MJ stood frozen for a moment, staring at the empty space where Peter had been just seconds ago.
"That coward," she muttered under her breath, loud enough for only herself to hear.
"What was that?" Harry asked, finally reaching her. His expression was a mix of relief and concern, Gwen just behind him with the rest of their group trailing.
MJ forced a smile—bright, apologetic, completely fake. "Nothing. Just... thinking out loud."
"Are you okay?" Gwen asked, her analytical gaze sweeping over MJ. "Harry said you've been sick."
"Yeah," MJ said quickly, latching onto the excuse. "Bad flu. Really knocked me out for a few days. Sorry I haven't been responding to texts."
"A flu," Harry repeated slowly. "For four days."
"Five, technically," MJ corrected. "But who's counting?"
"MJ—"
"I'm fine now, though!" She cut him off, her voice a little too cheerful. "See? Healthy. Present. Ready to rock some band practice tonight if you want."
Harry studied her face, clearly not convinced. "You could've told me you were that sick. I would've brought soup or something."
"I know. I just... needed space. You know how it is."
"Space from me?" Harry's voice carried an edge—not quite hurt, but close.
"Space from everyone," MJ clarified. "Nothing personal. Just needed to... sort some stuff out."
Gwen's eyes narrowed slightly. "Sort stuff out with Peter?"
The question hung in the air.
MJ felt her stomach drop. "What? No. I mean—he just—" She stumbled over her words, uncharacteristically flustered. "He was helping me with... homework. Group project. For chemistry. We had a chem project."
"Do you guys even have chemistry together?" Harry asked.
"Yes! We do. Obviously. Otherwise, why would we have a project together?"
Gwen's expression didn't change, but something flickered in her eyes. Recognition. Suspicion. Or maybe just curiosity.
She said nothing.
"Look," MJ said, regrouping. "I'm sorry I've been MIA. Really. But I'm here now, and I'm fine, and—" She glanced at her phone. "—we're going to be late for first period if we don't move."
Harry still looked skeptical, but he nodded. "Fine. But we're talking about this later. Properly."
"Can't wait," MJ said dryly.
They started toward their respective classes—Harry still asking questions, MJ deflecting with increasingly creative lies, and Gwen walking alongside them in thoughtful silence.
As they reached the intersection where they'd split up, Gwen glanced back down the hallway.
Her sharp eyes caught a glimpse of movement—a figure in a dark hoodie disappearing around a corner, moving with unusual speed through the crowd.
Peter.
Gwen said nothing.
But she filed the image away, another piece of a puzzle she couldn't quite piece together yet. She let her mask slip back into place as she walked beside MJ and Harry.
Peter had become a nuke to her psyche and unfortunately for her, she lost the codes, let alone the instruction manual to deactivate that nuke.
Avoiding the blast radius had become her go to plan of action. She wasn't entirely sure how to handle him or the situation between them, and from the looks of it, neither did Peter. She knew more of his secrets than he did hers, and to that end, she was waiting for him open up when he was ready.
Gwen didn't think she had the strength or the right to approach him as they were.
After what she did to him, forgiveness seemed like fleeting dream.
***
The guidance office smelled like old coffee and printer toner.
Peter sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair across from three adults who all looked varying degrees of concerned, curious, and bureaucratically exhausted.
He came prepared. Peter knew what he would get from them and how to get it. He didn't need the drama and time consuming, stress inducing experience that came with an ordinary high school life.
Time was his ally as much as it was his enemy.
Ms. Chen, the guidance counselor, had kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses and a stack of folders in front of her that suggested she'd been expecting this meeting.
Mr. Reyes, the assistant principal, looked perpetually tired—the kind of tired that came from dealing with teenagers and budget cuts simultaneously.
And Mrs. Patterson, the McKinney-Vento liaison, had the expression of someone who'd seen every possible variation of troubled youth and was no longer surprised by anything.
"So, Peter," Ms. Chen began, her voice gentle. "Thank you for meeting with us. I understand you've been dealing with some... difficult circumstances."
Peter nodded. "Yeah. I'm currently staying with a temporary guardian. My aunt is in the hospital, long term. My uncle passed away recently."
The sympathy in the room was palpable and uncomfortable.
"I'm very sorry for your loss," Mrs. Patterson said. "We've reviewed your situation, and you do qualify under the McKinney-Vento Act as an unaccompanied youth. That means we can provide certain accommodations and support services."
"I appreciate that," Peter said. "But actually, I wanted to discuss something else."
Mr. Reyes leaned back in his chair. "Go ahead."
Peter took a breath. "I want to accelerate my credits. Take on extra coursework, maybe online NYS-approved courses. And I'd like to take the summer Regents exams. I'm looking at the possibility of early graduation."
The three adults exchanged glances.
"That's... ambitious," Ms. Chen said carefully. "May I ask why the rush?"
Because I'm a ticking time bomb with powers. Power's I barely control and the people I care about are in danger just by being near me…
"I just want to move forward," Peter said aloud, keeping his voice steady. "Things have been... hard. I need something to focus on. Something I can control."
"Early graduation requires a significant credit load," Mr. Reyes pointed out. "You'd be looking at eighteen months minimum, and that's if you ace everything."
"I can handle it."
"Peter," Ms. Chen said gently. "This kind of acceleration—it's a lot of pressure. On top of everything else you're dealing with—"
"I can handle it," Peter repeated, more firmly this time.
Mrs. Patterson studied him. "You're pushing very hard for someone who's just experienced major trauma."
More like trauma suffers from me… Peter held back a depreciating chuckle.
"Maybe that's why," Peter stated seriously. "Maybe I need to push. Maybe sitting still is worse."
The adults exchanged another look—this one harder to read.
Finally, Mr. Reyes sighed. "Alright. Here's what we can do. We'll approve the credit acceleration only if certain conditions are met, Peter. You can take on extra coursework and enroll in approved online courses. Summer Regents are available if you want to fast-track certain subjects."
"Thank you—"
"However," Mr. Reyes continued, cutting him off. "You still need to attend certain core classes. Physical presence required. No exceptions."
"That's fine."
"And Peter," Ms. Chen added. "If you're looking at emancipation—becoming legally independent before eighteen—you'll need more than just credits."
Peter's expression didn't change. "Like what?"
"Proof of stable income. A job. Stable housing that you can maintain. And you'll need court approval, which means demonstrating that you can support yourself financially and emotionally."
"I can do that."
"You're sixteen," Mrs. Patterson said, not unkindly. "The court will want to see that you've thought this through. That you have a plan beyond just 'I want to be independent.'"
Right. I need freedom before I lose control and hurt someone. I need resources before I go after the people who destroyed my family. I need options and time to grow…
"I have a plan," Peter said. The lie came easily.
Ms. Chen didn't look convinced, but she nodded. "Alright. We'll set up the course acceleration. Come by after school to pick up the materials and enrollment forms for the online courses. And Peter?"
"Yes?"
"My door is always open if you need to talk. About anything. Not just academics."
"I appreciate that." He didn't. Not really. He doubted that these people even had the capacity to even understand what he went through.
The meeting ended with handshakes and sympathetic smiles and promises of support that Peter knew he'd never take advantage of.
As he left the office, he heard Ms. Chen's voice drifting through the partially open door behind him.
"He's pushing too hard."
Mr. Reyes' response was quieter, but Peter's enhanced hearing caught it, anyway.
"Kid's been through a lot. Maybe pushing is how he copes."
"Push isn't the only way to cope. Self—destructive tendencies are common among young children with survivor's guilt."
"Are you suggestion—"
"I'm not suggesting anything. I'm merely stating an observation."
"Of course you are, with all due respect, you don't know this kid—"
Peter kept walking.
***
The school roof wasn't officially accessible to students, but the lock had been broken for years and no one had bothered to fix it.
Peter climbed the last metal staircase and pushed open the door, stepping out into overcast February air. The sky was grey and heavy with the promise of snow, but it hadn't started falling yet.
He walked to the edge—not too close, just close enough to see the parking lot below, the late-arriving students, the world continuing on oblivious to the fact that something dangerous walked among them.
Emancipation…
The word rolled around in his mind with another.
Freedom…
He'd need a job. Proof of income. Stable housing.
The job was doable—plenty of under-the-table work if he was willing to look. Construction, maybe. Night security or a fast—food clerk. Something that wouldn't ask too many questions about a sixteen-year-old who needed cash and flexible hours.
Housing was trickier. The basement at Anna's was temporary. His own home was under her name until either Aunt May wakes up or he turns eighteen. If he wanted legal independence, he'd need something he could claim as his own. An apartment, maybe. Or—
A base of operations. Somewhere close and secluded. Big enough to hide shit in and normal enough hide in plain sight…
The thought came unbidden, but fit too perfectly to ignore.
Somewhere he could work. Train. Store equipment. Somewhere the authorities wouldn't look too closely and neighbors wouldn't ask questions.
Somewhere he could become what he needed to become. The training part was somewhat simple.
White Dragon Dojo… came to mind.
Colleen Wing's card was still in his wallet. Real training—not just Garou's instincts, but practiced, refined skill. The kind that came from someone who actually knew what they were doing.
He could go this afternoon. Make up some excuse for MJ about why he was ditching their usual training session.
The hunger.
That was the other problem. The one he couldn't solve with paperwork or court approval.
Blood banks were still too risky yet preferable to the alternative. The problem was the how he would get his hands on them, that was where the complications arose. But maybe—Criminals could work…
The thought had been circling for days now, each rotation bringing it closer to the center of his mind. Easier to justify. Easier to rationalize.
They're bad people, anyway. Society's better off without them. And if I don't feed, I'll lose control and hurt someone innocent.
The rationalization felt hollow even as he thought it. But what choice did he have?
Wait until the hunger took over completely? Until he attacked someone he cared about?
Better to cross the line on my terms than have the line crossed for me…
Peter pulled out the second vial of MJ's blood, still cool in his pocket. He turned it over in his hands, watching the dark liquid swirl.
Not enough. Never enough. He didn't wanna leave it in the house in fear of repeating MJ's incident with Anna.
All the more reason for him to find a new base, the basement was too obvious with MJ and Anna around. He did not want Anna, MJ, or someone else stumbling upon the wrong thing.
He was about to pocket it again when the door to the roof opened behind him.
Peter spun—not quickly enough to seem superhuman, but fast enough to be ready.
Red hair caught the grey light.
His first thought: MJ.
He opened his mouth to apologize for ditching her, to explain—
Then he saw her face.
Not MJ.
A stranger.
Soft pale skin. Green eyes. Features similar enough to be striking, different enough to be immediately obvious. The girl was roughly his age, maybe a year older, with an air of careful confidence that suggested she wasn't lost by accident.
"Oh!" she said, smiling. "Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you. I didn't think anyone else would be up here."
Peter's instincts buzzed—not danger, exactly. Just... awareness. The same pull he'd felt in the parking lot. Stronger now. More focused.
"It's fine," he said, pocketing the vial. "I was just... thinking."
"Me too," she said, stepping further onto the roof. "Well, actually, I was supposed to be on a tour, but I got separated when I went to use the bathroom. And then I ended up here. Not entirely sure how, actually."
Peter raised an eyebrow. "You ended up on the roof? Which requires going through a locked door?"
She grinned—sheepish and a little self-deprecating. "Okay, when you put it like that, it sounds suspicious."
"Just a little."
"I might have been trying to find a quiet place. The tour was..." She waved a hand. "A lot. New school, new faces, everyone staring at the exchange students like we're exotic zoo animals. I needed a break."
"Fair enough," Peter said. "But the roof's not exactly the safest place to take a break."
"Says the guy who was already up here."
"I have a hall pass."
"Do you?"
Peter almost smiled. "No."
She laughed—light, genuine. "Fair. So, fellow rule-breaker, I'm Jean. Jean Grey."
Jean Grey…
The name tickled something in Peter's mind. He wasn't sure what it was though, a tingling sensation assaulted the back of his head.
His instincts buzzed again, stronger this time.
"Peter," he said after a beat. "Peter Parker."
"Nice to meet you, Peter Parker," Jean walked to the edge and looked out over the campus. "This is a nice school. Bigger than ours. More... urban."
"Where are you from?"
"Upstate. Westchester. Small campus. Very... focused learning environment."
"X-something School of the Gifted," Peter tried remembering MJ's words.
"Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters," Jean corrected as she glanced at him. "That's the one. You've heard of it?"
"Saw the bus this morning. Plus, you know. New students are big news in a place like this."
"Right. Zoo animals."
"Exotic ones."
She smiled.
Peter caught her scent then—clean, slightly floral, distinctly human. His mouth watered involuntarily.
He swallowed hard and turned his attention back to the skyline, forcing his expression to remain neutral.
She's not food. She's a person. Control yourself…
"So," Jean said with a curious gaze, oblivious to his internal struggle but seemingly noticing something about him that caught her interest. "You going to help a lost exchange student find her way back to civilization? Or am I on my own?"
Peter considered. Going back inside meant people. Noise. The constant assault on his senses.
But staying up here with her felt... complicated. The pull was getting stronger. His hunger was getting harder to ignore.
Get her back to her group. Then leave…
"Yeah," he said finally. "I can show you to the gymnasium. That's where your group probably ended up."
"Thanks. You're a lifesaver."
That remains to be seen…
They left the roof and started down the stairs, falling into conversation more naturally than Peter expected.
"So, what's your school like?" Jean asked. "I mean, beyond the whole urban, bigger-than-ours thing."
"It's... fine," Peter said. "Typical public school. Overcrowded. underfunded. Teachers who care way too much or not at all. No, in-between."
"Sounds familiar," Jean said. "Though ours is private. So, slightly… well, if I'm being honest, a little less underfunded and a bit over funded. We're more... selective about who gets in."
"Gifted students only or something?"
"Or something." Her tone was light, almost teasing. "We're all very special. At least, that's what they tell us."
Peter glanced at her. "And what makes you special?"
Jean's smile turned enigmatic. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
Does dying count, I wonder if your school accepts cosmic accidents? You'd be surprised if you knew how 'special' I really am… Pete stopped himself from commenting.
Suddenly Peter instinctively threw his hand out to catch Jean but stopped himself.
"Whoa… you alright there?"
Jean seamed to trip over herself for a moment before regaining her bearings.
"Sorry, I just got a little lightheaded there."
"Right…"
They passed the chemistry lab without any other incidents, then the library. Jean asked questions about the school layout, the classes, the social dynamics. Peter answered automatically, part of his mind occupied with keeping his hunger under control, the other part trying to figure out why his instincts kept pulling toward her.
"Your school must be pretty different," Peter said as they turned down another hallway. "Exchange program and all. What's the focus?"
"Development," Jean said. "Helping students reach their full potential. Whatever that looks like for each person."
"Sounds intense."
"It can be. But it's also... freeing, in a way. Being around other people. Sometimes everything can feel a bit overwhelming and well, just.. Different. "
Peter's steps faltered slightly. "Different how?"
Jean met his eyes, and for just a moment, something passed between them. Recognition, maybe. Or understanding. He wasn't sure, it was as if she expected him to understand.
"You know," she mumbled. "Just... different."
The pull intensified.
Peter's instincts screamed—not danger, but something. Connection? Familiarity?
Is she like me?
No. Not like him. Different.
But still... not normal. Wrong. Mutation. Unnatural. Divergent evolution. Celestial Error… These weren't his thoughts. This mysterious whispers came from something else. This was… Imagine Breaker. Really, now of all days…
Did his proximity to Jean lead to its activation? If so, why? And why now?
He broke eye contact first, focusing on navigating the hallway. "Gymnasium's this way."
They walked in silence for a moment before Jean spoke again.
"You're very controlled."
"What?" his heartbeat shifted. A spike of hunger ran through him and the world seemed to narrow just a bit, sound dulled to a high pitch ringing in his ears. He shook it off and focused Jean's words instead.
The action was easier said then done.
"Your movements. Your expressions. Everything's very... measured. Like you're constantly aware of how you're presenting yourself."
Peter's jaw tightened. "You're reading a lot into how someone walks."
"Maybe." She smiled. "Or maybe I recognize it because I do the same thing."
Is she… Before Peter could respond, they rounded the corner and nearly collided with a girl with blue-streaked black hair and sharp, catlike eyes.
"Jean!" the girl exclaimed. "There you are! I've been looking everywhere—" She stopped, her gaze landing on Peter. "Oh. Hello."
"Kitty, this is Peter," Jean said smoothly. "Peter, this is my friend Kitty Pryde. She was helping me look for the bathroom earlier."
"That's... one way to put it," Kitty said, still looking at Peter. Her expression shifted—curious, assessing. "You go here?"
"Yeah."
"Cool." She smiled—bright, friendly, slightly mischievous. "Love the hair, by the way. The whole 'I woke up like this but also kinda styled it' thing you've got going on."
"Thanks?" Peter said, unsure if he was being complimented or teased.
"Kitty," Jean said with exaggerated patience. "The gymnasium?"
"Right! Yes. Our group is probably wondering where we disappeared to." Kitty grabbed Jean's arm. "Come on, mystery tour guide. Let's go before Scott sends out a search party."
She started pulling Jean away, but not before glancing back at Peter one more time.
"Thanks for helping her!" Kitty called. "You're totally my type, by the way. Just putting that out there. If you ever want to—"
"Kitty."
"What? I'm just being friendly!"
Jean gave Peter an apologetic look as she was dragged down the hallway. "Thanks again!"
Peter raised a hand in a half-wave, watching them disappear around the corner.
He stood there for a moment, processing.
The pull had lessened the moment Jean left. But it hadn't disappeared entirely. Like an echo. A memory of something that had been there.
What the hell was that?
Peter shook his head and headed in the opposite direction, toward the vending machines near the gym entrance.
He needed caffeine. And distance. And to figure out what the hell his instincts were trying to tell him.
The machine took his crumpled bills and dispensed a cold can of sugar-free black coffee—the kind that tasted like chemicals and regret but did the job.
Peter cracked it open and took a long drink, letting the bitter cold ground him.
Right. White Dragon Dojo… He'd go this afternoon. Tell MJ... something. Anything.
That he needed space. That he had errands to run. That he was dealing with personal stuff.
All true, technically.
Just not the whole truth.
Never the whole truth anymore.
Peter finished the coffee, crushed the can in his hand—careful not to use too much strength—and tossed it in the recycling bin.
Time to get through the rest of the day.
And hope he didn't run into Jean Grey again.
The pull was too strong. The hunger too close to the surface.
And he was running out of ways to pretend everything was fine.
Peter then held his head, feeling a certain stream of information assault his head-space.
What the fuck?
***
[Trait Unkillable Blasphemous Reptile Forcefully Triggered]
[Source: Global Telepathic Intrusion-Artificial Enhancement
Intent: Neutral]
[Source: Supreme Class Magic
Intent: Unknown]
[Source: Inheritor Class SHARD/FRAGMENT-Erubus_Detected
Intent: Hostile]
[Source: Cosmic Force- Phoenix
Intent: Unknown]
[Source: Jean Grey(dormant)
Intent: Curiosity]
[Source: Multiple Unknown
Intent: Unknown]
[Special Trait gained: Mask of Innocence
Allows the host to fake a state of normality, making him seem as 'normal' as expected of an average human. In this state, all of his abilities will be sealed until he chooses to actively use them. However, certain abilities will activate on their own accord in response to the host's needs or protection.
Active ability under this trait: [Ajin],[Incarnation of Garou: Passive], [Will of Saitama: Passive]]
Chapter End