Three days after the competition, Gwen did something very boring.
She skipped half a study hall, hid in a corner of the library, and used Peter's laptop to search for a name—Tony Stark.
The search results were zero.
She searched for "Avengers" next.
Still zero.
"Stark Industries"?
It existed. But it was an arms manufacturer, and the boss wasn't named Stark; his name was something like Hammer.
Gwen paused when she saw the name—Justin Hammer? Wasn't he the villain in Iron Man? How did he become an arms tycoon here?
She searched for "Bruce Banner", "Thor Odinson", "Steve Rogers", and "Clint Barton".
Only Bruce Banner existed.
Gwen leaned back in her chair, staring blankly at the screen.
So, this World had no Iron Man, no Hawkeye, no Thor, no Avengers; what it had was the Hulk.
What if there was an alien invasion?
Wait, hold on—
She searched for "S.H.I.E.L.D.".
The moment the search results popped up, Gwen's pupils contracted.
Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.
The name was long, but the abbreviation was very familiar—S.H.I.E.L.D..
S.H.I.E.L.D. existed.
But the Director wasn't Nick Fury; it was Jeffrey Mace.
Gwen stared at the name for a long time before digging up some information from the depths of her memory—this was a character from the comics, it seemed... an acting Director at some point?
She scrolled down and saw a name.
Samantha Wilson.
Captain America.
Gwen froze.
She clicked on the news article and saw a woman wearing a red, white, and blue uniform. Dark skin, short black hair, sharp eyes, holding a shield, in a pose exactly the same as Steve Rogers.
The headline read: "Captain America Samantha Wilson Shatters HYDRA Conspiracy Again".
Gwen opened her mouth, not knowing what to say.
So this World had a Captain America, but it wasn't Steve Rogers; it was a Black woman.
Oh, God! This damn political correctness~
She scrolled down further and found Samantha Wilson's profile—the first African American female Civil Air Patrol pilot, but only for public relations stunt flying.
Later selected by Peggy Carter (SSR Agent) to join Project: Rebirth for anti-Nazi sabotage experiments, she was the only candidate to survive and successfully receive the serum.
Fighting on the European front as Captain America, opposing HYDRA, Red Skull...
When Gwen saw the name "Red Skull", it took her brain a few turns to process it.
Isn't this Samantha Wilson just a carbon copy of Steve Rogers? Even her experiences were exactly the same.
She stared at the screen, suddenly not knowing whether to cry or laugh.
No Thanos invasion, no Avengers Civil War, no World-ending crises every other day. Just a female Captain America, an S.H.I.E.L.D. without Nick Fury, and a Spider-Man hidden in the shadows of The Hand.
That was fine too.
Gwen closed the laptop, leaned back in her chair, and looked at the library ceiling.
At least she didn't have to worry about a purple titan popping up one day to snap his fingers.
"Gwen?"
A voice pulled her from her contemplation. Gwen turned her head and saw Mary Jane standing at the library entrance, waving at her.
"Why are you here?" Gwen walked over.
"Looking for you." Mary Jane linked her arm with hers. "Come on, let's go to the music room; I have something to ask you."
Gwen was dragged along, a faint feeling of foreboding in her heart.
There were only the two of them in the music room. Betty and Glory couldn't make it today, and sunlight streamed through the windows, spreading a golden hue across the floor.
Mary Jane pushed Gwen into a chair, sat down opposite her, and crossed her arms with an interrogating stance.
"Gwen," she started, "do you think Peter likes me?"
Gwen froze.
What kind of question was that?
"Doesn't he?" she answered subconsciously. "He often comes to watch you sing."
Mary Jane stared at her, her expression becoming very subtle.
"Gwen," she said, enunciating each word, "how many times has Peter come to watch?"
Gwen thought about it: "About three or four times? The day of the competition, and a few rehearsals before that—"
"When he comes to watch me sing," Mary Jane interrupted, "who are his eyes looking at?"
Gwen froze.
Who were his eyes looking at?
She recalled those scenes. When Peter came to the music room, he usually sat quietly in a chair in the corner. Mary Jane was singing, Betty was playing the bass, and Glory was hitting the keyboard—
Wait.
Gwen suddenly realized something.
Every time she looked over, it seemed she happened to meet Peter's gaze.
"He..." she opened her mouth, "he might have been looking at everyone?"
Mary Jane sighed.
"Gwen," she said, "do you know which seat Peter sits in every time he comes?"
Gwen shook her head.
"Directly facing your spot." Mary Jane said, "From the corner he sits in, if you're looking at the stage, your angle is the most off-center. It's perfect for looking at the rest of us, though."
Gwen's brain couldn't quite process this.
"What do you mean?"
"It means," Mary Jane reached out and poked her forehead, "if he wanted to watch us sing, he should have chosen the center seat. But he always picks that corner—because from that angle, he can keep watching you."
Gwen opened her mouth, not knowing what to say.
"And," Mary Jane continued, "do you know what he does when we take a break during rehearsals?"
Gwen shook her head.
"He's always looking at you." Mary Jane said, "When you're drinking water, when you're talking to Betty, when you're adjusting your drumsticks—he's always looking at you. I've observed it several times."
Gwen's mind went blank.
"And that bouquet of flowers." Mary Jane added, "The daisies he gave you on the day of the competition. Do you know what the language of daisies is?"
Gwen shook her head.
"Pure love, a secret hidden in the heart." Mary Jane looked at her. "Gwen, how could you think he likes me?"
Gwen sat there like a statue.
She recalled those images—Peter's shifty eyes every time he looked at her, his bright red ears every time he spoke, the clumsy excuses he made every time he sought her out. And that night in her room, the way he hesitated to speak.
"I..." she opened her mouth, her voice a bit dry, "I thought he was just shy, and that he was like that with everyone."
"He's not like that with others." Mary Jane said, "He's perfectly normal when he talks to Betty or Glory. It's only when he talks to you that he stutters and his ears turn red."
Gwen fell silent.
She thought about who she was—a transmigrator, a soul occupying this body. She had always thought Peter's feelings for the original owner were just that of a childhood friend, and that she was just a latecomer who didn't deserve any special treatment.
But what if it wasn't the original owner Peter liked, but her?
Those evenings walking home together, the intel delivered by climbing through the window, the nights he spent staying up to make her suit—who was he doing that for?
"Gwen?" Mary Jane waved her hand in front of her eyes. "What are you thinking about?"
Gwen snapped back to reality, looking at Mary Jane's concerned eyes, suddenly not knowing what to say.
"I..." she opened her mouth, "I need to think about this."
Mary Jane looked at her, a trace of heartache in her gaze.
"Gwen," she said softly, "I know you have a lot going on lately. If you don't want to talk about it, I won't force you. But there is one thing I want to tell you—"
She held Gwen's hand.
"No matter who you are, no matter what you go through, you deserve to be loved."
Gwen froze, looking at their clasped hands.
"Mary Jane..."
"Alright," Mary Jane stood up and patted her shoulder, "I've said my piece, digest it yourself. Betty and the others will be back tomorrow, and we'll continue practicing the new song."
She walked toward the door, then suddenly turned back halfway.
"Oh, by the way, Peter seems to have gone to the library this afternoon. If you want to talk to him, it should still be in time if you go now."
The door closed.
Sunlight spilled quietly onto the floor, dust floating in the beams of light.
Gwen sat there, staring at the door, her brain still buzzing.
Peter liked her.
Not the original owner, but her.
This realization was like a small pebble thrown into the once-calm pool of her heart, stirring up ripple after ripple.
She stood up slowly and walked out of the music room.
The hallway was very quiet, the afternoon sun slanting in through the windows. Gwen walked step by step, her mind a mess.
She recalled that night, Peter clinging to her window, handing her the clues about The Hand.
Recalled him saying, "Whatever you want to do, remember to call me."
Recalled him standing in the crowd, watching her quietly, then slowly raising his hand to wave at her.
Also recalled his bright red ears, shifty eyes, and stuttering voice.
How had she not noticed?
Gwen stopped walking and stood in the middle of the hallway.
Ahead was the library door.
The door was half-open, and she could see the rows of bookshelves inside. Peter should be in there, sitting in that old spot by the window, tapping away at the computer screen.
Should she go in?
What would she say if she went in?
"Hey, I heard you like me, is that true?"
Too stupid.
Gwen stood there, caught in a dilemma.
Just then, the library door was pushed open.
Peter walked out, holding a stack of books, and almost bumped into her.
"Gwen?" He froze, "Why are you here?"
Gwen looked at him, opened her mouth, but couldn't make a sound.
Peter felt a bit creeped out by her gaze, looked down at himself, and then touched his face.
"What's wrong? Do I have something on my face?"
"No." Gwen finally found her voice, "I was just... passing by."
Peter nodded and walked forward with the books. After taking two steps, he stopped and looked back at her.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." Gwen shook her head.
Peter looked at her, a trace of worry in his eyes, but eventually just nodded and continued walking.
Gwen stood there, watching his back disappear at the end of the hallway.
She suddenly remembered something.
That night in her room, when Peter hesitated to speak, was this what he wanted to say?
If it was, then how should she respond?
Gwen leaned against the wall and slowly slid down to the floor.
The sunlight shone on her, warm and cozy.
She recalled a sentence she had read in her past life: Only when you discover someone likes you, will you discover whether you like them too.
So, did she like Peter?
Gwen thought about it, and those images floated into her mind—Peter waving at her in the crowd, Peter clinging to the window handing her intel, Peter with red ears saying "You're great", Peter saying seriously "Remember to call me".
Her heart skipped a beat.
Then skipped another.
Then she covered her face and let out a muffled groan.
It's over.
She seemed to like him a little, too.
That night, Gwen lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
The piece of peeling wallpaper was still there, the shape still looking like a chubby pigeon. She stared at it for a long time, her mind still on today's events.
Her phone vibrated.
She picked it up; it was a message from Peter:
"Found the detailed structural diagram of that warehouse. Are you free tomorrow afternoon? Let's discuss the action plan."
Gwen stared at the message, her finger hovering over the screen, not coming down for a long time.
She remembered what Mary Jane said—"He's always looking at you."
She remembered her discovery in the hallway today—"It's over, I think I like him a little too."
But now wasn't the time to think about this.
Tomorrow, they had to discuss the action plan.
The day after tomorrow, or the day after that, they had to go to that warehouse.
The Hand, Silk, Kun-Lun Trading Company—these were the things she should be thinking about now.
Gwen took a deep breath and began to reply:
"After school tomorrow, same place."
After sending the message, she put the phone aside and continued staring at the ceiling.
The sound of the night wind came from outside the window, and police sirens wailed in the distance.
She suddenly remembered the day she first transmigrated, standing in front of the mirror, staring blankly at herself inside. Back then, she didn't know anything, couldn't even put on a bra, and was at a loss facing a closet full of dresses.
Now, she could fly freely in the night sky of New York.
She had a suit, a codename, and a partner.
And a group of friends.
And one more—
Gwen stopped halfway through the thought.
No, she couldn't think about it anymore.
She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow.
Tomorrow, they had to discuss the action plan with Peter.
The day after tomorrow, or the day after that, she had to face The Hand.
And for now, she needed to sleep.
But the moment she closed her eyes, what appeared in her mind was still Peter's bright red ears and that sentence, "You're great."
Good night, New York.
Good night, Peter.