When footsteps echoed down the spiral staircase, every eye in the bar turned toward them.
Diluc led the way, his crimson hair and high ponytail swaying gently with each step, his strikingly handsome face already slipping back into its usual mask of polite aloofness.
Damian followed behind, casually slinging his backpack over one shoulder as if he'd merely gone upstairs to retrieve something he'd forgotten.
The moment they reached the first floor, Jessica Campbell was the first to rush over, eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Z! What does the boss want with you? Did you two know each other before? What's your relationship? Is it a binary—y'know, 0 and 1—kind of thing? And—"
Faced with her barrage of questions, Damian plucked a glass of lemonade from a passing waiter's tray, shot her a disdainful look, and replied flatly:
"Even if you're not great at academics, you're surprisingly good with color."
"It's not as complicated as you think," he added. "The boss just mistook me for his cousin. To him, most Chinese people probably look alike."
This perfunctory explanation instantly deflated Jessica's curiosity. With a shrug, she turned and squeezed her way toward the bar, rejoining the cluster of female patrons who were openly admiring Diluc's bartending.
But Peter Parker and Gwen Stacy exchanged a glance—then, in unison, each took one of Damian's arms and steered him toward a corner booth.
"Hey, hey, hey—! What are you doing?! I'm warning you, I'm naturally weak! I can't lift anything! I'll die if you touch me, and I'll just wail—"
Damian, still holding his lemonade, stared blankly at the two flanking him. He immediately started yelling—but Peter quickly clamped a hand over his mouth.
After nudging him firmly into the booth, Peter released his grip, his expression urgent.
"Z," he whispered, voice trembling slightly, "tell me honestly… did the boss… save Diluc from the Argo?!"
Gwen leaned in, her blue eyes locked onto Damian with equal intensity. "Even though I've only met Diluc once," she said, mirroring Peter's tone, "my gut tells me it has to be him. Right?"
Damian took a slow sip of lemonade, his gaze sweeping over their anxious faces. Finally, he gave a slight nod.
Peter nearly shot out of his seat. "I knew it! I have to go thank him—"
Crack.
Damian grabbed his wrist—and, unsurprisingly, it popped out of joint.
He gave Peter a sidelong glance, then deftly snapped the wrist back into place before saying, slow and deliberate:
"You're a person, not some half-dead machine. Don't rush into things every time you hit a problem. Think first."
"Diluc specifically asked me to go upstairs earlier," he added, "hoping we wouldn't make a scene."
Gwen frowned, puzzled. "Why? He saved our lives!"
Peter nodded vigorously. "Yeah! And not only that—he single-handedly killed the sea monster that sank the Argo, which killed over 4,500 people! He's a hero!"
"In myth or epic," Gwen added, "he's basically Hercules—a great hero who died a death worthy of Valhalla… and then some game company turned him into a female heroine just to sell cosmetics!"
"How can we let him stay unknown?!"
Damian's lips twitched violently. With a sigh, he motioned for them to lean closer and dropped his voice to a whisper:
"Use those genius brains of yours and think. Over 4,000 people died on the Argo—and Diluc only managed to save a handful of us. If this gets out… do you really think the victims' families will thank him?"
"Will they bless us? Thank Diluc?"
"No. Not at all."
"They'll curse him—ask why he chose to save us instead of their loved ones."
"And they'll blame him too: 'If he could save a few of you, why not more?'"
If Diluc had tried a little harder, would his family have been spared?
The victims' families made such a scene—and with the relentless coverage by so-called "conscientious" news outlets in the United States…
Within a month, Diluc might as well be sharing a table with history's most infamous figures.
Upon hearing this, the two fell silent.
Emotionally, they refused to accept it—but rationally, they knew that however absurd it sounded, it wasn't impossible.
Seeing their expressions, Damian clicked his tongue and continued:
"If it stays at the level of public opinion, it's no big deal. Once the hype dies down, the news moves on."
The real danger was that Diluc's mysterious abilities might attract the attention of the U.S. government—or worse, the military—who could intervene using administrative, judicial, or even covert means to bring him down.
"Don't think it's far-fetched," he added. "Didn't Tony Stark have to testify before Congress and nearly lose control of his Iron Man tech?"
"And it won't stop there," Damian went on. "Animal rights and environmental groups will jump in too—condemning him for killing that sea monster and staging protests outside his bar."
Peter Parker hadn't objected to Uejiro's earlier remarks; they fit his cynical view of how the U.S. government operated.
But the mention of environmentalists defending a monster that had slaughtered dozens left him speechless.
"That thing killed so many people," Peter said, frowning. "How is wiping it out not the right call? Do these groups really protect that?"
Damian rolled his eyes. "Heh. Environmentalism's a business these days. They protect whatever brings in donations—whatever their funders want protected."
"I once saw a group block an electric bus," he scoffed, "claiming its 'harmful emissions' would melt the Antarctic ice caps and doom the polar bears. The driver—probably didn't even finish high school—knew he was being trolled and called the cops on the spot."
Gwen Stacy gazed at the distant figure, her voice tinged with quiet disappointment.
"But… at least let me say thank you…"
Damian drained his glass of lemon water in one gulp, stood, and said:
"Just say it in your heart. He'll hear you."
Peter clenched his fist—then slowly relaxed it. "I see."
Gwen gently took his hand. "I'll keep this a secret with you. But… can we at least come to his bar more often?"
She glanced at Damian, seeking his approval.
He raised an eyebrow. "Sure. Just don't order anything with alcohol."
The three turned toward the bar.
At that moment, Jessica Campbell was eagerly holding up her flip phone, trying to sneak footage of Diluc mixing drinks.
The red-haired bartender seemed to sense their gaze. He looked up—and gave a faint, knowing nod.
Peter raised his raspberry mint drink in silent salute. Gwen mirrored the gesture, her eyes shimmering with gratitude.
Only Damian's lips twitched—his face twisted in the
pained grimace of a man who wondered if his theatrics had gone too far… and accidentally broken something precious.
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