It seemed the new teacher was in a foul mood today, completely ignoring a so-called capitalist "worm" like Blaine.

"Hey, by the way, Blaine, why are you late today?"

… Is it really that surprising I'm late? I didn't even care when I skipped class for three days straight…

Peter had blurted out the question, probably in a rush to cover up what he had just been doing.

Blaine knew Spider-Man was still unwilling to reveal his identity, so he stayed quiet. Peter, meanwhile, was afraid Blaine might ask about his injuries or the real reason he was late. They'd already come up with excuses, but Blaine wasn't curious at all. Maybe out of guilt, Peter—usually talkative—fell uncharacteristically silent.

The teacher, however, had plenty to say. He'd been especially sarcastic toward Blaine and Peter earlier, but not ten minutes later, someone from the office rushed in, called the teacher out, and invited both students back to class.

The rest of the morning passed without a word of complaint about Blaine, even though he slept through the lesson. Capitalism's money really was useful.

Another day ended.

As for Spider-Man, it had been only a single day since his last fight, yet his strength had already improved so much. Blaine couldn't help but wonder: if another villain appeared tomorrow, how much further would he evolve? After the system upgrade was complete, Blaine would need to think carefully about it.

The next morning, Blaine stumbled into the bathroom with sleepy eyes to brush his teeth and wash his face. The TV droned in the background with irrelevant news. It was the weekend—no school today.

Finally, something not so boring.

Just as Blaine went to rinse his mouth, a sudden news break caught his attention.

"Breaking news—just moments ago…"

The reporter's urgent tone made Blaine sit up straight. Foam still clung to his lips, his hair a mess, but he dropped everything to watch.

"Only ten minutes ago, a man in yellow attacked a Citibank armored van in Queens belonging to JPMorgan Chase. We'll continue to bring live updates…"

"…Of course. The moment I call it, trouble shows up," Blaine muttered.

"Damn, this is exciting. Robbing a cash truck—that's been my dream…"

If he could actually use 100% of the stolen money, Blaine would have tried it long ago.

He spread his mental power outward, coordinating with his Hawkeye ability, extending his perception several kilometers. At the very edge of his range, he picked up the scene of the heist. It was like watching a city-wide electronic surveillance feed in his head.

"Nice. I can just lie here at home and watch the live broadcast. Don't even need tickets."

He leaned back casually, legs crossed, a bucket of popcorn somehow appearing in his hand. The rhythm was set—he was ready to enjoy the show to the end.

Meanwhile, Peter had started his "part-time job" as Queens' resident hero.

Wearing his homemade red-and-blue suit, Spider-Man swung between buildings and landed neatly on the armored truck, cameras rolling and bystanders cheering.

After several battles, Spider-Man's reputation had soared. Each appearance brought Queens to an emotional high. His fan base now rivaled that of a first-tier celebrity.

Spider-Man grabbed the rear door of the armored truck. Reinforced to withstand grenades, it gave way like wet paper under his strength.

Inside was a man dressed in yellow. Somehow he'd entered the vehicle without leaving any opening.

"Wait… I know that face…" Blaine muttered, eyes narrowing as Spider-Man climbed in.

The intruder, not eager to fight, shifted immediately into his true form—his body dissolving into sand. No wonder he'd slipped inside without a sound.

Growing larger, Sandman burst through the roof, showering the street below with bundled stacks of cash. Banknotes scattered everywhere, drawing screams from the crowd.

Spider-Man, still cracking jokes, lunged to stop him. But against a shapeless foe like Sandman, his punches landed like strikes against air. Each blow passed through harmlessly, the sand reforming instantly. It was like hitting cotton—useless. The more Peter fought, the more disoriented he became.

"Sandman's weakness is water. This is the last time I'll remind you. Next time, use your brain."

Blaine's voice slipped into his head again. Consider it repayment for Spider-Man helping rebuild his house.

Blaine knew Sandman well. Among Spider-Man's enemies, he was a classic. Once just an ordinary man, his body had mutated in an accident with a particle accelerator, giving him control over sand. He could be imprisoned temporarily—say, on an island surrounded by water—but permanent solutions were scarce. Some stories even told of him being melted into glass at extreme temperatures.

If Venom was Spider-Man's greatest foe, Sandman certainly held a top spot among his rogues.

Guided by Blaine's reminder, Spider-Man lured Sandman toward the sewers. Predictably, Sandman followed. Seeing this, Blaine smirked and pulled back his vision, choosing instead to watch TV. No need to imagine what nasty things lurked in the sewers—it might ruin his appetite for lunch.

This was the sixth straight day something had gone wrong in Queens. First riots, now robberies, and always Spider-Man in the middle. Was it simply bad luck, or was fate itself testing him to grow faster?

"Six days in a row. There'd better not be a show tomorrow," Blaine muttered.

But he knew himself too well. Tomorrow would bring something new. These villains weren't following any predictable story, and Blaine had no idea why.

On the seventh day, he stayed in the villa all day, gaming and glued to the news, afraid he might miss the next spectacle.

*************************************

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