Just as he was lost in thought, familiar footsteps echoed outside his door. Peter shook his head; he knew who it was.
Towel, washbasin, pajamas... After quickly changing, Peter opened the old, stuck lock before his landlord could knock.
Sure enough, as soon as he stepped out, the door of apartment 503 across the hall opened in response, and Peter, humming an off-key tune, bumped right into his landlord, Dickvitch, who was wearing a bathrobe.
"Hi, Mr. Dickvitch, good afternoon. I didn't realize I overslept today," Peter said, holding his washbasin and with a towel draped over his shoulder, trying his best to look like he had just woken up.
The landlord narrowed his eyes, his bathrobe sash loosely tied over his slightly protruding belly. "Hi, Peter, good afternoon. I think you forgot something very important. It's the last day of July... rent is due!"
Just then, the door of apartment 503 next door silently opened a crack, and a blonde girl with a single ponytail cautiously peeked out. Her V-neck T-shirt and denim shorts accentuated her curvy figure.
She frowned slightly as she watched her father block the door and demand rent, but when she waved to Peter, her slightly freckled face beamed with a spring-like smile.
"Good afternoon, Peter," the girl's voice was as soft and sweet.
"Good afternoon, Karen," Peter responded with a smile, but was immediately blocked by Mr. Dickvitch, who took a step forward.
The landlord stared at Peter, his gaze as if it wanted to peel two layers of skin from his face. "I know you're a good kid, Peter, but good kids still have to pay rent."
"Dad, lets wait a little longer, Peter will certainly..."
The blonde girl tried to speak up for him, but her father glared at her as he turned, and she fell completely silent, her brows furrowed.
Peter reluctantly withdrew his gaze from Karen, his tone firm. "The money is definitely not a problem, but I only have less than 15 U.S. dollars on hand right now. I'll have to wait until I go out and get my salary from my boss before I can pay this month's rent."
"Alright, I believe you, Peter." Mr. Dickvitch's expression softened. He turned and patted Peter's shoulder. "You know I'm not an unreasonable man."
Behind the landlord, the girl named Karen's brows immediately relaxed, and her smile became even brighter. She clasped her hands in front of her chest, her gaze towards Peter almost melting steel.
Peter nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Mr. Dickvitch." As he spoke, he didn't forget to cast a grateful look at the kind girl behind the landlord.
Karen's smile grew even more radiant, and she even bounced slightly in excitement, the tenderness in her eyes almost overflowing.
Dickvitch evidently didn't notice his daughter's small movements; he just shook his head and said, "Anyone can say 'Thank you', but can that be used as money?"
"You're right, I'll be back with the money as soon as possible." Peter chuckled awkwardly, then quickly ducked into the washroom and closed the door, letting out a long sigh of relief.
He stared at himself in the mirror, his eyes holding the power to change the world.
But no matter how much his abilities grew, he was still Peter Parker, who had to worry about rent.
Perhaps this was life's most interesting irony—even if you could manipulate molecules and see the essence of the world, you still had to face the landlord's demands for rent.
"Alright, Spiderman," he said to his reflection, "time to figure out how to get some cash."
After quickly cleaning off the disinfectant from the lab, Peter, in his Spiderman suit, leaped out of the back window.
He was too short on money now; overdue rent, a broken camera needing replacement... all required money.
"Maybe I should become a villain and rob a bank," Peter mused to himself, half-jokingly.
"But if even your friendly neighborhood Spiderman has to resort to robbing banks... then this world is probably truly beyond saving. Who would uphold justice then? Would it be 'Philanthropic Ambassador' Kingpin, vacationing on Ryker's Island? Or his band, a veritable all-star lineup of villains?"
He muttered to himself self-deprecatingly, using his unique sense of humor to offset the pressures of life. As his web shot out again, his body cut through the sky, and after a few swings, he landed precisely next to a familiar street corner newsstand.
Getting shot right after leaving home that morning had prevented him from even buying his daily newspaper.
"Hey! Spiderman, I knew it! You never miss The Daily Globe, just like paying taxes on tax day."
Behind the newsstand, the beaming Uncle Job waved a newspaper, his voice loud enough to drown out the traffic at the intersection. "I saved a copy especially for you. Today's big news will definitely knock your webs offline."
Peter nimbly flipped down, flicked a finger, and a coin landed precisely on the counter. "Mr. Job, you are truly a living lighthouse of New York's journalism. I just hope today's headline isn't another 'Spiderman threat theory.'"
He responded easily, but his brows under the mask had already furrowed subconsciously.
Daily Bugle owner J. Jonah Jameson's obsession with The Daily Globe was well-known. He would even quiz his employees on their knowledge of the competitor's content like a pop quiz, as if it were an endless news war.
However, when the newspaper was truly in his hands, Peter's gaze was immediately fixed on the front-page close-up photo, which occupied half the page, and the bold, crimson headline.
"Wow." A gasp came from under the mask. Peter felt the newspaper in his hand instantly become heavy as lead, even somewhat hot.
"What the hell? I'm still worrying about rent here, and I haven't even had time to make a PPT for a feasible bank robbery plan, but this big shot has already arranged his 'prison release celebration party' one step ahead of me?"
Wilson Grant Fisk—Kingpin, the name itself was synonymous with power and fear in New York's underworld.
In public, he was a generous philanthropist, a successful entrepreneur, the head of the Fisk Corporation, but beneath that seemingly bloated and obese physique lay terrifying muscles with over 90% purity and absolute combat power capable of crushing special forces soldiers.
Before he was finally incarcerated on Ryker's Island, he was the ultimate viper coiled in the nightmares of many heroes like Spiderman and Daredevil. He was the undisputed Shadow King of Hell's Kitchen, a criminal genius who combined violence and intellect to the extreme.
Within his vast criminal empire, those classic villains who once kept Spiderman on his toes—Scorpion, Vulture, Chameleon, Mysterio, Hammerhead... and many more—often had Kingpin's massive shadow looming behind them.
They were collectively known as the "six big demons," the sharpest blades in Kingpin's hand.
"If the first person he wants to dismember after escaping is Matt (Daredevil)," Peter quickly scanned the article, subconsciously moving to a relatively quiet corner of a nearby alley, "then without a doubt, the next one will definitely be me."
As for whose name, Daredevil's or Spiderman's, was higher on Kingpin's hate list? Peter had no desire to know the answer to that question.
He practically scanned every single word of the newspaper. Thankfully, the report focused only on Kingpin's escape and made no mention of anything about "Shocker," "Dr. Octopus," or any other dangerous names.
"Thank goodness..." Peter sighed with relief, crumpled the newspaper into a ball, and accurately tossed it into a distant trash can.
"Those guys aren't locked up on Ryker's Island, thankfully. They're S.H.I.E.L.D.'s 'special clients,' detained in a place better equipped to host superhumans."
He could only sincerely hope that S.H.I.E.L.D. would be a little more reliable this time and not let Kingpin find an opportunity to turn his oft-repeated "famous quote" into reality.
—Only by assembling the power of the six big demons can that cunning Spider be completely crushed!
If that came true, New York would face an unprecedented disaster, and of course, so would Spiderman.
Having digested the news of Kingpin's escape, Peter leaped up, once again merging with the city's skyline. His daily patrol had just begun.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Rackberry, how is Miss Fia doing today?" He performed a light somersault, landing above a peaceful courtyard with a white picket fence.
In the yard, a silver-haired old woman lay comfortably on a vintage wicker lounge chair, cradling a cat with shiny black fur.
Hearing the sound, she looked up, a kind smile blooming on her face. "Oh, it's Spiderman! Fia was very well-behaved today. Thank you again for saving her from the roof last time... I've always felt bad about her scratching you."
"Don't worry about it, madam, my healing ability is second to none in New York. I wish you both a pleasant day!" Peter said with a smile, waving his hand, then shot out a web again, swinging elegantly away.
"Who would believe that Spiderman, who can catch numerous robbers and even defeat terrifying villains, would ultimately be defeated by the 'merciless claws' of a cute little black cat?"
He grimaced helplessly as he swung, perhaps all black cats shared some mysterious mischievous instinct, always surprising people with a sudden swipe.
He had been tricked by these "sexy and dangerous" little creatures more than once, like the time a sexy black cat "ambushed" him from behind, directly pushing him into the Hudson River for a free, chilling "Summer Ice Express."
For the rest of the time, Spiderman, transformed into New York's most friendly "firefighter," busily dealt with the endless "small crises" of the metropolis.
For example, helping an old lady pick up scattered fruit; scaring away a barking dog that was growling at children with a small funny face and web acrobatics; escorting a lost, crying child back to his anxious mother's embrace... These seemingly trivial "daily tasks," for Peter, were just as important as fighting supervillains, all part of protecting this city.
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