Wednesday's lunch hour at Midtown High School was as noisy as a wet market.
Peter Parker carried his tray, looking for a seat while appearing somewhat distracted.
His gaze involuntarily drifted toward a nearby round table where Mary Jane was sitting. The sunlight hitting her red hair made her look as beautiful as a Renoir oil painting.
"Hey, Parker, get out of the way."
A football player from the school team passed by. Seemingly wanting to vent on Flash's behalf from earlier that morning, he deliberately slammed his shoulder hard into Peter.
In the past, Peter would have definitely been knocked to the ground, his tray hitting him in the face to the laughter of the entire room.
But today, the big man felt as if he had run into a concrete pillar rooted deep underground.
Thump!
Peter didn't budge an inch. Instead, the big man who hit him was bounced back, stumbling and clutching his shoulder with a groan.
Although Peter didn't fall, the tray in his hand flew out due to inertia.
The lunch—mashed potatoes, gravy steak, and jelly—traced a parabola through the air.
"Oh no!"
Peter instinctively reached out, trying to catch the flying tray.
Time slowed down again.
Just as his fingertips were about to touch the edge of the tray but were still a few centimeters short,
A tingling sensation, like an electric current running through his nerves, instantly pierced his wrist.
Then, the muscles at the base of his palm contracted sharply, as if some biological valve had been opened.
Thwip—
A white silk thread, accompanied by a faint whistling sound, sprayed out from the inside of his wrist.
The thread accurately stuck to the edge of the tray flying in mid-air.
Peter was stunned.
He looked at the white substance connecting his wrist to the tray, his mind going blank.
No one around noticed the details of that moment; they only saw the tray being pulled by some invisible force, and then—smack.
Peter instinctively pulled back.
The food-laden tray, like a tethered boomerang, flew back with immense kinetic energy.
But he clearly hadn't learned to control this power yet and used too much force.
The tray flew over his head, across the aisle, and finally slammed with pinpoint accuracy onto the face of someone who had just walked over.
It was Flash Thompson, who had just come out of the infirmary.
Mashed potatoes covered Flash's eyes, and gravy flowed down his nose into his mouth.
A deathly silence fell over the cafeteria once again.
Then, a roar of laughter erupted once more.
"Parker!"
Flash wiped the mashed potatoes off his face and let out an ear-splitting roar of rage.
Peter looked at his wrist, then at the furious Flash, and then at the white thread still stuck to his hand.
Panic instantly overwhelmed him.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to."
He flicked his hand sharply, but the thread was extremely tough and didn't break.
"My god, what on earth is this?"
Terrified, Peter yanked the thread apart. Ignoring Ned's shouts, he grabbed his backpack and, like a thief who had done something wrong, fled the cafeteria in a panic under the gaze of the entire school.
The roof.
The wind was strong, making Peter's oversized hoodie flap loudly.
He hid behind a giant water tank, sliding down against the wall, staring intently at his wrist.
There were no wounds; the skin was as smooth as before.
But as long as he followed a specific gesture—middle and ring fingers curled, pressure on the base of the palm—that tingling sensation would reappear.
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