Late at night, on the second floor of the Parker residence.
The wail of police sirens was swallowed by the heavy night, while rhythmic snoring drifted from the adjacent room.
New York’s freshly minted vigilante had clearly overexerted himself tonight.
Leon lay in bed with his eyes closed.
Two lines of pale-gold text floated in the void, cold and efficient.
[Altered Ben Parker’s fatal destiny.
Major plot deviation.]
[Plot Points Obtained: 2/10]
This was the payout from that earlier door-panel Flying Raijin maneuver.
As his consciousness sank, the clamor of the real world stripped away once more, replaced by that familiar, silent ocean of blackness.
Leon floated smoothly in the void, his gaze sweeping over the text box below.
By usual routine, that guy calling himself “God” should have popped out right about now, dropping annoying comments like “Nice job, little butterfly” or “Remember to pose cooler next time.”
Tonight, however, the space was empty.
Only that single golden line hung there alone: [Current Plot Points: 2].
“Huh?”
Leon raised an eyebrow, scanning the void with his mind.
“Hey?
You peeping-tom pervert god?”
Dead silence.
“Great, merciful, non-rebating capitalist?”
Still dead silence.
No response, no fancy text effects.
The entire space was as quiet as an abandoned server room.
“Hell,” Leon couldn’t help muttering.
“Do higher-dimensional beings take weekends off now?
Or did you get too lazy to write flavor text since nobody died?”
No chatter, no congratulations.
The so-called “God” seemed to have clocked off, leaving behind only this automated program.
Which suited Leon just fine.
Rather than chatting with some unknown peeping tom from another dimension, he preferred tangible power.
Three pitch-black cards hovered in front of him, the intricate gold patterns on their backs slowly rotating like breathing.
Since no one was blabbering, time to pull the prize directly.
With a flicker of thought, Leon didn’t hesitate and slammed straight into the middle card.
Pure intuition.
Or a gambler’s instinct.
*Crack.*
A crisp shattering sound exploded in his mind.
There was no scorching crimson heat wave like when Four Arms appeared.
This time, his vision was instantly flooded with a cold, eerie blue light.
The light wasn’t blinding, but it possessed an extreme sharpness—as if even time itself had been sliced into shards by this blue glow.
In the void, a new projection rapidly took shape.
A streamlined body, a black-and-blue exoskeleton, and a sharp crest atop its head.
It lacked exaggerated muscles; its limbs were slender and long, its hands ending in sharp three-fingered claws.
Most bizarre were its feet—they weren’t feet at all, but two hovering, rolling black spheres.
A massive stream of data brutally washed over Leon’s nerves.
[Kineceleran]
[Codename: XLR8]
Friction coefficient zeroed out.
Dynamic vision frame rate increased three hundred times.
Neural conduction speed breached biological limits.
Leon stared at the blue phantom that seemed ready to melt into the air, his heart pounding violently.
If Four Arms represented absolute force, then this was the pinnacle of speed.
[Racial Traits: Super Speed, Wall Running, Water Walking, Tornado Generation.]
[Top Speed: 500 mph (Initial Stage).
Can break the sound barrier with increased proficiency.]
[Weaknesses: High-frequency sound waves, strong magnetic interference, difficult to brake on slippery surfaces (e.g., ice).]
Looking at the blue figure, Leon’s lips curled up involuntarily.
In this insane Marvel world full of freaks and gods, strength was capital, but “speed” was the ultimate tool for survival.
As long as he was fast enough, tragedy couldn’t catch him.
As long as he was fast enough, death could only eat his dust.
Without needing demolition-style fights like Four Arms, XLR8 could tie an enemy’s shoelaces into a dead knot and hang their pants on the Statue of Liberty’s torch in the blink of an eye.
“Speed is power.”
Looking at the projection, Leon recalled a certain naval admiral’s sleazy face and couldn’t resist dropping a line.
“Now I can ask those villains too: ‘Have you ever been kicked at the speed of light?'”
Though he couldn’t reach light speed just yet, kicking someone straight into the ICU was more than manageable.
Consciousness returned to reality.
Leon snapped his eyes open.
The world had changed.
Outside the window, the trajectory of falling leaves became thick and sluggish.
The distant sound of a car rolling over a manhole cover stretched into a low rumble.
His body felt light as a feather, as if a mere tap of his toes could break him free from gravity’s embrace.
This feeling of controlling the tempo of everything was positively addictive.
“Magic, strength, speed—I’m not lacking a thing now!”
Fantasizing, Leon sank into the night’s embrace.
…
The next morning.
The aroma of crispy bacon seeped through the door gap, forcefully waking his sense of smell.
Leon rubbed his messy hair as he walked into the kitchen, where Ben Parker was grinding his teeth at a newspaper.
“Damn Tony Stark!”
Leon had just entered the kitchen when he heard Ben Parker’s furious roar.
At the dining table, Ben stuffed fried eggs into his mouth while shaking *The Daily Bugle* in his hands until it rustled loudly.
“What’s wrong?” Leon pulled out a chair and sat down, casually snatching the largest piece of bacon from the plate.
“Did Stark Industries sell weapons to terrorists again?”
Ben stabbed his fork viciously into the fried egg, as if it were Stark’s face.
“He’s been missing for days!
Stark Industries stock plummeted by half at the opening bell!”
He waved the newspaper in agony.
“My pension fund!
The Stark stock in there is practically worth toilet paper now!”
“That bastard must be wasted again, or off chasing some hard-to-get chick!”
Though Ben Parker was an upright, decent man, when it came to his shrinking pension, he was just as hot-tempered as any other New Yorker.
May deftly topped off her husband’s coffee, her eyes gentle with a touch of teasing.
“With him gone, at least the world has fewer weapons and a bit more peace.”
“Peace?
Ha!”
Ben snorted coldly, flipped the newspaper over, and pointed at a blurry photo occupying half of the insert page.
“Look at this.
Queens got another masked freak last night.”
Leon paused mid-chew on his bacon.
The photo was extremely blurry, clearly the work of a passerby with shaky hands.
A figure in a red-and-blue hoodie hung upside down from a streetlamp, holding a luckless robber in hand.
The bold, black headline bellowed: *Masked Vigilante?
Or Outlaw Menace?*
“Lately, there are more and more freaks running around in tights.” Ben frowned, looking back and forth between the newspaper and Leon before suddenly lowering his voice.
“Hey, kid, spill it.”
“Huh?”
He pointed at the comical figure in the photo.
“This isn’t another form from that watch of yours, is it?”
Ever since witnessing Four Arms wreck the door frame last night, Ben’s threshold for crazy was ridiculously high.
Even if Thanos knocked on the door tomorrow selling Infinity Gauntlets, he’d probably ask how much a pair costs first.
“Gimme a break.”
Leon cast a disdainful glance at the photo and speared another piece of bacon.
“A red hoodie with blue sweatpants?
And a spider that looks like a crab drawn on the chest?
My taste isn’t that disastrous.”
“Besides,” he pointed at his own wrist, his tone lazy, “I transform; I’m not an alien wholesale market.
This is clearly some hot-headed high school kid who just debuted after reading too many comic books.”
“True.” Ben nodded, seeming relieved, though a bit disappointed.
“Still, the kid did a good job.
The paper says he hung the robber on a streetlamp and even caught a thief for the grocery store on the next block.”
Ben took a sip of coffee, his tone growing serious.
“Even though big-mouth Jameson calls him a ‘menace’ in the paper, to be honest…
public safety in Queens has been getting worse lately, and the cops can’t keep up.
If someone like him can help out at night, even if he dresses ugly, I don’t mind.”
Saying that, Ben looked at Leon with a touch of expectation.
“If you get a chance to run into that kid, thank him for me.
And tell him that if he doesn’t mind, he’s welcome to patrol our streets a bit more.”
Heavy, dragging footsteps sounded at the staircase.
Peter Parker floated down like a phantom, sporting two massive dark circles under his eyes.
His hair looked like a bird’s nest, and a pain-relief patch was stuck to his neck—a souvenir from crashing into the wall last night.
“Morning…”
Peter collapsed limply into a chair and grabbed a glass of milk to gulp down.
“Peter, did you go burgling last night?” Aunt May looked at her nephew with concern.
“You’re pale as a sheet.”
“Burgling?
No, I was doing homework…
extremely complex biology homework.” Peter’s eyes darted around as he tried to hide his face behind the milk glass.
His gaze accidentally brushed across the newspaper on the table.
“Pfft—!”
A mouthful of milk sprayed out in a fine mist.
Without even bothering to wipe his mouth, Peter grabbed the newspaper, his eyes nearly popping out of his head.
“Menace?!
Public nuisance?!
What garbage is this paper printing?!”
Peter’s voice jumped an octave, sounding like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.
“He caught a wanted criminal!
He saved people!
Why does this chief editor Jameson call him a ‘wall-crawler’?!”
Ben and May were startled by his sudden outburst.
“Peter?” Ben looked at his nephew strangely.
“What are you getting so worked up for?
It’s just news.”
“It’s not fair!” Peter’s face flushed bright red as he pointed at the headline.
“And his name is Spider-Man!
Not Spider-Person, and definitely not a masked wall-crawler!
Names are important!”
The dining room instantly fell dead quiet.
Only the coffee machine continued to drip.
Ben looked suspiciously at Peter.
“How do you know what he’s called?
It’s not in the paper.”
Peter froze.
Cold sweat slid down his temples, dripping onto the tabletop.
*Dead.*
He had gotten too worked up and blurted out his inner thoughts.
“Uh…
I…
I mean…” Peter’s brain spun frantically as he stammered out an excuse.
“On the internet…
yeah, forums!
Everyone on the forums calls him that!”
It was a terrible excuse.
Just as Ben was about to press further, a hand suddenly landed on Peter’s shoulder.
“Alright, stop acting, Peter.”
Leon suddenly spoke up, unhurriedly swallowing his last bite of fried egg before wiping his mouth with a napkin.
Peter looked at Leon in horror.
*Dude, what are you doing?
What do you know?!*
“Dad, don’t you get it?” Leon pointed at the sweat-drenched Peter with a teasing grin.
“This kid is a hardcore fanboy of Spider-Man.”
“Fanboy?” Ben was stunned.
“You know, the kind of fan who worships an idol to the point of losing their mind.”
Leon shrugged, his tone as natural as stating universal truth.
“Just look at those costume sketches hidden in his room, and how he keeps muttering stuff about ‘power and responsibility’ lately.
Boys his age always need a spiritual anchor.”
Leon paused, delivering a final blow: “Worshiping a masked vigilante is still way better than worshiping drug-addled rock stars, right?”
Peter’s mouth dropped open.
*I want to defend myself, but I can’t.*
Compared to admitting he was the vigilante running around the city in long underwear, admitting to being a “fanboy” seemed…
slightly safer?
Even if the embarrassment level was off the charts.
“Y-Yeah!” Peter gritted his teeth, forcing a smile that looked worse than crying.
“I think he’s…
pretty cool.
He’s my idol.
Yep, idol.”
“So that’s how it is.” Realization dawned on Ben, and he burst out laughing, clapping Peter hard on the back.
“I was wondering!
But Peter, even with idols, you need to be sensible.
Besides, that Spider-Man guy’s outfit really is a bit ugly.
As a fan, you should write him a letter suggesting he hire a designer.”
Peter felt an arrow pierce his chest.
And another to his knee.
“Eat up quickly, the school bus is coming,” Aunt May said with a gentle laugh, handing them their backpacks.
…
Five minutes later, at the street corner.
Once out of sight from the house, Peter let out a long breath, as if a mountain had been lifted off his shoulders.
He looked at Leon beside him with a complex, aggrieved expression.
“Thanks, man.
Even though the ‘fanboy’ setup made me want to die, still…
thanks.”
“Next time, don’t lose your composure so easily, even if you see your idol being smeared,” Leon said, looking straight ahead with light steps.
“Especially when reading the newspaper.
Jameson sells papers by badmouthing people.
The angrier you get, the happier he is.”
The yellow school bus was approaching from the end of the street like a lumbering beetle.
He turned to look at Peter, a glint of cold blue light flashing in his eyes under the sunlight.
“Though Uncle Ben was right—your idol’s costume really does need an upgrade.
If you need design advice, or…” Leon paused, the corner of his lips curving into a meaningful smile, “…if your idol needs someone to beat certain villains to a pulp, call me anytime.”
Peter froze for a second, then smiled.
A confident, youthful smile.
“Then you’d better run fast, Leon,” Peter said, hopping onto the stopped bus and turning back with a challenging grin.
“Spider-Man is really fast.”
Leon followed him onto the bus, taking a window seat in the back.
Watching the streetscape rapidly recede outside the window, he lightly tapped his fingers against his knee.
“Fast?”
He silently repeated the word in his mind.
*Foolish brother.*
*You haven’t seen speed that leaves time itself in the dust.*
The school bus started up, merging into New York’s busy traffic.
And in the shadows of this city, something darker and far grander was quietly stirring.
Ben Parker’s complaints about deteriorating security were no coincidence.
Beneath Queens, forces that didn’t belong here were beginning to move.