"What's the best thing about being Spider-Man? Hard to say!"
The morning sun cast its glow on the New York skyline, as a red and blue figure sped along the glass facade of a skyscraper. If a commuter spotted a fleeting shadow on the ground and looked up, they'd see Spider-Man with his backpack. Today, he'd ditched his signature web-slinging for a run up a vertical wall.
"But not having to squeeze onto the subway every day is definitely in the top three, woohoo!"
Peter leapt onto a railing by the Hudson River, and amidst the roar of passing cars, he dove like a swimmer. Just as he was about to hit the water, a web shot out with a "thwip," carrying him in a perfect arc under the Queensboro Bridge.
Uncle Ben and George were both busy with work, so they generally wouldn't pick them up or drop them off for school, unless it was a special day, like the first day of school or something.
"Spider-Man's favorite hot dogs, these are Spider-Man's favorite hot dogs! New York's only officially designated Spider-Man hot dog!"
The hot dog stand owner, who set up his stall on a Manhattan midtown street every day, advertised his hot dogs with a straight face. After the Battle of New York, he used to sell hot dogs to Damage Control employees here, but with the cleanup of the ruins complete, he now had a new business opportunity: Spider-Man had allowed the owner to use his image, and thus New York's only Spider-Man packaged hot dog stand came into being.
The most noticeable thing about the hot dog stand was the plastic bag hanging from the top of the umbrella—it always held a special hot dog.
"Boss, are these really Spider-Man's favorite hot dogs?"
Eugene "Flash" Thompson, a freshman at Midtown High, pushed through the crowd to the hot dog stand. He looked at the owner skeptically while opening his wallet to get money. "Give me one, and also, you put it on the umbrella, can Spider-Man really get it?"
"He's Spider-Man, of course he can."
The owner looked at the customer in front of him with a straight face, expertly wrapping the hot dog. But Thompson kept prattling: "What if he puts it up too early, what if it gets cold? If your hot dog gets cold and Spider-Man gets a stomach ache, how can he fight—"
"Thanks, Paul!"
Interrupting Thompson's incessant chatter was Spider-Man, who swung past the hot dog stand, dropping two one-dollar bills as he passed, while the hot dog on the umbrella had already vanished.
Thompson was dumbfounded until the owner held a hot dog out to him. Coming back to his senses, Thompson pulled out another five dollars and let out an almost deafening scream: "Give me two more of Spider-Man's favorite hot dogs! Thank you!!!"
"Good morning, Laurie! How's Karl doing today?"
"Karl says he's good, thank you for bringing him back."
The middle-aged man on the rooftop, preparing to release his pigeons, only managed to say that much before the figure speeding along the wall vanished around the corner. The startled pigeons began to coo wildly, and Laurie could only stroke his old friend repeatedly: "Calm down, he just webbed you up and sent you home, he didn't roast and eat you."
Such morning patrols played out every day. Spider-Man, eating a hot dog, would high-five newspaper stand owners, help old ladies with their shopping bags, and even give directions to lost puppies—after all, what kind of "Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man" doesn't know every block?
Until, at some point, the red and blue suit vanished among Manhattan's skyscrapers.
At the subway station exit, Peter Parker, in plain clothes, "coincidentally" emerged. He certainly hadn't come by subway—this was just a plausible excuse for his sudden appearance near school. Two more blocks away was Midtown High School, one of New York's top public high schools, existing only in the Marvel universe. Early in the morning, Midtown High's television station was already at work, with two hosts broadcasting news on screens visible throughout the school corridors.
"Good morning, students, this is Midtown High. I'm your host, Betty."
"And I'm your host, Jesse."
Peter, after a quick glance at the screen, went to his locker, opened it, put his backpack inside, and took out the stationery he needed for his morning classes. He hadn't even closed the locker door when he heard a familiar, utterly annoying voice.
"Parker!"
"Again? Karl?"
Peter's spider-sense didn't even react. He didn't even bother to feign surprise. He just closed the locker door and stepped back. Karl King, striding forward, slammed his fist heavily onto someone else's locker, trying to look menacing.
Peter pointed at the smashed locker.
"You know that's not my locker, right?"
Karl King hesitated, then snarled a threat: "Listen, Parker, I'm not going to bother with the middle school stuff. I won't care about your shady friends either, but if you keep sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, you're dead."
With another "bang," the locker was sadly hit again. Karl King finished speaking and left without giving Peter time to react, leaving Peter quite puzzled.
"Is this a new type of school bullying? The one being lectured threatens the one lecturing him?"
Peter, completely bewildered by Karl King's behavior, shook his head. A passing janitor, leaning on his broom, offered a similar sentiment: "No shortage of trash students in any era, but I've seen enough thugs, kid. Don't be afraid of them. Be brave, fight back, and defeat them!"
"Thanks, Stan."
After thanking the father of Marvel, who in a universe without Marvel comics could only be a janitor, Peter walked into his math class. He, Amadeus, and Harry were in the same math teacher's class, while Gwen was assigned to another teacher.
And Karl King—you couldn't expect a muscle-bound idiot to be in the same level math class as Peter Parker.
"Good morning, Peter," Harry sat beside Peter and placed his laptop on the desk. Before class started, Harry opened his computer and started searching for news about Spider-Man online.
"Spider-Man? Why are you interested in him?"
"Nothing, just heard people talking about Spider-Man, so I wanted to learn more. By the way, are you planning to go to the Detective Club? I'm thinking of checking it out."
"Sure, I like solving puzzles; it's relaxing."
Amadeus arrived late, apologized, and sat behind them. He wasn't very tall, a standard scrawny, easily bullied nerd type. Peter wondered if he could even see clearly from the back. After Amadeus was seated, Harry turned his head to ask about their previous topic.
"Hey, Amadeus, we're planning to submit our application to join the Detective Club after school. Want to come along?"
"Of course, I'll go with you, sounds good."
Amadeus nodded. After a few seconds of silence, Peter looked at him: "Are you okay? Did someone bully you?"
"No, no. It's just that I'm probably short, so no one notices me, and I got bumped into a few times."
Amadeus casually brushed off the topic. At that moment, the teacher entered, interrupting their conversation.
High school studies, regardless of the country, are tedious. This class was pre-calculus—Midtown High's required math textbooks were considerably harder than other high schools, including advanced algebra and basic calculus courses. This was probably due to its partnerships with Osborn Tech and Stark Industries. In other high schools, math textbooks might be much simpler. Peter had even heard of some schools where students organized to make math an elective, which was outlandish.
Listening to the pre-calculus class, which presented no difficulty, a bored Peter soon began twirling his pen, then doodling on paper, then switching to his right hand to twirl the pen and doodle with his left hand.
"You can write with both hands?"
Harry seemed to have discovered something incredible, asking in a low voice, "Can you write with both hands simultaneously?"
Peter's left hand wrote "yes" on the paper.
"Can you write different words simultaneously?"
This time, his right hand wrote "No" on the paper.
"Alright, guys. We need to find a good day to build Lego together."
Harry, who had finally endured math class, seemed to have finally thought of something, smiling happily. It was clear he really wanted to build Lego. He nodded, laughing.
"No problem, just find a time. I'll tell Aunt May; she'll be happy to arrange dinner for us."
The group headed to their next class. As they walked, the school's news program was broadcasting new information.
"Based on this year's voting results, we have determined the theme for the first day of Spirit Week before Homecoming—Superheroes! Every student who wants to participate must dress up as a superhero or a supervillain!"