Sirens wailed across campus, shattering what remained of the school's calm.
Red and blue lights flashed against corridor windows.
"The injured need immediate evacuation!"
Boots pounded the floors outside.
Peter didn't hesitate.
He sprinted down the hallway and smashed a sealed window with his fist.
He looked back once at the wreckage.
Then leapt.
Webbing shot from his wrist, anchoring to a distant rooftop.
A red-and-blue blur vanished into Queens.
Midtown High Closure
The damage was extensive.
The school announced a one-week suspension for emergency repairs.
Students celebrated.
Peter Parker gained time.
Queens gained a new red figure swinging through the night.
He stopped robberies.
Helped lost elderly people.
Captured a car thief by webbing him to a lamppost.
He grew more skilled.
More confident.
More addicted to the feeling of being Spider-Man.
Meanwhile…
Unlike the busy vigilante, Joren enjoyed rare peace.
After subduing the Lizard, he grabbed a quick lunch from a roadside stand and went straight to the Queens Public Library.
The quiet soothed him.
The scent of paper and ink calmed his nerves.
He chose a seat by the window and opened Illustrated Compendium of Ancient Ships.
Sunlight patterned the pages.
Outside: traffic and noise.
Inside: stillness.
He read for hours.
Until closing time.
Night had fallen when he stepped outside.
Neon lights painted the city in electric color.
He had no appetite.
He walked home slowly, hands in pockets.
He opened the door.
And stopped.
There was a smell.
Faint.
Foreign.
He stepped inside and turned on the living room light.
Everything looked normal.
Too normal.
He walked to his parents' bedroom.
Turned the knob.
Opened the door.
Moonlight drifted through the open window, stirring the curtains.
On the wall: an empty recess.
The landscape painting lay on the floor.
Behind it, the built-in safe hung open.
Empty.
Joren did not move.
Star Platinum appeared silently behind him.
Its sharp eyes scanned every inch of the room.
Time stretched.
Then it pointed to the carpet.
A single brown hair.
Nearly invisible.
Star Platinum lifted it delicately.
Cat hair.
Next, it hovered near the windowsill.
In the dust: a faint impression.
Not a shoe.
Something softer.
Lightweight.
Joren traced the mark with a fingertip.
…Someone agile.
Someone careful.
He exhaled slowly.
A thief had entered the Joestar home.
And taken the sapphire his father had gifted his mother.
Whether genuine or not was irrelevant.
This was intrusion.
A provocation.
Someone would pay.
The Phone Call
He dialed an overseas number.
It rang.
Then—
"Jojo~ my dear son!"
Waves and seagulls echoed behind the lively voice.
"Nighttime there, isn't it? Why call your mother? Did you run out of money?"
"A thief broke into the house."
Silence.
"…Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine."
A relieved breath.
"That's what matters."
"Anything valuable taken?"
"The safe was emptied."
"Oh… that."
Her tone relaxed instantly.
"The 'Heart of the Ocean' was a replica. Worthless."
"Don't worry about such trivial things. Just stay safe. Tell me if you need more money."
Shirley Joestar continued motherly interrogation for ten more minutes before ending the call.
Joren exhaled.
Her tongue remained as formidable as ever.
He surveyed the house again.
Nothing else was disturbed.
The thief had targeted the gem specifically.
Precision.
Professionalism.
Or confidence.
Either way—
unacceptable.
The Next DayQueens Public Library
Joren flipped through an illustrated guide to rare felines.
Star Platinum compared fur patterns with photographic precision.
His finger stopped.
Caracal.
Native to Africa and parts of Asia.
Also called the desert lynx.
Illegal to keep without permits.
Exotic.
Expensive.
Difficult to maintain.
He closed the book.
A thief who kept such an animal had already made a mistake.
Investigation
He opened a map.
Marked upscale apartments in Queens.
Cross-referenced nearby exotic pet supply locations.
Red markers formed a grid.
He began visiting them.
Shop One — grumpy owner. No exotic animals.
Shop Two — chain store. Clerk tried selling discount cat food.
Shop Three — grooming salon. Services only.
Then—
Shop Four.
A small corner shop.
No flashy signage.
Kittens slept in the window.
A bell chimed as he entered.
"Welcome."
A woman in an apron looked up.
She paused when she saw him.
"Shopping for your pet?"
"I want a cat," Joren said calmly.
"But the breed I want isn't easy to find."
"Oh?"
She stepped closer.
"I've run this shop five years. I know every breed."
"A caracal."
Her expression changed.
"That's… rare."
She evaluated him quickly.
"They're difficult animals."
"Money isn't the problem," he replied.
"I lack connections."
Her smile deepened.
"I might help."
She leaned closer.
"A few months ago, I sold a brown caracal for twenty thousand."
Her fingers brushed his sleeve unconsciously.
"It lives in the Astrolia Apartments next door. Owner's a beautiful woman. Regular client."
"She buys probiotics weekly — sensitive stomach, humidity control, filtered water…"
She continued talking.
Joren already had what he needed.
Astrolia Apartments.
Female owner.
Brown caracal.
Felicia Hardy.
He no longer needed to listen.
The shopkeeper was drifting into personal questions.
A ripple pulse traveled lightly through her arm.
Warmth spread through her body.
She blinked, briefly disoriented.
"I… what was I saying?"
Joren had already reached the door.
"Thank you."
The bell chimed as he left.
The woman touched her flushed cheeks, unsure why her heart was racing.
Outside, Joren looked up.
A sleek luxury apartment tower stood nearby.
Astrolia Apartments.
He adjusted his hat brim.
Trouble had chosen the wrong house.