NYPD Headquarters, George Stacy's office.
The sunlight outside was lovely, shining onto the desk piled high with files, dyeing the edges of the papers gold. But George wasn't looking at the files.
He sat in his chair, staring at the photo taped to the wall.
It was taken at the scene last night—a strand of white webbing, stuck to the wall of the building opposite. In the sunlight, the thread shimmered with a faint silver light; it was so thin it was almost invisible, yet it could steadily support the weight of an adult.
George's gaze fixed on that thread, unmoving.
His wife Helen's words still echoed in his ears—
"Peter was holding a first-aid kit, bandaging our daughter's wounds."
Wounds.
First-aid kit.
Bandaging.
He remembered the bloodstains at the scene last night. He remembered the shuriken pinned to the wall, the blood on its blade. He remembered the signs of the fight—that kind of trace was not something an ordinary person could leave behind.
He also recalled his daughter's recent changes.
Leaving early and returning late. Often zoning out. Sometimes smiling for no reason. And that morning, when he asked if she was dating, the water she spat out—
George's brows furrowed tighter and tighter.
He pieced these fragments together in his mind.
Daughter leaving early and returning late—he thought it was dating.
Daughter has wounds—needs bandaging.
Daughter recently becoming secretive—often huddling with Peter to whisper.
And that Spider-Man—
George stood up and walked to the window.
Outside were the streets of New York, bustling with traffic and pedestrians. Everything looked so normal.
But a thought, like a vine, was spreading wildly in his mind.
Spider-Man is female.
From the descriptions of several witnesses, the figure in red and blue did indeed look like a woman.
And his daughter—
George closed his eyes.
Impossible.
This guess was too crazy. So crazy that just thinking about it made him feel as if his heart were being gripped by an invisible hand, leaving him almost unable to breathe.
Gwen is his daughter. The daughter he watched grow up. She could play the drums, joke with friends, and spit out water when asked about dating—she was just an ordinary high school student.
How could she be that Spider-Man who flew around the city every night, fought gangs, and left suspects at the police station door?
How could she be the one who was injured last night yet insisted on rescuing those four people—
George opened his eyes abruptly.
Injured.
Needed bandaging.
Peter holding the first-aid kit—
He remembered that morning, seeing Gwen and Peter walking together at the door. When Gwen walked, her shoulders were slightly stiff, her movements unnatural.
He hadn't paid attention at the time. Now that he thought about it—
George's hands slowly clenched.
Impossible.
He thought.
Absolutely impossible.
But he knew this thought had already been planted. Whether he liked it or not, it would be there, taking root and sprouting.
Midtown High School, English class.
Gwen propped her chin on her hand, staring at the blackboard, her eyelids growing heavier and heavier.
The fight with Murakami last night had taken too much out of her. Although the wound had healed, the feeling of being pierced by a blade, combined with the physical exhaustion from swinging home, left her as sleepy as if she hadn't slept for three days.
Mrs. Winterhalter's voice buzzed in her ears like a lullaby.
"...Chapter 5 of The Great Gatsby, the scene where Gatsby and Daisy reunite; the author uses the description of the environment to express the characters' inner..."
Gwen's head nodded lower and lower.
Something poked her back lightly.
She jolted, nearly jumping up, and looked back.
Peter was looking down at his book, but the pen in his hand swayed slightly toward her, then pointed at the podium.
Gwen followed his gesture—Mrs. Winterhalter was staring at her.
She quickly sat up straight, pretending to listen attentively.
Mrs. Winterhalter withdrew her gaze and continued the lecture.
Gwen let out a sigh of relief and mouthed "Thank you" to Peter.
Peter nodded slightly, his ears turning red again.
Gwen looked at his flushed ears and suddenly wanted to laugh.
This guy, when would he stop blushing so easily?
The bell rang, and the classroom instantly became lively.
Gwen was just preparing to nap on the desk when Harry Osborn walked over.
He was wearing a light blue shirt today, which made his blue eyes look even bluer. Walking to Peter's desk, he flopped into the empty chair next to him and draped his arm over Peter's shoulder.
"Hey, Peter," he said, his tone carrying that casualness and naturalness typical of a rich kid, "Tomorrow is Saturday, how about coming over to my place for the weekend?"
Peter was stunned: "Your place?"
"Osborn Estate," Harry said as a matter of course, "Of course, you can also invite Gwen and her band friends. My house has a swimming pool; we can barbecue, swim, play games—anyway, my house is huge, have fun as you like."
When Gwen heard this, she was wide awake.
Osborn Estate?
That wasn't—
She remembered what Osborn Estate looked like in those Spider-Man stories from her past life. Luxurious mansion, advanced laboratory, and that Green Goblin gear hidden in the shadows.
If she went there—
Wait.
Why would she go there?
She didn't need to steal gear.
"How about it?" Harry looked at Peter, "Coming?"
Peter hesitated: "I have to ask Gwen and the others..."
"Then ask now." Harry turned to look at Gwen, "Gwen, are you free tomorrow? Bring your band friends and come over to my place to hang out?"
Gwen thought about it.
She had originally planned to continue tracking the clues about The Hand tomorrow. But after fighting Murakami last night, she also needed to rest—like Peter said, less strenuous exercise.
Besides, if she could take this opportunity to understand the situation at the Osborns', she might be able to discover signs of Norman Osborn turning into the Green Goblin in advance.
"Sure." She nodded.
Harry smiled and looked at Peter again: "See, she agreed. What about you?"
Peter nodded.
"Then it's settled!" Harry clapped his hands, "I'll come pick you up tomorrow morning. By the way—" He leaned closer to Peter and lowered his voice, "Is there anything you want to talk about privately?"
Peter was stunned: "What?"
Harry looked at him with that "you know" kind of expression.
Peter's face flushed instantly.
"N-nothing—"
Harry smiled, patted his shoulder, stood up, and left.
Gwen looked at Peter's flushed face, feeling puzzled.
"What did he say?"
"Nothing!" Peter said quickly, his ears turning even redder.
Gwen looked at him suspiciously but didn't press.
Anyway, this guy hiding things from her wasn't just a one-day occurrence.
In the music classroom that afternoon, Gwen told Mary Jane and the others about going to Osborn Estate tomorrow.
Mary Jane's eyes lit up: "Osborn Estate? That Osborn?"
"Yes, that Osborn."
Betty's mouth opened wide: "Harry Osborn invited us to his house?"
"Yeah. He said there's a swimming pool; we can barbecue, swim, and play games."
Betty and Glory exchanged glances and raised their hands simultaneously.
"I'm going!"
"Me too!"
Mary Jane smiled at them, then looked at Gwen.
"What about you? Are you going?"
Gwen nodded: "Yeah. Peter is going too."
Mary Jane raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a meaningful arc.
"Oh—Peter is going too."
Gwen felt creeped out by her look: "What's that expression?"
"Nothing, nothing." Mary Jane waved her hand, "Just felt that tomorrow's plans might be very interesting."
Gwen always felt there was more to her words, but she couldn't be bothered to overthink it.
Returning home at night, Gwen found George had already returned.
This was rare. He usually worked shifts until very late.
"Dad?" She changed her shoes, "Why so early today?"
George was sitting on the sofa, holding a file in his hand, but not reading it. Hearing his daughter's voice, he looked up.
His gaze landed on her.
Gwen felt a bit creeped out by that gaze.
"What's wrong?"
George was silent for two seconds, then shook his head.
"Nothing. Dinner is in the pot, there's pork chops and roast meat made by your mom."
Gwen acknowledged and went to the kitchen to serve dinner.
When she reached the kitchen door, she looked back.
George was still sitting on the sofa, watching her back.
That gaze—
Gwen couldn't describe the feeling. It seemed to have scrutiny, suspicion, and a little bit of—
She couldn't be sure.
During dinner, George spoke very little.
Helen glanced at him, then looked at Gwen, and said with a smile: "What's wrong today? Tired?"
George shook his head and lowered his head to eat.
Gwen also lowered her head to eat, but she always felt her dad's gaze landing on her from time to time.
She remembered the wound on her shoulder.
It had healed, leaving no traces.
But she still subconsciously shrank her shoulders.
This movement was very slight, but George's gaze paused.
After dinner, Gwen returned to her room to do homework.
Halfway through, a light tapping sound came from the window.
She opened the window, and Peter climbed in.
"Why are you climbing in again—"
"Shh." Peter raised a finger, "I have something to tell you."
Gwen closed the window and looked at him.
Peter stood by the window, his expression somewhat nervous.
"Harry told me today," he lowered his voice, "that he invited us to his house, but there's actually another reason."
Gwen raised an eyebrow: "What reason?"
Peter took a deep breath, as if making a decision.
"He... he said this is an opportunity."
"What opportunity?"
Peter looked at her, his ears turning red again.
"Just... an opportunity."
Gwen stared at his flushed ears and suddenly understood.
"You mean—" she paused, "an opportunity to confess?"
Peter's face flushed instantly, red as if it were burning.
"I, I didn't say I wanted to confess!"
"Then why are you blushing?"
Peter opened his mouth but couldn't speak.
Gwen looked at him and suddenly wanted to laugh.
This guy, really—
"Peter," she said, "that night in my room, was this what you wanted to say?"
Peter was stunned.
Gwen looked at him, waiting for his answer.
The night breeze blew in, stirring the curtains and lifting a few strands of her golden hair.
Peter stood in the moonlight, looking at her, his eyes deep and bright.
He opened his mouth—
"Gwen!" Helen's voice came from outside the door, "Your dad is asking if you're going to the Osborns' tomorrow!"
Gwen was startled and quickly replied: "Yes!"
It was quiet outside the door.
Peter stood by the window, as if interrupted by that shout, and retreated into himself.
"I..." he whispered, "I'll head back first."
He climbed out the window and disappeared into the night.
Gwen stood by the window, looking at the lit window next door, suddenly feeling a bit annoyed.
Just a little bit more.
Just a little more and she would have known what he wanted to say.
But—
She touched her face.
A bit hot.
In the room next door, Peter lay on the bed, burying his face in the pillow.
He had almost said it just now.
Just that little bit.
But Aunt Helen's shout—
Peter groaned muffledly.
Next time.
He thought.
Definitely next time.
The next morning, Gwen changed her clothes and walked out of her room.
Helen was preparing breakfast, and seeing her come out, asked with a smile: "Going to the Osborns' today?"
"Yeah."
"Dressed so nicely?"
Gwen looked down at herself—a white dress paired with a light blue cardigan, which Helen had bought for her a few days ago.
"Just... wore it casually."
Helen watched her with a smile, saying nothing.
George sat at the dining table, reading the newspaper. Hearing the sound, he looked up and glanced at Gwen.
That gaze was still the same as yesterday's.
Gwen felt a bit uncomfortable being watched by him.
"Dad?"
George shook his head and continued reading the newspaper.
A knock came at the door.
Gwen opened the door and saw Peter standing outside.
He was also dressed more formally than usual today—a light gray shirt, black trousers, and his hair was styled, looking—
Gwen was stunned.
Looking quite handsome.
"Morning." Peter said, his ears turning red again.
"Morning."
The two stood at the door, suddenly not knowing what to say.
Footsteps came from behind.
Gwen looked back and saw her dad walking over.
George stood at the door, his gaze shifting between the two.
Then he looked at Peter and said in a very calm tone:
"Peter."
Peter stood straight subconsciously: "Mr. Stacy."
George looked at him, silent for two seconds.
"Have fun."
Peter breathed a sigh of relief.
George added: "Come back early."
That tone sounded very normal.
But Gwen always felt there was something else in her dad's gaze.
A black sedan was parked at the street corner.
Harry poked his head out of the car window and waved at them.
"Hey! Get in!"
Gwen and Peter walked over.
When getting into the car, Gwen looked back.
George was still standing at the door, watching them.
The sunlight shone on him, illuminating the expression on his face very clearly.
It was a very complex expression.
There was worry, suspicion, and a little bit of—
Gwen couldn't describe it.
But she remembered that look.
The sedan drove toward Osborn Estate.
Gwen sat in the back seat, watching the streetscape receding rapidly outside the window.
Peter sat next to her, somewhat nervously, his fingers unconsciously gripping the seam of his trousers.
Gwen glanced at him and suddenly smiled.
"What are you nervous about?"
Peter was stunned, his ears turning red again.
"N-not nervous."
Gwen smiled and shook her head, saying nothing more.
But in her heart, she was also thinking about other things.
Osborn Estate.
Norman Osborn.
Green Goblin.
And that unfinished question from last night.
Outside the car window, the New York sunlight was lovely.
But where Gwen couldn't see, a man in a gray suit was standing in front of the window of a high-rise building, watching the direction she left in.
Murakami.
His shoulder was wrapped in bandages—the injury from that kick Gwen delivered last night. Although not heavy, it was enough to make him remember this lesson.
"Interesting," he muttered.
Behind him, a ninja stood respectfully with his head bowed.
"Boss, we found out. That Spider-Man is very likely—"
Murakami raised his hand, interrupting him.
"No need to say it."
He looked out the window, his lips curling into a cold arc.
"Let her play for a few days."
"And then—"