Chapter 7: friendly neighborhood (Part 1)

I handed over the data to Tinkerer and headed back to my base—a separate one from my actual home in Queens.

Though, the suit I had on was still my old, beat-up one.

Apparently, even after providing the measurements, fitting a new suit isn’t something that can be done in just a few hours.

Well, of course.

In the end, the new suit would be ready in a week.

…To be honest, I’m not exactly eager to meet Tinkerer again. She’s annoying. Is there any way to pick it up without having to meet her in person? Just leave it at the door or something.

Thinking about that pointless stuff, I stripped off the suit and crammed it into the attaché case.

…The protector had been warped from damage, so it didn’t fit right.

Clicking my tongue, I forced it in anyway and shoved the case into a corner of the room.

This place is a secondary base, located about five kilometers from my home in Queens. It’s used for storing suits and receiving mission directives.

After the previous base got blown up in Hell’s Kitchen, we reevaluated things and split living quarters and operational bases apart.

From the underground level of this base, there’s direct access to the vast network of underground tunnels beneath New York City—leading to various back alleys, empty lots, facilities… and sometimes even odd places like public restrooms in shopping centers.

Thanks to the superhuman memory enhanced by the serum, I can get to this base through various different entrances.

Incidentally, this base itself is under a business building. There are no stairs leading to the surface, and it’s impossible to get here except through the underground tunnels. The door connecting the base to the tunnels has biometric locks. No one but me can get in.

…Seems like the organization took the previous base explosion pretty seriously. That’s probably why they gave me a high-security room like this, decked out with everything I need.

Ah, the business building above belongs to my employer, Wilson Fisk. He doesn’t personally come to the building, but the companies leasing space in it are all under his control.

In a way, you could say they’re my coworkers. Not that they’re assassins or agents or anything like that.

I left the base and surfaced through a disguised manhole near my apartment.

By then, it was dark out. Streetlights were casting their pale glow.

I hadn’t eaten dinner yet, so I grabbed some takeout from a nearby Chinese place.

I ordered dry noodles, packed in one of those white cardboard boxes—the kind you always see in old overseas dramas.

Then, for dessert, I bought two servings of almond tofu in plastic containers. I felt like one wouldn’t be enough.

…Well, my body’s superhuman. My metabolism’s crazy. I burn through calories fast.

So I eat what I want, as much as I want.

With the white cardboard box and two cups of almond tofu in a plastic bag, I walked along.

By that time, the sky was completely dark.

…Queens isn’t exactly what you’d call safe.

Though, it’s still a lot better than Hell’s Kitchen.

I picked up my pace, heading home.

And then—

“Hey, girlie. You know it’s dangerous walkin’ alone somewhere this dark, yeah?”

A textbook encounter.

Three men who looked like thugs in tracksuits.

…No, wrong.

Not thugs. Mafia.

‘Tracksuit Mafia.’

The ‘Tracksuit Mafia’ is a half-gang group spread all over New York… and every one of them wears a tracksuit.

They’re called the Tracksuit Mafia because, well, they wear tracksuits.

It’s a stupid name, but they’re way more dangerous than your average street punks.

They move in groups, methodically, and violently.

That said, they’re not exactly a tightly controlled organization. Each of them tends to act based on their own judgment.

Wilson Fisk doesn’t seem interested in bringing them under his control, either. He just leaves them be.

I took a step back, mostly worried about tonight’s dinner in my hands.

They probably thought I looked scared, but really, I was just afraid of losing my food over some pointless fight.

They don’t have any special powers.

They’re not trained killers either. Just low-level punks.

If I actually wanted to kill them… all three wouldn’t last more than thirty seconds combined.

I shifted the load I was carrying into my left hand, freeing up my right hand—

Wait.

I sensed someone approaching fast.

Who?

I heard the sound of something slicing through the air.

“What’s wrong, girlie? We ain’t gonna do nothin’ bad. In fact, we’re about to make you feel real ni—”

A loud thud cut him off as one of the tracksuit guys was suddenly blown away.

“What—”

Immediately after, something white shot past in front of me.

It hit another man square in the face and pinned him to the wall.

“Mff… mmgghh.”

He could still breathe, apparently, but speaking looked impossible.

And that something was… a spider’s web.

“Ah.”

The sound escaped me without thinking.

Red and blue caught my eye.

A black spider emblem stood out against the chest.

“You…”

The last remaining guy reached for the gun at his waist.

…So they really weren’t just punks.

They were armed mafia.

But.

I wasn’t even slightly worried.

Because—

“…Spider-Man.”

Standing right in front of me was the hero I’d admired for so long.

“Die, you bastard!!”

The crack of gunpowder sounded as a bullet tore through the air.

Spider-Man dodged it easily, shooting a web from his wrist.

Apparently, that web came from some kind of device attached to his wrists.

A web-shooter.

That was something I’d never understood just from reading newspapers. Seeing it in person, I noticed little details I’d never have picked up otherwise—and I found myself genuinely impressed.

He caught the man’s wrist with his web and yanked him forward.

The guy was dragged toward Spider-Man, and the next moment, a punch slammed into his face.

“Guh…!”

Blood sprayed from his nose as he staggered.

The gun slipped from his fingers, clattering to the ground, as he slumped back against the wall.

With a quiet thwip, Spider-Man fired another web, pinning him there.

Three members of the Tracksuit Mafia.

All restrained in mere moments.

Without a single fatal injury.

…Sure, I could have killed them all in thirty seconds too.

But could I have taken them down like this? So cleanly, so precisely—without even breaking a bone?

No. Not a chance.

Spider-Man knew how to hold back.

He had the power to punch clean through concrete walls if he felt like it. But the hit he’d just thrown was controlled—only strong enough to knock the man out.

Like pinching an ant between your fingers.

…That, too, was something I’d never have understood without seeing it up close.

---

“Hey, hey, miss! You alright? Walking alone down a street like this at night is dangero—oh.”

Spider-Man, waving casually as he approached me, suddenly froze mid-step.

…Ah. So it was too dark for him to clearly see me until now, huh, Peter.

Seems he finally realized the girl he’d just saved was someone he knew.

“Ahem. You shouldn’t walk alone on streets like this, you know? It’s dangerous.”

He deliberately lowered his voice, trying to sound authoritative.

I almost laughed, but held it in.

I mean, he’d been talking in his normal voice just moments ago.

It’s too late now.

Does he really think he can fool me?

…Well, I’m not trying to mess with him, so I’ll just play along.

“Got it. I’ll be careful.”

“See that you do. I, uh—I already contacted the police, so… they’ll come pick these guys up soon. You’re good to head home.”

Watching Spider-Man now, with his voice tone and manner of speech all over the place, it was getting hard not to burst out laughing.

Seriously. He’s hopeless when it comes to acting or hiding how he feels.

Even through the mask, I could practically see him panicking.

…Though, that’s something I actually like about him.

That honest, straightforward nature of his.

It’s endearing.

Anyway.

“Thanks, Spider-Man.”

I bowed my head.

Even if I hadn’t needed his help.

Just knowing there’s someone who’d reach out to help someone else—that alone made me happy.

…Come to think of it, maybe this was the first time.

The first time anyone’s saved me.

Ever since I was born into this world, I’ve killed, I’ve done everything on my own, all alone.

For just a moment, I felt… a little touched.

“…Here.”

I pulled one of the almond tofu cups from the plastic bag.

Spider-Man tilted his head, puzzled.

“…It’s a thank-you gift. For saving me.”

He seemed to catch on, nodding as he reached out his hand.

“Really. Thank you, Spider-Man.”

And once again, I said those words.

Because that’s right.

I was born into this world—a world where heroes exist—but I’ve been living in a hellhole all this time… Over and over, countless times, I thought about ending it all.

And yet, I kept living.

Because…

“Ah… You’re welcome.”

Spider-Man accepted the cup.

…The reason I’ve been able to keep going all this time.

Because Spider-Man—because my admiration, my hope—existed in this world.

“Ah, should I walk you home?”

He offered to escort me.

“It’s fine. I live nearby.”

Peter knew that, of course. But he asked anyway—because it’s information Spider-Man isn’t supposed to know, and he didn’t want to raise suspicion… No, that’s not it.

He probably just asked out of genuine concern.

Even though it’s barely a ten-minute walk.

“I-I see. Well… be careful on your way back.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

I waved and walked away… Then glanced back.

Spider-Man was standing there, staring down at the cup in his hand.

…I wanted to snap a picture of that with my phone.

But taking it without permission felt wrong.

Yeah.

Next time… if I get the chance to meet him again—not as Peter, but as Spider-Man—I think I’ll ask him for a photo together.