"Ready, champ?"
"As good as ever, Uncle Ben," I replied, walking down the stairs with a backpack slung over my shoulders and a focused expression carved into my face.
"Peter, good luck with the project," Aunt May called from the kitchen doorway. "Thanks, Auntie. Believe me, I can beat everyone," I said with a confident grin.
"Okay, fighter, let's get in the car," Uncle Ben chuckled warmly. We climbed into his old Ford sedan — the familiar creak of the doors and the faint smell of worn leather greeting me — and drove toward the library.
"Are you sure you'll be able to get home on your own?" Ben asked again, his tone tinged with doubt.
"I'm sure, Uncle," I assured him.
"I'll finish my business and be home without any problems. I promise."
"All right then." We rolled up to the center and parked in front of the library, its tall windows glowing warmly in the night. "Peter, one more thing." He paused, his fingers still resting on the steering wheel. I appreciated Uncle Ben more than anyone, but he sure loved to have the last word.
"Really?" I said, making an effort to keep my smile light and friendly.
"I just… I wanted to say I'm proud of you. And no matter what's going on in your life, you can always trust me and your aunt," Ben said sincerely, his eyes carrying that same steady kindness he'd always shown me.
"I know, Uncle." A faint chill ran down my spine, the hairs on the back of my neck rising. What was he getting at? I couldn't shake a bad feeling…
"Okay, run along now. Let's not get distracted."
I waved after Uncle Ben, waiting until the car disappeared around the corner before breaking into a jog down the block. There was still exactly an hour left before fight night began. I reached the building without incident — almost too easily.
Ah, New York at night still had its magic. The vast metropolis stretched endlessly, hundreds of thousands of people scurrying about their own business, and me, just another shadow moving through this sea of chaos. It was beautiful in its own way. A huge crowd clustered at the main entrance, buzzing with anticipation to watch the show.
Around the side, down a dim nook leading toward the back, a much smaller line formed — the ones intending to compete. One guy was even wearing a tutu. Interesting choice.
"Excuse me, where's the locker room?" I asked the security guard.
"Kid, are you planning to participate or something?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Oh, no," I lied easily. "My friend decided to try his hand, and I just brought him a suit."
"Okay then. The locker room's immediately to the right, third door down," the big guy grunted, pointing behind him.
"Thanks."I stepped inside, finding the room blessedly empty. Good. I scanned the corners for cameras — also clear. Not surprising; why would a second-rate sports complex bother installing a surveillance system in the locker room? Still, you can't be too careful.
I unpacked quickly, slipping into my suit and stuffing my civilian clothes into my backpack. Just in case, I slid my web throwers into place, tucking them snugly under my sleeves. Something told me they might come in handy tonight.
Mask on. Check. Backpack left in the locker. Check. I stepped back out, scanning for one of the event organizers. Whether it was sheer luck or just the pull of the usual script, I found the evening's main showman and commentator.
"Excuse me, where's the entrance for challengers against Hogan the Crusher?"
"Hogan the Crusher?!" He looked me up and down in disbelief. "Kid, are you certain about this? We don't provide health insurance here."
"Oh, don't worry. The Masked Miracle knows how to create miracles." I struck a pose for good measure.
"Masked Miracle? Ridiculous," he snorted. "But the crowd will eat it up. Have you signed up for the commission?"
"Actually, I was hoping to jump into the ring right after the Crusher finishes off his current opponent," I said, scratching the back of my head.
"All right, we'll do it that way. This door leads to the ring. Wait to the right."
"Understood." The crowd roared as Crusher Hogan demolished yet another challenger.
"What energy, don't you agree, friends?!" the commentator's voice boomed across the arena as he worked the crowd. "Our undefeated champion has just beaten his seventh opponent! Is there anyone brave enough to try and defeat him tonight?"
Well, guess that's my cue.
"I'm sure I have every chance!" I shouted, leaping dramatically into the ring and pulling off a clean somersault on landing.
"Seriously, runt? I'll finish you faster than anyone," Crusher sneered.
"Try it, donut. It might work!" The bell rang, the three-minute countdown began, and Hogan lunged at me with brute force. I hopped clean over him, springing up onto the corner rope post at the far end of the ring.
"By the way, nice outfit. Did your husband give you that?" I called down. Yeah — I could annoy opponents with my jokes too.
"Come down here so I can finish you off!" he bellowed.
"No thanks, I have a different plan." The words slipped out calmly, my voice steady despite the storm brewing inside me. In the blink of an eye, I closed the distance between us, my body moving with practiced precision.
The crowd barely had time to gasp before my fist connected with his torso—a clean, sharp punch that landed with a dull thud. He staggered backward, eyes wide in surprise, the air rushing from his lungs.I didn't stop there.
Grabbing his arm, I twisted and pulled with all my strength, hoisting him off balance before driving him flat onto the ring floor. The impact echoed through the arena, a sound that silenced every spectator for a heartbeat.
Then the referee rushed in, dropping to his knees beside the fallen fighter, his voice booming as he began the count. "One… Two… Three… Knockout!"
The bell rang, and just like that, the silence shattered. The crowd erupted, chanting and cheering in a frenzy of excitement. Cameras flashed, the roar of the audience filling my ears. Sweat rolled down my neck as the announcer's voice cut through the noise.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our new champion — the Masked Marvel!" Victory never sounded so sweet.
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