"So, I just have to be a cashier, right?" Peter asked.
"Yes," the owner said, a look of relief on his face. "And I can finally get some rest." He walked into the back room, a hand pressed to the small of his back.
'I can't believe I'm working right now,' Peter thought. 'Whatever. I get money and a teacher. Win-win.'
When a customer entered and took a seat, Peter smiled politely and took their order with a practiced ease that came from countless similar jobs in his previous life.
From his own spot behind the counter, Shang-Chi observed Peter and the man still tailing him. He hadn't told Peter the follower's identity, not wanting to spook their quarry, and Peter had understood, trusting his new teacher's judgment. Shang-Chi kept a vigilant eye, ready to intervene if the man made a move.
Despite his powers, Peter felt a thread of anxiety. He moved carefully, hyper-aware of the hidden threat.
After their shift, Shang-Chi led Peter to a nearby, secluded parking lot for their first lesson.
"Try hitting me," Shang-Chi said, settling into a relaxed stance. His hands were open, held low, his legs bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.
Peter took a deep breath and raised his own hands, his right fist guarding his chin, his left hand extended, ready to jab.
He darted forward and launched a quick jab. Shang-Chi flowed to the side, evading it with ease, but his eyes widened slightly at the surprising power behind the punch.
The fight ended as quickly as it began. In one fluid motion, Shang-Chi pivoted, grabbed Peter's extended wrist, and used his momentum to throw him to the ground. Peter's spider-sense had tingled a warning, but it was too late to react. Before he could even think to kick back, he was on the pavement. The throw was so controlled he felt no impact, Shang-Chi having expertly pulled the blow to prevent injury.
"Kid, you're going to have to learn how to hold back," Shang-Chi stated, looking down at him. "If you don't, you'll punch someone's jaw off one day."
Peter nodded, getting to his feet and dusting himself off. A determined smile spread across his face. "Let me go again."
Shang-Chi returned the smile and readied his stance. But from the corner of his eye, he never lost sight of the man watching them from the shadows.
A few hours later, Peter was drenched in sweat, his body aching, but he was still smiling. Shang-Chi, by contrast, looked as composed as when they had started.
"See you tomorrow, kid. Go get some rest," Shang-Chi said.
"Thank you, Laoshi," Peter said, respectfully addressing him as 'teacher' in Mandarin. He brought a fist to his palm and gave a slight, formal bow.
Shang-Chi waved a hand. "You don't have to do that, kid."
As Peter left, Shang-Chi headed in a different direction, intercepting the man who had been following Peter all day.
"Why are you following that kid?" Shang-Chi demanded, stepping into his path.
The man, Shaw, just stared, his hand twitching toward his pocket. In a flash, he tried to pull a gun, but Shang-Chi was faster. He kicked a loose piece of gravel, striking Shaw's hand and forcing him to fumble the weapon. Shang-Chi closed the distance in an instant, driving an elbow into Shaw's sternum followed by a sharp uppercut that sent the man sprawling onto his back, gasping in pain.
Shang-Chi swiftly retrieved the gun and broke it apart with practiced ease by stomping, rendering it useless.
He hauled Shaw up by his collar. "Why are you following the kid?"
Shaw smirked through the pain. "Why would I tell you?" He spat in Shang-Chi's face.
Shang-Chi closed his eyes for a second, weighing his options. He disliked the method, but the threat to his student was too direct to ignore. He had to know.
He resorted to torture.
It didn't take long. Soon, Shaw was sobbing, begging for it to stop. "I'll tell you! Please, stop!"
"Why are you following Peter?" Shang-Chi repeated, his voice cold.
"I was tasked with killing him," Shaw choked out.
"By who?"
"Norman Osborn."
"Why is he targeting a kid?"
"To erase evidence," Shaw gasped.
Shang-Chi released him. 'This is bad.' A corporation with Osborn's resources targeting a teenager was a threat on an entirely different scale.
He looked down at Shaw, writhing on the ground. Leaving him alive was a risk he couldn't take. In a single, mercifully swift motion, Shang-Chi struck Shaw's chest with pinpoint precision, stopping the man's heart instantly.
Meanwhile, Peter ran home, his spider-like agility making his speed unnaturally fast. Even with the distance, a deep-seated paranoia gnawed at him, the feeling of unseen eyes watching from every shadow.
His mind raced, trying to piece it together. 'Who could want me dead? Is it Norman? But that doesn't make any sense. Even if he somehow knows about my powers, why send an assassin? I'm a nobody.' The logic refused to click into place, leaving him with nothing but a cold, confusing dread.
An hour later, he finally reached the familiar safety of his home. Slightly winded, he knocked on the door. It was opened by Aunt May, her face etched with concern.
"It's already dark, Peter. Where have you been?" she asked, her voice laced with worry.
"I'm sorry, I lost track of time," Peter said, offering a practiced, apologetic smile.
"Just don't make a habit of it, okay? We worry," she said, stepping aside to let him in.
As he entered, he added, "About that... I actually got a part-time job in Chinatown. I might be home late from now on."
Aunt May's eyes widened in surprise. "A job? Peter, is the allowance we give you not enough?"
"No, it's not that at all," he was quick to reassure her. "I'm just helping out a friend, and he's paying me for it."
"Well... alright," she conceded, though her expression remained slightly troubled. She then wrinkled her nose. "Now, go clean yourself up. You're all sweaty."
Peter nodded and headed for the stairs.
"And Peter," Aunt May called after him, "remember to come down for dinner."
"I will!" he shouted back before disappearing into the bathroom.
A moment later, Uncle Ben emerged from the garage, wiping his hands on an old rag. He glanced at the empty dining table. "Did Peter make it home?"
"He did," Aunt May said, setting the table. "He's showering. And you'll never guess, he got a job in Chinatown."
"Really?" Uncle Ben remarked, a note of pride in his voice. "That's initiative. Good for him."
"Ben..." Aunt May began, her tone softening with concern. "Have you noticed how... awkward he's been with us lately? It's like he's walking on eggshells."
Uncle Ben placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "He's at that age. Maybe he has a girlfriend and doesn't know how to tell us. Let's just give him some space for now."
"Okay," Aunt May sighed, trusting her husband's judgment, though a mother's worry still lingered in her eyes.
Later, Peter came down for dinner. As they ate, Uncle Ben broached the subject. "So, what did you get up to today? Did you meet your friend?"
"I did," Peter said between bites.
"Is this a new friend?" Uncle Ben asked.
"Yeah, his name is Shang-Chi."
"What did you two do together?" Aunt May inquired.
"Martial arts," Peter replied.
Uncle Ben raised an eyebrow. "Since when did you take an interest in that?"
"It's a recent thing."
"Are you sure you're not learning to fight to handle those bullies at school?" Ben pressed, his tone gentle but probing.
"I don't have time for petty scuffles," Peter stated, his voice carrying a surprising finality that gave his uncle pause.
Uncle Ben opened his mouth to offer more advice, but Peter continued, anticipating his concern. "I know what you're going to say. Don't worry, I won't misuse it."
Satisfied, Uncle Ben gave a nod of support. "Then go for it."
"Do your best, Peter," Aunt May added with a warm, if still slightly concerned, smile.
"Thanks."
In a lighter tone, Uncle Ben tried a different tack. "So, are you going to confess to Mary Jane someday?"
Peter looked up, not with embarrassment, but simple confusion. "Huh? No. Why would I?"
Uncle Ben and Aunt May exchanged a look of genuine surprise.
"Do you... not like her anymore?" Aunt May asked carefully.
"You could say that," Peter said, focusing on his meal.
Aunt May and Uncle Ben were taken aback. This was a shift they never expected to hear from him.
"Did something happen between you two?" Uncle Ben asked.
"Nothing happened. I just have different priorities right now. I want to focus on my future."
"Peter," Aunt May said gently, "I don't think it's healthy to shut out romance just for a career. Life needs balance."
"I'm not shutting it out," Peter clarified, his tone patient but firm. "I just have other things to focus on at the moment."
Uncle Ben and Aunt May shared another silent glance, a world of unspoken conversation passing between them.
After dinner, Peter retreated to his room. As he organized his bag and tidied up, he sifted through a stack of books. One in particular caught his eye: a notebook filled with complex diagrams and equations titled "Molecular Adhesive."
But the formula was incomplete.
"Hmm, so this is where it started," Peter muttered to himself. "But before I can finish this, I need to relearn... everything."
"Let's get to it," he declared, pulling a physics textbook from the shelf. He began to read, and a slow smile spread across his face. The concepts, once challenging, now clicked into place with astonishing ease. The text seemed to burn itself into his memory.
'So, this is what one of the smartest brains in the world feels like,' he thought, a thrill of excitement cutting through his weariness.
He finally ended his study session at 11:30 PM, marking his place and shutting the book. With a long yawn, he turned off the light and settled into bed. He had a long day tomorrow, training with Shang-Chi awaited. He would need all the rest he could get to handle the inevitable fatigue and soreness.