Weekend sunlight filtered through the gaps in the curtains, painting golden streaks across the floor. Gwen sat cross-legged on her bed, staring at the pile of blueprints spread out before her. Her expression shifted gradually from anticipation to confusion, and then to blankness.
Peter sat in the chair at his desk, pencil in hand, still scribbling on the blueprints. His glasses had slid to the tip of his nose, but he didn't even bother to push them back up, completely immersed in a state of fervor that Gwen couldn't begin to understand.
"For the main material, I suggest a high-strength elastic polymer," Peter said while marking up the blueprints. "This material has great elasticity and won't restrict your movement. Then, for critical areas—like the chest, back, and joints—we can add a laminated structure of Kevlar and carbon fiber. That will protect against bullets, explosions, and blunt force trauma."
Gwen opened her mouth, but didn't say anything.
"The mask's lenses can use liquid metal coating technology, which can automatically adjust light transmission based on the lighting, and even change color and shape," Peter looked up, his eyes shining brightly. "That way, you don't have to worry about your sunglasses falling off. Plus, if someone tries to take off your mask, the lenses can instantly become opaque to protect your identity."
Gwen opened her mouth again, but still didn't say anything.
"And this," Peter flipped to another blueprint, "I was thinking we could add tiny adhesive structures to the gloves and soles, mimicking a gecko's feet. That way, you'll be more stable when climbing walls, and you won't have to rely entirely on your body's natural adhesive ability—"
"Peter." Gwen finally found an opportunity to speak.
"Hmm?"
"Are the materials you're talking about… expensive?"
Peter froze for a moment, then pushed up his glasses, his voice dropping a little: "Uh… they are a bit expensive."
"How expensive?"
Peter flipped through his little notebook and quoted a number.
Gwen fell silent.
She looked down at the piggy bank on her nightstand—a ceramic pig containing the allowance and holiday money she had saved over the years. She reached out, picked it up, weighed it, and then dumped all the money out.
After counting it bill by bill, she looked up.
"I've saved three thousand."
Peter looked at the pile of crumpled bills, then back at the high-end materials on his blueprints, and was silent for a few seconds.
"Alright," he pushed up his glasses, "I'll see if I can cut costs further. We can use substitutes for some materials. We might not be able to buy genuine Kevlar, but I know a place that sells military surplus body armor. We can take that apart and use it—"
"Wait," Gwen interrupted him, "How do you know about these things?"
Peter paused, his ears turning slightly red: "I looked it up online. And also some… uh… forums."
Gwen stared at him for a few seconds and decided not to press further.
"Oh, right," Peter suddenly remembered something and looked up, "What color do you like?"
"Red and blue, I guess." Gwen said, almost instinctively.
Peter blinked: "I thought you'd choose pink."
"Why?"
"Because of how you usually dress…" Peter said halfway, then suddenly realized how strange that sounded and quickly stopped.
Gwen looked down at herself—today she was wearing a light pink sweatshirt with white pants. She was silent for two seconds, then said: "That was… that was my old taste. Now I like red and blue."
Peter nodded and marked the color on the blueprint.
The room quieted down, leaving only the rustling sound of the pencil on paper. Gwen watched Peter's focused profile, and a strange feeling welled up in her heart—this boy was earnestly helping her design a suit. A suit that could protect her and help her use her abilities better.
"Peter," she suddenly spoke up, "Why are you helping me so much?"
Peter stopped his pen and looked up.
"You saved my life." He said, his tone very flat, as if stating a fact, "And… I want to help, too. Since you have these abilities, you're bound to do something. I can't help with anything else, but I can at least help you with this."
Gwen looked at him and suddenly smiled.
"Well, thanks, childhood friend."
Peter's ears turned red again, and he lowered his head to continue drawing.
Monday morning, science class.
Mrs. Schwartz stood at the podium, speaking incessantly about the basic principles of genetic engineering. Gwen tried hard to focus, but her mind kept involuntarily drifting elsewhere—the progress of the suit, Silk's whereabouts, and the matter of that Japanese Gang.
"…Regarding this question," Mrs. Schwartz suddenly called on someone, "Peter, why don't you answer about the future application prospects of gene-editing technology in the medical field."
Peter stood up, pushed up his glasses, and began to answer fluently. Listening to his clear and logical explanation, Gwen secretly admired him—this was the future Spider-Man; even without superpowers, he was a genius.
After Peter finished answering, Mrs. Schwartz nodded with satisfaction and signaled for him to sit down. Gwen secretly gave him a thumbs up. Peter saw it, and his ears turned red again.
After class, Mary Jane ran over.
"Gwen! We have to practice drums this afternoon! The competition is in two weeks!"
Gwen wanted to refuse—she still had too much to do: practice controlling her abilities, discuss suit details with Peter, and find a way to investigate Silk's background—but seeing Mary Jane's expectant eyes, she swallowed the words back.
"Alright." She sighed.
In the music room that afternoon, the sound of drums rang out once again.
This time, Gwen deliberately slowed down the rhythm. She reminded herself to stay in control, to be careful, and not to break the drums like last time. The heat in her wrists was suppressed to the minimum, and every strike was just right.
When the song ended, Mary Jane looked at her in surprise.
"Gwen, you've got your groove back today!"
Gwen smiled without saying anything.
Only she knew how much effort she had put into controlling that power, which could spiral out of control at any moment, during these few short minutes of practice. She could now feel every muscle in her body and precisely control the output of every bit of strength. This sense of control brought a trace of satisfaction to her heart.
"Oh right," Betty put down her bass and suddenly said, "You've all heard, right? About that Chinese student in the second year."
Glory looked up: "Heard what?"
"Had their organs harvested." Betty lowered her voice, "It happened last week. They say he was knocked unconscious on his way home at night, and when he woke up, he was in the hospital, missing a kidney."
The music room was silent for a few seconds.
"Oh my god…" Mary Jane covered her mouth, "That's just too terrifying."
"The version I heard is even scarier," Glory pushed up her glasses, "They say there have been several such cases in New York recently, all involving Asians. The Police are suppressing the news, afraid of causing panic."
Gwen's heart skipped a beat.
Organ harvesting. Asian. Japanese Gang.
These keywords connected in her mind.
"That's just so inhumane," Mary Jane said indignantly, "How could they do that?"
Betty sighed: "Who knows. Anyway, I don't dare walk alone at night anymore."
Gwen listened silently, but her mind was racing.
She remembered the Japanese Gang that her dad, George, had mentioned—assassinations, human trafficking, mysterious rituals. If organ harvesting was also their business, then this wasn't just simple gang crime.
"Gwen?" Mary Jane's voice pulled her back, "What are you thinking about?"
"Nothing." Gwen shook her head, then, as if possessed, added, "Just think… these people are just too detestable."
Mary Jane nodded: "Exactly! If only Batman were here to catch them all."
Gwen was stunned for a moment.
"Batman?"
"Yeah, the one from the comics," Mary Jane smiled and said, "If there were a superhero in New York, these bad guys wouldn't dare to be so arrogant."
Gwen looked at Mary Jane's smiling face, and a strange feeling welled up in her heart.
She really wanted to say: Actually, there is one right next to you, though it's Spider-Man.
But she couldn't.
"Gwen?" Mary Jane reached out and waved her hand in front of her, "Spacing out again?"
"Huh? No." Gwen snapped back to reality, "Just suddenly remembered something."
"What thing?"
Gwen thought for a moment and asked: "Are those people who had their organs harvested… all Chinese?"
Betty nodded: "At least the few I heard about were. Why?"
"Nothing." Gwen shook her head, "Just think… it's very strange why they specifically target Chinese."
Glory pushed up her glasses: "Maybe they think Asians are easy to bully? Or maybe there's a specialized channel?"
Gwen didn't speak.
But a thought flashed through her mind—in her previous life, people in some places called Chinese people "walking wallets." Because they were hardworking, tolerant, and often didn't dare to speak up when things happened, they were the best prey.
This thought made her stomach churn with nausea.
"Gwen?" Mary Jane called her again, "What's wrong with you today? You keep spacing out."
"I'm fine." Gwen stood up, picked up her drumsticks, "Let's keep practicing."
The drums rang out again.
This time, Gwen hit them a bit harder than before. Each drumbeat felt like it was smashing into something, carrying a trace of anger she hadn't even realized she had.
After practice ended, Gwen packed up her things to leave. Mary Jane called her back.
"Gwen, are you really okay lately?"
Gwen stopped in her tracks and turned to look at her.
Mary Jane stood by the window, the sunset gilding her red hair with a golden edge. Her eyes held genuine concern, not the kind of perfunctory greeting, but real worry.
"I'm fine." Gwen said.
"You're lying." Mary Jane walked over and looked at her earnestly, "We've known each other for so many years; I can tell if you're okay or not. You've been absent-minded lately, and you keep saying strange things. That look just now—when you were looking at the thing about the Chinese person having their organs harvested, that look, it was like you wanted to kill someone."
Gwen was stunned.
Was she that obvious?
"Mary Jane," she began, her voice a bit strained, "I have indeed encountered some things. But I can't tell you right now. It's not because I don't trust you, it's because…"
She paused, not knowing how to explain it.
Mary Jane looked at her, was silent for a few seconds, then sighed.
"Alright," she said, "I won't force you. But remember, we are friends. If you need help, come to me anytime."
Gwen nodded, a wave of warmth welling up in her heart.
When she walked out of the music room, she saw Peter standing at the end of the hallway, holding a stack of papers, clearly waiting for her.
"How is it?" She walked over and asked.
Peter handed her the papers: "The revised design plan. I calculated it, and three thousand should be enough. I'll go hunt for some second-hand materials, and I can make some of it myself."
Gwen took the blueprints and flipped through them. She didn't understand the complex annotations, but she saw Peter's hard work.
"Thank you, Peter."
Peter shook his head, then suddenly asked: "When you were practicing drums just now, were you in a bad mood?"
Gwen was stunned: "How did you know?"
"A guess." Peter pushed up his glasses, "Your drumming was heavier than usual. I heard it when I passed by the music room."
Gwen was silent for a few seconds, then said: "Betty said a Chinese student had their organs harvested. I'm thinking about that Japanese Gang."
Peter's expression became serious.
"The one your dad mentioned?"
"Yeah." Gwen nodded, "I'm thinking, if I could do something…"
"You want to investigate?"
Gwen didn't speak.
Peter looked at her, silent for a long time.
"Gwen," he finally spoke, "I know you want to help. But you haven't fully mastered your abilities yet. And you don't even have a suit. Rashly investigating that kind of gang is too dangerous."
"I know." Gwen lowered her head, "But I can't just do nothing, can I?"
Peter thought for a moment and said: "First, master your abilities. Once the suit is done, I'll investigate with you."
Gwen looked up, looking at him in surprise: "You'll join me?"
"Yeah." Peter nodded, "I can't fight, but I can help you look up information and analyze intelligence. Two people are always better than one."
Gwen looked at his earnest expression and suddenly felt her nose sting.
"Thank you, Peter."
Peter's ears turned red again, and he lowered his head to walk forward.
"It's nothing, we're childhood friends, after all."
The sunset cast long shadows of the two, overlapping together like some kind of silent promise.
That night, Gwen lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
She remembered what Mary Jane had said—"That look, it was like you wanted to kill someone."
Was she really that angry?
Maybe she was.
It wasn't because she was some embodiment of justice, nor was it because she wanted to be a hero just because she had superpowers. It was because those things reminded her of things from her past life—things she thought she could forget once she had transmigrated.
Some people, no matter which World they are in, are suffering.
And she, now, had the ability.
Gwen clenched her fists, feeling that power flowing through her veins.
It wasn't time yet, she told herself. Wait until the suit was done, wait until her abilities were mastered, wait until she was fully prepared—
A soft tapping sound suddenly came from outside the window.
Gwen turned her head and saw Peter crawling on her window again.
She hurriedly opened the window, and Peter climbed in; his movements were much more proficient than last time.
"Why are you climbing again?" Gwen asked in a low voice.
"It's urgent." Peter handed her a piece of paper, "I've found some clues about that Japanese Gang."
Gwen took the paper, which was densely packed with writing.
"How did you find it?"
"Forums." Peter pushed up his glasses, "There are a few hacker forums where some people specialize in digging up this kind of dirt. Although it might not be accurate, it can be traced."
Gwen looked at the information on the paper—addresses, names, activity patterns—and a complex emotion welled up in her heart.
"Peter," she looked up, "Aren't you afraid doing all this?"
Peter thought for a moment and said earnestly: "I am. But I'm more afraid of you going on an adventure alone."
Gwen looked at him and suddenly smiled.
That smile was very light, very faint, but Peter saw it.
His ears turned red again, and he turned to head toward the window.
"Wait." Gwen called out to him, "Are you going to climb back down again?"
"Uh…"
"Use the door."
Peter obediently followed her to the door, opened it, and was about to leave when he suddenly turned back.
"Gwen."
"Hmm?"
"Whatever you want to do," he said, "remember to call me."
Then he walked quickly down the stairs and disappeared around the corner.
Gwen stood at the doorway, looking at the empty stairs for a long, long time.
Returning to her room, she carefully folded the paper Peter had brought and placed it together with the suit design blueprints.
Outside the window, the moon had become a bit rounder.
She lay back on the bed and closed her eyes.
Tomorrow, continue practicing.
The day after, continue preparing.
One day—
She thought, the corners of her mouth curling up slightly