Clark landed quietly outside the Stacy residence.
Inside, only two people lived there.
Gwen had lost her mother at a very young age—something even Clark didn’t remember much about.
So now, in Gwen’s room, it was just George Stacy—New York’s newly appointed police captain—doing his best to care for his daughter alone.
Then—
George noticed something.
A figure by the window.
A man.
But no matter how hard he tried—
He couldn’t make out the face.
Clark had already activated a subtle form of hypnotic suggestion—blurring recognition, keeping his identity hidden.
With a simple wave of his hand, George’s eyelids grew heavy.
Seconds later—
He was asleep.
Clark stepped forward to Gwen’s bedside.
He reached out, letting that warm solar energy flow once more.
The pain that had twisted her face all night began to fade.
Her breathing steadied.
Her expression softened.
Clark watched for a moment.
Satisfied.
Then turned away—
Like a silent Santa Claus, delivering unseen gifts before slipping off into the night.
Next stop—
Cindy Moon.
At Cindy’s house, it was the same.
Quick.
Precise.
No hesitation.
Clark didn’t linger.
Staying too long in an unconscious girl’s room?
Yeah… not happening.
Even with superpowers, he had standards.
Back home—
He returned to watching over his younger brother.
All night.
Without rest.
By morning—
Peter was no longer writhing in pain.
His expression had returned to normal.
Seeing that, Clark finally went downstairs for breakfast.
May was still worried.
So worried that even breakfast was rushed—just toast and hot milk, barely touched.
Clark, Ben, and May sat at the table in uneasy silence.
Upstairs—
Peter opened his eyes.
He stretched instinctively, trying to shake off the exhaustion from the night.
And then—
He froze.
CRACK.
His fist punched straight through the bedside table.
Clean through.
Like it was made of paper.
“…Huh?”
Peter didn’t even register what he’d done at first.
Still mid-stretch, he let out a satisfied groan—
“Ahhh—!”
Then he opened his eyes fully.
Everything looked… different.
Sharper. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
Clearer.
His vision—
Perfect.
Out of habit, he reached for his glasses.
Fumbled around.
Nothing.
Confused, he looked to the side—
And saw it.
The shattered remains of his bedside table.
“…Whoa.”
He blinked.
Then looked down at himself.
His once skinny frame—
Gone.
Replaced by lean, defined muscle.
Perfectly sculpted abs.
Broad shoulders.
Arms packed with strength.
Every line of his body looked like something straight out of a classical Greek statue.
“I… am I dreaming?”
He pinched his thigh hard.
Pain shot through him instantly.
Real.
All of it was real.
Peter stood there, completely stunned.
If not for the familiar room around him, he might’ve thought he’d woken up in someone else’s body.
Downstairs, Clark had already heard everything.
He grabbed a tray with breakfast and headed up.
Leaning against the doorway, he held out a glass of warm milk, a mischievous grin on his face.
“Looks like Sleeping Beauty finally woke up.
Want me to bring Princess MJ up here?
She’s been pretty worried about you.”
“Clark… I… I…” Peter stammered, pointing at himself, then at the shattered bedside table.
He didn’t even know where to begin.
“I know, I know.” Clark waved it off, handing him the milk.
“Don’t freak out.
Your body’s changed—but you’ve gotta control it.
Remember what Norman said yesterday?”
Peter nodded vaguely and downed the milk in one go.
Then came round two.
In the bathroom.
As Peter reached for the door handle—
His hand stuck to it.
“Uh… what?”
He pulled.
Nothing.
Pulled harder—
CRACK.
The entire handle ripped clean off the door.
Peter froze.
Standing there holding the broken handle like a museum exhibit.
A stiff, awkward smile crept onto his face.
Inside?
He was already dying of embarrassment.
“Why… why is this thing sticking to my hand?!”
He turned—
And locked eyes with Clark, who had just stepped out of another room.
Clark took one look—
And lost it.
He burst out laughing.
Couldn’t even hold it in. New chapters come out on g.com first.
Still chuckling, he casually took the handle from Peter and slipped it into his backpack like it was evidence in a crime scene.
Then he patted Peter’s shoulder.
“Relax,” he said in a lower voice.
“Just go downstairs and tell Aunt May and Uncle Ben you’re fine.
Don’t freak them out.”
A pause.
“And trust me… today’s gonna be interesting.”
In the bathroom, Peter stared at himself in the mirror.
Nothing about this felt real.
This wasn’t life—
This was something out of a movie.
A comic.
He’d been in there for a while.
Not using the bathroom.
Practicing.
Controlling his strength.
That smear of white on the sink?
Toothpaste.
Not anything else.
“…This has to be a dream.”
Taking a deep breath, Peter headed downstairs.
Step by careful step.
Clark was already at the table, casually spreading jam on toast while watching TV.
“Morning, Peter!”
May walked over immediately, holding his face in her hands, checking him over like she hadn’t slept all night.
“Thank God… your brother said you were fine, but I wasn’t convinced.”
She paused, eyes lighting up.
“You look even better than before!”
Ben set down his newspaper and gave Peter a once-over.
Then he squeezed his arm.
His brows lifted.
This wasn’t just “better.”
This was athlete-level conditioning.
“How do you feel, kid?
Any pain?”
“I feel… great,” Peter said, sitting down carefully, trying to act normal.
“Just… really hungry.”
“Good!
That’s good!” May hurried back to the kitchen to get more food.
Peter picked up a plate.
And then—
CRACK.
It shattered in his hands.
He froze again.
Heart racing.
Sweat forming instantly.
Not again…
Before he could even panic—
A hand reached over.
Solved it.
“Sorry, Mom!” Clark called toward the kitchen without missing a beat.
“Peter’s still dealing with some aftereffects from the fever—his hands are shaky.
Plus, I think that plate already had a crack.”
“Oh, it’s fine!
As long as he’s not hurt,” May replied, completely reassured.
Peter let out a long breath.
Then shot Clark a look of pure gratitude.
And right then—
There was a knock at the front door.
Send those stones my way—the more, the merrier.