Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!
The heavy machine gun’s muzzle flashed through the darkness of the warehouse at the docks, bullets slamming into rusted shipping containers with a sound like a hundred maniacs hammering on an iron door all at once.
Leon curled tightly into the shadows behind a shipping container, desperately pressing his hands over his ears while his face twisted beneath the mask.
With bullets of this caliber, even a graze would shred his newly sewn cheap pajamas into scraps while taking several pounds of flesh along with them.
“Brother! Your firepower is way too intense! I’m just wearing pajamas! Pajamas!”
Leon shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice sounding especially pathetic amidst the dense gunfire.
“You’re shooting at me with something meant for armored vehicles—do you think that’s fair? That’s not in the spirit of sportsmanship! Have Gotham gangs lowered their entry standards this much? You’re not even following the most basic rules of dueling etiquette!”
His only response was another insane barrage of bullets.
A chunk of sheet metal sent flying by a ricochet whizzed through the air and smacked against Leon’s mask with a clang before bouncing away.
Leon ducked his head, feeling the vibration against his scalp.
“Fine, negotiations have broken down. I knew it. Guys who look like potatoes crushed in a car door never watch the sports channel.”
He silently counted the firing rhythm in his head.
That idiot Scarface had clearly gone completely bloodthirsty, the ammo belt dragging across the concrete floor with a harsh metallic screech.
Leon moved.
He did not roll out in some cool superhero-movie fashion.
Instead, he adopted a running posture so pathetic it bordered on comical.
He hunched his back, stuck out his butt, and flailed his legs as though he were dancing on a hot stove, scrambling frantically through the gaps between the containers.
Several times, he nearly tripped over discarded steel pipes on the ground, swaying like a drunken penguin.
Leon swore to heaven that if he had health insurance, he absolutely would’ve chosen a cooler entrance.
But he had no health insurance and no money, so style had to take second place to not getting turned into Swiss cheese.
“Slow down! Slow down! My shoelaces are untied! Let me tie them!”
Bullets chased after his heels, exploding into showers of sparks across the ground.
Leon shrieked and shouted back without even turning around.
“I’m lying! These crappy shoes don’t even have laces!”
Scarface laughed wildly, the heavy machine gun in his hands acting like the Grim Reaper’s scythe as it tore through everything in sight.
Leon ducked into a dead end, but his eyes were fixed on the ceiling.
An old hoisting crane.
Like an old man on his deathbed, its rusted cantilever groaned beneath the sea breeze while a massive main hook hung suspended by a thick steel cable, swaying gently in midair.
The hook weighed around two tons.
The corrosion level on the steel cable was visibly over thirty-two percent.
Most importantly, the lubricant on the load-bearing axle had long since dried out.
If the stress shifted even slightly, the entire pulley assembly would become a ticking bomb.
He just needed the right angle.
Leon burst out from cover and sprinted directly beneath the hanging hook.
He ran incredibly fast, but as he passed an oil drum, his foot suddenly and strangely “slipped.”
His body lurched forward, looking exactly like some exhausted idiot who had completely lost his balance.
Scarface stopped in place, a cruel grin spreading across his jowls.
He raised his gun, the muzzle locking steadily onto the back of the “Spider-Man” lunatic’s head.
Leon did not look back.
Real men never look at explosions.
Now!
Leon fired a Spider Web behind him.
That white viscous strand—whose texture resembled expired noodles far more than heroic webbing—stuck with absolute precision onto the hook’s locking mechanism above.
Leon yanked hard.
Using the tension, he launched himself into the air like a giant yo-yo.
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
Scarface instinctively swept the muzzle upward, tracking Leon’s figure through the air.
Sparks exploded everywhere.
Several large-caliber bullets slammed directly into the already overburdened steel cable.
Under the violent impact of the machine gun fire, the severely corroded cable finally let out one last desperate snap.
The sound was as crisp as a guitar string breaking.
The massive two-ton chunk of iron instantly lost all restraint and plummeted downward with a shrill whistle.
“Watch out—!”
Leon let out a terrified scream in midair, sounding genuinely worried for the other guy.
At the same time, his foot precisely kicked a side beam in passing.
The angle of the kick was unbelievably subtle.
The hook, which should have fallen straight down, shifted slightly due to the weak resultant force from the kick.
Scarface froze.
He instinctively looked up, and in his pupils, the enormous black shadow rapidly expanded, swallowing all the light pouring in from the warehouse ceiling.
Boom!
The deafening crash shook the entire warehouse.
The hook smashed into the concrete floor less than half a meter in front of Scarface.
The ground exploded like tofu, concrete fragments blasting outward like shrapnel.
The shockwave instantly hurled Scarface through the air, his body flipping without dignity before slamming heavily into the warehouse’s iron doors.
Clang!
The iron doors dented inward with a huge crater.
Scarface slid down like a broken sack of meat, his heavy machine gun flying off into the distance before his body went completely still.
Leon landed with a thud.
He didn’t strike any cool pose.
He simply squatted there, panting heavily.
His shoulders rose and fell violently while his hands braced against his knees, trembling like a phone set to vibrate mode.
“That scared the hell out of me… seriously scared the hell out of me…”
Muttering to himself, he scrambled over to Scarface and tremblingly reached out a finger beneath the man’s fat nose.
Still breathing.
Leon let out a long sigh before collapsing onto the dusty floor.
“Still alive… thank God, thank physics, and thank Gotham’s equipment maintenance department for their gross negligence.”
He patted his chest before earnestly speaking to the unconscious Scarface.
“Brother, remember to file a complaint when you wake up. This crane has major safety hazards. Seriously, if I hadn’t shouted just now, you’d be a meat pancake glued to the floor. Don’t thank me. I’m your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”
Meanwhile, in the darkest corner of the warehouse’s upper level—
A black figure stood motionless like a statue.
Bruce Wayne replayed everything frame by frame through his tactical visor.
He saw it.
He saw the teenager’s kick in midair—seemingly panicked, yet precise to a terrifying degree.
But he also saw something else.
He saw the teenager immediately checking whether his enemy was still alive after landing.
He saw that sincere, almost exhausted relief once he confirmed the man was breathing.
He saw him sitting on the floor shivering and muttering to himself without the slightest trace of dignity.
Batman remained silent.
Streams of data rapidly flashed across the white lenses of his visor.
Was this teenager acting?
Or was he really…
that pure?
In Gotham, someone pure enough to resemble blank paper?
Was that even possible?
The naturally suspicious Batman temporarily filed the question into his “To Be Observed” category, but before he could continue thinking, the shriek of sirens echoed from the outer perimeter of the docks.
Alongside the sirens came the roar of heavy motorcycles.
The Maroni Family’s reinforcements had arrived.
Gangsters always reacted faster than the Gotham City Police Department.
Leon was just about to stand when he suddenly felt a chill crawl down his spine.
A crushing pressure, as though the entire night itself had collapsed onto his shoulders.
He shuddered instinctively.
Even without Spider-Sense, he could feel it.
A giant Bat was standing behind him.
Leon silently prayed to the system.
Spider-Sense.
Please.
As a gesture of sincerity, he was willing to stop cursing the system in his head for half a month.
A black shadow descended from the sky.
The cape unfurled like a piece of the night sky itself.
The landing made almost no sound at all.
Leon yelped and instantly sprang onto the opposite wall, clinging to it with all four limbs.
Batman’s control over his presence was simply too perfect.
Perfect enough that Leon’s instincts only reacted a second before the man landed.
“You’re—you’re that—that giant Bat!”
Leon’s voice jumped half an octave from excitement and shock.
He pointed toward the pitch-black figure radiating cold air in front of him, his hand trembling dramatically.
“Wow! You look way taller in real life than in the newspapers! Seriously! I mean, I see articles about you all the time… not because I’m a fan or anything! I just accidentally notice them while walking past newspaper stands. They never write about me, though. It’s really annoying.”
Leon frantically rummaged through his ragged pajamas.
“Okay fine, I admit it, I’m secretly a fan! Could you give me an autograph? Just sign my clothes! I’m planning to keep this as a family heirloom!”
Batman didn’t even look at him.
His cold eyes remained fixed on the warehouse entrance while his voice sounded as rough as gravel dragged from hell itself.
“They’re here.”
The instant he finished speaking, the warehouse doors exploded open.
Dozens of Maroni Family thugs carrying automatic rifles stormed inside, flashlight beams wildly sweeping through the darkness before locking onto the two figures standing in the center.
Batman moved.
Or rather—
He vanished.
Leon curled his lips.
What a humorless Batman.
Everyone in Gotham was so quiet.
No wonder they were all mentally unstable.
To Leon, that black silhouette resembled a drop of ink dissolving into black water.
The first thug hadn’t even pulled the trigger before the sound of cracking ribs echoed through the warehouse.
Then came the second.
Then the third.
Batman weaved through the crowd, his movements clean and efficient like a perfectly choreographed exhibition of violence.
Every punch and every kick came paired with the sound of breaking bones and muffled screams.
Leon sprang up from the ground, firing Spider Webs while shouting:
“Wait for me! I’m on your side! We’re teammates now, right? Even if you don’t wear red and blue, I can reluctantly tolerate your dark aesthetic!”
Leon leaped nimbly onto a shipping container.
“Nice hit! Beautiful left hook! Hey buddy, what do you call that move? Batman Heartbreaker?”
Despite all the cheering, he wasn’t idle.
His wrists flicked rapidly.
A Spider Web shot from his left hand, sticking to a thug’s ankle before yanking the man upside down into a ceiling beam like a strip of salted meat hanging out to dry.
Another web from his right hand plastered directly over a thug’s face just as the guy prepared to sneak up behind Batman.
Leon yanked hard, sticking the thug flat against the wall like a poster.
“Hey! Don’t move! You’ve been seized by Gotham’s building inspection department!”
Soon, the walls and support pillars of the warehouse were covered in gangsters trapped in all kinds of humiliating poses by Spider Webs.
Batman’s assault continued.
He resembled an unstoppable meat grinder.
No enemy who approached him could remain standing for longer than three seconds.
Then—
A thug hiding in the shadows revealed a savage grin.
He pulled a round object from his coat pocket and yanked the pin free.
A grenade.
Batman was currently tied up fighting three elite Maroni enforcers who were sacrificing themselves to create an opening.
“Grenade! Grenade grenade grenade!”
Leon’s terrified scream became so shrill it nearly cracked.
He moved without hesitation.
Not toward the grenade—
Toward the thug holding it.
Midair, Leon’s eyes were completely calm.
There was no trace of panic anywhere in them. Follow the newest chapters on novelping.com.
But his screaming became even louder.
The Spider Web fired from his right wrist was no longer a thin strand.
It erupted outward wildly like layers of plastic wrap, instantly enveloping the thug’s grenade-holding hand.
Leon slammed directly into the thug’s chest.
Both of them crashed heavily to the ground.
Leon rolled over and used his own shoulder to pin down the grenade wrapped inside the thick cocoon of webbing.
Even in that instant, he still adjusted the angle slightly to ensure the blast wave dispersed outward instead of liquefying his organs.
Boom!
A muffled explosion erupted inside the web cocoon.
The white cocoon expanded violently like an overinflated balloon before releasing a screeching hiss.
Although the Spider Web absorbed most of the blast, Leon was still sent flying.
He rolled across the floor five or six times before crashing into a pile of discarded machine parts.
“Cough… cough…”
Leon lay motionless for a long moment.
He could feel the fabric around his shoulder had been shredded apart.
Tiny metal fragments had embedded themselves into his skin.
Pain.
Real pain.
But he did not stand up immediately.
Instead, he slightly turned his head to stare at the blood slowly seeping from his shoulder while calculations rapidly filled his mind.
The wound wasn’t deep.
Just a surface injury.
No muscle damage.
No broken bones.
But he had to make this blood worth something.
He had to move Batman emotionally.
And if moving Batman didn’t work, moving Bruce Wayne was acceptable too.
Didn’t Bruce love adopting Robins?
Look at him.
He was practically perfect adoption material.
Once adopted, Leon fully intended to pretend he had lost his Spider powers and live happily as a useless rich second-generation heir.
For the sake of that beautiful dream, Leon deliberately made his breathing rapid and unstable while ensuring the arm supporting his body trembled at the perfect frequency.
“I’m okay…”
Leon shakily climbed to his feet before immediately walking over to the thug knocked unconscious by the explosion to mechanically check his pulse.
After confirming the guy was still alive, he collapsed onto the floor again as though all his strength had left him.
Clutching his bleeding shoulder, he let the blood seep dramatically between his fingers.
His voice trembled with genuine sincerity, even carrying a faint sobbing tone.
“You’re not dead… oh thank God… you scared me to death… how can people casually throw grenades around like that… that violates all workplace safety regulations…”
While speaking, he secretly observed Batman from the corner of his eye.
This kind of tragic self-sacrifice act might be unnecessary in Marvel.
But in Gotham?
Against someone as paranoid as Batman?
This was the perfect stepping stone.
Who wouldn’t want Bruce Wayne as a father?
Did people like that actually exist?
Sure, Tony Stark wasn’t an option, but “Batman is my dad” still sounded incredibly cool.
Thinking that, Leon made himself tremble even more sincerely, even adding a dramatic shiver for extra effect.
Batman finished dealing with the final enemy.
He slowly turned around, his cape tracing a cold arc behind him.
Then he walked toward Leon, looking down at the boy sitting in a pool of blood.
The warehouse fell silent except for Leon’s deliberately suppressed breathing.
Batman’s gaze fell upon the charred Spider Web cocoon.
The angle.
The timing.
The wrapping method.
His tactical visor replayed the entire sequence repeatedly in the background.
This absolutely was not luck.
In the split second before lunging forward, the boy had completed an absurdly complex set of mechanical calculations and executed the optimal solution using his own body.
And now he sat there clutching his bleeding shoulder, muttering about workplace safety regulations like a frightened child.
Batman remained silent for a very long time.
The police sirens outside were drawing closer.
“You need treatment.”
Batman finally spoke.
His voice remained deep, but some of the icy sharpness had faded.
Leon looked up, the crudely stitched black lenses on his mask staring blankly at him.
“Oh, this? It’s fine… really, totally fine.”
Leon struggled to stand.
The movement pulled at the wound, causing him to hiss sharply while more blood seeped through the torn fabric.
He casually wiped at his face as though he genuinely didn’t care.
“I’ve had worse falls before. Seriously. One time I fell from the thirteenth floor straight into a trash can… and the trash can was made of iron…”
He paused, apparently realizing how embarrassing that sounded, and quickly waved it off.
“Anyway, thanks for worrying about me.”
“Wow… Batman actually worried about me.”
Leon’s voice suddenly carried a dreamy kind of excitement.
“This is officially the greatest day of my life. Sure, I got blown up and bled a little, but Batman talked to me!”
“Hey, did you see my Spider Web just now?”
“I call it ‘Explosion-Proof Plastic Wrap.’ What do you think of the name?”
Batman stared at him without saying anything.
In the darkness, the white lenses of his mask flickered faintly.
This boy in front of him was acting.
Very deliberately acting.
And apparently, he believed Batman couldn’t tell.