“I’ll get it,” Clark said, getting up to answer the door.
Standing outside was MJ.
She hadn’t bothered dressing up, and faint dark circles hung under her eyes—clear proof she barely slept.
The moment she saw Clark, she stepped inside, worry written all over her face.
“Clark, how’s Peter?
Is he still running a fever?
I didn’t hear anything all night…”
Before Clark could answer, Peter—now fully recovered… no, evolved—walked over.
As one of the people who knew him best, MJ immediately noticed something was off.
Peter looked completely different from yesterday.
No glasses.
Clear, focused eyes.
Confidence.
Energy practically radiating off him.
“You… you’re not wearing your glasses?” she asked, stunned.
She knew exactly how bad his eyesight used to be—without them, he could barely see ten meters ahead.
Peter froze for a split second.
“Uh… well… let me think…”
He scratched his nose, brain racing.
MJ saw right through it instantly.
Still, she didn’t call him out.
Peter pushed on anyway.
“High fevers can stimulate neural activity—I read about it once.
Didn’t think it’d happen to me though.
It’s… kind of a miracle, right?”
“…Right,” she said with a small smile.
She knew he was lying.
But she also knew better than to press him.
If he wasn’t ready to say it, forcing it out would just make things worse.
What mattered was simple—
He was standing here, safe and healthy.
That was enough.
She reached behind her, pulling out a box.
“I made some cookies—”
But just as she stepped forward—
The floor was too clean.
Too slippery.
Her foot slipped.
The box flew.
She let out a small gasp, instinctively reaching for the cookies instead of herself.
Peter moved.
Faster than thought.
In one smooth motion—
He caught her.
Caught the cookies.
Not a single one broke.
Even he didn’t understand how he did it.
His body just… knew.
(The Classic!!!)
MJ stared at him from his arms, wide-eyed.
Then at the perfectly intact cookies.
Then back at him.
“…Since when are your reflexes this fast?” she asked slowly.
Her gaze dropped to his arms.
“And… when did you get muscles?”
Peter coughed awkwardly, gently setting her down.
“Maybe… the fever gave me superpowers or something.
Haha…”
Clark, watching from the side, summed it up in one line:
“Your acting is terrible.
Like background-extra level.”
There was no way Peter could stay home like this.
Right now, he was basically a hyperactive husky.
Actually—worse than a husky.
“Peter, you full yet?” Clark cut in smoothly.
“Since you’re better, why don’t we check on Gwen and Cindy Moon?
They had the same ‘fever.’ We should see how they’re doing.”
Peter immediately nodded.
“Right!
I’ll text them now—we need to know if they’re okay.”
MJ agreed as well.
“I want to check on Gwen too…”
She yawned mid-sentence, covering her mouth.
“…Guess I didn’t sleep much.”
Clark raised a hand, gently stopping her from following.
His tone was calm, but firm.
“No, MJ.
You barely slept last night.
Go home and get some rest.
Peter and I will check on Gwen—I’ll let you know how she’s doing.”
MJ hesitated, clearly unwilling, but in the end she just yawned, nodded, and waved them off before heading back next door.
Peter pulled out his phone, feeling a strange sense of shared fate with the two others who had been bitten just like him.
He knew exactly what they were going through.
And if his experience was anything to go by—
They definitely weren’t having an easy morning.
Meanwhile, not far away, inside the Stacy house—
Gwen was currently… stuck.
On the ceiling.
Yes—the ceiling.
Her limbs clung tightly to it, golden hair hanging downward, and she looked utterly confused about how she’d even gotten there.
Ten minutes earlier…
She had woken up, warmth still lingering in her body.
The pain from last night—gone.
Completely gone.
But the moment she got out of bed, she tripped over a chair George Stacy had left behind.
Normally?
She would’ve face-planted hard.
Instead—
Her body reacted on instinct.
A burst of power surged through her core, flipping her into a perfect backflip.
And before she could fall—
Her hand hit the wall.
…and stuck.
Curious, she tried climbing.
One step led to another—
And now she was on the ceiling.
“This is insane…” she muttered, heart pounding.
She loosened her grip slightly—
Newton won.
She dropped.
But just before hitting the floor—
She landed lightly, like an Olympic gymnast.
Silent.
Effortless.
Standing in front of the mirror, Gwen froze.
Her body looked tighter, stronger.
Old training scars—gone.
Even her blonde hair now shimmered with streaks of platinum.
“Gwen?
You feeling better?
Breakfast’s ready.”
Her father’s tired voice came from outside the door.
She jumped, quickly throwing on a jacket before opening it.
“Morning, Dad.
Sorry about yesterday…”
George walked in with coffee in hand.
“You tell me.
One second I’m taking care of you, next second I black out in a chair.
Weirdest thing I’ve ever experienced.”
Gwen froze for a moment.
That “dream” from last night…
That tall figure.
That warmth.
…Maybe it wasn’t a dream after all.
“I’m fine now,” she said, raising her fist with a grin.
“Better than ever.”
George let out a breath.
“Good.
Because something’s wrong with that Osborn lab.
If anything happens to you, I’ll shut that place down myself.”
He grabbed his coat, heading out.
“Hell’s Kitchen is a mess right now—gang wars everywhere.
That’s why they put me in charge… city’s falling apart.”
“Be careful, Dad.”
After he left, Gwen sat down at the table, eating the breakfast he’d made.
It wasn’t great.
But to her—
It tasted perfect.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Peter:
[Gwen, are you okay?
Did anything… weird happen to you?]
Her eyes lit up instantly.
She typed back:
[You too?!
I thought I was losing my mind!]
A reply came almost immediately:
[Put on something casual.
Clark and I are coming over.
Then we’ll check on Cindy.]
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