2: Chapter 2 First Encounter with Mary Jane, Researching Spiders in the Basement

Peter steadied himself, opened the door, and walked downstairs.

A faint scent of wheat drifted through the dining room; Uncle Ben sat by the dining table flipping through the morning paper, while Aunt May was placing the last plate of rye pancakes on the table.

Seeing him come down, Aunt May immediately set down the plate and walked over to greet him, reaching out to gently touch his forehead.

"It's good that the fever has gone down. The Doctor said you had an allergic reaction, and it really scared us." She chattered on, pushing a cup of hot milk in front of him. "Eat something to line your stomach. Later, come with me to visit Anna's place across the street. The young girl just moved in, and she's shy, so try to look out for her."

Peter pulled out a chair and sat down, picking up a fork to poke at the pancake on his plate. The dry rye pancake didn't look appetizing at all. His mouth twitched, but he still took a bite—as expected, it was as tasteless as chewing wax.

"Aunt May, did you find this recipe online?" he asked vaguely.

"Yes, it said it could clear out toxins, especially suitable for you right now." Aunt May smiled triumphantly.

Beside them, Uncle Ben put down the newspaper and couldn't help but laugh out loud. "You can't believe everything on the internet. You, you're just fussing over the kid for nothing."

The family chatted and laughed, the atmosphere warm and cozy. As Peter ate the pancake, his heart warmed slightly.

These were Peter Parker's family. Ordinary, plain, yet they gave all their tenderness to him.

It was no wonder the original owner carried a lifetime of guilt because of Uncle Ben's death. Such family—no one would be willing to lose them. He secretly made up his mind that, no matter what, he would protect this stability.

By noon, Aunt May tidied up, took him across the street, and went to the Watson house.

Just as they knocked and the door opened, they heard a rush of footsteps from the stairs. A red-haired girl dashed down, taking two steps at a time, clutching a gray-white hair dryer in her hand, frowning and muttering: "Aunt Anna, this hair dryer is broken again, I—"

Halfway through her sentence, she slammed on the brakes, running into Peter at the door.

The girl's hair was still wet, water dripping from the tips onto her fair neck. She wore a simple purple tank top and green shorts, revealing her slender arms and legs. Her emerald green eyes were wide open, filled with a hint of caught-off-guard panic.

It was none other than Mary Jane Watson.

Unlike the vivid brightness on the screen, the girl before him carried a touch of raw, youthful vitality, like a red rose covered in dew.

Peter smiled and spoke up: "It seems I've come at just the right time?"

Mary Jane's face turned bright red in an instant.

Aunt May and Aunt Anna were both stunned. They looked at each other and saw the surprise in each other's eyes. In their impression, Peter was a nerd who would shyly lower his head whenever he saw a girl. When did he become so proactive in talking to a girl?

"You are Peter?" Mary Jane was the first to recover, smoothing the stray hair behind her ear and asking with feigned composure.

"Peter Parker." Peter nodded, his gaze falling on the hair dryer in her hand. "Is this thing broken?"

"Yeah, it just suddenly stopped working." Mary Jane handed the hair dryer over with a touch of helplessness.

Peter took it and weighed it in his hand, tapping the casing with his fingertips. The internal structural diagram flashed through his mind instantly. This was the mechanical talent engraved in Peter Parker's bones, and now it completely belonged to him.

"The motor is burnt out, but it's not a big problem." He looked up at Aunt Anna. "I'll go to the hardware store to buy a small motor, and I'll have it fixed in no time."

"Oh my, that would be too much trouble for you, Peter." Aunt Anna was overjoyed and hurriedly urged Mary Jane to go upstairs and change. "Go up and change quickly, go with Peter, it'll be nice to have some company on the way."

After Mary Jane changed into jeans and a hoodie, the two of them went out side by side.

The afternoon sun spilled onto the streets, casting dappled tree shadows. Peter wasn't as awkward or uneasy as the original owner; instead, he took the initiative to start topics, chatting about school courses to recent movies. He was witty and talkative, occasionally throwing in a well-timed joke that kept Mary Jane laughing non-stop.

She had originally been a bit reserved, but as they chatted, she relaxed, and the curiosity in her eyes as she looked at Peter grew stronger.

She had heard from Aunt Anna that the Peter across the street was a quiet and introverted straight-A student, but the young man before her was poised, witty, and his eyes seemed to hold light—he was a completely different person from the nerd in the rumors.

After buying the motor parts, the two stopped by a small restaurant for lunch. As they chatted, the topic veered toward recent news.

"Have you seen the news? It seems Iron Man is building an expo in Queens." Mary Jane rested her chin in her hands, her eyes filled with longing. "Honestly, I think superheroes are so cool, having the ability to protect others."

Peter took a sip of cola and shook his head upon hearing this: "Cool, yes, but the cost is high. Living on the edge of a blade every day—if you win, no one thanks you, and if you lose, it's total ruin."

He was speaking the truth. He had seen too many of Spider-Man's regrets and knew deep down that behind this glamour lay countless sacrifices and loneliness.

Mary Jane was stunned for a moment, but she didn't refute him, only saying softly: "But if everyone with ability hides away, what will the ordinary people do? We can't just wait for disaster to pass on its own."

The fingers Peter used to hold his cup paused slightly.

He looked at the girl's serious profile, his heart fluttering inexplicably.

He didn't respond, just lowered his head to shovel a couple of bites of rice, silently steering the conversation away.

Over the next few days, Peter completely entered a "double-agent" mode.

During the day, under the guise of recovering from his illness, he would either find excuses to tutor Mary Jane or accompany her to get familiar with the surrounding environment, and their relationship grew closer rapidly. At night, he would dive headfirst into his small lab in the Underground Room.

He said he wouldn't be a hero, but his body was more honest than his brain.

Spider-Man's web-shooters were something almost every Marvel fan dreamed of. Now that he had Peter's genius brain and ready-made laboratory conditions, if he didn't make them himself, he would be itching with frustration.

The formula for the Webbing was far more complex than he had imagined.

To achieve instant solidification upon contact with air, strong elasticity, high load-bearing capacity, and the ability to automatically degrade after a certain time without leaving a trace—every parameter required precise calibration. Relying on the knowledge stored in his brain, Peter spent nights mixing reagents, failing time and time again.

On the third night, he got the dosage ratio wrong, and the liquid in the test tube instantly boiled and splattered. Fortunately, his reaction was fast, and he dodged in time, avoiding disfigurement.

There was a scorched black stain on the wall. Looking at the messy lab bench, Peter was not discouraged at all; instead, his eyes lit up.

The reaction direction just now was correct; it only needed a final adjustment in the ratio.

After pulling two more all-nighters, late on Friday night, a soft sound finally came from the Underground Room.

Peter looked at the slightly blue-tinted transparent liquid in the test tube, took a deep breath, used a dropper to take a drop, and dripped it onto the lab bench.

The moment the liquid touched the air, it solidified at a speed visible to the naked eye, turning into a thin, tough white thread. He pulled at it with tweezers; the thread stretched very long, full of resilience, and when he let go, it slowly snapped back.

It was a success.

The first-generation Webbing formula was successfully calibrated.

The load-bearing capacity was close to 300 pounds, and it lasted for about twenty minutes. Although it couldn't compare to the perfect version in the original work, it was already enough for use.

Peter breathed a sigh of relief, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his brow.

Looking at the raw Webbing liquid in the test tube, he was lost in thought again.

He had gone to such great lengths to create it, but then what?

Was he really going to leave it in the corner to gather dust?

He shook his head, pushing these messy thoughts down. He had already made it, so he might as well satisfy the obsession of a tech geek; at worst, it could serve as a self-defense tool—it wouldn't hurt.

The next afternoon, Peter was studying the structure of the shooters, focusing on two of Uncle Ben's old watches, when the door was suddenly pushed open with a "bang."

Mary Jane burst in energetically, holding up two tickets and waving them excitedly: "Peter! Look what I got! 'Hamlet', the show at the Apollo Theater tonight, the seats are amazing! Want to go?"

Peter looked up at her sparkling eyes, and the hesitation in his heart vanished instantly.

"Go, of course I'll go."

Uncle Ben and Aunt May were initially worried that returning at night wouldn't be safe, but they couldn't resist the pair's pestering and finally nodded.

Before leaving, Uncle Ben pulled Peter aside, took out a hundred dollars, stuffed it into his hand, and patted him on the shoulder.

"Have a good time, and don't let the girl feel slighted." The old man smiled, his tone becoming a bit more solemn. "Remember, Peter, with great power comes great responsibility."

Peter gripped the banknote, his heart skipping a beat.

He had heard this sentence countless times, but hearing it from Uncle Ben's mouth made it feel heavy, like a stone pressing on his heart.

He nodded, not speaking.

The two boarded the train to Manhattan. Mary Jane was still excitedly chatting about the theater troupe, but as Peter watched the street scenery receding rapidly outside the window, a sense of unease faintly rose in his heart.

Manhattan, Apollo Theater, Harlem...

A terrifying thought suddenly popped into his mind.

Could this timing happen to coincide with that earth-shattering battle between Hulk and Abomination?