Chapter 90: AKA Michelle Jane - part 2
I wake up in the morning, wash my face, and brush my teeth.
I comb my hair and apply light makeup.
When I look into the mirror, as always... there was "Michelle Jane."
I pull a shirt from the closet and take out a pair of pants—or no, a skirt.
As I change, I let the morning news play.
Then I pack the bare minimum into my bag and step out of the room.
I’m five minutes earlier than planned.
So, I wait a little in front of my door.
Leaning my back against the wooden door, I wait for the room next door to open.
This wait feels just a little restless.
Before long, the door opens... and Peter comes out.
He looks at me and his cheeks loosen.
It’s a look that says he’s happy to see me.
Even though we see each other every morning, he always greets me with that expression.
When I see that look, it makes me feel like it’s okay for me to be here.
"Good morning, Michelle."
"Mm, morning."
We nod in greeting, exchanging words.
Before I came to Queens, my face had been stiff and rigid... but now, I can move it so much more freely.
If I deliberately try to smile... look, I can smile now.
In my past life, there was nothing fun... nothing joyful... it was a life without any of that.
But now it’s different.
I have dear friends, I have fun times, and I live day by day like this.
That’s something irreplaceable... and if it’s to protect this time, then I—
I believe I can do anything.
When we step outside, the morning sun shines down.
I narrow my eyes slightly and line up next to Peter.
We buy sandwiches at the usual sandwich shop, pass by the Daily Bugle building, and head to school.
Chatting with Peter, before I realize it, we’re at school.
I put my things into my locker and take out my textbooks.
Gwen greets me with a hug, we chat about little things... and then the starting bell cuts us off.
With graduation drawing near, the end of our lessons was already in sight.
...Graduation.
Once I graduate, I’ll be leaving here.
I’ll throw away the name Michelle Jane, take on a new name... go to a different place, a different environment, become a different person.
The only thing that stays the same is me behind the red mask.
The existence of Michelle Jane is only temporary.
At my core, I am Redcap, and Michelle Jane is nothing but a borrowed guise.
The noon bell rings, ending class.
Gwen takes my hand, with Peter walking behind us.
We gather on the rooftop... and pull out our sandwiches.
But... unlike usual, we’re missing someone.
"Where’s Ned?"
When I ask, Peter answers.
"Ned’s out today. Don’t know the reason, though."
"I see... maybe he’s caught a cold."
As I worry, Gwen laughs.
"He probably just stayed up too late. He already got accepted into college, so now he probably thinks all he needs is attendance to get by."
Peter gives a wry smile, and I laugh too.
I bite into what’s left of my sandwich and wash it down with bottled milk tea.
The time we can spend like this is limited.
When I think about that, I can’t help but feel sad, my chest tightens... but I keep my expression the same.
Even if it’s only a little longer, until the very end, I want to enjoy myself... and stay together with everyone’s smiling faces.
I sit through afternoon classes... and notice Peter, sitting beside me, looking a little drowsy.
I poke his side to wake him, and he hurriedly tries to play it off.
He was patrolling yesterday too, as "your friendly neighborhood" hero.
That must be why he’s tired.
I know, because I buy the Daily Bugle every day.
Even if it’s critical, when it comes to Spider-Man, that paper is the fastest to report it.
Yesterday, he apparently protected the city from a bank robbery.
The headline read, "Wannabe Vigilante Solves Problems with Violence Yet Again!"
...Typical biased reporting from Jameson.
Well, it’s opinionated, but at least not a lie.
I look at Peter’s profile.
Peter Parker.
AKA Spider-Man.
A dear friend, and my favorite hero.
Both sides of him shine with presence in my heart.
...Sorry to Gwen and Ned, but to me, he’s a little special.
He notices my gaze and gives a bashful smile... it makes my chest ache a little.
What is this feeling?
It must be guilt.
The guilt of deceiving them.
My cheeks burn hot because I’m embarrassed.
Wanting to stay together with him forever is just because he’s my friend.
That’s what I tell myself.
This isn’t love.
It’s friendship.
Absolutely.
I turn my eyes away and look at the clock hanging a little above the whiteboard.
The hands move forward.
At steady intervals, advancing without fail.
They never stop.
They never turn back.
Time keeps passing.
Slowly.
Slowly.
Little by little.
After school, I put my textbooks into the locker.
Then, making sure no one around could see, I checked my handheld device.
A new message had arrived... the sender was disguised, but it was from the organization.
I frowned.
From Michelle Jane back to Redcap.
I was being forcibly dragged back.
Letting out a sigh, I slid the device into my breast pocket.
Grabbing my bag, I turned around.
My skirt swayed.
Over by the boys’ lockers... there was Peter.
He was putting his things away, but when he heard my footsteps, he turned to look.
"Ah, Michelle... if you’re free, maybe we could—"
"Sorry, Peter. I’ve got work today."
I deliberately made my face look apologetic as I answered.
Peter’s brows sank just a little.
"I see... must be tough."
"Mm, tough."
Truly... it is.
We walked side by side toward the exit.
Peter seemed a little restless as he spoke to me.
"Oh, right... about the prom, the day after tomorrow."
"Mm..."
"We’ll meet up at... well, the usual apartment, right?"
Apparently, prom was something boys and girls attended as pairs, with the boy escorting the girl.
First, you had to go to the school and sign your name on the attendance list.
After that, there was free time for dinner... and then everyone returned to school.
A decorated gymnasium, a big dance party... that’s what I heard.
I didn’t really know the details, but... somehow, it sounded like a date.
The thought made me feel a little lighthearted, even excited.
I felt my cheeks soften.
I looked into Peter’s eyes.
His gaze wavered with just a trace of anxiety.
I opened my mouth.
"Mm, that’s fine."
"Good... I’ll do my best to escort you that day. You can count on me—"
"Fufu..."
Peter’s determination was so endearing that I couldn’t help but laugh.
Seeing me like that, he looked down, his cheeks a little red.
He was trying hard, just for me.
That thought filled me with joy... as if the empty spaces in my heart were being gently filled.
We reached the school gate and went our separate ways.
"Well then, Peter... I’ve got work."
"Ah, yeah. Good luck."
"Thanks."
We started walking down different paths.
Peter looked at my face and spoke.
"Michelle... see you tomorrow."
"Yeah, see you tomorrow."
Turning my back to him, I walked away.
I believed that this unchanging everyday life would continue.
For me... and for him.
I walked through a dark underground passage, heading for the hideout.
Under the dim glow of pale green lights, I looked down at the handheld device in my hand.
It was an assignment from the organization.
But... something felt off.
...The encryption format was different from usual.
And the client’s name wasn’t specified.
I didn’t know the details of personnel changes within the organization, but I hadn’t heard any word of our superior being replaced.
Tilting my head in doubt, I swallowed the question.
There’s no point in thinking about things like that.
The orders of the organization are absolute.
To question them... is to be branded with suspicion.
I donned the black armored suit... and at last, pulled on the bright red mask.
Reflected in the mirror was a grotesque fairy.
The red mask covered my face and my heart.
I let the contents of the mission echo in my mind.
The target’s elimination—that was the assignment.
After the death of the Green Goblin—Norman Osborn—his equipment had been confiscated by the police.
But someone had stolen it, and was now using that gear to carry out acts of terrorism, almost for amusement.
This time, that thief was the target.
Beneath the mask, my lips curled faintly.
If it’s scum like that, then I welcome it.
I can kill without holding back.
A Green Goblin imitator... calling himself "Hobgoblin."
He would make crime announcements, and then follow them with explosions.
It seemed he planted the bombs himself... wearing an orange cloak over Norman’s equipment.
Through the organization’s unique intelligence network, Hobgoblin’s next crime scene had already been predicted.
All I had to do was get there first... and kill him.
A simple job.
I left the underground hideout and headed toward Manhattan.
When I clenched my hand tightly, I felt the scrape of metal against metal.
New York, Manhattan.
Chinatown… a large commercial complex.
It was late at night, and hardly anyone was around.
I stood still in the darkness, suppressing my presence.
Using night vision, I looked down from the rooftop.
The neon signs, which normally glowed with garish colors, were dark.
During the day, this place bustled with people, but once the hour changed, it revealed a different face.
Someone was approaching.
A figure in an orange coat.
Flashy enough to stand out, yet not to the point of seeming unnatural.
…But with my enhanced vision focused on him… I could see he was wearing armor under that coat.
And his face was hidden behind a green goblin mask.
Unlike Norman, the person inside seemed to be an ordinary human. He wasn’t riding a glider either—just walking, with a burlap sack slung over his shoulder.
Inside the bag, several pumpkin bombs peeked out.
He didn’t look like a terrifying superpowered villain at all… more like some regular guy in a cheap costume.
Even though Halloween had long since passed…
Without noticing me, he headed toward the back of the complex.
From the way he acted cautiously, it didn’t look like he had any special training.
…Keeping my presence concealed, I began tailing him.
If I was going to kill him, a discreet location would be best.
I drew my handgun from my waist and closed the distance.
…It looked like he had found a spot that suited him. Hobgoblin stopped.
He knelt down beside a ventilation duct and set his bag on the ground.
He reached inside and pulled out a pumpkin bomb—
I fired.
A silenced handgun.
With a faint hiss, the orange coat began to soak with blood.
A single shot, through the back and into his right chest… the pumpkin bomb dropped from his hand with a dull thud.
The detonator hadn’t been activated.
Hobgoblin collapsed face-down on the ground.
Dark red blood pooled out, just as I intended.
A groan escaped him.
…A young man’s voice.
Still underage, maybe?
Honestly, it was disappointing.
He must have been an amateur… his movements, his sense of caution… all of it was half-baked.
But that only raised the question—if he was a novice, then how had he managed to steal from the police station?
That curiosity was the reason I didn’t finish him off immediately.
It wasn’t because the organization told me to—I simply wanted to know.
I’d torture him until he talked.
I drew my knife, twirling it idly in my hand.
Step by step, I walked toward Hobgoblin.
『Now then, let’s see what kind of face you’ve got…』
He writhed in pain, clearly unused to enduring it.
He didn’t even notice me closing in.
I kicked him over, rolling him onto his back.
Then I grabbed his mask, ripped it off by force—
『…Ned?』
There before me was the face of a friend.
A friend who shouldn’t have been here… who couldn’t possibly be here.
"Haa… haa…"
Even though it was the middle of the night, I was running.
I rushed into the hospital, passed through reception… and arrived at the operating room doors.
Just earlier tonight, I had gotten a call from the hospital.
They said Ned had been shot and was in critical condition… and that he had been found collapsed, "completely naked," in a Manhattan shopping complex.
The first person who found him was unknown.
Apparently, there had been an anonymous call, and the paramedics rushed over and transported him here in a panic.
I didn’t understand.
None of it made sense.
But one thing was certain—he had gotten caught up in something.
As his friend, I was contacted… and now, here I was.
In the waiting room were people who looked like Ned’s parents, and an elderly woman who was probably his grandmother.
Gwen… it seemed she hadn’t arrived yet.
When I looked around to see who else was here… I noticed a figure crouched in the corner of the waiting room.
"Michelle!"
"…Peter?"
Her eyes were bloodshot.
Her cheeks were wet, showing she had been crying.
…Though now, she wasn’t crying anymore.
I could tell—she had cried herself out.
Her expression was so drained, so lifeless… as if she might collapse and die at any moment. I held my breath.
"Michelle, um… are you okay?"
"I’m not okay… Ned…"
I had been asking about her, but she seemed to have misunderstood.
Still, I didn’t bother correcting her.
Her hoarse voice stumbled forward.
"…This… this is horrible… why… why me…"
Her words were disjointed, barely coherent.
She was frightened, visibly shaken.
Panic symptoms… she was in shock.
Of course, I was worried about Ned too, but there was nothing I could do for him.
What I could do… was be here for her.
"It’s going to be okay. Ned won’t die…"
I said it firmly, even though it was nothing but blind optimism.
"But… I…"
I sat down beside her… looking at the same operating room door she was staring at.
I gently rubbed her back.
Her smaller body trembled faintly.
"I don’t know what happened… but it’ll be okay. Just calm down."
"…Peter, I…"
"It’s okay. It’s okay."
"…I…"
Her voice rasped into a whisper.
"Let’s wait and believe. Ned’s going to be fine."
"…Yeah."
"So, when Ned wakes up… if he sees you like this, he’ll just worry, right?"
"…Yeah."
I let go of her and looked at her face.
She seemed a little calmer—the trembling had stopped.
Relieved, I turned toward Ned’s parents to speak with them… when I felt my sleeve tugged.
Michelle’s hand was clutching my shirt.
Silently, I sat back down next to her.
She didn’t lean on me, but stayed close, her small frame radiating quiet unease.
After a little while, the surgical light turned off.
I took Michelle’s hand and walked with her to hear the doctor’s explanation.
…Apparently, his life wasn’t in danger.
He’d need months in the hospital, but he would recover.
If the call had come even a little later… he might have died.
Whoever made that call—I didn’t know, but we owed them thanks.
Breathing out in relief, I glanced at Michelle.
…But her face was still strained, twisted with pain.
Was she really going to be okay?
"…Sorry, Peter. I need to make a phone call."
She released my sleeve and walked away.
In the dim hospital light, letting her go alone made me uneasy… but she had insisted she needed to make a call, so she left deliberately.
That’s why I told myself not to follow… and just waited for her return.
I dropped some coins into the vending machine.
Bought a can of sweet cocoa.
When she came back, I’d give it to her.
That thought in mind, I sat down… and waited.
I sat in the chair, staring at the ceiling.
The black gloves on my hands caught the light and reflected it back.
I let out a single yawn—then nearly fell out of the chair as my handheld terminal buzzed.
I scrambled to grab it. When I saw who it was from, my eyes narrowed.
Pulling the mask over my face and activating the voice modulator, I answered as Tinkerer.
『Heeey, hello? Something the matter?』
『…………』
No response.
I tilted my head.
『What happened? If there’s trouble, you can talk to me.』
『During… today’s assignment—』
She spoke haltingly.
That she hadn’t carried out the kill.
That the target had been her friend.
That there was no way her friend could have been involved in something like this.
…I frowned.
『What am I… supposed to do?』
『Sorry. Give me a second to think.』
Every one of Redcap’s assignments comes through me.
Even directives from higher up in the organization—I filter and distribute them all.
Which means I know.
The job she was given tonight didn’t come from me.
So who was it?
Hacking should have been impossible. At least, for anyone alive today.
The only person who knows the secret channel I use to pass missions to her, the only one who could give her orders directly…
The boss of the Unseelie Court.
Did he send it himself?
Without consulting me?
And why?
No—better question: why was the target one of her friends?
That couldn’t have been coincidence. It had to have been deliberate.
…A man in a purple suit surfaced in my mind.
I’d seen him before—at that party.
The same one she had attended. The same one her friend had likely been at.
Zebediah Killgrave.
If it was him, then it all made sense.
How the police station had been broken into.
How Norman Osborn’s gear had been stolen.
One hypothesis was beginning to take shape.
『…A loyalty test?』
Yes.
The boss must have doubted Redcap’s allegiance to the Court.
So they set her up—made her friend the target, to see if she’d obey.
Killgrave hated taking orders from anyone. But if the boss was involved? Then even this roundabout scheme fit.
And if that was the truth, then this was bad.
She hadn’t just failed to kill the target.
She’d treated his wound, destroyed the evidence, and even called for help.
If word of this reached the boss—
『…Tinkerer?』
『Hm? Oh—sorry, just thinking out loud.』
I scrambled to cover my slip. Rested my chin on one hand, thinking hard.
I’d have to erase everything. Any trace of medical intervention at the hospital. Records of the emergency call. All of it.
I powered up the computer on the desk.
『Why… why was it Ned?』
She sounded so crushed, so broken, that I slipped.
『It’s not your friend’s fault. He was probably being controlled. It’s not on you, and it’s not on him either.』
『Controlled?』
Too late.
I should never have given her that piece of information.
『Controlled… then it was… that purple—』
I wished I could take the words back.
『…Killgrave.』
Her voice dripped with fury. No longer the broken girl from moments ago.
Panic laced my tone.
『Listen, you don’t need to do anything. Please—just stay put. Do nothing.』
『I understand.』
…No, she didn’t.
Or rather—she did, but she had no intention of listening.
『Listen carefully. Your position is hanging by a thread right now. If it’s only this incident… we might be able to cover it up.』
『…………』
『But if you go any further, you’ll make it worse. You’ll destroy yourself.』
No response. Cold sweat ran down my temple.
『…Got it. Thanks for everything, Tinkerer.』
The line went dead.
We were partners, nothing more. We weren’t close.
She wasn’t going to take my advice to heart.
She’d almost killed her friend with her own hands.
She was furious at the ones who’d caused it, furious at herself.
She was resolved—she’d see this through, no matter the cost to herself.
But she hadn’t considered the bigger picture.
Hadn’t thought that Killgrave might be in league with the Court itself.
She only wanted to kill the man who had hurt her friend.
The call had ended. I tried to reconnect, but the line stayed dead.
She was throwing herself away.
She couldn’t see that people cared about her.
If she went after Killgrave herself, it would end badly.
The boss would know. They’d drag her straight back into their clutches.
The only way out—was to make sure Killgrave died before she could reach him.
But who could do it?
Who had the grudge, the will, the strength?
…Jessica Jones.
I laid my fingers on the keyboard.
『No choice, then.』
The day after Ned collapsed.
Seeing the empty seat made my chest sink a little. Michelle was absent.
Well, after yesterday, I couldn’t blame her. She had taken it really hard.
This morning, I knocked on Michelle’s door, but there was no answer. Around noon, I got a short message: "I’m taking the day off."
…It worried me.
I couldn’t focus on class, and before I knew it, the day had turned to evening.
"Peter."
It was Gwen who called out to me. She, too, had been deeply shaken by Ned getting caught up in the incident. She looked like she hadn’t slept much.
"What’s up, Gwen?"
I tried to sound cheerful, but my voice came out hoarse. Gwen didn’t mock me for it.
"Ned’s awake."
At those words, I immediately checked my inbox. …Apparently Ned’s grandmother had told the hospital about us, so they’d been sending us regular updates on his condition.
"That’s great. Let’s go."
I grabbed my bag and started heading quickly toward the lockers—
"Wait. What about Michelle? How’s she doing?"
"Michelle is—"
The words caught in my throat.
"She’s not coming today… look."
I showed her the short message Michelle had sent, and Gwen frowned.
"…She was that shaken up yesterday?"
"Yeah… pretty badly."
I didn’t go into details, but I told her Michelle had been hit hard emotionally.
"…At least send her a message, let her know we’re going to visit."
"Got it."
I sent the text, and it was marked read almost immediately. But no reply came, no matter how long I waited.
I slipped my phone into my pocket, stowed my bag in the locker, and left school straight for NY Metropolitan Hospital.
It was a big hospital in the city—Gwen herself had been admitted here before. I gave my name at the reception desk, and they guided me to his room.
I hadn’t brought flowers or fruit, but I opened the door once I arrived.
Inside, there was just one bed… Ned was sitting up from the waist, propped against the backrest.
"Ned!"
When I called, he turned, looking startled.
"O-Oh, Peter… Why do you look less lively than the guy lying in a hospital bed?"
"Idiot… Because I’m worried about you, obviously!"
I almost went in for a hug—then remembered he’d been shot in the right chest, and held myself back. Both of us had opened our arms, only to stop short.
It was such a clumsy scene we both ended up chuckling. Gwen, watching us, spoke up.
"Hmph. You look better than I expected."
"Ugh, Gwen!"
"‘Ugh’? What do you mean, ‘ugh’?"
With a sharp click of her shoes, Gwen walked over and sat by the bed.
"…Yeah. I’m glad you’re looking okay."
"I’m the one who’s shocked, honestly."
At that, I tilted my head.
"…Don’t you remember how you got injured?"
"Mm… nah, not really. I don’t."
This time, it was Gwen who tilted her head.
"…Is that alright?"
"Eh… no, not really."
"…I see."
Gwen frowned.
"Sorry, but I’m out for prom."
"…………What?"
Gwen’s voice dropped terrifyingly low. A chill ran down my spine—and Ned’s must’ve been worse, since it was aimed at him.
"N-No, I’m really sorry… They said I’ll be here two weeks, so tomorrow’s, um—"
"I couldn’t care less about prom. The event doesn’t matter—I’m worried about you. Ugh, what a waste of my worry."
"Uh… r-right."
Gwen exhaled a long, deep sigh.
"…Honestly. Since you made me worry, once you’re better, you’re treating me to something."
"Yes ma’am, sorry…"
Gwen placed her hand on his head.
…After a little while, I noticed visiting hours were almost over, so Gwen and I stepped out of the room—
"Hey, Peter. I’ve got something I wanna say."
Gwen was already heading toward the lobby, away from us. …If he called only me back, then it must’ve been something he didn’t want Gwen to hear.
I returned to the hospital room and sat down again in front of Ned.
"What is it?"
"Well… you make sure you go to prom."
"Huh…? But—"
"If you don’t, I’ll be drowning in guilt over here."
"I mean… I get it, but it kinda depends on Michelle. She wasn’t doing well."
"All the more reason. You’re the one who needs to cheer her up."
He sighed as he said that. For this to happen the day before the party we’d all been looking forward to…
"Oh, and… come closer a sec."
"……"
Ned motioned me in, so I leaned in to listen.
"…This is the last thing I remember before I wound up in the hospital."
"Yeah?"
"I saw the guy who shot me."
His words made me doubt my own ears.
"Seriously? You remember?"
"Yeah… but I figured no one would believe me, so I kept quiet… I wanted to tell this only to Spider-Man."
"I see… so, what did he look like?"
"He was wearing something like a black special-ops suit…"
Special ops…?
So Ned really had been caught up in some kind of incident.
"His face… it was red. Like a mannequin without any expression—"
I caught my breath.
Redcap.
That unreadable man.
The assassin who seemed to be after my life.
And then Ned continued.
"And the guy… he called me by name."
"…By name?"
"Yeah. He said, ‘Ned.’"
My mind froze for a moment.
Why would he…? How would he know Ned’s name?
Redcap… he’s after Spider-Man.
And he knows Ned’s name. That isn’t a coincidence. This was a targeted attack.
No way—
"He’s figured out who I am…?"
And now he’s targeting the people around me. There’s no other explanation. Otherwise, why would he shoot Ned?
If the ones around me are his next targets—
Michelle’s face flashed across my mind.
Gwen has the Symbiote’s power. She can defend herself.
Harry, too.
Ned was targeted because he doesn’t have any powers… that must be it.
Which means the next one most at risk—the one who has no way to protect herself—
"Michelle…?"
Her gentle smile rose vividly in my mind.
A rush of panic set my heart pounding like a war drum.
I pulled out my phone and sent her a message.
"Where are you right now?"
No read receipt.
…So I called her.
Ring, ring, ring…
No answer.
My breathing grew ragged. Terrible images spun through my mind, stoking the anxiety in my chest.
"Ned, I’m sorry. I have to go."
"O-Okay…"
I left his room and passed Gwen in the hall.
"Huh? Peter? What’s wr—"
"Sorry! I’ve gotta go ahead—really sorry!"
"Hey, what!? Explain this!"
Ignoring her voice calling me back, I dashed out of the hospital… into an alleyway, where I donned the suit.
Before Gwen could catch up, I fired a web line and swung into the air. I flew across the cityscape of New York.
Faster. I have to go faster…
When I reached the apartment, I deactivated the suit and knocked on Michelle’s door.
"Michelle!"
No answer.
No sound at all.
"If you’re in there, please… say something…!"
The silence pressed down on me, suffocating.
…If she were here, she’d answer. Even asleep, she’d notice the noise.
She’s not here?
Why?
How?
Where did she go?
Through the hallway window, the sky had turned red.
…If someone took her, then the culprit would be… that red mask—
"…I have to save her. I have to protect her."
I ran back into my own room and reactivated the suit.
The mirror reflected the "Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man."
To save my dearest neighbor.
To protect the happiness of everyday life.
…I made up my mind to fight him.
I reloaded the web-shooter cartridges and clenched my fists tightly.
With these hands, I swore no one else would ever be hurt again. Not after Uncle died.
That’s why I—
I threw open the window and leapt outside.
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