[Bonus chapter for Powerstones]
10:30 PM.
For a high schooler, this ti wasn't exactly early, but it sat right on that threshold where guardians wouldn't be overly worried.
Peter pushed open the front door. Not a hint of gunpowder or blood lingered on him. The power of the Horse Talisman had long since scrubbed away every trace of the night's work.
Even his hoodie, which had been shredded during the frantic struggle, had been restored to "factory settings," looking as clean as if the tags had just been clipped.
As for the two cases of cash and Daredevil's full tactical loadout, he had already slipped them through his bedroom window ahead of ti.
"Peter, you're back."
In the living room, Aunt May and Uncle Ben were sitting on the sofa watching TV. Seeing Peter enter, both wore warm smiles.
"Yeah, sorry I'm late," Peter lied without blinking, shifting the bla entirely onto Gwen. "Today's lesson was actually pretty simple, but for so reason, I had to explain it a dozen tis, and Gwen kept saying there were parts she didn't get..."
Sure enough, hearing this "innocent" explanation, Ben and May's attention was instantly diverted.
"Not late at all! Poor Gwen is just trying to catch up with the curriculum, after all." "You have to be understanding, Peter. You need to be more of a gentleman—have a little more patience with girls."
The old couple gave Peter so earnest "advice," not forgetting to exchange a glance that clearly said our poor nephew... when is he finally going to take the hint?
After dodging Ben and May, Peter slipped into his room and imdiately clicked open the two briefcases.
The fragrance of fresh ink, mixed with the unique, corrupt scent of cold, hard cash, filled the air. After a quick count, a definitive number surfaced in his mind: Four million dollars.
At this stage of his life, it was an astronomical sum. While it was "dirty" money that couldn't be deposited into a bank, it was more than enough to be used in small incrents to buy precision instrunts, stock up on gear, or quietly improve his family's living conditions.
He pulled a stack of bills, tucked about a dozen into his wallet, and shoved the cases under his bed. Then, his focus shifted to Daredevil's gear.
He picked up the tal club. The mont it hit his hand, a system notification flared in his mind:
[Detected Sacrificable Blue-Tier Item: Daredevil's Multipurpose Billy Club]
[Description: The signature weapon of Daredevil, crafted from aerospace-grade aluminum alloy with high-strength internal cabling. It has witnessed his journey from a rookie to Kingpin's greatest headache.]
[Sacrifice for: 1,000 Points. Proceed?]
"Only Blue quality?" Peter's brow furrowed slightly. He felt the system was being a bit stingy.
But on second thought, it made sense. According to the data he'd gathered since reincarnating, the current Daredevil had only been active for a year or two.
He was far from his peak. The club wasn't made of Vibranium or Adamantium; its intrinsic value was limited. Plus, in the comics, Matt's gear underwent several iterations.
Getting 1,000 points was likely a "fa bonus" for being owned by the man himself.
"Better than nothing," Peter thought. He chose to sacrifice it. With his genius mind and four million dollars, he could build better tech whenever he wanted, but 1,000 points of system currency wasn't sothing he found every day.
[Current Sacrifice Points: 3,000]
Finally, his eyes landed on the dark red tactical suit. Because items related to the sa character have a six-month sacrifice cooldown, the suit didn't trigger a point prompt.
He ran his fingers over the material. It was tough, yet incredibly elastic. It was a specialized weave—primarily Kevlar—that offered top-tier abrasion and puncture resistance while remaining breathable and flexible. For a first-generation suit, it was perfect.
"Kevlar, huh..."
Looking at the thousand dollars in his wallet, Peter didn't hesitate. He pulled up his hood, hopped out the second-story window, and sprinted toward a nearby industrial supply store.
A short while later, he returned with a large shopping bag containing rolls of finished Kevlar fabric, a tactical belt, and a pair of black combat boots. With the materials ready, Peter set to work.
During a break, he hopped onto his computer to browse local NYC forums. It didn't take long to find a trending post:
[QUEENS: Masked Heroine Spotted Fighting Cri Late at Night!]
Below the post was a grainy, low-res photo taken from a shaky angle—likely a panicked citizen's cellphone snap. Despite the blur, Peter instantly recognized the classic suit.
The iconic black-and-white hooded bodysuit, and those... questionable teal ballet slippers.
It was Ghost-Spider.
An irrepressible smirk tugged at the corners of Peter's mouth. Gwen was moving even faster than he'd anticipated. To have the suit and web-shooters ready in a single day was impressive.
"In that case, I can't slack off either!"
He picked up his pace. By the ti the morning sun began to bleed through his bedroom window, Peter's suit was complete.
Originally, he had envisioned a black-and-gold aesthetic. However, since he had cannibalized parts of Daredevil's suit, he had to pivot to a Black-and-Red design.
He tried it on for a test fit. The tension was perfect, the compression was supportive, and most importantly... it was significantly more stylish than Gwen's ballet outfit.
After stuffing the suit into his backpack for ergencies and eating a quick breakfast, Peter boarded the school bus as usual.
Gwen wasn't "sick" today, but she sat in her seat looking utterly dejected, clutching a copy of the Daily Bugle.
As Peter sat down beside her, he glanced at the headline and nearly burst out laughing on the spot. The Daily Bugle's front page scread:
"SHOCKING: PIER 9 DOG-EAT-DOG MASSACRE! DOZENS OF GANGSTERS LEFT DEAD IN BLOODY TURF WAR!
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