The next morning, at Midtown High School.
As dawn broke, the Victorian clock tower of Midtown High was bathed in a pale golden glow. Dewdrops glistened on the ivy-clad red brick walls, and the oak trees lining the path cast dappled shadows over students reciting lines beneath their breath. The playground lawn still shimmered with last night's dew, and the library windows reflected the rising sun like molten glass.
The distant hum of a groundskeeper's lawnmower mingled with the faint scent of chalk dust drifting from open classroom doors—a quiet harmony that made the whole campus feel like a scholar just waking, full of tranquil vitality.
Inside the classroom, Damian sat hunched over a hardcover book with a light green cover. Sunlight caught the gold-stamped vine pattern edging its pages, making them shimmer faintly.
Peter Parker and Gwen Stacy had just stepped inside when they spotted Z—usually calm and collected—tugging at his hair like he was wrestling with a quantum physics final.
"Oi~ What's got you so wound up?" Peter asked, flashing his trademark shameless grin as he leaned over Z's shoulder. "This book must be real deep. I didn't see you this frustrated even when you were decoding Advanced Organic Chemistry."
He squinted at the title on the desk: "Introduction to Magic." But the text wasn't in any language he recognized—not Chinese, not Latin, not even the weird symbols from that one Stark tech manual. It resembled Sumerian cuneiform… if Sumerians had been really into arcane sigils.
Damian swatted Peter's head away with a look of mild exasperation. "Hmph. With your stubborn faith in pure science, I'd have a hard time explaining. Just… think of it like the book in Wang Wei's poem—'The Empty Mountain.'"
Peter raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? The one where nothing's there, so you imagine it is? Real helpful."
Z's expression screamed "I'm totally making this up," but Peter only curled his lip and muttered, "Tch. Fine. Don't tell me. Not like I care."
Of course, he didn't move an inch—instead, he shamelessly draped himself over Z's shoulder, peering at the indecipherable script.
Watching this, Gwen Stacy narrowed her eyes. A tiny, mischievous smile played on her lips.
(▼伀▼#) 匌...
Oh no.
She'd been careless.
The rival vying for Peter's attention wasn't some new girl—it was him!
No wonder Damian, with his sharp brows and intense eyes, was still single in high school. He hadn't been aloof—he'd been plotting!
Despicable.
Gritting her teeth, Gwen rolled up her sleeves, yanked Peter away, and tugged him onto her shoulder with smug finality.
Peter blinked, utterly baffled. "Uh… Gwen? You good?"
But Damian wasn't paying attention. His entire focus was locked on the cursed book before him.
To become a proper mage, he'd even spent weeks learning Teyvatian from Diluc himself. Sure, he might not be Elon Musk, but he was certain he could pass as a native speaker.
Yet after hours of studying, the magic still refused to stick.
"Damn it!" he hissed, slamming the book shut. "This lousy thing must be encrypted with Knights of Favonius-level intellectual property protection!"
Fuming, he flipped to the title page to curse the editor responsible—
"Introduction to Magic: Mondstadt Edition"
Approved by the Knights of Favonius Library
Editor-in-Chief: Lisa Mintz
Associate Editors: Sucrose, Astrologist Mona Megistus
Special Advisor: Master Abelardo
"…"
Damian snapped the book shut so fast it made a thwip. Not a single syllable dared escape his lips.
Right. Of course it's them.
So the problem probably—possibly—maybe—definitely… was him.
He glanced around, then stuck his head out the second-floor window.
Ah!
That's it!
High altitude → thin air → reduced oxygen → sluggish brain cells! No wonder he couldn't grasp celestial sigils or elemental resonance!
Nodding sagely, he closed the book with newfound confidence.
"As expected of my brilliant, dashing self—I've pinpointed the root cause of my magical illiteracy."
The students nearby subtly shuffled their desks farther away, as if Z had just muttered incantations in his sleep.
Finally sensing Z had returned to (relative) sanity, Peter slid a sheet of paper across the desk. "Hey, Z—can you help me out real quick?"
Z eyed him warily. "Define 'help.'"
Peter ignored his usual aura of anxious energy and said plainly:
"I got a part-time gig as a server at Angel's Share. Diluc said yes—but he wants me to pass a basic training quiz first. I've got zero experience in hospitality, and since you know him… mind checking my answers?"
Z exhaled in relief. "Oh. Yeah, sure."
Peter immediately pointed to a question on the sheet:
"You're about to clean the restroom, but when you open the door, a woman is changing inside. What's the appropriate response?"
My answer: Say "Excuse me, ma'am," turn around, leave, and close the door.
Gwen's answer: Same.
"What do you think?" Peter asked.
Z stroked his chin thoughtfully—then declared with solemn gravity:
"I'd say, 'Excuse me, ma'am!'… then step inside, lock the door, and offer to assist with wardrobe coordination."
Silence.
A beat passed.
Peter slowly turned to Gwen. "You
know what? Let's table the career quiz."
He pulled out his phone. "First, I'm calling the police."
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