped from prison. Because of his crimes, his wife had divorced him and taken their seriously ill daughter away, forbidding him from seeing her.
A few nights ago, Flint had secretly returned home, only to discover that his daughter was terminally ill.
He had quietly knelt beside her bed, looking at the oxygen tube in her nose and the letters she had written about missing her father, and fell into deep thought.
"You shouldn't be here."
"I came to see my daughter."
"You're a fugitive! You have no right to see her—you'll only hurt her!"
Flint set down the piece of black bread in his hand, unable to respond. He knew his wife was right. He had robbed, killed, and escaped from prison…
"Penny… I miss you so much." Flint saw a small figure peeking from behind the door. He knelt down and gently held his daughter's thin hand.
Because of her illness, Penny's hands were pale and frail—so delicate they felt like they might break at any moment.
Before they could even say goodbye, police sirens filled the air. With no other choice, Flint cast one last reluctant glance at his daughter and escaped through the window.
And then…
Flint snapped back to the present. A figure in a tight suit had just landed on the truck.
"Get lost. I don't want to hurt you," Flint said coldly, staring at the masked figure in warning. Spider-Man hadn't been active when he was imprisoned, so to Flint, the man in front of him looked like some kind of unhinged vigilante.
"You might not know this, but I'm the peacekeeper of this neighborhood!" Peter said lightly, his tone almost flippant. His long streak of success had subtly changed his attitude.
Seeing that words wouldn't work, Flint glanced at him, then suddenly threw a punch. But Peter's spider-sense warned him in advance, and he dodged easily.
Peter countered with a punch to Flint's abdomen. He expected it to take down an ordinary person—but instead, his fist passed straight through, scattering sand everywhere.
"What the hell?!" Peter stared in confusion.
Flint glared at him. His arm suddenly expanded, turning into a massive sand-covered fist that slammed into Peter, sending him flying.
"Ugh!"
Peter kicked off the truck door and shot a webline, swinging himself back into the vehicle. He had done this countless times—it was second nature.
Unable to shake him off, Flint began fighting Peter inside the truck.
Massive sand-formed hammers struck Peter repeatedly, each blow sending waves of pain through his body. There was barely any space to dodge—he could only endure the assault.
Boom!
Peter was smashed hard against the interior, but Flint had already dissolved into swirling sand, escaping with the money bag.
"Help us!" one of the sand-covered guards cried out.
Peter looked ahead—the out-of-control truck was about to collide with another vehicle. Acting quickly, he pulled the guards free from the sand and secured them with webbing.
Crash!
The impact overturned the transport truck instantly.
Peter scrambled out from beneath the wreckage and looked around, but there was no sign of Sandman.
"Where do these guys keep coming from…?" Peter muttered, dumping sand out of his boots in frustration.
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