Chapter Twenty-Seven: George’s Thoughts

When George entered Michael’s room, Gwen had already been hidden away in the wardrobe by Michael.

“Do you need something, Mr. George?”

George glanced at the unmade bed, then at Michael, whose clothes were neat and orderly.

“Did I interrupt your rest?”

“Not at all. I was just about to take some notes.”

George sat on the bed, feeling the springiness of the mattress, and was almost certain that someone had just been on it—someone who had disappeared only moments before he entered.

Who could that be?

He glanced at the window and at the mask sitting on the desk. The picture was becoming clear in his mind.

Yet, rather than letting anger cloud his judgment, he calmly analyzed the situation before him.

Observing Michael’s neat appearance, he deduced that the two had simply been talking, only for their conversation to be disrupted by his own arrival.

He cast a look at the wardrobe; with the room’s simple layout, it was the only place someone could be hidden.

“Are you looking for something?” Michael couldn’t help feeling a bit nervous. Had they been discovered?

George collected himself and said, “It’s nothing. I just don’t quite know how to begin.”

He had no intention of exposing Gwen, nor did he care to know why she’d come. More than anything, he wanted Gwen to abandon her dreams of being a hero.

Even marrying Michael would be better than continuing on as Spider-Woman.

“Please, say whatever you wish. Don’t mind my feelings.”

George turned to Michael. “Do you know what Gwen has been up to lately?”

Faced with such a question, Michael could only feign ignorance. “Studying?”

“Don’t pretend—I know everything.”

George took a deep breath, his demeanor turning grave. His gaze was sharp as a blade, making it impossible for Michael to meet his eyes.

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about. I’ve been busy with my experiments lately—I haven’t had time to worry about Gwen. You probably don’t realize how busy a scientist can be.”

Michael continued to play dumb, hoping to muddle through.

But inside the wardrobe, Gwen was growing more anxious by the second.

“She is Spider-Woman. You truly didn’t know?”

“I didn’t.”

“Then what about her high-tech suit? That skintight spider suit?”

George stood up, growing more agitated, increasingly convinced that Michael was the one supporting Gwen from behind the scenes.

“I don’t know. It has nothing to do with me.”

“I know you’re backing Gwen. But Michael, have you ever considered that Gwen could get hurt?”

Seeing that the pretense had been dropped, Michael could only admit the truth.

“I’m sorry. Whatever Gwen chooses to do, however she does it, those are her own decisions. I haven’t given her much support.”

George looked at Michael. “But how do you explain the suit and the antidote?”

Michael’s expression didn’t change; he answered calmly, “She needed help, and so did I. We simply helped each other.”

“Talk her out of it, Michael. Helen and I will never support her.”

“That’s something you should say to her yourself, not ask me to pass along.”

George was momentarily stunned, looking at Michael.

“Michael, you don’t have a daughter. You can’t understand how I feel. No matter how strong she is, she’s just flesh and blood—just a person. If she keeps taking these risks, something will go wrong one day.”

“So you’re just going to stand by and watch? Honestly, Chief George, isn’t what she needs most your support?”

Michael was at a loss.

The future would be an era of superheroes, with greater and greater dangers. If one didn’t become a hero, they could only wait for someone else to save them. Sometimes, it was better to hold power in one’s own hands—but Michael didn’t know how to explain all that to George.

“I won’t support her—never. Even if she’s capable, she can’t be so reckless. You’d better convince her to give up these absurd ideas as soon as possible. If she keeps roaming the streets, I’ll be the one to arrest her.”

With that, George slammed the door and left.

“Oh, and tell her, if anything happens to her, no matter what it is, her mother will be heartbroken.”

This time, George was truly gone.

Mrs. Martha was left speechless. What was with that man?

After George left, Gwen emerged from the wardrobe, covering her face as she wept.

“Michael, what should I do?” she said, throwing her arms around him and crying on his shoulder.

“Oh, you got snot on my shirt.”

Michael looked down with distaste; it was sticky and truly disgusting.

Gwen blushed and rubbed a little more.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it. Let me lean on you a while longer.”

Keisha: …

“Young man, now’s your best chance.”

Michael: “…”

I suspect you just want to watch a show.

Keisha: “Coward.”

Michael: “I’m not the kind of person to take advantage of others.”

Still, Gwen’s figure really was impressive—but all he could do was show respect.

Gwen cried for a while before finally calming down, looking apologetically at Michael’s shoulder.

Michael took off his jacket, wiped his shoulder, and tossed it aside.

“Michael, what should I do?”

Gwen sat on Michael’s bed, casting a glance at his bare torso.

He was a bit thin, with no obvious muscle, but not scrawny either—more like a slender youth.

Michael felt helpless. Why did both father and daughter come to him with their problems?

“I don’t know either. Maybe you should stop being Spider-Woman.”

“No way.”

At that moment, Martha pushed the door open and, seeing Michael shirtless and Gwen—just having said “no”—frowned, realizing something was off.

The three of them stared at each other, eyes wide, unsure what to say.

Martha was the first to react. “Sorry to interrupt. Carry on.”

“Hey…”

Martha, you’ve got it all wrong.

Outside the door, Martha patted her chest and muttered to herself, “No wonder that policeman looked so scary when he left. So that’s what’s going on. The girl in there—is that his daughter? She’s quite pretty, but I wonder if she’s good at housekeeping.”

“And Michael, too, not saying a word before bringing someone else’s daughter home and making her father worry sick.”

“Ah, young people these days—so impatient.”

Michael looked at the door and said dejectedly, “She probably misunderstood.”

“Should I go explain?” Gwen asked nervously, getting to her feet and looking at Michael, agitated.

“You’re going to explain wearing that?” Michael replied.

Only then did Gwen realize she was still in her spider suit.

“So what should I do?”

Michael thought for a moment. At their age, having some misunderstanding involving a female classmate in America didn’t seem like a big deal.

“Forget it. Martha will let it go—she doesn’t know who you are anyway.”

Gwen smiled. Since Michael didn’t care, there was no need to explain.

“I’ll be going then,” Gwen said, pulling on her mask and preparing to leave through the window.

“Gwen.”

Michael called out to her.

She turned, puzzled, looking at him.

“Sometimes, all we can do is follow the voice deep within our hearts.”

“I understand.”