Chapter 85: My Love, Your Love – Part 3

“Michelle, are you alright?”

Gwen’s voice came from just above my head.
She was pressed close behind me.
Since I’m shorter, her face naturally ended up above mine.

“…Mm, I’m fine.”

My hands were tied behind my back with a plastic rope as I sat on the ground.
The rope dug into my wrists, leaving them slightly red.

And to think… this was supposed to be Harry’s long-awaited Halloween party.
Some weirdos had barged in and ruined everything.

Men in black masks surrounded us—their leader stood cloaked at the front.
He called himself Flag-Smasher.

I knew of him… from the comics, anyway.
As his name suggested, a man who smashes flags—an anti-nationalist terrorist.
His real name… Karl Morgenthau, wasn’t it?

…Still, even remembering it, I can’t recall him ever being much of a villain.

Always losing… sometimes even getting killed off and replaced.
I don’t know which generation this one is supposed to be, but since he’s armed with firearms, he probably doesn’t have any superpowers.

“……”

Gwen was glaring silently at Flag-Smasher.
She put herself between him and me, shielding me.

If it came down to it, Gwen bonded with the symbiote—Gwenom—could handle them without breaking a sweat.
But in that case… the hostages might be killed.

In the end, she had no choice but to hide her power and stay put for now.

Our only hope was—

“Peter…”

Yes, Peter Parker. A.K.A. Spider-Man.

Earlier, Harry had been ordered to fetch the servant, and that’s when he led Peter back into the mansion.
Harry should know Peter is Spider-Man… or at least I assume he does.
He must have some kind of plan.

So I don’t need to do anything.
On the contrary, the best I can do is keep quiet and avoid provoking Flag-Smasher’s group.

Right now, I’m Michelle Jane.
Not Redcap.
I can’t solve this through violent means.

I glanced around… and my eyes fell on Ned.

His face was tense, but he seemed composed.
He’s been dragged into trouble a few times because of Peter, so… maybe he’s gotten used to it?
Whether that’s good or bad, at least he’s got some guts.

The real problem is everyone else.
People were trembling, terrified… children crying as adults desperately hushed them, trying to keep the captors from noticing.

…Ah.

“I see.”

I’d thought of this as nothing much, but to them… this is life and death.

My values… they’ve drifted far from normal.
And in the worst way.

Then I noticed—among all the fearful faces, there was one man sitting calmly.
The man in the green suit who had been speaking with Peter earlier… even with his arms bound, he sat there as if it were a peaceful afternoon break.

…Is he also someone whose values are “detached from the world,” like me?

I wanted to talk to him.
A strange urge, from deep inside, to know more about him.
I don’t know why. But something I can’t put into words was urging me—learn who he is.

But that’ll be difficult right now.

Flag-Smasher’s men had said, “If you stay quiet, we won’t hurt you.”
Which means… if anyone stands out, they will get hurt.

Just like what happened to Peter earlier…

“……”

I frowned.

Even if Peter’s tougher than most people, punching him like that—

No. I have no right to judge.
Haven’t I punched him more times than I can count? Haven’t I even stabbed him with a knife before?

Do I really want to stand above it all and say, “Don’t do what I do?”

No. I have no right to insult others.
I’m no different from them.

So I should calm down.
If I let my anger show here, I’ll only drag Gwen into trouble.

…I turned my eyes back to Gwen.

She wore a strikingly resolute expression.
Not carelessly optimistic like me, but carefully thinking through how to overcome this—and how to keep us safe in the process.

Maybe she thought my gaze was anxious. To reassure me, Gwen smiled gently.

“It’ll be alright… I’ll handle this.”

…She looked so cool.
If I weren’t born a girl this time around, I might have fallen for her.

Right then, the entrance doors of the Osborn mansion creaked open.

“…Hm?”

Flag-Smasher turned toward the sound.

It was Harry who stepped out—alone.
No guard with him.

“You there… why are you alone? And where is the servant you were supposed to bring?”

“Haa… haa…”

Gasping for breath, Harry leaned a hand against the gate.

…That was an act.

Back when he was active as an agent, I’d seen him keep up athletic feats that would put Olympians to shame—without even panting, without a drop of sweat.
That was thanks to the enhancement drugs boosting his physical abilities.

So to me, who knew what he was capable of, it was obvious: he was deliberately stalling for time.

But Flag-Smasher was meeting Harry for the first time.
He had no way of knowing his abilities.

As expected, puzzled, he stepped toward Harry.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you?”

“…Something terrible has happened.”

“What…? Out with it!”

Flag-Smasher drew closer, suspicious of Harry’s vague words. Then Harry looked upward.

“…What are you staring at?”

Flag-Smasher followed his gaze upward.

Above was an arched roof. Likely built to cast shade over the courtyard.
Tonight, it was covered in Halloween decorations.

But that was all.
No one was up there.

“There’s nothing—are you mocking me—”

Suddenly, a figure burst out from the shadow of the arch.

That figure drove a kick square into Flag-Smasher’s head.

“Guhh—!?”

With a strangled cry, he slammed face-first into the ground.
A sharp crack—his nose breaking.

Ah—so that figure was the hero come to rescue us.

As always, clad in a red costume— …Wait?

Blue and black?
…Isn’t that the Fantastic Four’s costume?

And on his head—a paper bag.

Honestly, he looked more like a suspicious weirdo than a hero.

But… wait.

…Huh?

…Who is that?

---

Harry’s distraction had bought me the chance to strike from behind.

The masked men were stunned that their leader had been attacked… the perfect opening.

Using the rebound from my kick to Flag-Smasher’s head, I flipped into the air.
Spiraling as I twisted midair… I shut my eyes.

Two on the right, one on the left, three behind, one in front.

I let my hyper-awareness—my Spider-Sense—guide me, and fired off webs in a wild spray toward the threats.

…When I opened my eyes again—

The masked men’s guns were useless, gummed up with hardened webbing.
Their triggers sealed shut, impossible to pull or push.

Panicking, the masked men tried to rip the webs off their weapons—but they wouldn’t budge.

Spider-webbing has ridiculous strength and sticking power. I once used it to stop a car from falling off a bridge.
So yeah—I was pretty confident they weren’t getting those off.

…Speaking of, this paper bag I’m wearing? I had webbed it in place too.
Might be a pain to take off later.

…Seriously, what am I going to do?
I just hope none of it stuck to my hair.

“Ugh, you… bastard… what are you!?”

Oh—Flag-Smasher had gotten back up, blood running from his nose.
Tough guy, taking a face-plant like that.

He raised his gun straight at me.

“Well, what do you think? I say I’m part of the Fantastic Four.”

…I shifted sideways, lining things up so there was no one standing behind me.

“Don’t toy with me! We are not here for games! This is no place for some ignorant child—”

“Oh, come on. Didn’t your mom and dad ever teach you not to drag strangers into terrorism? You’re a grown man, aren’t you?”

A prickling pain flared at the back of my neck.

“Don’t get cocky!”

In the same instant, Flag-Smasher pulled the trigger.
I twisted aside, dodging the bullet.

From my outstretched arm, a strand of web shot out.

“Dangerous toys get confiscated.”

The web stuck to the gun.
One hard yank, and it ripped free from his grip—straight into my hands.

…Wow, this thing’s huge.
I gripped the barrel, forcing it to bend.

With a grunt, I twisted it until the weapon bent into an “L” shape and tossed it to the ground.

…Alright. Even if someone picks it up, it’s not firing again.

“You… you’ve really made me angry now!”

“What, you weren’t serious before?”

At my jab, he lost what little composure he had, focusing his rage on me and forgetting about the hostages.

Flag-Smasher reached to his waist and pulled out a weapon.

…A spiked iron ball at the end of a stick?
A morning star?

Seriously? That medieval?

I couldn’t help but sigh.

“And for the record—I’m angrier than you are.”

I cast a glance toward the party guests.
That’s right—having this party ruined, and my friends put in danger… yeah, I was angry.

As if feeding off my emotion, Flag-Smasher bellowed.

Uh-oh. That’s not good.

“What are you fools waiting for!? Help me!”

The masked men hurried to surround me.

But their guns were still useless, gummed up in webbing.
And none of them had knives or blades.

What, did they really not plan for their guns being jammed?
Amateurs.

…Not much of a threat.

One of them lunged at me.
No training, no discipline—an attack screaming “rookie.”

…I didn’t even flinch. I simply countered, slamming my fist into his face.

“Gah!”

The man flew two meters through the air and crashed onto the ground.
He twitched, convulsing slightly.

…Okay, maybe I hit a little too hard.
But scaring civilians? He had it coming.
Call it poetic justice.

That’s when a voice rang out behind me.

“You’re wide open!”

Flag-Smasher.

He was charging, morning star raised, ready to smash me from behind.

Wide open, huh? That’s cute. My Spider-Sense had already warned me.
Honestly, shouting before a sneak attack kinda defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?

So no, I wasn’t “wide open.”
I knew exactly what he was doing—and I wasn’t even worried.

I turned, swinging my arm back, and met the iron ball head-on with the back of my hand.

“What!?”

The iron head shattered into pieces.

“Well… whoops.”

It had been made of metal, sure, but the inside was hollow to keep the weight down.
Flag-Smasher isn’t superhuman—too heavy and he’d never be able to swing it.

Of course, that design choice meant the thing broke apart the first time it met real resistance.

The broken shaft clattered to the ground.
He was clutching his arm, collapsing to his knees.

Guess he couldn’t absorb the shock when the head exploded on impact.

“Well then… I hear prison has a great afterparty. Why don’t you host it there?”

Before he could recover, I fired a rapid volley of webs.
They wrapped him tight—arms, legs, torso. No movement left anywhere.

“Damn you! Let me out of this, right no—”

“Ah, right. Almost forgot about the mouth.”

I flicked my wrist and—thwip.

“Mmph!?”

The web sealed his mouth shut.
Not the nose—just the mouth. That’s a tricky shot, by the way.

“MMMHH! MMHHH!!”

“Sorry, I don’t speak muffled villain.”

“MMHH!!”

I ignored his garbled shouting and looked at the remaining masked men.

They had just watched their buddy get sent flying.
The fear on their faces was obvious—they were paralyzed, too scared to move.

I sighed, then warned them:

“Surrender quietly, and nobody has to get any bones broken. Works out better for me… and a lot better for you.”

It really would. Less hassle on my end, less hospital time for them.

Honestly, what a letdown.
These guys weren’t special forces, weren’t trained agents, weren’t soldiers. Just terrorists.
Amateurs with no real combat training—loudmouth ideologues, the worst kind of dangerous nuisance.

“Eep!”

Just as I was thinking that, one of them panicked.
Instead of fighting, he turned and bolted.

…Straight toward Gwen, Michelle, and Ned.

In an instant—faster than I could think—my hand moved on its own, firing a web.
It latched onto the thug’s back, and with a hard yank, I pulled him toward me and hurled him away.

He slammed into the wall with a sickening thud.

“…ah.”

The motions had been completely automatic. Reflex. Muscle memory.
Against aliens, soldiers, or superpowered psychos, that’s fine.

But this guy? Just some amateur in a mask.
No training, no reflexes, no way to break his fall.

He crumpled, motionless.

Panic hit me as I rushed over, dropping to my knees.
I pressed fingers to his neck—heartbeat. Still alive.

Relief washed through me. But his breathing was shallow, uneven.
Yeah… bones definitely broken. Ribs, maybe more. He’d live, but… not without a lot of pain.

I exhaled shakily, then forced myself to look back at the others.

“…anyone else?”

My voice was low. Sharper than usual.

The remaining masked men blanched.
They shook their heads frantically, stumbling back, hands raised—no fight left in them.

Finally.

It was over.

I turned my gaze toward Harry.
He met my eyes and gave me a small thumbs-up.

---

A swarm of patrol cars had arrived.

The masked men I had restrained with my webbing were being cuffed and shoved into police vehicles.

Since they weren’t superpowered criminals, S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn’t shown up.
It was just the NYPD.

I watched it all dressed in casual clothes—or well, a little fancier than usual.
Not the Fantastic Four suit.
And I’d taken off the paper-bag mask, too.

But since my original clothes had been ruined, Harry had lent me one of his costumes.
Except… “costume” didn’t really describe it. It was a full-on tuxedo, the kind I could never afford myself.
…Ugh, you really feel the difference between rich and poor in moments like this.

Oh, right. After we captured Flag-Smasher, I’d hurried back inside the Osborn estate to change.
And I made sure to insist that I’d been saved by some mysterious paper-bag-masked figure within the mansion.

Gwen had looked extremely suspicious about the whole story, though.
…She’s sharp like that.
If she catches on, that means S.H.I.E.L.D. will too. Which would be a major pain.

I sighed, and someone sat down beside me.
Platinum-blonde hair swayed at the edge of my vision.
Michelle.

She looked at me, seemed to notice something, and set her small handbag on her lap.
She rummaged through it and pulled out a handkerchief.

“Peter, here.”

She held it out to me.

“Hm? What is it?”

“You’re bleeding. Right here.”

Michelle pointed at my face.

I reflexively touched my lips.
…Sure enough, blood was trickling from them. Probably from when Flag-Smasher punched me in the face.

Michelle pressed the handkerchief into my hand.
It was white silk, soft to the touch.

I couldn’t help but give a wry smile.

“Michelle, if I get blood on this… the stain will never come out. I’m fine, really, so—”

“Just take it.”

I tried to hand it back, but she wouldn’t accept it.

…Well, it wouldn’t feel right to just brush off her kindness.

So I changed my mind, lifted the handkerchief to my lips—

“Ah.”

There was a faint pink stain on it.
And a delicate, sweet scent.

Startled, I glanced at Michelle.

“Uh, Michelle…?”

“What’s wrong?”

She tilted her head innocently.

I hesitated, then asked,

“This handkerchief… did you already use it today?”

“……Oh.”

That pale pink color—it was the same as Michelle’s lipstick.
She must have wiped her mouth after a drink or something.

Which meant that if I wiped my lips with it now, it would be… well, kind of like an indirect—

“…Peter?”

Michelle reached out her hand, turning her face away from mine.

“I get it.”

I placed the handkerchief back into her hand.

There was no sense of regret, no “what a missed chance.”
I just didn’t want to do anything that might make her uncomfortable.

Michelle tucked the handkerchief back into her bag, looking apologetic.

“…Sorry.”

She covered her lips with her hand, as if to hide them.
That little gesture made my heart skip a beat.

“I-I don’t mind, really! You only offered it out of kindness.”

I forced a smile so she wouldn’t dwell on it.
…Though honestly, that was a lie.

I minded a lot. My heart was pounding wildly in my chest.
More than when Flag-Smasher had pointed a gun at me.

Was my face turning red?

I hoped not.

Those kinds of thoughts were all that filled my head.

Maybe feeling the awkwardness too, Michelle turned her gaze away again.

To distract myself from staring at her lips, I tuned in to the cops’ conversations instead.

They were talking about the guy in the paper bag mask.
Debating what to call him.
…The ridiculously over-the-top Bombastic Bag-Man?

Weird nickname… but he probably won’t be showing up again, so it’s a wasted effort anyway.

…Though honestly, since I used webbing, it’s only a matter of time before people put two and two together and figure out I’m Spider-Man.
And then the next question will be why I was dressed like that… and if that gets traced back to me, I’ll be in serious trouble.

Maybe I shouldn’t have used my webs…
No—holding back my powers and letting someone get hurt would’ve been worse.

Yeah. No regrets.

…Ah, once I get home, I need to do maintenance on the wristwatch suit.
If it’s broken, I’ll have to go ask Mr. Stark about it.

But why didn’t it activate back then?
…The electronic display works fine now, but in that moment, it was completely dead.

As I was mulling it over, Michelle tugged lightly at my sleeve.

“…Peter, there’s someone I want to talk to. I’m going to look for them.”

“…Huh? Oh, alright. Be careful, okay?”

“Mm.”

Giving a short reply, Michelle slipped into the crowd where the police were questioning people.

Someone she wanted to talk to?
She was looking for them?

If it were Gwen, Ned, or Harry, she’d have said their names.
And since she said “look for,” that meant she hadn’t found them yet.

Was she trying to find someone she didn’t even know by name…?

…Maybe I should’ve gone with her. I was worried.
But by the time I thought of it, Michelle had already disappeared into the crowd.

Not just bystanders—TV reporters and newspaper journalists had shown up too.

…Ah, if I took some pictures of the scene, I could probably sell them to the Daily Bugle for some money.
Oh, right. I didn’t bring my camera.

And with just my phone camera, they’d lowball me anyway…

…As I scanned the crowd, one familiar face stepped out.

“…Peter.”

It was Harry, his voice worn and weary.

As the host of the party, he’d probably been bombarded with questions nonstop.

Most likely, he’d finished with the police questioning, but gotten fed up with the media and escaped.

“Harry, good work.”

“Yeah… I’m exhausted.”

He let out a deep sigh and dropped into a seat beside me.
I couldn’t help but smile wryly at the sight, and I spoke up.

“So, what’s the plan now?”

“The party’s over. Once they finish investigating the scene, we’ll all be dismissed. Shouldn’t take too long.”

“I see.”

It was supposed to have been a fun party.
Harry, as the host, must’ve felt the strain ten times worse than I did. I didn’t say it aloud, though.

“And after that… let’s see. I’ll have them pack up the cake and hors d’oeuvres we were going to serve, so people can take them home.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea. The cake especially—”

“Michelle would probably like that, huh?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

Harry laughed.
I laughed with him.

Being able to laugh together like this… I was honestly grateful.
From the bottom of my heart.

“…Cake as a take-home gift, huh.”

Harry spoke quietly, as if savoring the thought.

“What is it?”

“No, it’s just… the first time I met her, I was handing over a cake too.”

He didn’t say her name, but I knew who he meant.
And I could feel the lingering regret behind his words.

He’d said he planned to confess, but then decided to step back.

But… was that really what he wanted?

“No…”

No, it wasn’t.

“Peter?”

Harry gave me a doubtful look.

“The truth is… you still want to confess, don’t you, Harry?”

“…What are you talking about? I’ve already given up—”

“You haven’t.”

Harry frowned at my words.

“No, I have given up. I—”

“But Harry, whenever you talk about her… you look like you’re in pain.”

“…Don’t be ridiculous…”

Harry pressed his hand against his face, looking conflicted.
I called out to him.

“If you stay silent, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

“…Peter. You like her too, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Then why encourage your rival? What if she says yes to me? Shouldn’t you at least hold onto whatever chance you have?”

Harry’s eyes locked onto mine.
And with a serious expression, he asked,

“Peter. Is she really that important to you?”

“She is. But Harry, you’re my friend too.”

“…What?”

He looked puzzled, as if he couldn’t comprehend my answer.

“To be honest, if you never confessed, I’d be relieved… but I also want to respect my friend’s feelings. Carrying those emotions forever without saying anything—it would eat away at you.”

“…I see.”

Harry let out a sigh, half exasperated.
And sure, I talk like I know better, but I haven’t confessed either.

“Peter, you really are hopeless, you know that?”

“…Was that an insult?”

“No. That’s exactly what makes you the ‘friendly neighborhood’ type. It’s a compliment.”

Harry laughed at me, then suddenly stood up with determination.

“Thanks, Peter… I won’t give up anymore.”

“…R-right.”

As I answered, a pang of unease ran through me.
If Michelle accepted Harry’s confession…
Would she stop being by my side?

Thinking about it made my chest tighten… but even so, if it meant she could be happy, I felt I could accept it.

…No, who was I kidding. I’d probably carry it with me for years.
Five years of regret, at least.

As if he’d seen straight through those thoughts of mine, Harry let out a small laugh.

---

I powered down the pocket watch–shaped hacking device.

From behind the pillar, I caught sight of Peter Parker’s back.

“Not bad potential, I guess… though the enemy role was a bit underwhelming.”

Wearing my green suit, I tucked the device back into my pocket.

Peter Parker.
Spider-Man.

I had known of him as information, but now I had the chance to know the person himself.

I’d heard he was a do-gooder… yeah, that much is clear.

It’s not as if he craves the thrill of helping people. He simply believes helping others is the natural thing to do.

And on top of that—he’s a dreamy romantic.

The exact opposite of me. The exact opposite of her.

Maybe that’s why she chose him as a friend?

But still, he… the idea I had of him—

“Doesn’t really seem like a prince charming… not the type to ride in on a white horse.”

Honestly, I only expected to exchange a few words face to face.

I didn’t think we’d get interrupted.

Still, thanks to that, I managed to analyze parts of his combat patterns—though it cost me some unnecessary time.

And that nanosuit he wears on his arm.

I hadn’t thought hacking into it would cause a complete system shutdown. But of course—it’s Tony Stark’s handiwork. No loopholes.

Peter looked troubled when the suit stopped working… but honestly, if someone had seized control of his suit and choked him to death, that would’ve been far worse. Cutting the power was the right move.

My observations were complete.

I stepped away from the pillar and vaulted onto the wall. Barely three meters high. Nothing difficult—after all, I was wearing a psionic armor under my clothes.

I found her wandering among the crowd, searching for someone.
…But I had no intention of showing my face to her.

I dropped down from the wall, landing on the adjacent road.

Slipping into the orange car I’d parked behind the wall, I slid the key in. A twist, and the inside of the vehicle glowed with a cool blue light.

Hands resting on the wheel, I let my thoughts wander.

Peter Parker… and Michelle Jones.

The time they have together is running out.
Freedom won’t be theirs for long.

Will they manage a smooth farewell—or…?

No. Best not to expect much.

If you expect nothing, you won’t be disappointed.
…One of my favorite sayings.

Reality cannot be overturned by dreams.

Only stronger power can overturn the fate that awaits.

I don’t have that power.
She doesn’t.
He doesn’t.

Even if we joined forces, none of us could stand against the one ruling the organization known as the Unseelie Court.

I started the engine and pulled out.

“But… this is a problem.”

…What should I do?
I honestly don’t know.

I’m just a fairy.

I can dress up a girl covered in ashes and lead her to the ball.

But it’s all an illusion.

After midnight, the dream disappears.

I switched the car to autopilot and tried to clear my head.

Ah, right. That reminds me.

“…Why was that man at the party?”

A sharp-featured man in a purple suit.

When I found him, he was speaking with a young woman—his smile was thoroughly vulgar.

I frowned.

“Unpleasant. Whether he was hired, or acting out of self-interest, I don’t know.”

He’s cruel, cunning, unscrupulous—an absolute bastard.

Anyone who gets tangled with him is bound for misfortune.

“Well, not that it’s any concern of mine.”

As long as she doesn’t get caught up in it, that’s enough.

…Still, maybe I should add some resistances to her suit, just in case.

Ever the worrier, my thoughts turned to the red suit she would wear.