"The Knights of Favonius?"
Upon hearing this unfamiliar term, Tony Stark immediately became curious. He struggled to sit up from the wreckage of his Iron Man suit and asked:
"Is it some kind of secret organization in Europe? Where's your headquarters? What kind of energy powers that giant sword—?"
Noelle blinked her emerald eyes, clearly taken aback by the barrage of questions, and was about to answer when—
"Beep beep—!"
Sirens wailed in the distance, their shrill echo cutting through the quiet streets.
"I'm very sorry—I have to go now. Please hold on a little longer."
The healing aura surrounding Noelle's hand suddenly intensified.
Before Tony could respond, a warm current surged through his limbs. The vital signs monitor inside his damaged armor registered an astonishing recovery: his bruises and internal bleeding were healing at an unnatural rate.
"Wait—this healing technique…"
May the wind god protect you.
Noelle was already on her feet, effortlessly hoisting her massive silver-white longsword. She gave them a perfect knightly salute, her long white hair fluttering in the morning breeze.
Tony Stark, ever observant, noted the precise angle of her wrist—an ancient, formal etiquette few in the modern world could replicate.
"Miss Noelle, will those monsters come back?"
But the girl was already gone. Only a few fallen leaves spiraled down from the spot where she'd stood moments before.
Tony pushed himself upright, wincing as he rubbed his sore lower back. He stared in the direction she'd vanished and muttered:
"A female knight who could cleave Manhattan in two… from an organization I've never even heard of. This world's getting crazier by the minute."
Matt fumbled for his short stick, the blare of approaching sirens still ringing in his ears. "She was telling the truth," he said. "I could tell."
He turned to Tony. "We need to talk. The Punisher, the monsters I've been tracking—and the ones we fought tonight—might only be the beginning. We have to be ready."
Tony glanced down at his battered armor, his expression uncharacteristically grave.
"Ready…" he echoed.
———————————
The next day, at Midtown High School...
"…Therefore, Joule heat is distributed according to resistance, and the heat on \( R \) is:
\[
Q_R = \left( \frac{R}{R + r} \right) Q_{\text{total}} = \frac{R}{R + r} \cdot mgd\sin\theta.
\]"
"How about that? Isn't it super easy?!"
After writing the final character, Peter Parker turned to Jessica Campbell with an incredibly sincere smile.
As he spoke, he handed her a pen and the test paper, his face full of encouragement.
Jessica Campbell: "…."
In her mind, Peter Parker's behavior was roughly equivalent to:
"You've just learned addition, and I even showed you the cover of Advanced Mathematics II. Now, go ahead and prove Goldbach's Conjecture!"
This behavior couldn't be described as excusable—it could, at best, be described as utterly depraved.
Not far away, Flash Thompson watched this horrifying scene and couldn't help but shudder.
He'd never liked academic high-achievers. Being around them felt like starring in a pornographic film: even though everyone kept saying it was too late to stop, you still had to keep going—or risk getting scolded.
At least other people could enjoy making movies. He, however, was both miserable and in pain—and couldn't stop.
In that moment, Flash Thompson became even more resolute: he absolutely would not degenerate into associating with these academic high-achievers!
Before long, thanks to Peter Parker's relentless "guidance," Jessica Campbell finally… watched Peter Parker finish the test for her.
Across from her, Damian rubbed his eyes as if he'd just woken up and said lazily:
"Alas, there is a road to heaven, yet you refuse to take it; the sea of learning is boundless, yet you must row hard to cross it."
"You didn't write a single letter on this exam—except your name! Why do you look like you just crawled out of a sewer?"
Jessica Campbell waved her hand wearily, on the verge of tears:
"Don't talk to me. I have nothing to say to you masochistic students who actually enjoy studying."
"Why can't learning be more relaxed and enjoyable? Wouldn't it be better to learn happily?"
Hearing this, Gwen Stacy—who was sitting next to Peter Parker—closed her book and said in a serious tone:
"When a person is in a happy state, it's usually accompanied by a large secretion of dopamine. This neurotransmitter strengthens the pursuit of pleasure but inhibits activity in the prefrontal cortex."
"Happiness itself doesn't hinder learning—but it does consume cognitive resources."
Seeing Jessica Campbell's bewildered expression—as if she'd never been tainted by knowledge—Damian sighed and added:
"That means, aside from a few freaks, joyful learning is a false promise for most people."
"It's like telling someone the night will eventually pass, but a pervert only remembers 'nightclub.' When you're 'learning happily,' you usually just remember the happiness—and completely forget about studying."
When he mentioned "freaks," Damian glanced sideways at Peter Parker.
At that moment, Peter was nodding vigorously, clearly agreeing with Damian's words—completely unaware that he himself was the textbook example of such a "freak."
Seeing Jessica Campbell still looking pitiful, Damian's lips twitched. He turned to Peter Parker and suggested:
"How about… we find some children's science books for her to start with? At this rate, your blood pressure's going to spike before her grades even budge."
Before Peter could respond, Gwen Stacy immediately raised her hand and said:
"I have some at home! They're from when I was a kid, but I've kept them in excellent condition—they should still be usable."
Hearing this, Damian nodded—then paused, a flicker of unease crossing his face.
"Excuse me," he asked carefully, "but what kind of children's books are we talking about, exactly? Would you mind listing the titles?"
Gwen Stacy looked slightly confused but nodded obligingly:
"What's so inconvenient about that? They're just popular science journals—like Nature, Science, and PNAS."
Really?!
Damian put a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes in pain.
He couldn't fathom how a prestigious journal like PNAS had somehow been classified as "children's literature."
He turned his head and looked at Jessica Campbell—who, though named like a normal student, now seemed more like a tragic figure reading Cole instead of calculus—with a deeply complicated expression.
"Looks like I can't count on those
two," he muttered. "I'll go to the bookstore and pick out a couple of proper beginner books for you when I have some free time."
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