The poor have the worries of the poor, and the rich have the worries of the rich.
When Gwen returned to Gotham High again, she heard the terrible news that her solo concert had been canceled.
Someone had used family influence to investigate Gwen's identity, turning the entire Gotham High upside down but finding nothing. Miss Monroe was under unprecedented pressure. A bunch of young masters with domineering CEO faces had cornered her against the wall, slamming their hands beside her head and repeatedly warning her to be extra cautious of that suspicious woman with unknown origins.
"I never knew teenage boys could get this ballsy." Miss Monroe was full of sour jealousy. "Or is your charm just too strong and it awakened the wild beast deep inside them?"
"It's the novelty, Pamela. That's all it is." Gwen was used to this. "Men's happiness is that simple. They're always curious about beautiful strangers. Add a little exotic flavor and they get completely addicted. But that novelty doesn't last long. The more they learn about me, the calmer they'll become. In the end they might even treat me like one of the guys."
Miss Monroe stared at Gwen's flawless, smooth, dewy face and gave an ambiguous expression. "You're overestimating those male animals. When they look at you, the only thing left in their brains is 'feed me your big dick.' They'll be shooting thick white cum out of their nostrils… By the way, what brand of skincare do you actually use?"
"One Flower and Poplar Grove."
"Huh?"
"Just kidding. Don't mind it. Anyway, the school won't allow me to hold a solo concert unless I provide real and reliable personal information. Is that correct?" Gwen chuckled. "And soon that personal information will be sent to certain people for evaluation—whether I'm suitable for proper dating, just casual fucking, or if I can fetch a good price on the black market?"
Miss Monroe sighed. "Don't think of the students so darkly. Gotham's black market doesn't allow human trafficking."
Is that the main point?
Gwen raised an eyebrow. "Who has the power to make the entire Gotham black market bow and obey?"
"Of course it's Falcone."
"Italian?"
"Maybe. I'm not really interested in that side." Miss Monroe shrugged. "If you're not willing, I have another suggestion."
"Let's hear it."
"Someone is willing to provide the venue, on the condition that you party and fuck with him."
"Is he handsome?"
"Very handsome, and I hear his stamina is excellent. Everyone who's tried him gives glowing reviews."
"Just heard?"
"I'm a reserved woman."
"What's his name?"
"Carl. Carl DuPont. French mixed blood. His family runs wineries and ranches."
"Ah, a French guy…"
Gwen crossed her arms over her chest. "French guys are off the table. I'm not playing. Refund the money."
"Then don't play with him." Miss Monroe narrowed her eyes. "If you don't like men, you can play with me instead."
Gwen quietly took two steps back and stared at Miss Monroe with a subtle gaze.
Fuck, miscalculation. Didn't expect this girl to swing that way.
"Just kidding. Don't be nervous." Miss Monroe was experienced. One look at Gwen's attitude and she smoothly changed the subject. "You still haven't told me—who exactly is this cousin of yours? Don't lie to me. Someone did a count these past two days. No boy in any class or grade at Gotham High has a cousin like you."
"Not everyone comes to school."
"…Bruce Wayne?"
Miss Monroe sucked in a sharp breath. "You really are his cousin? Not scheming after him? Don't say I didn't warn you—that's Gotham's top-tier rich young master. All he has to do is give one look and half the girls in school will willingly strip naked… that kind of man."
You mean the top-tier rich young master who went to watch a movie without bodyguards and got beaten up by street thugs? If I weren't living in his super luxurious mansion, I really wouldn't be able to tell his parents were any different from ordinary middle-class people.
Gwen kept her polite smile. "In three days I'll bring my cousin to watch my solo concert. You handle the venue. Once it's settled, call me. My payment is this piece of information itself, giving you plenty of time to prepare. My cousin has been in a bad mood lately. He could really use a good woman to comfort his wounded heart."
The temptation of this condition for Miss Monroe was obvious. Even if she couldn't use it herself, she could trade it for favors—that was how the upper-class game worked.
Actually, Gwen no longer cared about the ticket money. As Bruce Wayne's private tutor, her salary was basically like writing whatever number she wanted on a blank check. No matter how many zeros she added, the young master wouldn't mind.
But Gwen was a kind-hearted good girl. She earned every penny honestly and never cheated anyone. Since the young master had given her so much money, she had the duty to arrange courses worthy of that amount for him.
After leaving school, Gwen changed into her suit and jumped onto the rooftops.
Do you know the difference between the normal world and a world with Spider-Man?
The answer is: normal people in the normal world generally don't look up at the sky for no reason after eating their fill.
In other words, in a city without Goblins, Octopuses, or Vultures, the sky belonged to Gwen alone!
If Spider-Man doesn't jump off buildings, can he still be called Spider-Man? You wouldn't understand this joy unless you are Spider-Man.
If she had to make a comparison, it was like having unlimited free access to a single-person amusement park.
Gwen had planned to jump off Wayne Tower again to farm the 400-meter achievement points for a gacha draw, but she found the skill cooldown hadn't reached 24 hours yet. Honestly, that wasn't user-friendly at all. Even mobile games these days reset at 5 a.m. Did this midnight cooldown skill ever consider the feelings of night owls?
She crossed the building complex, swinging on webs until she reached Gotham Bridge. Looking down at the city from high above, she had to admit it wasn't the best place to eat—too much wind, easy to swallow a bellyful of air—but Ghost-Spider feared nothing!
"Bang—!"
The familiar sound of gunfire rang out in the distance. In this city, police sirens and gunshots rose and fell endlessly, as if they would never stop.
Gwen subconsciously glanced toward the gunshot and couldn't help frowning.
Both the shooter and the victim were people she knew.
Jim Gordon and Oswald Cobblepot.
One cop, one small-time thug. An accidental discharge wouldn't be strange at all.
The cop was the one who fired. That wasn't strange either. In the land of the free, police naturally had the freedom to shoot.
What was strange was—this was an execution.
Gordon stood on the dock, pressed the gun to the back of Cobblepot's head, pulled the trigger, then tossed the body into the sea.
Whoa, now that's a scene I've never seen before!