Cold water washed over his back.
Peter Parker pressed both hands against the edge of the sink, the marble countertop groaning under the strain.
The boy in the mirror looked frighteningly unfamiliar.
Beneath pale skin, muscle fibers twisted like steel cables, every single one packed with enough kinetic energy to tear through a car’s steel plating with ease.
That sense of power didn’t feel like a gift—it felt like a violent temptation.
“Phew…”
Peter carefully turned off the faucet.
Fear and euphoria coiled together in his mind.
He was a monster…
or was he Superman?
He threw on his clothes haphazardly and burst into the adjacent room.
He desperately needed an anchor to pull him back to earth from this floating, heady cloud.
“Hey, Leon!”
The door was shoved open forcefully.
Striking what he thought was a cool pose against the doorframe, Peter tried to hide his trembling fingers.
“If anyone gives you trouble in Queens from now on, just drop my name.
Your big brother is…
terrifyingly strong right now.”
Peter raised an eyebrow, unable to conceal the smug satisfaction in his voice.
He desperately needed someone to share this joy with.
Even if he couldn’t explicitly say, *I’ve turned into Superman*, hinting at it was fine, right?
At the desk.
Leon was fiddling with the dial of the Omnitrix, a green glow casting over his calm profile.
He turned around as Tactical Analysis kicked in.
[Bio-energy threshold: Stable.
Gene assimilation rate: 93%.]
[Warning: Target’s hormone secretion is excessive; intellect is being suppressed.]
“Protect me?” Leon lowered his wrist, his tone as casual as discussing tomorrow’s weather.
“Are you planning to bludgeon bad guys to death with your unfinished physics homework, or die of cringe from your eighth-grader syndrome?”
Peter choked up.
Just as he was about to retort, *You don’t understand power*, an image suddenly flashed in his mind—that red four-armed monster picking him up like a little chick.
“Take off like a hero, land like a zero.”
That line rang in his ears like a curse, making his scalp go numb.
“Tch, I won’t bother explaining to you.
You’ll understand eventually.
One day you’ll realize your big brother is a big deal.” Rubbing his nose sheepishly, Peter beat a hasty retreat.
Leon shook his head at the closed door.
“Spider-Sense has already awakened,” Leon muttered softly to himself.
“But the kid’s mindset is still stuck in the bullied nerd stage.
Gaining raw violence out of nowhere without guidance…”
At the dinner table, that restlessness took physical form.
Uncle Ben held his fork mid-air, staring dumbfounded at Peter.
Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and garden salad—originally enough for four people—were vanishing into Peter’s mouth at a visible rate.
The kid barely chewed, as though he had a trash compactor down his throat.
“Peter?” Aunt May set her glass down with concern.
“Do you…
have a tapeworm?”
“Mmm?
N-no,” Peter mumbled around a mouthful of meatloaf.
“Just hungry.
Super hungry.
I feel like I could eat a whole cow.”
He snatched another piece of bread and swallowed it in two bites.
“That’s his third serving.” Ben turned to Leon, who had been eating quietly.
“Leon, did something trigger the kid at school?
Or is he taking some weird drugs outside?”
Leon elegantly sliced the fried egg on his plate without looking up.
“Puberty.
A growth spurt.
His body is demanding energy to build muscle.
Simply put, it’s binge eating caused by a hormone surge.”
“A growth spurt?” Ben glanced at Peter’s neck, which was indeed noticeably broader than before, and realization dawned on him.
“No wonder.
Looks like I’ll have to expand the food budget for him.
Eating well is good—a man needs to be sturdy.”
Peter shot Leon a grateful look.
Even though his younger brother usually had a sharp tongue, he was reliable when it mattered.
…
Midtown High.
The afternoon sun was glaring and sweltering.
The gymnasium reeked of rubber, sweat, and fermenting hormones.
“Parker!
Get out here!”
Eugene “Flash” Thompson stood in the center of the mat, roaring in his tight wrestling singlet.
The surrounding jeers crashed over like waves.
Standing at the edge of the crowd, Peter didn’t feel his usual cowardice.
On the contrary.
Everything around him had changed.
Dust floating in the air was clearly visible; the distant whispers of the cheerleaders echoed loudly in his ears.
Thompson’s seemingly fierce movements appeared to him like a slow, frame-by-frame slideshow.
Center of gravity too high, footwork shaky, force points completely exposed.
Riddled with openings.
“Come on, Puny Parker!
I’ll fold you up like a lawn chair!” Flash rushed forward with a sneer.
Peter didn’t even think to dodge.
A predatory instinct rooted deep in his genes took over his brain.
Just as Flash’s hands were about to touch his shoulders, the hairs on the back of Peter’s neck stood on end.
*Buzz—!*
His Spider-Sense wasn’t warning him of danger.
It was screaming a warning: *You’re going to kill him!*
Peter’s pupils contracted sharply.
The fist he had prepared to slam into Flash’s chin ground to a halt, turning into an open palm that pushed outward instinctively.
He only wanted to shoo away an annoying fly.
*BOOM!!*
A dull, explosive thud echoed, like hitting a worn leather sack.
The 180-pound Flash left his feet, hurtling through the air like a hit baseball in a straight, blurred arc.
*BANG!*
His body crashed hard into an equipment rack ten feet away.
The metal rack instantly buckled, spilling basketballs and volleyballs all over the floor.
Flash slid down like a sack of jelly, eyes rolling back, unconscious before he could even scream.
Dead silence.
The entire gymnasium fell as quiet as a grave.
Everyone stood mouth agape, eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.
That scrawny Peter Parker?
Swatted the school bully flying with a single palm?
“Oh God…” Gwen Stacy covered her mouth, her eyes holding a tinge of unfamiliar curiosity alongside her shock.
Peter stared at his palm; the lines were clear, yet terrifyingly unfamiliar.
In that instant, it had felt as light as pushing away a wad of foam.
“Peter!” The gym teacher’s sharp whistle shattered the silence.
“What did you do?!”
“I…
I was just…” Flustered, Peter backed away, wanting to explain, but finding any excuse utterly hollow.
Right then.
A figure stepped through the crowd, standing in front of Peter.
Leon.
Holding a bottle of mineral water, he swept a cold glance over the gym.
That look—indifferent, aloof—was like a person watching a bunch of hysterical monkeys.
“Flash slipped.”
Leon’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried an unquestionable certainty.
Uncapping the water, he handed it to the rattled Peter, then turned to the gym teacher.
“Coach, Flash sprinted too fast, and with the damp floor mat, he lost his center of gravity and crashed into the rack.
It’s basic conservation of momentum, isn’t it?”
The gym teacher froze.
Although it sounded like complete nonsense, staring into Leon’s calm, unruffled eyes, he actually nodded instinctively.
“Get him to the nurse’s office!” The teacher snapped out of it and ordered several students to carry the unconscious Flash away.
In just a few words, Leon had re-framed the entire chaos as an “accident.”
But the way everyone looked at Peter had completely changed.
Awe and fear.
It was something Peter had never experienced before.
On the way home from school, Peter remained in a state of high excitement.
Gwen had just invited him out for coffee.
Flash’s pathetic state as he was carried off.
All of it made him feel invincible.
“I need money.”
Peter stared at a used motorcycle in a shop window, his eyes blazing.
“I need a bike.
I need a life worthy of this power.”
A flyer swept up by the wind slapped against his calf.
Annoyed, Peter grabbed it, about to crumple it up.
[Underground Fighting Tournament!
Seeking True Warriors!]
[Last 3 Minutes, Win a $3,000 Cash Prize!]
Below was a picture of a masked muscleman, under a blood-red headline.
“Three thousand dollars…” Peter’s eyes lit up.
That wasn’t just enough for a used motorcycle—it was a ticket to a kick-ass life.
Peter’s breathing grew hurried.
To him right now, this was practically a gift from heaven.
“Just three minutes?” An arrogant smirk curved Peter’s lips.
“Even against that red monster, I could last three minutes.”
He shoved the flyer into his backpack and turned to dash toward the subway station.
The setting sun cast his shadow long across the ground.
In the shadows across the street.
Leon leaned against the wall, holding a freshly bought cup of coffee.
He watched Peter’s departing back, his eyes as deep as an ancient well.
“An underground fight club…” Leon murmured softly.
“Pity I can’t go give my dear brother a lesson.”
Leon took a sip of coffee, the bitter taste spreading across his tongue.