Chapter Fifteen: Gwen’s Invitation

"Last night, a strange lizard man appeared on the Hopton Bridge, causing significant casualties, including the tragic death of a military major general. At the same time, Spider-Woman arrived at the scene to offer assistance, but the police did not acknowledge her goodwill. Instead, she was listed as wanted alongside the lizard man."

The plot was growing more intriguing. It was hard to tell whether the lizard man was Connors or Peter, but judging by his actions—trying to stop the military’s human experiments—it seemed more likely to be Connors.

Meanwhile, news about Iron Man was also breaking, signaling that this world was officially entering the age of superheroes.

"Perhaps I should make myself some weapons," Michael mused.

He had some gadgets for self-defense, but those were only useful against petty thugs; they would be useless against a lizard man. The lizard man had even caused havoc at a school, making Michael all the more cautious.

He decided to craft some portable, large-area weapons—even if they could only be used once, it was better than standing by helplessly.

...

Midtown High School, basketball court.

"Hey, as long as I'm here, you can forget about scoring," Flash taunted wildly, surrounded by a group of adoring girls cheering him on.

At their age, the "bad boy" type always drew more attention than the quiet, honest ones, especially when the bad boy was good at basketball like Flash.

Flash threw down another thunderous dunk, and the ball bounced off, knocking over a girl's art bucket. Paint splattered everywhere, soaking her work.

"Flash, you did that on purpose!"

"I didn't, but if I did, you should've been more careful," Flash replied, not admitting fault and even looking rather pleased with himself.

Peter couldn't stand Flash's behavior, but at the moment, he was still an ordinary boy—he hadn’t undergone any mutations yet.

Still, with his confidence somewhat restored, he went over to comfort the girl with glasses.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. My name is Mary Jane."

Peter smiled and said, "I'm Peter."

"I know. You're Peter Parker from the news club. All the photos on the school wall are taken by you."

Seeing Mary Jane’s demeanor, Peter couldn’t help but feel a little happy. He liked photography and had some talent for it, which got him noticed at school. He’d taken pictures at many events, which were displayed on the confession wall or published in the campus newspaper.

Young hearts are always poetic, and girls are no different.

She admired Peter Parker for his sense of justice.

Just then, Flash made another spectacular dunk, and the ball rolled right to the feet of Peter and Mary Jane.

"Hey, Parker, toss the ball over."

Flash’s overbearing attitude was irksome.

Why should he?

A wave of anger rose in Peter’s heart.

Flash noticed the anger in Peter’s eyes, but he had always looked down on Peter and didn’t care. He repeated himself, this time more forcefully.

Mary Jane was a bit worried and pulled Peter’s arm. "Just give it back to him."

Peter glanced at Mary Jane, concerned for him, and suddenly found this girl so gentle. Even behind those outdated glasses, her features were lovely.

"Don’t worry," Peter said, picking up the basketball and walking over.

"Flash, I used to be afraid of you."

Flash sneered at the hard look in Peter’s eyes. "Peter, I know everyone has moments of bravado, especially in front of girls. But now, give me the ball, and I’ll forgive you."

Peter dribbled the ball a few times, getting a feel for it, and glanced around. Everything seemed to become data in his mind.

Flash was bigger than he was, but Peter wasn’t weak.

"If you want the ball, come get it yourself."

Flash’s face darkened. Seeing Peter’s serious expression filled him with fury. Like a lion being challenged, he felt his status threatened.

He reached for the ball, but Peter dodged nimbly.

Several times in a row Flash missed, making him look even more foolish as the others seized the chance to jeer and cheer excitedly.

"Go for it, Peter!"

Flash stepped back, assuming a defensive pose. He could see Peter was agile, so a close steal would be tough. But Peter was shorter, so Flash could easily block him.

Peter dribbled toward Flash, and as they faced off, Flash lunged for the ball, only to be fooled twice by Peter’s feints.

Finally, with a three-step layup, Peter scored.

Flash looked at Peter, unwilling to concede. "Again!"

So the two began a one-on-one. The crowd, sensing excitement, gathered around.

As Peter’s stamina waned, mistakes crept in, and eventually, it was a fairly even match.

After a collision, Peter fell to the ground, scraping his skin. Flash dropped the ball and ran over.

"Are you all right, Peter?"

Mary Jane rushed over, pushing Flash aside. "Move!"

People crowded around, lifting Peter up and tossing him in the air.

At that moment, Peter seemed to have become a true hero.

Watching Peter, Flash suddenly understood something.

...

Gwen returned to school.

She no longer had to work—not because she’d been fired, but because Connors had already written her a university recommendation letter. Her goal had been achieved, so there was no need for the job anymore.

"Hey, Michael."

"Hi, Gwen."

They greeted one another and returned to their seats.

"Michael, do you have time to come to my house for dinner?"

Michael was a bit surprised. Wasn’t Peter supposed to be invited? Why him?

"Oh? Doesn’t Mr. George mind?"

Gwen smiled. "He’s the one who invited you. I told him it was you who encouraged me and helped me let go of my burdens."

"Really? It was nothing."

What was George up to? Was this meeting the future son-in-law or some kind of intimidation? Either way, he was probably overthinking it.

"So, are you coming or not? Mom’s making her specialty."

Her specialty? Lemon bass? Wasn’t that a culinary nightmare? Wouldn’t his mouth taste fishy for days? Foreigners really had unusual tastes.

"All right," he agreed.

After all, he had nothing better to do. He might as well pay a visit and expand his social circle.

Gwen’s father was, in fact, something of a hidden big shot—he was New York’s chief of police, the equivalent of a grand marshal in the imperial capital.

Back home, Michael changed into a crisp suit and bought some gifts.

He wasn’t going to be like Peter, running over foolishly without even changing clothes and ending up quarreling with Captain George.

Michael’s blood disorder was still manageable. Other than being unable to exert himself and having a weak leg, everything else was fine.

But what should he talk about with Captain George?

Years of self-study and experimentation had made Michael rather accustomed to solitude; making conversation was more daunting than tinkering with a reactor.

After racking his brain and finding no solution, Michael decided to improvise. After all, he wasn’t their son-in-law—what was there to fear?

Except, could he somehow avoid the lemon bass?