As expected, it was an item on the same level as the Decay Rate Algorithm manuscript.
Peter was quite satisfied with that number, so he didn't hesitate for a second and immediately chose to sacrifice it.
Buzz!
The next instant, the suit he had been holding vanished into thin air under the stares of Nick Fury, Natasha, Coulson, and Captain America himself.
Of course, Peter had done it on purpose.
Sure enough, Nick Fury was badly rattled by this little "ace" of his.
Right now, Fury's one good eye looked ready to pop out of its socket.
That was… spatial manipulation?!
This guy can fire magic bullets, cast healing spells, and even wields spatial magic?!
Hiss—can't be provoked, can't be provoked!
If Fury had simply lost his temper earlier, now he was in utter despair.
He no longer dared dream of controlling Peter.
If he upset this ticking bomb and it ripped open space to stab him in the back… where could he even cry?
The moment the thought crossed his mind, Fury's face performed a Sichuan-opera mask change.
Instantly: I've learned my lesson, please spare me!
"All right, deal's done."
As if he hadn't noticed the odd looks, Peter languidly stretched and said,
"It's late; I should head home. Natasha, give me a ride."
He spoke as naturally as if she were his personal chauffeur.
Natasha parted her red lips to answer, but Fury cut in first with an almost fawning tone:
"No problem!"
"Agent Natasha, you will see The Punisher safely home! From now on, meeting and fulfilling The Punisher's requests is your top priority!"
After that, he still turned to Peter to keep himself in the limelight:
"Lord Punisher, if you ever need anything, just say the word—S.H.I.E.L.D. will cooperate!"
Watching the grinning Fury, who looked ready to offer his other cheek if Peter slapped the first one.
Beside them, Captain America's double chin wrinkled in disgust; he thought, So that's how this guy became Director.
Peter smiled and patted Fury's shoulder, giving him a rare compliment:
"Good, Nick. Looks like you're finally learning how to be a bureaucrat!"
On the way home, sirens wailed closer and closer.
Without rolling the window down, Peter's sharp ears still caught the keyword "Ghost-Spider."
He glanced out the side window.
High on a building, Gwen was fighting a purple-clad guy with steel-clawed gloves on the wall.
Noticing Peter's gaze, Natasha tactfully switched the radio to the police band:
"…the purple-costumed perp calls himself 'The Prowler.' He just robbed a jewelry store, but Ghost-Spider intercepted him. Officer, do we open fire?"
The Prowler?
The name made Peter raise an eyebrow.
It reminded him of the uncle who died in another Universe's Spider-Man story.
But he quickly shook his head, a faint curve on his lips.
This Prowler's suit looked crude and ridiculous, clearly homemade cheap stuff—nothing like Kingpin's version in the movies.
More importantly, even if the guy did have a nephew named Miles, so what?
Thanks to Peter's advice, Norman Osborn had every last one of Oscorp's gene-modified spiders destroyed.
Peter had watched Norman wipe them out; not a single one escaped.
Without those spiders, unless someone tinkered with Gwen's existing genes, this Universe could never birth another Spider-Man.
"That Ghost-Spider… is your childhood sweetheart, Gwen Stacy, right?"
Natasha's tone was casual, as if making small talk.
But her grip on the steering wheel tightened imperceptibly.
"Mm-hmm."
Peter shrugged in tacit acknowledgment.
In the rear-view mirror he watched Gwen kick The Prowler over, web him into a cocoon, and swing away with him by the collar.
A faint smile crept across his face.
After a few days off his radar, the girl was doing pretty well as a superhero.
Maybe soon he could reveal his own identity to her.
Where did she pick up that weird habit of taking the crook away after catching him?
Oh, right—from me. Never mind, then.
Natasha noticed the smile tugging at Peter's lips and glanced back at Ghost-Spider.
An odd feeling of envy stirred in her.
To be watched over by such a powerful man—what a lucky little girl.
Early the next morning.
Instead of taking the school bus as usual, Peter silently followed Uncle Ben as he left for work.
Ben's beat-up old car had barely left the block when a discreet black sedan slipped in behind.
Noticing Peter's attention, the sedan's window slid down to reveal a grinning Phil Coulson, whose hair Peter had restored.
Reading Coulson's "don't worry" lips, Peter nodded in satisfaction.
Looks like Fury really had learned his lesson; from now on Uncle Ben and Aunt May's safety at work was one less thing to worry about.
After chatting with Gwen about "Ghost-Spider vs. The Prowler" and feeding the girl's vanity, the day passed quickly.
He had just left her at her doorstep when Herman called:
"Boss, I've built the downgraded battery you wanted!"
Peter's eyes lit up; he ducked into an alley and pressed a button on his watch.
Buzz—
A black streak shot skyward and hovered in front of him: the flying skateboard.
Suited up, Peter stepped onto the board and shot straight to Herman's rented apartment.
"Chief, look!" Inside, Herman beamed with pride:
"This battery's the size of a normal phone cell but packs over 20,000 mAh—ten times a regular phone."
"And I added the special fast-charge you asked for: full in under thirty minutes."
Checking the multimeter and confirming the numbers, Peter nodded in approval.
With this battery tech, his smartphone project could finally move forward.
Without hesitation he scooped up Herman and the prototype and headed straight for Norman Osborn's manor…