In the storage room, middle-aged Peter Parker watched as Miles was easily knocked to the ground by Peter B. Parker. Though Miles had possessed his powers longer (seven days), it was undeniable that Peter B.'s combat instincts far surpassed Miles' by an overwhelming margin.
Especially after the morning's rigorous combat evaluations, the difference between the two became glaringly obvious.
This disparity made middle-aged Peter abandon an idea he'd been considering.
Initially, he had planned to suggest putting faith in Miles. That way, Peter B. could return home.
But now, it was clear that Miles wasn't ready for such responsibility.
With a resigned sigh, Peter bent down and peeled the webbing off Miles.
Frustrated, Miles got to his feet, ready to leap out the window and chase after Peter B., but Peter stopped him with a firm grip.
"Enough, Miles. You're not ready. Just let it go," Peter said.
"What do you mean, 'not ready'?" Miles shouted angrily. "I am ready! I can do this!"
Peter grabbed Miles by his shirt, pulling him close. In a low, serious tone, he said, "If you're really ready, then hit me with your electricity. Shock me unconscious. Or turn invisible—right now—and walk past me without me noticing. Go on. Disappear."
Deep down, Peter still held onto a sliver of hope for Miles. He was, after all, the first person Peter had connected with in this dimension. If possible, he wanted to give him one more chance.
Miles froze for a moment, clenching his fists as he tried to summon his powers.
But it was no use.
The morning's training had been too brief, and the emotional toll of his uncle's injury weighed heavily on him. The trauma and self-doubt left him unable to control his abilities.
No matter how hard he tried, nothing happened.
No sparks of electricity.
No vanishing act.
Nothing.
"Go spend some time with your uncle, Miles," Peter said, letting go of his shirt. "I'm sure you'd rather be there to hear the good news the moment he makes it through this."
Miles' anger began to fade, replaced by a deep sense of helplessness.
Peter's words brought back vivid memories of his Uncle Aaron—their time together, and the haunting image of Aaron lying in Miles' arms, barely clinging to life after being shot.
The light in his eyes gradually faded.
Middle-aged Peter Parker felt an increasing sense of disappointment, extinguishing the last glimmer of hope he had.
He gently patted Miles on the shoulder. "Goodbye, Miles."
"Goodbye," Miles replied, raising his hand, only to find that Peter had already disappeared through the window.
He rushed to the window and shouted, "How will I know when I'm ready?"
The figure clad in the red-and-blue Spider-Man suit paused on the wall and answered, "You'll never know. It's a matter of belief!"
With that, he moved again, swinging away.
Miles stood frozen in place, staring at the distant street where the red-and-blue figure swung further and further away, until it disappeared around a corner.
Finally, he murmured softly, "Goodbye, everyone."
The night in New York was a study in contrasts.
For the working-class neighborhoods, it was a time of revelry and crime.
For the wealthy districts, it marked the conclusion of another perfect day.
Tonight, in the towering Fisk Tower, the end of a chapter was being written for one of the city's most iconic heroes.
"A Farewell to Our Beloved Spider-Man"
The event was hosted by the city's renowned philanthropist and business magnate, Wilson Fisk.
Fisk Tower, a skyscraper over 30 stories tall and nearly 200 meters in height, stood out even amidst New York's dense forest of high-rises.
But few knew how much dirty money had been funneled into its construction.
And fewer cared.
Those who were aware wouldn't speak up, and those who were oblivious might never find out.
This was evident from the stream of wealthy elites, socialites, and celebrities stepping out of their luxury cars.
Adorned in gold and silver, dressed to the nines, and wearing warm, cordial smiles, they filed into the event.
To them, this so-called memorial service and charity gala was merely an opportunity to leverage Spider-Man's name to fulfill their social needs.
As with countless events before, this one was no different.
Among the crowd, a group of figures suddenly stood out.
A portly man with a round belly, a muscular man, a graceful woman, and a small girl sitting atop a rotund mech.
Each of the four wore either a spider suit or something bearing a similar emblem.
Their presence starkly contrasted with the sophisticated crowd streaming into the building.
"Are those the servers? I heard tonight's servers are all dressed as Spider-Man," a well-dressed man remarked.
"Obviously," his equally elegant female companion replied disdainfully, eyeing the group. "But their costumes are hideous! I hope they don't come near me."
Another sharply dressed man nearby overheard and, curious, chimed in, "Isn't tonight a memorial for Spider-Man, Mr. Parker? Why dress the servers as him?"
The woman let out a soft laugh and replied, "Isn't Spider-Man our 'friendly neighborhood hero'? Serving us seems fitting, doesn't it?"
"These bastards..." Bide clenched his fists.
While he had never met the Ultimate Spider-Man in person, over the past two days, he had learned about the hero's battles for this city and against villains over the years.
Time and again, Spider-Man had saved the city—even the world—from the brink of destruction.
He was a true hero. And yet, in death, he was treated with such disrespect.
At that moment, a soft hand gently took hold of Bide's arm.
"Ignore them," Gwen said softly. "We have a job to do."
Nearby, middle-aged Peter added, "We can't make everyone like us, Bide. That's just how it is."
"You're not even a little angry?" Bide asked.
Gwen shook her head. "In my world, I've heard far worse. If I got upset about everything, I'd never stop being angry."
"Exactly," Peter said patiently. "If it gets to you, think about the people and things that make you happy. That always helps."
For Peter, both Bide and Miles were like younger brothers—successors who would one day walk their own paths.
As their senior, he felt it was his responsibility to help them navigate those paths as smoothly as possible, sparing them from the hardships he had endured.
"I get it now," Bide nodded, his resolve strengthening.
"Here, Bide-oniisan! Have a candy—it'll sweeten you up and chase away all the bad vibes!" Penny chimed in, offering a piece of candy.
Bide opened his mouth and took it, feeling noticeably better.
"Thank you, everyone. Let's give it our all and show Kingpin the consequences of disrespecting the departed!"
(End of Chapter)
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