I pulled the notebook back into my lap and scribbled across the margin.
Phase One: Gear. Phase Two: Reputation. Phase Three: Harem.
A little smirk tugged at my face.
"System," I whispered, leaning back into the pillows, "you got a criminal directory? Something spicy? I don't need a kingpin, just someone stupid and rich with a vault full of bad decisions."
[System]: Mmmm... you want a side quest? Naughty boy. Let me see... Ah. Got one. Low-tier arms dealer. Midtown district. Codename 'Black Tusk.' Small crew. Big ego. Keeps cash and weapons stashed in a dry cleaner backroom. No superpowers, just poor taste in neon jackets and an allergy to encryption.
"Perfect."
"By the way, how does this work?" I murmured, pen twirling between my fingers as I stared down at the notebook.
"Do I get a juicy Quest with rewards? Or do I have to punch a guy before you let me loot his pants?"
There was a flicker in the back of my skull, and then her voice came back, lazy, pleased, stretching like a cat across silk sheets.
[System]: You want juice, sugar? Ohhh, I got juice. Heist Quest unlocked. First one is on the house... but the second one? Mmm, that is gonna cost you a smirk and a sweat.
A HUD screen appeared in my mind.
[Heist Quest: "Dry Cleaning, Dirty Money"
Objective: Infiltrate Black Tusk's lair.
Optional: Steal at least $5,000 without setting off the silent alarm.
Bonus Objective: Leave a calling card. Something cocky. Something you.
Reward: Cash, Reputation, Spider Whisper ]
Spider Whisper?
I squinted. "Wait. That is not a canon thing, right? Like, actual psychic spider-whispers. Telepathic spider mojo."
[System]: Mmm-hmm~ You do your homework, sugar. I like that.
"That is not a flirt," I said flatly. "Focus. You said I can unlock stuff like that?"
[System]: Ohhh, baby. You think they gave you all the toys already? No, no. You are still in the tutorial. The real fun starts when you break the mold...
"So I am not locked into just one Spidey skillset?"
[System]: Who said you are a copy? This sandbox? It is glitchy. Soft-coded. If you can imagine it, chase it, grind for it... you might just evolve past every version of Spider-Man that ever existed.
"Noice!"
SIDE POWER THEORY DUMP
Whisper. Spider-sense but with more precision. Unlocks hive awareness?
Miles' bio-electric sting. Venom blast. Punch with lightning. Hot.
Cindy's pheromone tracking. Creepy. But efficient.
Kaine's claws. Brutal. Close-range finishers.
Julia's precog flashes. Temporary visions? Danger trail?
I jotted faster, almost tearing the page with how hard I pressed the pen. Then circled the top with a jagged oval.
Goal: Become the Spider Chimera
If I was going to live in this world, I was not just surviving it. I was going to break it open. Crack canon wide until the old rules snapped in half and I was standing on top of the rubble with webbed fists and a dirty smirk.
[System]: Mm-hmm~ Now you are thinking like a protagonist.
"I am the protagonist."
[System]: Yessss you are.
Walking down, I saw Aunt May in the kitchen, hips swaying slightly as she stirred something that smelled like forgiveness and garlic. The apron hugged her in a way that made me consider writing a thank-you letter to whoever invented waist ties. Her hair was tucked behind one ear, and her bare feet made soft contact with the tile as she moved. Domestic goddess, low-key thirst trap, and completely unaware of the chaos happening three feet behind her.
I walked up to help, tried to keep my eyes on the pot, not the way her apron dipped at the side. Failed.
"Need a hand?" I asked casually, like I was not freshly reborn into puberty with a super-powered libido and trauma-filtered charm.
She glanced over her shoulder, a slight smile curling her lips. "You offering to cook, or just here for quality control?"
"Both," I said, reaching for a cutting board. "Also, I might just need to confirm if your sauce is emotionally stable. For science."
She laughed lightly, "I like the new Peter."
"Should tell Flash to bash my head more often," I said, tapping the side of my skull. "Shook a few screws loose. Now I am ninety percent confidence and ten percent mysterious charm."
She handed me a tomato and gestured toward the knife set. "Well, mysterious charm better know how to dice."
I got to work. She hummed something under her breath, some tune I did not recognize but sounded nice. She moved around me, checking the pan, adding spices, occasionally brushing past my back as if to drive me crazy.
[System]: Cooking scene detected. Domestic tension: low. Apron curve appreciation: high.
I spoke in my mind, 'Cooking can be quite romantic, right? Shall I try my chance or slowly ease it, since we are kinda... related?'
[SYSTEM]: You do realize step-aunt does not count in 37 states, right?
'Thank you, Captain Obvious,' I muttered in my head, slicing the tomato into clean, even cubes. 'You think I care about the legality of it? It is her guard I am worried about.'
The System's silence lingered like she was arching an eyebrow somewhere behind my eyeballs. I could almost hear the pout.
[SYSTEM]: Mmm... True. She does have those walls. High. Built from widowhood, adulting, and Pinterest trauma. But walls can be climbed. Especially by you, sweetie.
I rolled my eyes and kept dicing.
May hummed again, shifting beside me as she reached for the garlic. Her hip brushed mine. Barely. Soft. Unintended. Probably.
Probably.
"Smells like heaven," I said out loud, glancing over. "Is this the same stuff you made last week, or are you experimenting again?"
Her hand paused over the spice rack. "A little of both," she said. "I added nutmeg this time."
I made a face, the kind you make when a loved one ruins a dish trying to impress you. "Nutmeg? In tomato sauce?"
She laughed. "Don't knock it until you taste it. Adds warmth."
Yeah, you don't need help adding warmth, May.
"Fine," I said, smirking faintly. "If I explode mid-forkful, you are doing the dishes for the rest of the week."
"Deal," she said, just as casually, with a soft shake of her head, and a smile. Win!
'Alright, I am going flirt mode,' I called, as I slid the last diced tomato into the bowl. 'System,' I called. 'Advise.'
[System]: Mmm~ finally. I thought you would never ask. Now... be smooth. Be playful. And don't you dare fumble the sauce. That is foreplay in this house.
I set the knife down with a soft clack. May leaned in beside me, arm brushing mine as she stirred, her hair falling across her face in a way to demand tucking. She smelled like herbs and heat and the kind of comfort that made a man reckless.
I wanted to get reckless.
The kind where your mouth says things before your brain files the consequences. The kind of reckless that smelled like oregano and a bad decision waiting to happen.
May stirred the sauce, completely unaware of how many thoughts I was juggling at once.
"Can I be honest?" I asked, keeping my eyes on the pot. Safer that way.
She glanced sideways, not stopping the stir. "Should I be worried?"
"Probably," I said. "But I will say it anyway."
She arched a brow.
"Looks like I might owe you an apology," I said, watching the sauce bubble. "Nutmeg kind of works."
May gave a nod, lips pressing together like she wanted to gloat but chose grace instead. She flicked the spoon against the side of the pan and turned toward the sink.
"I will pretend I did not hear you doubt me in the first place."
I leaned on the counter. "You would pretend that? Generous."
"You are injured," she said, rinsing her hands. "I am being kind."
The water hissed. I watched the way her shoulders moved as she turned the tap off. She reached for a towel. Her wrist brushed the side of her neck as she dried her fingers, and for a second I could not help but wonder if she noticed me looking.
She probably did.
[System]: Careful. You are watching her like she is dessert. You have not even had dinner yet.
I sighed. Let it go.
"I will set the table," I said, moving before she could reply. "Least I can do after doubting your cooking."
Chairs scraped. Plates clinked. Familiar motions. Automatic. Maybe a little too comfortable for a guy still new to the skin he wore. But Peter had muscle memory, and I leaned into it. Forks here. Napkins there. Done.
May brought the pot over. She started spooning out the pasta.
"How is MJ?" she asked.
That made me pause. "She is... something."
"Good something?"
"Maybe."
I turned to my trusted System, 'This seems like a good moment to say… I prefer older women,' I called in my mind, 'Think she would take it as a compliment or slap me with a dish towel?'
There was a low sound in the back of my head. A pleased little purr.
[System]: Ohhh~ risky move, sugar. But if she smiles? I am playing the moan in stereo.
Well, here it goes.
"I prefer older women."
Her spoon hovered for a second. That was all. Barely even a pause.
Then clinked the edge of the bowl. Kept serving like nothing happened.
"Is that so?" she said.
I pulled a chair out. Sat like I had not just thrown a verbal wrench into dinner.
"Makes sense, right? They are confident. Grounded. Know how to make nutmeg work in sauce without panic."
"Sounds like someone wants extra dinner," she said, dropping the last scoop of pasta onto my plate.
"No," I said. "Sounds like someone noticed the apron game today and is trying to process it respectfully."
[System]: Ohhh... subtle heat. Respectful thirst. That is a flavor I like. +1 XP. She did not swat you. That means keep going.
I twirled the fork through the spaghetti. Steam curled off the noodles. I could smell the nutmeg now. Weirdly... not awful.
She sat down across from me, sipping water. "Were you always this smooth, Peter?" she asked finally.
"Probably not," I said. "Something about blunt force trauma rebooted my social software."
[System]: Accurate. Sexy. Upgraded. +1 XP for awareness.
She hummed, "So which neighbor cougar stole your heart? Or, in your case, entered your teenage radar?"
I stabbed a fork into the pasta. "I will let you know, I don't let my hormones dictate me. I let my childish brain do."
She scoffed. Almost a laugh. "That tracks."
"Anyway, if I start barking at mailwomen or flirting with Mrs. Thompson next door, you know who to blame."
May shook her head, took another sip of water. "You could just get a girlfriend. Might help."
"Right. And when would I fit that in? Between algebra and concussions?"
"You found time to compliment my apron."
"That is different. Your apron is objectively powerful."
[System]: Mmm... she smiled at that. Noted. +1 XP. Keep simmering, chef.
I grabbed a napkin, wiped my fingers. "Besides. I am still adjusting."
"To what?"
"Everything." I waved my hand around like that explained it. "Sudden spine, mild ego. You know. Puberty two."
She gave me that look. The one that hovered just on the edge of parenting and suspicion. I ignored it and kept eating.
"Fine," she said finally. "Just don't go full midlife crisis in your teens."
"No promises," I said. "Might buy a motorcycle. Or a trench coat."
"You are grounded if I see either."
"Noted." I reached for the parmesan. "You will still make sauce though, right?"
She rolled her eyes. "Eat."
We did. I leaned back after the last bite, plate clean. "That was dangerously good."
"Still think nutmeg is a crime?"
"Not at all. Also full, so you win this round."
She started clearing the plates. I stepped in to help, but she waved me off before I reached the sink.
"Go rest. I got this."
There was no reason to argue, so I did not. I just stepped in behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist. Kissed her hair.
"Thanks, Aunty. Imma meet with MJ, see you later."
She half-turned like she wanted to say something else but didn't. Just waved me off with a wooden spoon and muttered something about bringing a jacket if I was climbing rooftops again. Whatever. She knew how that sentence was gonna end, even if she didn't say it.