Inside Mines Fitness Club, Noah Vale stood near the entrance wearing a simple face mask as he waited.
A few minutes later, he spotted a familiar figure jogging toward the building—a blond teenager moving quickly through the afternoon crowd.
Noah raised a hand.
"Peter! Over here."
Peter Parker slowed to a stop when he reached him.
"Man, you have no idea what's happening at school today," Peter said, slightly out of breath. "The entire class has been talking about you. I didn't realize you were… this intense."
Noah shrugged.
"Let's talk inside."
He led Peter through the gym.
The first floor buzzed with activity—people lifting weights, running on treadmills, and blasting music through their headphones. Noah barely slowed as he walked through the crowd and headed upstairs.
By the time they reached the third-floor private training room, the noise faded away.
The room was quiet and spacious.
Peter looked around curiously.
His eyes eventually landed on the massive iron blocks stacked in the corner. Each one looked heavy enough to anchor a truck.
"So," Peter said, turning back to Noah, "you still haven't told me about that twenty-thousand-dollar job."
Noah stood with his back to him.
"We'll get to that."
He paused.
"First, let's spar."
Peter blinked.
"Spar—?"
A sudden tingling shot up Peter's spine.
His spider-sense screamed.
Noah spun around instantly.
His leg whipped through the air like a battle axe, a brutal roundhouse kick aimed straight at Peter's head.
The speed of the strike tore through the air with a sharp whistle.
If it landed cleanly, an ordinary person's skull might have shattered.
Peter leaned backward instinctively.
The kick sliced through the air inches from his nose.
Peter straightened, glaring.
"Dude! What was that for?"
Noah lowered his leg and smiled.
"Just checking your reflexes. Relax—even if you hadn't moved, you wouldn't have been hurt."
Peter folded his arms.
"That's not reassuring."
"As an apology," Noah continued casually, "you can hit me once. Go ahead. As long as you don't kill me, anything's fair game."
Peter hesitated.
"You're serious?"
"You asked for honesty."
Peter cracked his knuckles.
"Alright. Your fault."
Still unsure how durable Noah actually was, Peter pulled his punch and lightly tapped him in the stomach.
The impact barely qualified as a playful jab.
To Noah, it didn't hurt at all.
But it gave him exactly what he needed.
His system quietly analyzed the attacker.
The data appeared instantly.
Peter Parker's physical parameters were impressive—far beyond an ordinary person's.
Noah studied the numbers thoughtfully.
Interesting.
Based on what Noah remembered from Spider-Man's feats, Peter's real strength should be far higher. In the movies alone, Spider-Man once stopped a speeding train that weighed hundreds of tons.
By that logic, Peter's potential strength should be dozens of times greater than Noah's.
Yet according to the system's evaluation, the gap between them wasn't nearly that large.
Which probably meant one thing.
Peter had only recently developed his abilities.
Most of his potential still hadn't awakened yet.
Noah finished thinking and turned toward Peter with a friendly smile.
"Peter."
"Yeah?"
"Want to help me train?"
Peter blinked.
"…Train?"
Noah nodded.
"The twenty-thousand-dollar monthly job I mentioned? That's it."
Peter tilted his head.
"And what exactly would I be doing?"
Noah walked to a duffel bag in the corner and pulled out a thick stack of cash.
He returned and waved the bills lightly in front of Peter.
"If you agree," Noah said casually, "I'll even pay the first month in advance."
Peter stared.
His eyes locked onto the money.
Twenty thousand dollars.
Right in front of him.
For a moment, his brain stalled.
But Peter forced himself to stay rational.
"…What do I actually have to do?"
"Simple," Noah replied. "You grab that metal rod over there and keep hitting me."
Peter froze.
"Wait. What?"
"That's how I train my durability."
Peter stared at him, stunned.
"You want me to beat you with a stick?"
"Pretty much."
Noah shrugged.
"Just don't accidentally kill me."
Peter hesitated.
Does he… know about my powers?
The thought crossed Peter's mind immediately.
His strength had increased dramatically today. If Noah somehow knew that…
"Yeah," Noah said suddenly. "I know you've gotten stronger."
Peter's eyes widened.
"You do?!"
"How I know isn't important."
Noah shrugged again.
"Everyone's allowed a few secrets. Let's leave it at that."
Peter considered the situation for a moment.
Then he sighed.
"…Alright. If all I'm doing is hitting you with a stick, I'll take the job."
"Perfect."
Noah walked over to the corner and lifted one of the massive iron blocks.
The thing weighed roughly two tons.
He raised it in both hands and settled into a firm stance.
"Alright," Noah said. "Start swinging."
Peter stared.
"…You're serious."
"Very."
Peter picked up the steel rod.
He swung carefully and tapped Noah's back.
The rod barely made a sound.
Noah sighed.
"You're holding back."
"Well yeah," Peter said. "I don't want to—"
"Hit harder."
Peter increased the force slightly.
The rod struck Noah's back with a sharper crack.
Noah nodded.
"That's better. Actually… add another forty percent."
Peter looked skeptical.
But he adjusted again.
This time the impact landed solidly.
Noah smiled.
"Perfect. Keep that strength."
He added, "Now increase the speed. Same power, faster strikes, and vary the impact points across my back."
Peter hesitated.
"…You're really serious about this."
"Completely."
A moment later—
CRACK.
CRACK.
CRACK.
The steel rod began striking rapidly.
Peter's enhanced speed allowed him to swing the rod seven or eight times per second.
Each strike left a visible red mark across Noah's back.
Despite Noah's toughened skin—almost like rhinoceros hide—the blows still landed hard.
Minutes passed.
Noah remained rooted in place, gripping the iron block while maintaining his stance.
His tank top eventually tore apart.
Underneath, his back was covered in blood.
Deep red welts and split skin marked the path of every strike.
Peter abruptly stopped.
"Dude!"
He lowered the rod.
"You're bleeding!"
Noah glanced over his shoulder.
"Just surface damage."
"You're literally dripping blood."
"It'll heal."
Noah shrugged.
"If you want to get stronger, this kind of training is unavoidable."
The system estimated that if Peter continued striking at this rate for several more hours, Noah's durability would increase noticeably again.
His body would then fully recover—resetting the damage like it had never happened.
Even without the system's help, his natural regeneration would fix these injuries within a few hours.
Compared to broken bones, this really was nothing more than a scratch.
Peter looked down at the steel rod in his hands.
It was smeared with blood.
Some of it had splattered onto his shirt.
Peter grimaced.
"Even if you're okay with this… I'm not sure I am."
Noah sighed.
"You're being picky about a twenty-thousand-dollar job?"
Peter raised an eyebrow.
"I think most jobs don't involve beating your boss half to death."
"Fine," Noah said. "If it bothers you that much, hit my arms or legs instead."
He rolled his shoulders casually.
"Just don't slow down."