Luke!
5: Chapter 5: Overtime!
Luke!
Twenty kilometers away from the hustle and bustle of Manhattan.
In Peter Parker’s room.
A strong, invigorating scent of medicinal oil filled the air.
Luke walked to the bedside with practiced ease and unscrewed the bottle of medicinal oil with the plain label in his hand.
A system reward, a holy grail for bruises and injuries, a must-have for home and travel.
Peter lay on the bed, grimacing as he exposed half of his torso, which was covered in black and blue bruises, as if he had been beaten up by a dozen burly men.
“Thanks, Uncle Su.” Peter’s voice was muffled by the pillow.
“Are you sure you’re an amateur military enthusiast and not some Thai massage master?” Luke didn’t speak; he dipped his fingers into the medicinal oil and pressed accurately onto a bruise on Peter’s back.
Peter let out an “Ouch!” and flinched.
“A hobby, self-taught.” He had said this more than fifty times.
The universal answer.
Peter buried his face back into the pillow.
A hobby, self-taught.
Every time, it’s this sentence.
There were just too many things Luke could do.
He knew how to give massages, cook, repair all sorts of appliances, and speak at least three languages— Last month, he used Arabic to haggle with the grocery store owner downstairs for ten minutes, bringing the price of a crate of apples down from twelve dollars to seven.
It wasn’t that Peter hadn’t been suspicious.
Could Uncle Su be some active-duty Agent?
CIA?
FBI?
Or some even more mysterious organization?
But he left at 8:30 every morning, arrived home promptly at 5:00 PM, had weekends off, and occasionally complained to the neighbors about not getting paid for working late.
Which Agent works nine-to-five?
Impossible.
Absolutely impossible.
How could a proper Agent live like an office worker?
“Uncle, lighter—” “Lighter won’t help.
The fascia between your fifth and sixth ribs is adhered.
If I don’t massage it out, you’ll be crying on rainy days later.” Luke’s technique was extremely precise.
His thumb pushed down along the muscle texture, with a force that was neither too light nor too heavy, landing exactly on the threshold between pain and relief.
Luke’s hand continued to knead, and he kept chatting.
“Did you go to Manhattan today?” When these words left his mouth, Luke’s breathing rhythm didn’t change, his tone didn’t rise, and even the rhythm of his kneading remained the same.
But the system panel in his mind lit up.
[Detective Skill: Micro-expression Analysis: Activated] Peter blinked.
“Manhattan?
No.” Pupils dilated, breathing unstable, neck muscles a bit tense.
Lying.
Luke sighed inwardly.
Little Spider had only just embarked on the hero’s path.
With that hit from Hulk, given Peter’s build, it was just luck that he made it back alive.
If nothing else, S.H.I.E.L.D.
wasn’t exactly a good thing either.
If he attracted S.H.I.E.L.D.’s attention…
“Don’t go to underground boxing matches anymore.” Luke screwed the cap back on the safflower oil and placed it on Peter’s nightstand.
Peter’s movements stiffened.
“I didn’t—” “Your injuries,” Luke pointed at the two bruises on his ribs, “these symmetrically distributed blunt force marks weren’t from falling; they were caused by being hit.” Peter opened his mouth.
Luke didn’t give him a chance to explain.
“I’ll figure out the money situation.
We’re neighbors, don’t stand on ceremony with me.” The words were spoken sincerely.
But Luke knew it like the back of his hand.
Underground boxing was fake.
This was a tacit understanding between the two.
Luke pretended not to know Peter was Spider-Man, and Peter pretended not to know that Luke might know.
Every time Peter came back injured, it was “underground boxing.” Every time Luke treated his wounds, it was “an amateur enthusiast’s craft.” Each was better at making things up than the other.
Peter picked up his camera from the nightstand, hung it around his neck, and rolled off the bed.
Luke watched his movements and raised an eyebrow.
“Where are you going?” “Manhattan.” “You just said you hadn’t been there.” “Yeah, I haven’t been, that’s why I’m going now.” Peter crouched on the floor to tie his shoelaces, speaking rapidly.
“Did you see the news, Uncle Su?
Something big happened in Manhattan, Hulk!
The green one!
If I take a few photos and submit them to the Daily Bugle, Jameson will definitely give me a raise, maybe even a promotion.” Luke leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.
A promotion.
With that black-hearted boss of yours, Jameson, he’d give you a promotion?
The last exclusive photo of Spider-Man you took, he paid you three hundred bucks for one, and then turned around and put it on the front page, selling two hundred thousand copies.
A promotion is less likely than ascending to heaven.
But that wasn’t the point.
The point was— Peter Parker, a high school student covered in bruises, upon hearing that Hulk was appearing in the Bronx, his first reaction wasn’t “It’s too dangerous,” but “I need to go to the scene.” Going to take photos was fake.
Going to be that “friendly neighbor” was the real deal.
With his small build, facing Hulk?
It was already hard to say, let alone having already taken a slap.
“Don’t go.” Peter’s hand stopped on his shoelace.
“Uncle Su—” “Manhattan is a military control zone right now.
Civilians can’t get in.
If you go there with a camera, you’ll just get kicked out.
It’ll be a wasted trip.” “I have a way to get in.” Of course you have a way.
You put on that spandex suit, stick to a wall, and no control zone can stop you.
Luke stood up.
“That place just finished a battle.
Broken glass and stones are everywhere.
You’re still injured, if you fall—” “I won’t fall, Uncle Su.” “Peter.” Luke’s tone deepened.
It wasn’t the kind of condescending command, but the tone of a neighbor who genuinely worried about the safety of the kid next door.
Peter stood up, half a head shorter than Luke, but his eyes were bright.
“Uncle Su, I have to go.
Do you know what’s over there?” Luke looked at him.
Peter leaned in a step, lowered his voice, and made a mysterious expression, as if he were about to reveal some Earth-shattering secret.
“I heard—” He looked left and right, confirming there was no third person in the room.
“S.H.I.E.L.D.
is there, S.H.I.E.L.D.!” When Peter said these three words, both his eyes were glowing.
“I heard S.H.I.E.L.D.
has mobilized!
That super mysterious Agent organization!
It’s all over the TV!” Luke’s face showed no fluctuation.
“S.H.I.E.L.D.?” “Yeah!
That is—” “An organization that doesn’t even pay overtime.” Peter was stunned.
Luke leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.
“No travel allowance for field missions, communication equipment always malfunctioning, the internal cafeteria is terrible, the meat patty in the burger is so thin it’s translucent, and last month they canceled the free charging piles in the parking lot.
You have to pay to charge.
Can you believe it?
An organization that claims to protect global security is this stingy with employee benefits.” Peter had his mouth open, the camera swinging back and forth on his neck.
“You…
how do you know all this so clearly?” Luke’s mouth twitched.
Damn.
Said too much.
“Saw it online.” Browsing the web on the battlefield.
Peter was obviously not that easy to fool, but he chose to skip this question because he had more important things to do.
“But Uncle Su, even if S.H.I.E.L.D.
isn’t great, their Director is really impressive, right?
Nick Fury?
Have you heard of him?” Luke’s left eyelid twitched.
“They say he’s super mysterious,” Peter’s voice was full of the yearning typical of a teenager, “No one has ever seen him smile.
One eye, wearing an eyepatch, the whole person is just like—” “Like a pirate.” Luke finished the sentence.
“No!
Like a strategist who—” “Pirate.” “…Okay, a little like a pirate, but the point is!
He controls the world’s largest intelligence network.
One word from him can get half the Agents on Earth moving.
This kind of person—” Luke’s pants pocket vibrated.
Then it vibrated again.
Then it started vibrating continuously.
Luke lowered his head and took out his phone.
Incoming call display: One-Eyed Dragon.
Luke stared at the screen for two seconds.
Peter was still chattering away beside him.
“—This kind of person must be super serious, super calm, talking with that ‘I’ll give you ten seconds’ kind of vibe—” Luke answered the phone.
“Hello.” Fury’s voice exploded from the receiver, the volume so loud that Peter, standing two meters away, could hear it clearly.
“Luke!
Where the hell are you?!
Why is your tracking offline?!
Get your ass back here!!” Luke held the phone half an inch away from his ear.
Peter’s mouth shut.
The room was quiet for three seconds.
Luke looked at Peter.
Peter looked at Luke.
Luke held the phone, locking eyes with the stunned Peter.
That’s right.
S.H.I.E.L.D.
Director.
Truly mysterious.
Truly serious.