Late at night in Gotham City, the rain carried the stench of industrial exhaust, thick and foul like a pot of soup brewed with expired seasonings.
Cole Vance crouched atop the crumbling stone head of a gargoyle beneath the eaves.
The racket coming from his stomach was even louder than the distant wail of police sirens.
It was his hunger banging a drum to plead for justice.
He had not seen a single proper carbohydrate in twenty-four hours.
As a member of the transmigrator legion, Cole felt he was bringing utter shame to the demographic.
Other transmigrators either got overpowered systems that let them conquer worlds in seconds, or they were cast-off scowls returning to reclaim vast family fortunes.
Not him.
He was stuck with a Spider-Man Roleplay System that strictly mandated his words, actions, and conduct to align with the pristine image of Spider-Man.
With all the rules and restrictions the system enforced, how was it any different from straight-up demanding he act like a saint?
*Ding!
Your Saintly Martyr System has been bound.*
Tsk.
Cole peered down into the narrow alley below.
A scrawny, monkey-like thug was waving a rusty folding knife at a shivering woman.
This was the thirty-fifth robbery he had encountered during his patrol tonight.
In his heart, Cole gave Gotham’s public security a silent thumbs-up.
With a talent density this high, Gotham City truly lived up to its reputation as a cradle of exceptional individuals.
God bless Gotham.
Amen.
If it were not for the sake of grinding those meager system rewards, Cole would have preferred to dig through the dumpsters behind the Iceberg Lounge to see if he could scrounge some discarded delicacies from the Penguin.
Yet he could not.
The system had ruled that digging through dumpsters constituted “undignified behavior” and would tarnish a superhero’s public image.
Sigh.
…He was joking, of course.
No one actually took that seriously, right?
Still, Cole’s desire to find a real job was genuine.
Unfortunately, burdened by the double debuff of being an undocumented immigrant and an underage laborer at just fifteen years old, this friendly neighborhood Spider-Boy was having a terrible time finding work.
Cole let out a breath, shook out his aching ankles, and leaped down from the gargoyle.
Dizzy from hypoglycemia, he stumbled upon landing, nearly dropping to his knees in full prostration before the mugger.
The scrawny thug jumped at the sudden shadow falling from the sky, nearly stabbing himself in the thigh with his own folding knife.
Cole steadied himself.
Beneath his mask, his face twisted in annoyance, but his voice came out bright and full of sunshine.
“Hey there, stray brother!
Pulling knives in the dead of night isn’t a great habit.
It might cut your pure soul.”
The thug froze.
He stared at the teenager before him—a beanpole-thin kid wearing a red-and-blue pajama-like outfit, a hood, and a cloth mask.
“Where’d this lunatic come from?
Beat it!
Don’t mess with my payday!”
Cursing, the thug lunged forward, slashing with the folding knife.
Cole sidestepped, caught the thug’s wrist, and jerked it backward in a smooth motion.
“Violence doesn’t solve anything, bro.
What you’re holding isn’t a knife; it’s the shackles of sin.”
Reciting lines so cringeworthy they made him want to delete his account and restart life, Cole skillfully toyed with the man using martial techniques.
He gave the thug a shove from behind, sending him sprawling face-first onto the pavement.
The thug scrambled to his feet, eyes bloodshot.
“Shut the fuck up!
I’m gonna kill you!”
Cole leaped lightly onto the brick wall, clinging to the surface like a giant gecko.
“What you need is love and redemption, not more bloodshed.
In a city so filled with gloom, shouldn’t we offer each other a hug?”
The thug broke down.
Help.
What are you supposed to do when you get into a street fight with a guy who won’t stop preaching sermons at you?
Oh, right—and you can’t even beat him.
“You’re out of your mind!
If you’re crazy, go check in at Arkham!
Stop grossing me out!”
The thug threw his knife to the ground, clamped his hands over his ears, and screamed.
Cole dropped from the wall, landing as softly as a falling leaf.
He ignored the man’s breakdown—honestly, breaking down over this?
How had he survived in Gotham this long?—and turned toward the woman huddled in the corner.
“Ma’am, you’re safe now.
Justice may be delayed, but it will never be denied.”
The woman stared blankly at him, clutching her purse tightly against her chest.
“Thank you…
Um, should I call the police?”
Cole considered the GCPD’s response time, then pictured the squad car full of fat cops idling somewhere, munching on donuts.
“Considering the station’s dispatch line is probably handling three hundred other robberies at this very moment, I think you’d be better off going home, having a cup of hot cocoa, and getting a good night’s sleep.”
With that, he turned back toward the scrawny thug, who was attempting to slip away quietly.
Cole clamped a hand down on the man’s shoulder.
The thug shuddered violently, tears nearly welling up.
“Hero!
Big bro!
I was wrong!
I’m really sorry!
Just take me to the police, please!
Just stop talking to me!”
Cole fought the urge to break the man’s nose with a single punch.
His fist trembled slightly—not from anger, but sheer starvation.
Yet the expression on his face, if one could see it through the mask, would have radiated the warmth of morning sunshine.
He, Spider-Man, was an embodiment of pure positive energy.
Cole gently helped the thug up, even reaching out to brush the dust off the man’s clothes.
“Do not be afraid, lost child.
God forgives every soul that repents.
Since you have recognized your mistake, go.
Seek the light that belongs to you.”
The thug was dumbfounded.
He could hardly believe his ears.
In Gotham, the consequence of a failed mugging was usually getting beaten to a pulp and dumped in a trash can, or getting pinned to a wall with a Batarang.
This red-and-blue freak was actually letting him go?
“You…
you’re really letting me go?”
Cole nodded, his tone firm and sacred.
“Go.
Use your hands to create value rather than steal it.
Remember, every tomorrow is a new beginning.”
Can you feel it?
Light is radiating in this alley!
Radiating from him!
He is practically Gotham’s little sun!
If he tried to knock the guy out, he might not control his strength properly—a sixteen-ton blow could easily turn a man into paste.
As for webbing him to the wall…
sorry, that feature has not been unlocked yet.
The thug scrambled away toward the mouth of the alley at full tilt, moving fast enough to outrun an entire GCPD convoy.
Cole stood in place, watching the figure vanish into the night.
He sighed again, and his stomach let out another long, rumbling protest.
“God bless Gotham,” he muttered to the empty alley.
“Because I really don’t have money to eat.”
Molly, a woman recently relocated to Gotham for work, had trembling hands as she rummaged through her worn, peeling purse.
She pulled out a crumpled ten-dollar bill.
The bill had clearly been through a washing machine; its edges were curled, and a stubborn grease stain marked the center.
Yet in Cole’s eyes, that piece of paper radiated a divine glow brighter than the lights of Gotham City Hall.
Molly held it forward, her eyes carrying a rare sentiment in Gotham: maternal pity.
“Take it, child.
I know it isn’t much, but you…
you look like you need some new clothes, or a warm meal.”
Cole stared at the ten-dollar bill, his eyes practically glued to it.
Ten dollars.
Enough to buy two burgers, or a pile of energy bars to last until tomorrow.
His hand reached out.
His fingertips brushed against the bill—rough paper, frayed edges, completely real.
Instantly, system alarms blared in his head.
[Warning: Acceptance of compensation is strictly prohibited.]
[Spider-Man Roleplay System Notice: Spider-Man takes not a single needle or piece of thread from the masses.]
[If this property is accepted, your probability of falling off walls will increase to 89% over the next twenty-four hours.]
Cole’s fingers froze.
He looked down at the money, up at Molly’s sincere face, and back down at the money.
Then, he drew his hand back.
The movement was slow, like doing something that went against every human instinct—which, in fact, it did.
“No need, ma’am,” he said, keeping his tone casual, as if turning down a piece of unwanted gum.
“I charge a lot.
Ten bucks isn’t enough.
Next time, maybe.”
Molly blinked in surprise.
Behind the mask, the corners of Cole’s mouth twitched.
He replayed what he had just said in his head.
*Charge a lot?
Not enough?
Next time?
Is that something a human being says?
Sounds like I’m complaining the tip’s too small.*
*Pardon me—too hungry, emotional intelligence temporarily offline.*
Yet his expression, visible at the corners of his eyes above the mask, remained bright and sunny.
“I mean, please keep it.
This city is cold enough—no need to let your wallet freeze too,” Cole added quickly, his voice steadying.
Molly’s eyes misted over.
She looked at the teenager in the cheap, modified pajama suit with loose threads dangling at the cuffs.
Her lips parted.
“You saved my life…
I can’t just do nothing.”
Cole took a step back and shoved both hands into his hoodie pockets—not to look cool, but because he was terrified his hands might reach out on their own.
“You getting home safe is the best payment you could give me,” he said.
Internally, he graded his own performance.
Seven out of ten.
Good lines, decent delivery, though his stomach’s growl had nearly drowned out the last sentence.
Molly was speechless.
She gripped the ten-dollar bill, staring at him.
Cole felt his willpower would completely collapse if he stayed any longer.
He turned to the wall, dug his fingers into the brick gaps, and climbed up two steps.
“Wait!” Molly called from below.
“Please, tell me your name!”
Cole paused.
He turned his head sideways, the rain-drenched city lights casting half of his youthful silhouette above the mask.
“Don’t mention it, ma’am.”
With a light push, he vaulted onto the second-floor windowsill.
“I’m your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man!”
With that, his figure vanished into the shadows of the building.
Molly stood in the alley, staring up at the empty wall, murmuring softly to herself.
“Thank you, Spider-Man.”