When Peter pushed open the door, fatigue washed over him. Days of continuous bank robberies had left him stretched thin, and on the other hand, his application for a part-time job at the Daily Bugle was still unheard from—not because someone else got the job, but because they simply rejected him. The advertisement for a website maintenance intern was still hanging on the school's internship board.
But what weighed even heavier on his mind was the atmosphere at home.
"Where has he been lately? Coming home so late every day..." Aunt May's voice drifted from the kitchen, laced with unconcealed worry.
"Don't worry, May, I'll talk to him," Uncle Ben's voice was gentle and firm. "He's a good kid; he won't cause trouble."
Peter stood at the doorway, sighing silently, then pushed the door open and entered. Aunt May seemed about to say something, but Uncle Ben had already quickly stepped forward, gently patted his shoulder, and led him outside: "Peter and I will chat, May, it'll be fine. Come on, kid."
The garage lights were dim, and the air was filled with the smell of oil and old leather. Uncle Ben rummaged for a while, pulling two pairs of boxing gloves from a pile of clutter. He tossed one onto the engine hood and skillfully put on the other.
"Gwen told me some things about you, Peter," Uncle Ben said calmly, adjusting the straps on his gloves. "But I think that wasn't all. There's something about a spider, right?"
"I just..." Peter opened his mouth.
"Don't just talk," Uncle Ben interrupted him, gesturing with his chin towards the other pair of gloves. "Put them on. Let's practice."
Peter silently put on the gloves, adopting the fighting stance Uncle Ben had taught him.
"Now, listen carefully." Uncle Ben raised his hands, adopting a defensive posture. "You attack, I defend. After each missed punch, think carefully about why you missed, and then throw the next punch—come on!"
Peter threw a straight punch, which Uncle Ben easily dodged by stepping aside. Just as he was about to adjust his posture and throw a second punch as Uncle Ben had instructed, his forehead received a solid, light tap.
"Ow!"
"See, Peter, dwelling on the past is meaningless. Whether the last punch hit or not, it shouldn't affect your next punch. Standing here, the only thing you should be thinking about is what comes next."
"I know, Uncle Ben, I just can't forget."
"Then think about something else, Peter."
Uncle Ben said, already taking off his gloves. Then he took his old laptop from the car: "After Gwen told me, I knew you should see this, so I brought the computer down. Maybe I should have shown you this a long time ago."
Peter, rubbing his forehead, walked to Uncle Ben's side. Uncle Ben opened the laptop, and the screen lit up, revealing a fire report.
"Remember this fire?"
"Of course, it was the first time I used my abilities to save people from a fire..."
"Have you seen this, though?"
Uncle Ben clicked on a bookmarked webpage, which led to a video. In the video, a mother's eyes were red, her voice choked:
"I don't know who you are, or if you can see this... but I have to say thank you. When the firefighters stopped me, you rushed in and saved my daughter..."
The video showed a mother expressing her gratitude; by the end, she was almost incoherent. Peter had never seen such a video before.
Then came the second one, and from here, Spider-Man appeared.
Spider-Man assisting the Damage Control Department against rioters, Spider-Man helping firefighters extinguish a high-rise fire, Spider-Man blocking bullets to save on-duty police officers...
Helping an old woman find her runaway pigeon, cleaning graffiti off a small shop owner's wall, or even just helping someone find their lost cat.
Big things and small, things Spider-Man had done that Peter himself couldn't remember, but someone else did. They didn't know how to contact Spider-Man, so they expressed their gratitude in the simplest way—someone built a website to collect these clips.
"I... I've never seen these," Peter's voice trembled slightly.
"But you should, kid," Uncle Ben's hand rested on his shoulder. "Don't always dwell on what you haven't done. Look at what you have done. No matter how your enemies discredit you, no matter how Jameson smears you, those you've helped will always know the truth."
He paused, his gaze firm.
"Spider-Man gives people hope, Peter. What are you agonizing over? Feeling like you didn't do enough? Look at these—you've already made so many people's lives better. My nephew has long been a hero who can bring smiles to the world."
"What you've accomplished is far more important than what you haven't."
Peter's throat tightened. He had always thought his actions were just small favors, never imagining they could truly change anything.
"These people... their lives got better because of me?" he mumbled, as if asking Uncle Ben, and also himself, "Can I really do all this?"
Uncle Ben smiled and nodded.
"You did these things. Look at these videos; your help to them will always be here. Your past isn't just about what you haven't done. Compared to what you have done, it's an insignificant part."
"I am so proud of everything my nephew has done. You should be proud of these things too, Peter."
"I, thank you, Uncle Ben. I don't know what to say."
Peter watched the videos, seemingly pondering for a long time, finally letting out a choked laugh: "So, Spider-Man brings hope to everyone. If the friendly neighborhood isn't happy, who can make everyone happy? Right? I'll carry a smile and hope, every day."
"Ben! Peter?!" Aunt May's voice came from inside the house.
"Alright, go apologize to your Aunt May," Uncle Ben said, then lowered his voice: "If you keep coming home this late, you won't be able to fool her anymore."
"I won't. Never again."
Back in his room, Peter retrieved an old briefcase from deep within his closet and took out an old notebook—it was a relic from Richard Parker, containing some of his initial thoughts from work. The synthetic web fluid formula for Spider-Man originated from this.
But the old web fluid couldn't cope with Shocker's threat anymore. Peter opened his laptop and, consulting his notes, began to try and refine the formula. Before, he had never thought he could improve his father's invention. But now, looking at the formulas, at the incredibly familiar hand-drawn web structure diagrams, Peter noted down all the chemical reagents he could find at school. Then, on his computer, he began to build new web models based on a revised web fluid structure.
"Guess you always have to push yourself," he muttered softly, never imagining he could do something like this in the Marvel universe.
Bottles of chemical reagents were pulled out of the closet and packed into his backpack. The remaining items were available at Midtown School. As a representative high school collaborating with Oscorp, it had a full range of equipment and instruments.
No teacher would probably mind him "borrowing" some chemical materials. Theoretically, the strength of the new web fluid could be increased by about 20%, which would be enough to deal with Shocker.
No... there was still a very important point.
Shocker was now very cautious, acting with others and choosing to quickly retreat during bank robberies, giving no one a chance. If he couldn't find Shocker, even figuring out how to defeat him would be useless.
But fortunately, he had two good friends, one suspected to be the seventh genius in the world, and the other suspected to be Osborn's heir. They had joined a detective agency, and the head of the agency was a superhero who worked as a detective... though he didn't have superpowers yet.
The darkness gradually deepened. Peter checked the time; he could probably sleep for another hour or two. He planned to put the notebook back in his bag and then go to bed.
He touched something inside his bag—it was Richard Parker's old Canon camera. He turned it on for some reason and found that it still worked.
The Daily Bugle also seemed to have an announcement about buying Spider-Man photos?
Peter placed the camera on his desk, lay down on his bed, and closed his eyes.
"Alright, Herman, this time, I'm coming for you."