Night settled over Queens.
On television, a news anchor delivered the evening report with theatrical urgency:
"…For three consecutive nights, a masked individual wearing a homemade bodysuit has appeared on the streets of Queens, specifically targeting street gang activity."
"Witnesses claim the individual can scale walls and exhibits superhuman strength."
"A police spokesperson warns that this vigilante behavior constitutes a serious disruption of public order. Authorities urge the public to provide information…"
Joren turned off the television.
He leaned back on the sofa and rubbed his temples.
He knew exactly who the "masked individual" was.
Peter Parker.
That nerd was searching for the gunman in his own reckless way.
Troublesome.
Joren retrieved a bottle of ice-cold milk from the refrigerator and took a long drink.
The chill steadied him.
Everyone walks their own path.
He had shown the boy the road.
Where it led was no longer his concern.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sudden pounding interrupted his thoughts.
His brow creased beneath the brim of his hat.
Who knocks like that at this hour?
"Jojo! It's me! Peter! Open up! I've got something amazing to show you!"
Barely contained excitement leaked through the door.
…Of course.
Joren sighed and opened it.
Peter stood outside in an oversized hoodie zipped to the chin, his silhouette oddly bulky.
Before Joren could respond, Peter squeezed inside.
"You will not believe what I made!"
He shut the door, then dramatically unzipped the hoodie.
A red-and-blue bodysuit appeared.
The fabric was uneven.
The stitching crooked.
A spider emblem painted across the chest looked less like a spider and more like a malnourished crab.
Most striking of all was the hood: red fabric covering the entire head, with oversized white eye patches sewn on like the compound eyes of an insect.
Joren stared.
Expressionless.
Peter spun enthusiastically.
"Well? Cool, right?!"
"I designed it myself! High-elasticity fiber, fireproof, and insulated!"
He pointed at his wrist.
"And I left openings here so the web can deploy cleanly!"
To demonstrate, he flicked his wrist.
Thwip!
A strand of web shot upward and stuck firmly to the chandelier.
Joren looked up slowly at the crystal fixture he had polished only days ago.
A faint crease formed between his brows.
Peter tugged the web proudly.
"Jojo, I even came up with a name."
He struck what he believed was a heroic pose.
Lowered his voice dramatically.
"From now on… call me Spider-Man."
Silence fell.
The web swayed gently from the chandelier.
Joren stared at him.
Peter's grin faltered.
"…Jojo?"
"You don't think it's cool?"
"No."
Peter blinked.
"Why? It fits perfectly!"
"It's ugly."
"…Huh?"
"I said," Joren pointed at the chest emblem, "the outfit is ugly."
"And the name is stupid."
Peter's excitement collapsed like a punctured balloon.
"But—"
"Are you finished?" Joren asked.
"…Yes."
"Then leave."
He grabbed Peter by the back of the collar.
"Wait! I'm not done! I found a lead about the robber!"
Peter flailed.
Joren remained unmoved.
He dragged the talkative vigilante to the door.
Opened it.
Deposited him outside.
BANG.
The door shut.
Silence returned.
Joren glanced up at the web stuck to the chandelier.
He would deal with that tomorrow.
He walked to the bedroom and closed the door.
Moonlight filtered through the window.
He removed his coat and hat, sat cross-legged on the floor, hands resting on his knees.
He closed his eyes.
His breathing slowed.
Deep inhale — drawing in the night air.
Long exhale — steady, rhythmic.
With each breath, his blood flowed faster.
A faint golden radiance emerged along his skin.
The light coursed through his veins like quiet streams of gold.
Ripple energy circulated, steady and alive.
Outside, somewhere in Queens, a newly christened "Spider-Man" was likely brooding on a sidewalk.
Inside, Joren returned to stillness.
Order restored.