Early morning at Midtown High.
The morning mist had yet to disperse, and raindrops steadily dripped from the oak leaves near the school gates.
Julian carried a long-handled black umbrella, cutting through the damp morning air like a silent silhouette.
He wore a crisply ironed white shirt buttoned all the way to the top, layered under a dark gray knit vest that accentuated his lean, upright posture.
His dark hair was a bit long, the tips still catching tiny beads of moisture.
A few stray strands fell over his eyes, but they couldn’t quite hide the suppressed, yet undeniable gleam of curiosity in his gaze.
“Hey!
You there, mute!
Did you finish that homework I told you to do yesterday?!
You’d better give me a yes, or I swear I’m gonna make you run home crying to mommy like a little girl!
Hahaha!”
The surrounding crowd immediately erupted into a chorus of jeers.
The familiar yet grating voice pierced through the morning quiet from behind, dripping with classic American high school mockery.
It was Flash Thompson.
In the original owner’s memories, Flash was a deeply ingrained, terrifying presence.
The old Julian had been ruthlessly bullied by him for a long time; verbal abuse was just an appetizer, and physical assaults were practically routine.
Being naturally cowardly, the old Julian had never dared to fight back.
But the current Julian couldn’t care less.
He didn’t even break his stride, heading straight for the main academic building.
Annoyed by the lack of response, Flash let out a mocking whistle.
He and his gang quickly moved to block Julian’s path.
“What’s wrong?
Did the little mute suddenly grow a pair today?
Or did you finally learn how to play dead?”
As he spoke, Flash reached out to shove him by the shoulder.
Julian simply sidestepped.
He brought the tip of his umbrella up, pointing it directly at Flash’s throat, and stared at him with the expression one might reserve for a complete idiot.
“A wise man once said, ‘Idiots are still human beings, and somebody had to raise them.’ Because of that, I try to be accommodating toward fools.
But my patience is strictly limited, so you’d better cherish it.”
Flash looked like his brain had completely misfired.
He leaned in, exaggeratingly cupping a hand to his ear.
“What was that?
I couldn’t hear you, you—”
But before Flash could finish, a voice called out from outside the circle of onlookers.
“That’s enough, Flash!”
The crowd parted, pulling the newcomer into the center of the ring.
It was a rather clean-cut but slightly scrawny boy clutching a camera.
Flash spun around and grabbed the boy by his collar, hauling him up so hard his toes nearly left the ground.
He flashed a vicious grin.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Puny Parker.
Did you forget to take your meds this morning?
Or are you volunteering to take a beating for him?”
Though clearly intimidated, Peter Parker gathered his courage.
“I said, that’s eno—”
Without any warning, Flash pulled back his right fist and swung it straight at Peter’s face.
Smack!
Just as the punch was about to connect, the curved handle of the black umbrella smoothly hooked around Flash’s wrist.
It caught him with just enough calculated force to leave his fist dangling harmlessly in midair.
Julian held the umbrella like a conductor gripping a baton, his hand perfectly steady.
“Body language is still a form of language, but I’d advise you to use it sparingly,” Julian warned.
“After all, this particular language is an art form.
And as it happens, I know a little something about art.”
Flash stared at Julian with pure bewilderment.
He squinted sideways at him, paused in sheer confusion, and finally asked, “…What are you talking about?”
Julian let out a deep sigh.
He casually unhooked the umbrella handle from Flash’s wrist, slipped his backpack off his shoulders, and tossed it to Peter.
Giving Flash a look of pure exasperation, he said, “…Forget it.
Just hit me.”
Julian’s grip on the umbrella was highly distinct.
His thumb pressed lightly against the groove of the handle, looking equally prepared to launch a lethal strike or bow in a formal greeting.
Infuriated by Julian’s pitying, condescending gaze, Flash flushed bright red.
He threw a furious right hook aimed squarely at Julian’s face!
The force of the punch ruffled the loose hair on Julian’s forehead.
He sidestepped with minimal movement, letting Flash’s knuckles graze harmlessly past his nose with absolute precision.
Simultaneously, Julian flicked his wrist.
The black umbrella snapped upward like a striking snake, smacking sharply against the inside of Flash’s wrist.
“Agh!” Flash cried out in pain, his entire right arm instantly going numb.
Julian didn’t give him a single second to recover.
Tapping the umbrella tip against the ground, he used the leverage to vault upward, sweeping his right leg out like a steel whip to plant a heavy kick straight into Flash’s gut.
Thud!
Flash stumbled backward, crashing into two of his lackeys.
The three of them went down hard in a messy pile, splashing foul, muddy water all over themselves.
A dead silence fell over the crowd.
Flash scrambled to his feet.
Ignoring the muddy sludge dripping down his face, he twisted his features into a furious snarl and bellowed at his crew, “What are you just staring at?!
Get him!”
On command, over a dozen guys lunged forward.
Julian’s eyes sharpened.
He snapped the umbrella horizontally across his chest.
The first two rushed in swinging wildly.
Julian blocked with the shaft of the umbrella, the metal frame issuing a muffled thud as it caught their fists.
Stepping back to absorb the impact, Julian abruptly spun.
He thrust the umbrella handle forward like a spear, striking directly into the nerve cluster under one of the attacker’s armpits.
The guy’s face spasmed in agony as his arm went entirely limp, and he dropped to his knees with a scream.
Three more tried to flank him from the right.
Julian snapped his wrist, bringing the umbrella tip down in a vicious arc to jab precisely into the hollow just below one attacker’s collarbone.
As the boy doubled over in pain, Julian brought his knee up in a brutal strike, sending the guy flying backward into his friends.
Flash saw an opening and tried to sneak-attack from behind.
But it was as if Julian had eyes in the back of his head.
He ducked sharply, driving the umbrella handle backward right under his own armpit.
It slammed perfectly into Flash’s kneecap.
Flash howled in pain, collapsing onto one knee.
Julian’s movements were as smooth as flowing water.
The black umbrella seemed to come alive in his hands; one second it thrust forward like a rapier, the next it swept out like a baton, its metal tip carving cold, gleaming arcs in the morning light.
Despite the chaos, his white shirt remained impeccably clean, save for a tiny smudge of dirt on his cuff from blocking a strike.
The last three lackeys rushed him simultaneously.
Julian suddenly tossed his umbrella straight up into the air.
Instinctively, the three boys looked up—
Julian darted forward.
He delivered a sharp karate chop to the side of the first boy’s neck, snatched the falling umbrella out of the air, pinned the metal tip solidly against the second boy’s Adam’s apple, and dropped the third with a swift leg sweep.
Time seemed to freeze.
Over a dozen teenagers lay sprawled across the concrete, groaning in pain.
Julian was the only one left standing tall, the tip of his black umbrella pointed unwaveringly at Flash, who had just managed to get back to his feet.
“Apologize.
Then get lost.”
Julian’s words were as soft as a sigh, but to Flash, they were an absolute pardon.
Stammering out a frantic apology, he and his battered crew scrambled up and ran for their lives.
Watching them retreat, Julian turned and held his hand out to Peter Parker, who was still standing there frozen in shock.
Julian smiled brightly.
“Hey there.
Could I get my bag back now?”