3 a.m., Queens, New York, USA.
The moonlight pooled on the ground like spilled mercury—just like the night Huaimin had also stayed up.
The night breeze caressed the empty streets, whispering like a lover in your ear:
"I'm Wang Gang!"
Ring ring—!
A piercing ringtone shattered the silence.
Peter Parker shot upright as if electrocuted, blinked blankly at the pitch-black room, and with uncanny precision snatched his vibrating phone from the bedside table with his right hand.
"Ugh… what's going on…?"
He rubbed his sleepy eyes, pressed Answer, and mumbled in a voice thick with drowsiness:
"Hello… this is Peter Parker…"
"Hey! What a coincidence! Peter, you're still awake?!"
The moment the call connected, a familiar, obnoxiously chipper voice crackled through the speaker.
At the sound of it, Peter's forehead veins throbbed and his fists clenched.
He shot the phone a look that screamed, "I know you're shameless—but do you really have to use your mouth to prove it?" and growled through gritted teeth:
"Damian!! You bastard—better be in real trouble! Otherwise, I swear I'll curse you to eat nothing but white people's food for the rest of your life!"
On the other end, Damian instantly sobered up. His tone shifted to something almost… solemn:
"Please rest assured. I truly have something very important to tell you. But before I do, I urge you to steady your mind—avoid excessive emotional fluctuation."
"Huh? What's so serious?"
Hearing that grave tone, Peter—who'd been half-asleep—jolted fully awake.
After several deep breaths, he announced:
"Phew… I'm ready! Go ahead!"
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure! Just tell me already!"
A long pause. Then, in dead-serious tones:
"According to recent medical research, maintaining a single sleeping position for prolonged periods can lead to spinal misalignment, chronic pain, circulatory issues, organ compression, and even facial asymmetry!
So I called specifically to remind you: when you have a spare moment… turn over in your sleep."
Crunch…
A grinding sound echoed from the phone.
At that moment, Peter Parker's desire to invent a directional spatial portal reached its absolute peak.
Just as he was about to snap, another voice cut in—timely, calm, and unmistakably Damian's usual self:
"Alright. Judging by your breathing, you're wide awake now. Let's get down to business."
"You were never serious, were you?!"
Ignoring Peter's outburst, Damian continued, talking as if to herself:
"Osborn Industries has hit a snag. The board's reportedly planning to bypass Uncle Norman and sell Osborn shares directly to Stark Industries. You've probably seen it on the news."
Given that, Norman must be rattled—maybe even mentally unstable. I need you to keep an eye on him.
If anything feels off, go straight to Diluc at Angel's Gift. He'll handle it.
And don't you dare try to play hero. Understood?"
Peter frowned, puzzled—but Damian's tone wasn't joking. He nodded, even though the other couldn't see him.
"Uh… I don't get what you're worried about, but don't worry! If anything happens, I'll go to Diluc."
"No! You completely missed the point! The point is—don't try to be a hero! Just do what every proper American politician does: make the most of your time and avoid doing the actual work."
Peter was speechless. He felt profoundly underestimated.
Before he could protest, Damian added casually:
"Oh, by the way—I bet you're still eyeing that underground boxing match, dreaming of winning ten grand, aren't you?"
"I didn't! I'm not! Don't make stuff up! This—"
"Take my advice: don't go. It'll affect your height."
"Huh? What does underground boxing have to do with—"
Damian interrupted, voice suddenly sweet as honey:
"Because I'll have Diluc break your legs. You'll end up as brilliant as Stephen Hawking—but paralyzed from the waist down!"
Conveniently, the New York City government is teaming up with Manhattan's LGBTQ+ organizations to fine Angel's Gift for not employing people with disabilities or from sexual minorities.
Now, if we just break three of your legs—
—you'll perfectly qualify as both.
See? Opportunity really is more important than effort. You've struck gold!
Peter Parker: "…."
Somehow, good things never came his way—but disasters? They lined up to pounce on him!
If only he could wield a mouth that dirty someday…
"Don't say a word, you hear me?"
That did it. Peter surged with righteous fury and barked:
"OH!"
Satisfied by the response, Damian gave a small nod—audible even through the phone—then asked:
"By the way, Peter… do you know why Japanese people are generally thin and facing such a severe aging crisis?"
Peter was utterly lost. "Uh… why?"
"Because the little boy and the fat man both exploded."
"…"
Given Damian's current mental state, Peter decided any country should award him an honorary academician title—though he couldn't say which academy would claim him.
Maybe Aoyama? Or Saint Elizabeth's?
Staring at his phone now stuck on a busy signal, Damian pouted in disappointment.
The original owner of this body really had an eye for friends—only two, yet their problems kept outdoing each other in absurdity!
Peter's uncle? He might manage a solution.
But Harry Osborn's condition? That was beyond him—for now, at least.
And even though Norman was Peter's uncle, Damian wasn't fully confident he could protect him.
This whole situation felt tangled in causality—as if an invisible thread were dragging Uncle Ben toward his fate, flipping the switch that would awaken Spider-Man.
Worst of all? Peter seemed to be standing on the other side of that thread.
Just like in Maguire's Spider-Man: the real villains were never strangers—they were the people closest to you.
Gazing at the horizon, already tinged with pale dawn, Damian sighed.
He felt less like a spirited youth and more like a raving old man—
one twitch away from collapsing into an ancient mummy.
"Damn it… no wonder I've felt so eerily at peace lying in bed these p
ast few nights.
Like a corpse finally returning to its coffin."
Grumbling, Damian stretched and shuffled toward the hotel.
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