"Haney, remember to call me!"
At the entrance of the bar, a blonde girl with flushed cheeks handed Lance a business card that reeked of perfume before walking away with the help of her friend.
Lance glanced at the card in his hand, then casually tossed it into the trash can nearby.
He, Lance, never called a woman first.
Especially not one like her.
Too clingy—he could tell just by looking at her eyes.
She was the type who'd want to go steady, and Lance wasn't interested.
If he was going to date, it definitely wouldn't be with someone like that.
"Let's head home," he muttered, turning away from the bar.
No girl tonight, but that was fine.
He could go home, relax, and play some games instead.
Sleep?
Young guys like him didn't need to sleep early.
It was past 10 PM when Lance returned to Paradise Mansion.
He greeted the building's security captain—a massive 6'7" white guy built like a tank—and took the elevator upstairs.
Reaching the 66th floor, Lance stepped inside and immediately sensed something was off.
There was a faint scent of blood in the air.
This definitely wasn't normal.
"Did the Red Devil get into a fight while running around again?"
Lance's first thought was about his husky.
Ever since he'd given it teleportation powers, it had been going wild every night, only coming home at dawn.
At first, Lance had no idea where it was going.
Then he caught a news report on TV showing an interview with several furniture store owners complaining about their merchandise being trashed.
The scene looked oddly familiar.
Lance had taken the Red Devil there once—and it had nearly destroyed a table.
Now the furniture stores were being mysteriously wrecked overnight, and Lance immediately put two and two together.
His stupid dog had turned the stores into its personal playground.
After giving the Red Devil a stern scolding, Lance thought it had learned its lesson.
But now there was blood.
Had it gotten into trouble again?
"Wait."
"This smell… it's human blood."
Years of experience as a killer gave Lance a sharp nose for blood.
And this wasn't dog blood.
Had the Red Devil bitten someone?
"Red Devil! Get out here!"
"Don't hide—come out now!"
Lance tossed his coat aside and called out.
There was no response at first.
Then, faint footsteps echoed from deeper inside.
But something was off.
The steps didn't sound like the Red Devil's.
"Uh… sorry, I didn't mean to break in!"
A voice came from the shadows.
Lance turned and froze.
The figure stepping into the light was clearly a woman—and judging by her silhouette, a very fit one.
But what really caught his attention was her outfit.
A black-and-white Spider suit with a pink hood.
Spider-Man?
No.
Spider-Gwen.
Lance's eyes flicked to the open door leading to the rooftop pool.
Of course.
He must've forgotten to lock it earlier.
Still, this was the 66th floor in one of the most secure buildings in the city.
Even with the door open, no one could have broken in—no one except someone who could swing across the skyline.
But why was she here?
Lance's eyes narrowed.
"You're hurt?"
His gaze fell to her left arm.
She tried to hide it, but he noticed the tear in her suit and the blood seeping through.
"Yeah. Scratched by some bad guy."
Gwen sighed and raised her arm, showing him the wound.
Four deep gashes.
It was bad.
Even with her enhanced physicality, it would take a while to heal.
And it was still bleeding.
"Sit down."
Lance motioned to the couch.
Gwen hesitated but complied.
He turned and grabbed a first-aid kit.
"This'll sting a little. Bear with it."
Lance glanced at Gwen, who was still wearing her mask.
She nodded, clenching her teeth.
The moment the disinfectant touched her wound, she flinched and let out a quiet hiss of pain.
Lance kept working, bandaging the wound with practiced skill.
Years of patching himself up as a killer had made him good at this.
"Done. Try not to overdo it for a while."
Lance gave her a quick reminder, then looked at her suit and smirked.
"Though I guess advice like that doesn't mean much to you."
"I'll keep it in mind."
Gwen chuckled and stood up, flexing her arm to test the bandage.
"I should go. Staying here might get you into trouble."
"It's still early," Lance said, gesturing to the couch.
"You should rest for a bit. Want something to drink?"
Gwen hesitated but finally nodded.
"Ice water."
Lance disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a cup.
"Here. Drink this."
Gwen stared at the steaming mug of hot water.
"Hot water?"
"It's good for you," Lance said casually.
She blinked.
Why did that sound oddly condescending?
Still, she accepted it.
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