Marvel’s Shadowed Knight

Bruce didn't say anything. He simply watched the boy.

Among everyone here, he understood this child's original path the best.

If he hadn't intervened, Miles would have continued along that trajectory—yesterday, today, and beyond.

And eventually, like every Spider-Man before him, he would come to understand his responsibility.

"Shouldn't I be going to school right now?" Miles muttered, unable to meet Bruce's gaze. He kept his head down, staring at his untied shoelaces.

Bruce didn't respond. He just turned and walked toward the door.

The other Spider-People knew what that meant—the plan was beginning.

They glanced at Miles, seeing the uncertainty in his expression.

Some wanted to offer words of comfort.

But none of them knew what to say.

So, one by one, they simply walked past him.

And as they did, nearly every one of them patted his shoulder gently.

Gwen, as she passed him, opened her mouth as if to speak.

But in the end, she swallowed the words back down.

Right now, nothing she could say would truly comfort him.

So instead, she simply said:

"Goodbye, Miles."

Miles looked up, watching Gwen's slender figure disappear through the door.

He parted his lips, as if to respond—

But no words came out.

"I get it, kid. You'll figure it out. You just have to step through that door."

Peter Parker crouched down and spoke to Miles, his tone serious.

Miles looked into Peter's eyes and gave a firm nod.

Seeing that, Peter knew he couldn't linger any longer.

He had to catch up with the others.

Today's plan had to go smoothly.

Miles stood there, watching as their silhouettes disappeared into the distance.

A hint of longing flickered across his face.

He wanted to be out there too, carrying out a mission like them.

Well—like the Spider-People, at least.

That bat guy? Not exactly what Miles aspired to be.

"What's wrong? Losing confidence already?"

Aunt May took a sip of her coffee, smiling as she looked at the boy.

Miles turned to her quickly. "No way! I promised Spider-Man I'd become like him."

Then, hesitating, he added, "But… Peter gave me this task, and now I've passed it on to someone else. That doesn't feel right."

As he spoke, his mind drifted back to the Peter Parker of this world—the one who had been gravely injured.

"With great power comes great responsibility."

But right now, Miles couldn't even control his basic abilities.

How could he carry that kind of responsibility?

"Then why not train properly?" Aunt May asked casually.

"Train? I spent all night being trained by a fully experienced Spider-Man, and I still couldn't do anything."

Just thinking about it made Miles feel a deep sense of frustration.

Maybe… maybe he just wasn't meant to be Spider-Man.

Because otherwise, how else could he explain all of this?

"Spider-Man doesn't always need training from others." Aunt May set down her coffee cup. "Tell me, who trained my Peter?"

Hearing her words, a spark of determination flickered in Miles' eyes.

Seeing his renewed resolve, Aunt May said nothing more. She simply turned and walked toward the Spider-Cave.

Miles followed right behind her.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, its golden glow faded from the sky.

But the city itself never darkened—human-made lights illuminated the streets, turning it into a metropolis that never slept.

And among the brightest places of all stood Fisk Tower, glowing like a beacon of wealth and power.

The lights reflected off its gleaming surfaces, making it seem like the most brilliant structure in the entire district.

Who would ever suspect that the man who built this tower was the king of New York's underworld?

To the public, Wilson Fisk was nothing more than a philanthropic businessman—one of the rare good men in the world.

Perched on the arm of a crane, the Spider-People watched the scene below, carefully assessing the situation.

"Fisk has a private elevator that leads straight from the top floor to the collider."

Inside the SP//dr mech, Peni Parker manipulated the controls, mapping out the route to their target.

On the surface, it seemed simple.

As long as they could get inside the building, the rest would be easy.

"Didn't expect an audience," Spider-Noir muttered, noticing the red carpet event unfolding in front of Fisk Tower.

Flashing cameras and a procession of celebrities made their way toward the entrance.

Clearly, Wilson Fisk had invited them for some grand occasion.

"Do we have a plan?" Gwen asked, glancing up at Bruce, who stood at the farthest edge of the crane arm.

In the dim light, he looked less like a man—more like a creature of the night.

"I've already taken control of the security cameras," Bruce said in a calm, matter-of-fact tone. "There's now a safe path made up of blind spots. Follow me."

Without another word, he fired his grappling gun and swung toward the rooftop of Fisk Tower.

For the Spider-People, tracking his movements was effortless.

Their enhanced reflexes and dynamic vision allowed them to analyze his every move in real time.

And, of course, they weren't exactly lacking in intelligence either.

Gwen was the first to follow, swiftly trailing behind Bruce. The others followed suit.

But as they landed on the rooftop, all except Bruce were stunned by what they saw.

"Is this some kind of sick joke?"

Because right there, in front of Fisk Tower—

The kingpin of crime, the archenemy of Spider-Man—

Was hosting a memorial service for Spider-Man.

And not just any service—this was an event of high honor and prestige.

Among the guests stood someone they never expected to see—Mary Jane Watson.

Though, in a way, it made sense.

Mary Jane knew Peter was Spider-Man, but she never understood everything—certainly not the way Aunt May did.

And she definitely didn't know what kind of man Wilson Fisk really was.

Unlike Aunt May, she had never lived with a hidden Spider-Cave right under her home.

On the stage, Fisk had already begun his speech.

"Thank you, thank you, everyone." His voice was heavy with emotion. "It is an honor to gather here tonight to commemorate Spider-Man."

As he spoke, his tone was so sorrowful, so deeply pained, that one might almost believe it was genuine.

"We were once great friends. He was like—"

The Spider-People had heard enough.

"What a load of crap," Gwen muttered, narrowing her eyes.

"I can hear you, you know." Spider-Ham looked offended.

"Hold on… look at the waitstaff."

Spider-Noir's gaze sharpened as he scanned the scene.

"The outfits—they're all dressed like Spider-Man. Tacky. But it can't be that simple, can it?"

Indeed, all the servers at the event were wearing Spider-Man-themed uniforms, clearly a special arrangement for the occasion.

Was this their easiest way inside?

Bruce barely spared the scene a glance before turning away.

"This way."

And without waiting, he strode toward another entrance.

(End of Chapter)

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