Peter could more or less guess what was going through Gwen's head.
It was just like in the Maguire version of Spider-Man—when Peter first got his powers, he didn't dream of fighting crime. He just wanted to use his abilities in an underground wrestling ring to make a quick buck so he could buy a used convertible and impress Mary Jane.
As for being a "superhero"? What was that? Could you eat it?
Clearly, Gwen was in a similar headspace. Her decision to put on a mask was influenced by her father, the Police Captain, but even more so by the vanity unique to teenagers.
Last night was her grand debut. One could imagine her returning home, unable to sleep a wink, heart racing with anticipation for the morning. She expected to see her legend in the headlines and hear her name whispered in the school hallways.
The result?
The fledgling little spider had her spotlight ruthlessly stolen by Peter's "massacre." The news was dominated by the carnage at the pier; there wasn't even a tiny "blurb" about a girl in a hood saving a citizen.
It would be weirder if she weren't depressed.
Since Peter knew the root of the problem, he naturally knew the cure.
"Hey, Gwen, stop looking at that old-fashioned print media! Check this out!"
Peter patted Gwen's shoulder and handed her his phone. Displayed on the screen was a photo of "Ghost-Spider" that he had specifically downloaded from a forum the night before.
It was currently 2009. Tony Stark—hadn't gone missing in the desert yet, so the world's technology tree was still relatively stunted. While companies like Oscorp had some wildly advanced biological tech, smartphones were not yet a household staple.
This was an industry Peter intended to disrupt. In this world, Apple didn't exist. With the right funding, he was confident he could replicate a tech empire in the Marvel Universe.
But since he had only just secured his "first pot of gold" last night, building a commercial empire was a conversation for later.
At Peter's sudden outburst, Gwen lifted her head listlessly, her eyes brimming with a touch of resentment. Can't you see I'm in a bad mood, you big klutz? Why are you all smiles?
However, the moment she saw the photo on the screen, her expression underwent a massive 180-degree shift.
The photo captured her lithe, powerful figure mid-action during her heroics the previous night!
Gwen shifted in her seat, suppressing a grin. After a moment of feigned indifference, she asked, "Who's she?"
Nice acting, kid, Peter thought. He decided to play along with her "house" game. While he couldn't keep things from her forever, teasing "Little Gwen" was far too much fun at this stage.
"I'm not sure. I saw it on a web forum. A female superhero who shoots webs—how cool is that?!"
Peter acted out his excitement perfectly. "The poster said they saw this masked hero taking down a mugger. It's incredible! A friendly neighborhood hero dedicated to protecting ordinary people... she's like a modern-day Robin Hood.
The Daily Bugle editors have terrible taste. They ignore her and focus on some boring gang war instead. It makes no sense."
As Peter spoke, Gwen's eyes grew brighter and brighter. A faint rosy hue dusted her cheeks, and her heart felt like it had been dipped in honey.
So, my actions weren't ignored after all! At least Peter noticed... and he really approves of me!
Just as she was basking in the glow of his praise, another pleasant female voice rang out from nearby:
"Hey, Peter, Gwen. Are you guys talking about that masked woman from last night?"
The speaker was a beautiful girl with striking silver hair—Felicia Hardy. She was a member of their study group and, in many parallel universes, the future "Black Cat."
"Morning, Felicia!" Gwen greeted, her spine straightening instinctively. Knowing her best friend had also noticed her performance made her practically radiate joy. "We were just talking about her. Peter's right—she's really cool."
Gwen blushed slightly before asking with forced curiosity, "So... did you notice how people on the forums are discussing her? I mean, I'm just interested in what they call her."
"Well..." Peter tilted his head, letting the suspense build before smiling. "I remember some netizens were debating a name. Some suggested 'Spider-Woman,' others said 'White Widow'..."
"Those are terrible names!" Gwen couldn't help but blurt out.
Felicia nodded in agreement. "Their taste is truly abysmal."
Peter nodded solemnly, then offered a serious suggestion: "If you ask me, her black-and-white suit flickers in the night like a phantom. Maybe she should be called... 'Ghost-Spider'?"
Ghost-Spider...
Gwen repeated the name in her mind. Her eyes sparkled. It was mysterious, sharp, and perfectly fit the heroic image she had envisioned for herself. It was miles better than "White Widow."
"That's it! That's the name!" Gwen nodded vigorously, her smile more radiant than it had been all morning.
Seeing her like this, Peter felt the urge to tease her again. He sighed dramatically. "Well, it doesn't matter if we think it's a good name. I posted it on the forum yesterday, and nobody responded. I doubt it'll ever reach her ears."
Oh, it reached her ears, alright! Gwen thought fiercely. And it's 'Spider-Girl,' not 'Spider-Lady'!
Aloud, she could only offer a supportive smile. "Maybe this masked hero is curious about what people think of her. I bet she'll see the name you gave her."
Gwen was racking her brain to comfort Peter without blowing her cover, but the next second, Felicia chimed in from the side:
"No way. Is there really a superhero in this world so narcissistic they'd spend their time browsing forums to read praise about themselves?"
Gwen: (눈‸눈)
Her high spirits evaporated instantly. She suddenly didn't want to speak to her "best friend" anymore.
Fisk Tower, Top Floor.
At the same time Peter was teasing the little Ghost-Spider, a mountain of a man named Wilson Fisk was brooding in a custom luxury sofa.
Kneeling before him was a man in a blue tactical suit with a bullseye tattooed—or rather, branded—on his forehead. This was Bullseye, Fisk's most lethal operative.
"Every corpse was a one-hit kill, Boss. Either an exploded skull or a punctured chest," Bullseye reported, his voice low. "The methods are exceptionally brutal. It's not Daredevil's style at all."
He paused, gauging Kingpin's dark expression before adding carefully, "I suspect... whoever did this was trying to send a message. They're provoking you, Boss!"
CRASH!
A fist the size of a ham shattered the solid oak coffee table. Kingpin's face was a mask of cold fury.
"Daredevil isn't dealt with yet, and now some suicidal freak jumps out to play?" Fisk's voice rumbled like an approaching storm. "Do they think Wilson Fisk is an easy target?"
"Use every media outlet I own," Fisk ordered. "Spread the word about last night's 'massacre' far and wide. Paint this masked shadow as a lunatic who disregards life—a monster who kills for sport and might strike any citizen on the street at random."
"I want all of New York to help me hunt this pest down."
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