It was May when Peter Parker passed. When he woke up in the city of Musutafu, worlds away, it was the middle of January. Now, it's the end of March, and he can't help but think about time. All these weeks lounging around in this world, how much time had passed in his own world? Had any? Was there anyone left to mourn him at all?

He doesn't know. There's no way of knowing, really, but it's been keeping him up more than he's happy with.

Peter, sitting cross-legged beside Sandwich on the floor of their shared apartment, stares up at the holo-projected image of a burly blonde man with impossibly arranged hair on their ceiling. Internally, Peter questioned the practical purpose of an acceptance video of all things, as opposed to the standard letter or email. Surely recording one for each student, pass or fail, must not be an especially efficient use of anyone's time.

"—scored [EIGHTY-ONE] points on the practical portion—"

Though they seem to have recorded a template acceptance video and simply stitched in whatever was specific to each student to save time.

"—terrific! For you, aspiring hero, we've compiled a brief highlight reel! Behold!"

A few short clips of Peter tearing through the smaller robots play to generic celebratory trumpet music. While he figured he was being recorded, the sight of himself on camera doing these impossible things out of costume still bothered him deep down.

The barrel-chested blond man known apparently as All Might goes on to give him all the salient information; the first day, the dress code, approximately when he'll get his uniform, the works. He gives one final salute, and the little projector clicks right back off. Sandwich tilts his head as the magic metal frisbee stops glowing, and Peter stares at it as though expecting the thing to turn back on.

"Well," Peter starts, speaking to the pup, "I guess I'm a high school student again. More things change, more they stay the same, right Sammy?"

The puppy huffs and rests his head between his paws.

"Glad you're supporting me through this difficult time." Peter pets the little dog's head a little roughly, and Sandwich only blinks in response.


April now. Peter's Japanese is at best conversational. He spends forty-five minutes trying to tie the tie in the mirror before heading out, using mostly ineffectual video tutorials in an effort to figure out that particular Gordian knot. A part of him is a little disappointed at the fact that there was a uniform. Contrary to popular belief, the way he dressed himself was not a product of his self-loathing; if you asked him why sweater vests of all things, he'd just say they made him feel good. Distinguished.

Trying to comb his hair doesn't go too well either; he doesn't have May's magic hands. It is somewhat better than the shaggy mess it was before, but he still felt like it gave off a different sort of impression than he'd like.

MJ would call it 'skater dork chic' or something.

Peter gracefully bounds across the rooftops of Musutafu. For the first time in a very long time, he isn't worried about being late to school; there's no police sirens on the way there, no distant explosions or sounds of superpowered conflict that he might be better suited for handling than most. It's a peaceful commute, and he's got fifteen minutes to spare by the time he spots the throngs of students milling into the hero academy for their first day.

It's odd to feel like he stands out when he really, truly doesn't. There're kids of all shapes and sizes among them, but more than half of them look normal.

Is saying 'normal' offensive? I mean, what's abnormal around here, really!? Honest question! I figured I'd be the weird one but… But I dunno! No one batted an eye at the kid with four legs outside, so why should I care? He thinks, adjusting his backpack into a more comfortable position as he marches down the surprisingly vacant hallways of the school. Considering the sheer size of the campus, he guesses most of the classes are fairly spread out, too, but he doesn't even see any of his own classmates. Did he miss some sort of memo?

Whatever concerns about that are resolved when he hears fast footsteps approaching from behind. A freckled kid with dark green hair whizzes by Peter as he jogs in the same direction Peter's going, murmuring something to himself.

And the guy's taller than Peter. Not by much, but taller. A part of him—a concealed, rotting part of him—hopes that that was about as tall as the rest of his class got. Not for any reason. Just, you know, so he wouldn't have to crane his neck to talk to them. That was all.

He keeps on for a longer while than he expects until he comes to a door too large for most anyone to use, decorated with stylized text that reads 1-A. Which, if memory serves, was exactly where he was supposed to be. But he lingers behind the door just a little longer than he expects himself to, psyching himself up for something unknowable. At least, until he found the courage to open it up and take the plunge.

A breath. Peter places his hand on the door and pushes.

"Gwah!"

"Ah! Are you alright?!"

Instantly regretting his decision, Peter considers leaving right then and there.

In his attempt at entry, he had not considered that someone would be standing in front of the door. But, in his defense, the person standing behind the door—a girl that got knocked flat on her face by said door—had not considered someone would try to open the door. So really, who's to blame?

The kid with green hair and freckles fusses over her as she picks herself back up. Another bespectacled fellow, much taller than even the green-haired kid, stares at Peter like the smaller boy had committed a terrible crime. And in his vicious gaze, Peter does feel much, much smaller. He doesn't even want to think about the rest of the class watching.

"You… Such feckless behavior is unacceptable!" the tall boy says, gesticulating so erratically, almost randomly, that it seems like his glasses are going to fly off his face and into someone innocent onlooker's eye. "You need to pay more attention to your surroundings. What if you had slammed the door open even harder, or into a less resilient classmate?!"

Peter gives him little else but an owlish blink.

"I—no, I'm fine," the brunette girl says, rubbing her head and brushing off her skirt. "It's okay, guys!" She turns over to Peter, smiling benevolently; a stark contrast to the comedic outrage on the taller classmate and the still-sputtering freckled fellow. "Hey, sorry! Probably shouldn't be standing in front of doors. Real silly of me!"

Too much at once. Too much; Peter is still a few sentences behind, trying to decipher what anybody is saying, so any reply catches in his throat and latches onto the walls of his trachea, gripping tight. Big brown eyes stare back at the trio, who begin to realize that Peter was, in fact, stunned to silence. Soon they start to look a little uncomfortable too, which Peter doesn't really blame them for. He's been staring at them for longer than is even remotely acceptable. In fact, he must look insane.

Something bumps into Peter's ankle, making him jump. His surprised reaction causes the other three to look down behind him, followed by the boy himself. They are greeted with what Peter assumes to be a mutated mealworm that engorged itself on an entire forest and was now here to eat them all, which he could handle much better than the very real possibility that this was another student.

Upon further inspection, it's just a sleeping bag. It shuffles around a bit, turning on its side to reveal the face of a man that Peter at first assumes is dead, given the glassy look in his eyes and the unkempt state of what little hair he could see.

"Good job shutting up," says the not-corpse groggily, one hand shimmying out of the face hole with a juice pouch in its grip. While he seemingly defied physics by standing up in the bag like some sort of slug, he sucks every last drop out of the pouch before their very eyes. "More rational than I expected. I'd rather not have to tell you all to quiet down."

No one says anything, so Peter doesn't feel like he should say anything. A few students stand at attention behind the trio, just as curious about his strange, frightening, vaguely musty disheveled man who literally rolled onto the scene.

"I'm your new homeroom teacher, Aizawa Shota. You may call me Mr. Aizawa. You may not refer to me by anything else." The man known as Mr. Aizawa unzips the sleeping bag and prys himself out of it like a butterfly breaking out of its chrysalis, only not at all majestic. From the sleeping bag, he retrieves a dark blue athletic jacket with a white U and A emblazoned down the chest. "Change into your gym uniforms and head to the grounds on the east. The changing rooms are on the first floor, I'll meet you all at the field in twenty."

"What're we—" The jacket flies quick into the face of one student who had stood up, cutting off his question; a kid with yellow hair decorated with a black streak that looked like a lightning bolt. He was also taller than Peter, a fact that Peter observes for no particular reason at all. The toss nearly makes him tumble over, and before they know it all that's left of their homeroom teacher's passing is an abandoned sleeping back and footsteps growing quieter down the hall.


Locker rooms: the bane of any wallflower's existence.

"Antiperspirant and hand sanitizer are essential tools for any hero in training!"

"I do hope this will be our first chance to shine! "

"Ah, hey, that's my tail."

"I have GOT to get her name!"

Granted, it wasn't like Peter had a worse time in them than most people did in the last year. When he needed someone to chat with, he would have had Harry or even Kong on a good day, and it wasn't like he was shy about taking his shirt off in front of other people. But when he sees that no one else is wearing a superhero costume underneath their clothes—because why would they—he gets a little self-conscious about his decision.

Thankfully, no one seems to want to bother him or intrude while he's clearly trying to keep his distance for the first minute or so. When he's changing, Peter tries to take off the top of his costume while unbuttoning the shirt of the uniform, shuffling awkwardly in his clothes and gathering the attention of the yellow-haired student with the black lightning trapped in his hair. There's a twinkle in his eye when he sees the red and blue of the costume, stitched back to something closer to its former glory.

"Woooah! You're that guy!?"

Peter looks back at him like a frightening animal, arm trapped in his sleeve. A few faces turn to look at their two half-dressed classmates, curious. Upon seeing part of the costume themselves, reactions vary; some mildly surprised, others entirely disinterested. The bleach blonde one just sort of glances, entirely dismissing all the ruckus and

"Oh, man! So you must be like, a transfer student, right? Did they fly you in early to get ready or something?" The yellow-haired kid leans closer, making Peter compulsively lean back. "Dude, soon as we're done today, you gotta spill."

"Ah, yes, o-kay." Peter's on the verge of screaming. People knew him. Of course, the implications of someone knowing what Spider-Man looked like under the mask weren't quite as dire as they were back home, but it still made him deeply uncomfortable.

Almost as uncomfortable as how utterly indifferent everyone was to it made him.


"Before we start, any questions?" Aizawa asks, not bothering to turn to the herd of students that trailed behind him on their approach towards the center of the field.

The brunette girl Peter knocked over steps up. "Hey, so, won't there be an entrance ceremony? Don't we need guidance sessions?"

"Nope." The teacher tilts his head back, almost like he wants to turn back to face his students, but cannot find the energy to do so. "Not if you want to become heroes quicker. Besides, U.A. is known for a… Let's say 'freestyle' curriculum. Our method of teaching reflects that."

Peter had read something about that, but figured it meant giving them laptops or having funnily designed lecture halls. Not whatever this was.

Mr. Aizawa goes over what they'll be doing for the day: a series of largely basic gym exercises and performance tests. The sort Peter has, for the last year of his life, needed to intentionally botch on occasion in order to mitigate any suspicion that he was a superhero. Or on some kind of performance enhancer.

It makes sense in a way, but Peter had to suspect whatever data they gathered was going to be a little biased. He didn't want to put anyone down, but he could bench press an eighteen-wheeler. The shorter kid with the shiny purple balls on his head probably wasn't going to be throwing a ball any harder than he could.

The blond grumbly one who stepped up first, apparently named Bakugo, certainly looks tougher. Acts that way, too. Regardless, Peter isn't entirely interested in watching.

"Die!"

The explosion that follows his demand is massive. Such that it sends a few of the students stumbling back from the dust and dirt flying in their faces, and Peter swears his Spider-Sense tingles just a bit before Bakugo even makes the throw. Even Peter reflexively raises his arms to shield his face, squinting his eyes just to catch the ball disappearing into the horizon.

Peter has for a while stopped forgetting the fact that everyone else has powers. Now he just forgot that there is a high chance just about everyone here could be so much more powerful than he is.

Great, Spider-Man thinks. Mr. Aizawa's following words and the growing groans of the students were muffled by the ringing in his ears as a result of the blast. I'm gonna be the lamest one here.


1. PETER PARKER

2. MOMO YAOYOROZU

3. SHOTO TODOROKI

4. KATSUKI BAKUGO

5. TENYA IIDA

6. MEZO SHOJI

7. MASHIRAO OJIRO

8. FUMIKAGE TOKOYAMI

9. EIJIRO KIRISHIMA

10. MINA ASHIDO

11. OCHACO URARAKA

12. RIKIDO SATO

13. TSUYU ASUI

14. KOJI KODA

15. YUGA AOYAMA

16. DENKI KAMINARI

17. KYOKA JIRO

18. TORU HAGAKURE

19. MINORU MINETA

20. IZUKU MIDORIYA


Great, Spider-Man thinks, wiping sweat off his brow, more from the blistering heat of the mid-morning sun than any actual energy expenditure. I'm not the lamest. Or the shortest. Two wins today.

Stood among the group of exhausted teenagers, Peter takes a moment to give them all a quick once-over. Everyone seemed to, more or less, function about as well as normal people. Some notable outliers, of course, but none seemed to have the same raw physical ability that Peter had. Their powers, however, varied quite a bit with regards to strength relative to his. A few were impressive, flashy, and able to assist them in completing the exercises without needing to actually use any energy at all. Others seemed—as Peter so politely put it in his own head—outright silly.

He just can't quite wrap his head around how you could be a superhero by just being invisible.

Or having grapes on your head. Of all things.

"Before we proceed," Aizawa's sonorous voice demands their attention, "I'd like to state that you all did well in some way. All things considered, I believe this class has potential. Now, regarding what I had said about the lowest scoring student facing expulsion—"

"Woah!" the spiky red-head—Kirishima, Peter thinks—cuts in. "Expulsion!? You mean I coulda' gotten expelled!?"

The taller, bulkier one by the name of Sato steps up, too. "Yeah, what the heck Mr. Aizawa, why didn't you tell us!?"

Aizawa, clearly confused at the reaction, blinks owlishly at the group. Strangely, Peter found him looking bemused a little more disconcerting than one should. But the man straightens up eventually, clearing his likely dry, scratchy throat. "You two should have been paying attention. I stated that right before we started the—"

"Uhm, actually," Uraka speaks up this time, interrupting the teacher, "I didn't hear it either." She shuffles a little diffidently, squirming under the teacher's mildly confused but still indignant gaze. Though her words are followed by a chorus of repeated 'me toos' and hums of agreement.

No one had heard it.

Peter sure hadn't. Not that he was worried about getting expelled on day one; that green kid named Midoriya, who looks as though he's experiencing a panic attack and a stroke all at once while Uraraka tried to nurse him back to health, would have probably liked to know.

Momo, the tallest girl with the fierce look in her eye, follows quickly after, "I believe it was when Bakugo threw the ball, right? It was quite loud, and dusty, and my ears are still ringing, Mr. Aizawa." She crosses her arms, giving the man a withering glare."You should be more diligent with relaying this sort of information to your students, sir."

A few students cast looks at Bakugo, the young man in question merely grumbling and giving them all a noncommittal shrug. Though it seemed he didn't feel he had anything to apologize for, there was something vaguely close contrite about his response.

Aizawa sighs, "I didn't—"

"Honestly, teach! What if I had a stomach cramp!?" the pluckier blond one, apparently named Kaminari, pipes up as well.

"Well you aren't—"

Mineta, the one with the aforementioned grapes on his head, raises his hand and quickly asks, "What about second to last place?! Do I get a demerit or something?!"

"No one's getting expelled! Or punished! It was a rational deception to encourage you all to try your best. Clearly none of you heard it, and I apologize, but there is nothing to worry about. Do you all understand?!"

A beat. All present are frozen in place for what feels like a long, long time.

It comes as a shock even to himself that it is Peter who breaks the silence, meekly commenting, "I… Don't understand."


Class 1-A's first day ends early with one kid having suffered a broken finger and their teacher grumbling about needing to handle something about two baseballs breaking the windows of some residential buildings in Musutafu, and a third denting the roof of Vlad King's car. Peter assumes that the last one was his doing, and really hopes that Vlad King is not an actual vampire.

That… Didn't suck, he thinks, taking a breath of crisp early evening air. I mean, it could've been better, but maybe this'll be a sweeter gig than I thought. Do my usual thing for the school stuff, meet someone that might help me get home in the hero stuff… Would class credits transfer inter-dimensionally? Could I get someone to write me like, a form for it or something?

Peter ambles down the main entryway with his head in the clouds, but someone's on his trail. The only warnings are the sound of hurried footsteps growing closer, and a call of his name in a Japanese accent.

"Hey, Parker!"

He goes still, left foot held inches above the ground, and winces. Kaminari, the blond that called attention to the costume, approaches. A little out of breath, forehead glistening with sweat like he'd been in a hurry to leave, and Peter wonders what he actually intends to do. Clearly it had something to do with those short-lived escapades from a few months back, but was he really worth committing to memory compared to, say, every other person traipsing around in a funny costume?

"Duuude," is how Kaminari chooses to start, eyeing Peter up and down like they hadn't just spent the last three hours together with ample opportunity to have done that beforehand. "You look taller in the videos!"

Peter furrows his brow, squints right back at him like something's been incited.

"Oh, you probably haven't had much practice with the language. I'll speak really slowly." Kaminari puts both hands out, raising and lowering them with every syllable. "You-look-taller-in—"

"No, I… Understood that," Peter clarifies, eyeing Kaminari up in return. The other student looks back at him a little bemusedly; the cogs in his head are practically audible. Wide, yellow, uncertain eyes stare dumbly back at the shorter boy, and in that moment a theory is confirmed. It's precisely the sort of look Harry would give him after trying to explain the difference between sine and cosecant; the kind Kong gave him when he used the word decorum upon seeing the cole slaw stain running down the oaf's shirt in third period. "You can speak—fast. Normally."

If there was anything Peter could recognize at a glance, it was a dullard.

Kaminari just smiles, amiable. "Oh, right on, man! Anyways, you seemed pretty surprised when I approached you in the locker room earlier—sorry about that, by the way, just got really excited"—he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a phone encased in a tacky golden sleeve—"'cuz I mean you're like, a celebrity."

Peter tilts his head at that, leaning forward when Kaminari tilts the screen in his direction.

It's a video; shakily recorded, poorly framed footage of a road at night. A great big thumping sound grows louder in the distance off-screen, and suddenly the Mad Charger bursts into frame, careening down the road. On his back, a web, and clinging to that web some few feet behind him was the screaming Spider-Man, flashing across the screen as a blue and red blur and disappearing down the road.

Kaminari swipes. Another angle; this time from a civilian that was scrambling off the road, watching Peter slam back-first into a food truck, putting a large dent in it and eliciting a few curses from the driver. They go whizzing by the person recording again, Peter screaming 'ol one-two!'

Kaminari swipes. The first angle, but with muffled pop music growing louder and louder as opposed to the heavy footsteps. When Peter enters the frame, the red and blue of his costume are edited such that it flickers through various bright neon colors, the music reaches its loudest. And as they disappear down the road, the music grows quieter and quieter again.

They had made a meme of him. He's in so much shock that he barely even registers Kaminari giggling at it.

"Man that's—that's my favorite one." Kaminari wipes away a tear. "So cool of you though, man. Everyone was sayin' you must've been a student; didn't know I'd be in the same class as you." He nudges Peter's shoulder with his elbow and grimaces, finding the shorter kid a fair bit sturdier than expected.

"I… Right, yes. It is nice." Peter nods, a little blush on his face because, heaven help him, he's embarrassed. "Thank you for the… The—?"

"Don't blow a fuse, man." Kaminari shrugs, waving off Peter's slow attempts at communication. "But hey, I'll let ya' go. You can fill me in on stuff later. And if you're feeling nervous being in a new country n' all, feel free to hang out with me," he says, then leaning forward and lowering his head conspiratorially. "And if you're looking to talk to any of the chicks around here, refer to me, too. I'll be your interpreter."

A wink. Peter isn't entirely sure how to respond to that, so in lieu of expressing how he actually feels, he just nods as the blush on his face gets a little redder.

Kaminari pats him on the shoulder twice, waltzing off to join the throng of students milling out of the school's ginormous gates.

God, is all Peter thinks, continuing his own egress.

Granted, he's glad no one seems to want to shove him in a locker. Or hit him. Or just make fun of his height. Or put garbage in his backpack when he isn't looking.

It's in the small victories.

Peter makes his way home in the relative peace and quiet of Musutafu in the evening. Everyone's still at work and they got out earlier than the weekly schedule says they regularly would; it's nice, almost, that he doesn't have to brave the mundanities of a typical first day at school.

Not the smoothest introduction, though. He winces at the thought. I should really try to say sorry to Uraka… Urararaka? Ukara? Whatever her name is. She seems nice, and May would want me to.

As soon as he finds somewhere secluded enough—an alleyway, dank and sordid and perfectly dark, and clambers up to the rooftop of a residential building. By his reckoning, home should be another fourteen minutes if he's moving as the crow flies and at top speed, but he decides to take it slower. There's plenty of daylight left, and taking the scenic route home seems like the right thing to do.

MJ would probably call me a doofus for bumping into her like that but—but like, how was I supposed to know? And why was she just… Standing in front of the door? Granted I was the last person to get there because of that stupid labyrinth floor plan, but she's gotta mind her surroundings.

He bounces off a rooftop entryway, swings off a radio tower with his left hand, and soars into the concrete facade of an office building, clinging to it.

And, man! Why was that Iida guy giving me so much lip for a mistake? Geeze, what a kvetch. Like Liz if she were tall… And had really thick legs…. And a really, really strong jawline.

Climbing to the top, he comes to another empty rooftop, jogging briskly across it to stare out into the far-stretching city. A few billboards have been replaced, so he takes a moment to practice his reading, and finds it a little funny that the blonde woman who that hero with wood powers approached him with seems to be advertising some kind of women's brand hair care product. The commercialization of superheroes may seem bleak if he looks at it long enough, but there's a charm to these things; a certain kind of joy to be found in the enthusiasm people here have for the larger-than-life.

The young hero springs off the roof, falling just as easily as he has for a long time now. He reaches out his hand, clicking at the trigger of a web-shooter that isn't there.

Man I keep forgetting—

And lands, pathetically, atop another roof, breaking his fall with his arms and chest.

thaaaat I need to go to a pharmacy. For. Two reasons now. Ow.


As soon as he gets home, Sandwich nipping at his shoes and curiously standing to sniff at the bags in his hand, Peter gets to work. First on sorting out a cabinet for two things: medications for pain and sleep, and components for his web fluid. Both labeled, distinguished, and difficult to confuse lest he accidentally put something wrong in a webbing batch again. After organizing, he gets to work on the makeshift lab kit he's crudely making out of his kitchen that he'd had in mind but couldn't find the energy to work on.

A salt shaker isn't exactly a test tube, but he's made worse work.

It takes a few hours, but he gets something going. Sandwich watches him curiously at the counter, crushing pills and mixing ingredients, setting things alight and grumbling at every easily solvable misstep. For a few minutes there, he gets into the zone again, firmly in his element of compounds and ether bonds.

"See Sammy, the key here is letting the formula cool down after mixing for the right amount of time. Try to store it in the cartridges while it's too hot and you're either gonna leave a third-degree burn on your wrist or shoot runny glue instead of webs. Which, while funny, really only serves to make people uncomfortable," Peter explains, the red gloves of his costume acting as his only protection while he gingerly lifts the measuring cup from the hot plate with a pair of large tongs.

"Lemme tell you from experience: hardest part is by far extracting the stearate. Well, now the hardest part was sifting through labels in a language I'm still rusty in, but that doesn't really count." He lowers it into the ice bath, drawing a thermometer from his pocket and starting the timer in his head. "Alright! The cartridges aren't punctured last I checked, so that should be easy enough once we get this to temp. Then, Spider-Man's finally got webs again—back in business, right buddy?!"

Sandwich replies with an eloquent Bworf.

"Yeah, I'll check the cartridges again. Bossy little guy." The boy rolls his eyes, stumbling over to the desk he'd set up with the sewing kit and web-shooters. He meets it as the phone dropped carelessly beside his half-made mask lense buzzes with a notification. A text from Amajiki. Peter picks it up, unlocks it, and prepares a reply.

Mon, 20:37 - AmajikiT: Hello. Apologies for the later text. How was your first day?

Mon, 20:37 - PP: Pretty good, I think. I scored first place in this test we did, but I did bump a door into a grilll by accident :/

Mon, 20:37 - PP: girl*

Mon, 20:38 - AmajikiT: Oh no! My deepest condolences for you and that girl. Is she alright?

Mon, 20:38 - PP: She's fine, but I'm pretty sure it's just my pride that was seriously wounded man, no worries

Mon, 20:38 - AmajikiT: Ah, good.

Mon, 20:38 - AmajikiT: I mean, not good at all. That is what I meant. I am sorry for your pride. But good that she was not hurt.

Mon, 20:38 - PP: lol, you're fine man.

Mon, 20:38 - AmajikiT: Thank you.

Mon, 20:39 - AmajikiT: Anyways, I am just wondering if you'd like to meet with me on campus sometime later this week. I would have tried to convene with you today, but the beginning of the year is typically quite tumultuous for third years, and we cannot do tomorrow.

Mon, 20:39 - PP: Sure, would rly help. Almost got lost on the way to class at first, a tour would be great

Mon, 20:39 - PP: So like, what kind of third year stuff are you diong tomorrow? If its not like top secret or whatever

Mon, 20:40 - AmajikiT: Oh, no. I did not know you were not informed.

Mon, 20:40 - AmajikiT: You will be the much more occupied one tomorrow. Given that you were not told by your homeroom teacher, I will assume it is being kept a surprise, so I will not explain further.

Mon, 20:40 - PP: cmooon now I'm super curious!

Mon, 20:40 - AmajikiT: Sorry, Parker. My fingers are sealed.

Mon, 20:41 - PP: fffine

Mon, 20:41 - AmajikiT: Alright, I will be letting you go then. I am glad to hear you are finding U.A. pleasant, and hope this continues. Good night, Parker.

Peter smiles, replying with his own wish goodnight. It's always nice having a mentor, or whatever he could consider Amajiki now, and the boy's social anxiety relative to Peter almost made it easier to navigate a conversation with him. Like he's seeing his own old playbook of neurotic behavior in action.

Much easier than trying to make conversation with the likes of Kaminari, at least. The kid seemed nice, if a bit dim, and some part of Peter felt that he was better off trying to make friends with someone with a bit more tact.

Sandwich, seeming to read his person's mind, lets out an indignant Werf!

"Yeah, I probably shouldn't be so judgmental, but the guy seems like a total putz." He leans against the table, idly scrolling through the newsfeed on his phone. There seemed to be an uproar over scalping limited release merchandise for some hero or another.

Sandwich retorts with a slightly louder, more aggrieved, Yarf!

"Okay, fine. I should give people more chances and actually try to make friends, but he was totally mocking me by showing me those videos. Like I wanted to see myself being made a joke of the internet. Again."

Another, this time panicked, Yap!

"You alright there Sandwich?"

Peter turns back to face the kitchen just in time to hear the sizzle. Foamy webbing spills over the counter, gossamer strings sticking to and hanging from the bottom cabinets as the white liquid starts to flow across the ground.

"Oh God, uh—Sandwich, get away from there! Don't lick—c'moon! I take my eyes off it for two seconds! Two! No sniffing!"

Thus the still veil of night casts its shadow over the world and follows its quotidian cycle. Night-people promenade the vacant streets of cities far and wide in search of adventure and bacchanalia, thriving on moonburns. Heroes take their vigils and their diligences, and the habitual cycles of good and evil continue as they have for centuries.

In an apartment at the heart of the city of Musutafu, a boy laughs, a dog barks, and webbing is plucked from the shadowed corners of a warmly lit room. And it is one of those nights where Peter Parker forgets about the long road ahead; forgets that little else exists but the room, the dog, and the pungent chemical smell of a failed batch. So he's thankful for this moment, however ephemeral it is, and takes it as he would any rare gift from the silent arbitrators of his life, and cherishes it for as long as he's allowed.

End.


Boy that sure took a while longer than I'd have liked. Sincerest apologies. I've got the morbs, been busy with school, got COVID and finally pulled up me boots n decided to finish it. On that note too, Chapter 6 is on the way sooner than later, so look out for that.

I felt like the chapter might've been a little barren, but it's his first day n' Peter isn't exactly social, so I also feel like this works. Plus, the manga kind of takes its time to really flesh out a lot of the background characters, so there wasn't much to work with here. All that being said, it's something we intend to focus on going forward: getting to know everybody!

Say, what's you guys' favorite way to eat mango?