It was still night.
Julian shivered violently as he clumsily vaulted through the window into his apartment.
His form was absolutely atrocious; if anyone had seen him, they probably would have thought he was trying to execute a mid-air Getsuga Tensho.
“Dammit!
If I had known flying was that freezing, I would have worn long johns!” Cursing under his breath, he slammed the window shut and scrambled toward the radiator like an Abnormal Titan, practically throwing himself at the switch.
The radiator let out a groaning buzz of protest before sluggishly kicking into gear.
Julian tucked his freezing hands into his sleeves, squatted directly beside the heater, and closed his eyes, sinking his consciousness back into the glowing orb in his mind.
Primogems: 20
Staring at the pitiful sum of twenty Primogems, Julian felt a massive surge of excitement!
This proved that he could actually earn the premium currency by accomplishing certain things.
Although the exact mechanics were still a mystery, he finally had a general direction.
As long as he took his time and experimented, he could definitely figure out the underlying formula.
As for right now…
Julian eagerly rubbed his hands together like a scheming fly and muttered under his breath, “Hehehe… Come forth!
Rex Lapis!”
With a grand wave of his hand, he slammed down his twenty Primogems.
Swoosh!
A very healthy, blindingly ordinary flash of blue sky and white clouds swept across his vision.
[Sunsettia] ×1, [Slingshot] ×1
Weapon Name: Slingshot Rarity: ★★★ Weapon Type: Bow Base Attack: 354 Secondary Stat: CRIT Rate +31.2% Weapon Skill: [Slingshot] If a Normal or Charged Attack hits a target within 0.3 seconds of being fired, increases DMG by 60%.
Otherwise, decreases DMG by 10%.
Weapon Description: A bow, despite the name.
After countless experiments and improvements to the ultimate slingshot, the inventor found himself holding a bow.
Julian stared dead-eyed at the screen.
“…Dawei, you absolute menace!”
The next morning at Midtown High.
Sunlight spilled through the classroom windows onto the desks.
Julian sat at his seat, looking deeply annoyed as he chomped down on a vibrant, golden fruit.
“I’m late, I’m late…”
Right on cue, Peter Parker sprinted into the classroom, his backpack bouncing wildly.
The first thing he noticed was Julian eating the fruit.
“Huh?
J, what kind of fruit is that?
It smells amazing!” Peter asked curiously the moment he sat down, catching a whiff of an incredibly sweet, appetizing aroma.
“A Sunsettia.
You could say it’s a specialty from my hometown,” Julian grumbled indignantly, taking another vicious bite.
Peter blinked, his curiosity piqued. Find the original chapter at novelping.com.
“Is it good?”
“Tastes pretty great.”
“Really?
Then why do you look like you’re eating a pile of crap?”
Julian took a deep breath.
He held up the remaining third of the fruit, a look of utter, agonizing pain on his face.
“Because this single piece of fruit cost me exactly half of my entire life savings.”
Peter nearly jumped out of his chair.
He stared in absolute disbelief.
“What?!
Just that one?
Is that thing studded with gold or diamonds?!”
“Heh… why else do you think I look like I’m eating a pile of crap?”
Time flew by, and soon it was the break between classes.
Peter pulled out his laptop, his fingers flying rapidly across the trackpad.
Julian leaned over and realized he was scrolling through a news site.
Two massive headlines immediately caught his eye.
The first read: “Serial Disappearance Case on US Route 9 Solved!
Killer Apprehended!”
The accompanying photo showed a pixelated suspect wearing a bright orange jumpsuit.
Julian, however, knew perfectly well that the guy was a complete scapegoat.
The real killer’s ashes had already been scattered to the wind.
Peter didn’t linger on the first article for long, his attention entirely hijacked by the second headline.
“Shocking!
Interim CEO of Stark Industries to Visit New York City; $70 Million Bounty Issued for the Recovery of Tony Stark!”
Pepper Potts’ official statement took up nearly half the page, an undeniable undercurrent of frantic desperation bleeding through every word.
“S-seventy million?!” Peter’s voice instantly pitched up an octave, drawing curious glances from the students around them.
“How many lifetimes would I have to work just to earn that much?”
Julian tilted his head and started lazily counting on his fingers.
“The average American blue-collar worker makes about thirty to fifty grand a year.
Let’s give you the middle ground and say forty grand.
As long as you never eat, drink, sleep, or use the bathroom, you just have to work incredibly hard for about one thousand, seven hundred, and fifty years, and you’ll have it.
“Or, you could always try your luck with the lottery.
If the graves of your ancestors suddenly catch fire—and I’m talking a blazing rocket thruster kind of fire—you might just win the jackpot.
Want to pull off a heist?”
Peter gave Julian a look that screamed: ‘I’m thrilled to have met you, mainly because being unthrilled won’t change the fact that I’m already stuck with you.’
Overhearing their conversation, Gwen Stacy turned around from the desk in front of them with a bright smile.
“Did I just hear someone planning a heist?
That’s wonderful!
Keep talking, I’m taking notes.
My dad hasn’t gotten a promotion in a while, and catching you two would be just the thing he needs.”
Peter’s face instantly turned beet red.
“I didn’t!
I’m not!
Don’t listen to him!”
“Stop pretending, Peter.
An explanation is just a cover-up, and a cover-up means you have a story!” Julian teased relentlessly.
“Come on~ Tell us your story.”
“J, shut up.”
Meanwhile, in Washington D.C., inside the Director’s Office at S.H.I.E.L.D.
Headquarters.
Nick Fury swept his lone eye across the files scattered across his desk, deep in thought.
In the Route 9 serial murder case, the oldest recovered corpses dated all the way back to the early 19th century.
Yet, bizarrely, the bodies were preserved almost perfectly, as if time had completely frozen for them.
According to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s occult experts, the man-eating monster was known as the “Creeper”—an ancient predator that awakened every twenty-three years to feed for twenty-three days.
It consumed human beings, capable of regenerating its own injuries by devouring its victims’ organs and limbs, and could even grow bat-like wings.
Its truck had been packed with corpses wrapped in white sheets, functioning as some sort of twisted, morbid collection.
But what occupied Fury’s mind the most was the mysterious red-haired man who had appeared and vanished without a trace.
“Red hair, a flaming greatsword, and he burned the monster to ash in an instant?” Fury muttered to himself, his fingers drumming lightly against the desk.
That kind of power was absolutely beyond the scope of a normal human.
Was he a mutant?
An extraterrestrial?
Or some kind of unrecorded anomalous entity?
After a moment of thought, he picked up a secure phone and dialed the head of the New York branch.
“This is Nick Fury.
I need you to keep your eyes peeled for a red-haired male capable of manipulating fire, likely carrying a massive, medieval-style weapon.
If you spot him, do not engage.
Report directly to me.
Yes!
Day or night.”