At night, the Chevrolet SUV glided smoothly through the streets of New York, neon lights flashing past the windows and casting ever-shifting, colorful shadows across Damian's profile.
Officer George held the steering wheel with one hand, his other arm resting on the windowsill, index finger tapping a quiet rhythm. Casually, he asked:
"Can you tell me what kind of party you attended?"
Damian adjusted his seatbelt, thought for a moment, and replied:
"Um… a female classmate's birthday party."
George glanced at him in the rearview mirror, his voice edged with professional caution:
"A birthday party? Any chance there'll be drugs or other illegal activities?"
Damian chuckled.
"Don't worry, Officer—absolutely not! My classmate comes from a very strict family. Her parents are Puritans."
He paused, then added:
"And… her fiancé will be there too. He's a very respectable guy—he won't let anyone cause trouble."
The car fell silent for a beat, the only sound the low hum of the engine.
"But after the party," Damian continued with a mischievous grin, "the two of them might 'mess around'… Hahaha…"
George's expression didn't flicker. His knuckles tightened slightly on the wheel as he asked calmly:
"Oh? Really? What's your classmate's fiancé's name?"
Damian turned his head and found Officer George staring at him intently through the rearview mirror—his gaze sharp, analytical, like Peter Parker watching chemical reactions in a lab.
Slightly confused but unfazed—he figured it was natural for a cop to be wary of American teen gatherings—Damian answered honestly:
"Um… his name is Peter Parker. You've probably never heard of him."
George's eyebrows twitched, almost imperceptibly. He slowly shifted his eyes back to the road, his right hand drifting unconsciously toward the holster at his hip.
"Oh… Peter Parker."
He repeated the name softly, as if locking it into memory.
Damian didn't notice the officer's odd reaction. Instead, he looked down and checked the box beside him, making sure the lock was secure.
As the SUV turned into the neighborhood, George suddenly asked:
"Is your party at 117 Klaus Street?"
Damian froze, then stared at him with the wide-eyed suspicion of a village aunt confronted by a fortune teller who just named her secret.
George caught the look and said coolly:
"Curious how I know that?"
He paused, then added:
"It's simple. That's my house. And I'm Gwen's father—George Stacy."
Damian went utterly silent.
Then, as if struck by sudden inspiration, a wicked, arrogant smirk tugged at his lips—but he quickly suppressed it and adopted an exaggeratedly sweet, tea-sipping tone:
"Uncle George, to be honest, I'm just a passerby! I mean, sure—Peter smokes, drinks, gets his hair permed, and plays video games…"
"No car, no house, both parents gone. No money, won't even give you his life—but please believe me: he's a good boy!"
"If Gwen ends up with him," he added brightly, "you're done for—don't worry!"
"And honestly, judging by how things are going? It won't be long before you're a grandfather!"
He leaned forward theatrically.
"Picture it: You open your front door one morning and there's Gwen—left hand holding one kid, right arm cradling another, and a baby bump under her coat!"
"How's that for happiness knocking, Uncle George?!"
George Stacy's mind conjured an image straight out of a Bosch painting.
Suddenly, he felt a deep yearning—not just to drive fast, but to run Peter Parker over. Repeatedly. Preferably on a road paved with speed bumps shaped like the boy's face.
Crunch.
The sound of George grinding his teeth reached Damian's ears. Peter Parker might've found it unnerving—but Damian? He found it oddly satisfying.
Meanwhile, at 117 Klaus Street…
Confetti and balloons created a cheerful party atmosphere.
Gwen Stacy stood before the gift table, her blonde hair gleaming softly in the warm yellow light. Her friends and classmates surrounded her, watching expectantly as she unwrapped each carefully prepared gift.
"Wow!"
When Gwen picked up the vintage vinyl record Harry Osborn had given her, her eyes lit up with delight.
"This… this is Zeppelin IV! How did you know I've always wanted to collect this?"
Harry Osborn winked smugly. "The last time we went to the record store, when you were listening to 'Stairway to Heaven,' I could see your eyes were practically glued to the record player—so I knew you must like it."
Everyone burst into laughter.
Gwen continued unwrapping the gifts: Jennifer gave her a hand-knitted scarf, Flash gave her a rare, out-of-print book on neuroscience, and the usually stern Betty gave her a pair of exquisite earrings.
Finally, her gaze fell on the inconspicuous cardboard box in the corner. A small sticky note was attached to it, reading:
> Happy Birthday, Gwen!
"It's Parker's turn! Let's see what good stuff the nerd can give," Flash egged them on.
Peter Parker stood to the side, his fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of his shirt, clearly lacking confidence in his gift.
Gwen carefully unpacked the package. The moment she lifted the lid, a soft blue light spilled out from within.
"This is…"
She fully opened the box, revealing the oddly shaped little lamp plant lying quietly inside. Its leaves were long and slender like swords, with three pearl-like fluorescent fruits at the tips, emitting a dreamlike glow even in daylight.
The living room fell silent as everyone was captivated by the glowing plant.
"My God! Peter, what… what is this?"
Gwen gently lifted the flowerpot, the blue light reflecting off her face.
"I saw this little lampweed at… uh, at a special plant exhibition. It glows at night and tastes pretty good—kind of like onion."
Peter scratched his head, his voice trembling slightly with nervousness.
Jennifer leaned closer to observe, her eyes wide with envy. "This is like something out of a fairy tale!"
Surprisingly, Flash didn't mock him. He simply widened his eyes and asked, "How much does this thing cost? It probably won't be cheap."
"If it's under a thousand dollars," he added, "I'd like to buy one too."
The group gathered around the little lampweed, chattering excitedly.
Gwen placed the flowerpot on the windowsill and stepped back a few paces to admire it. The soft light cast swaying shadows on the curtains, as if bringing a patch of starry sky into the room.
She suddenly turned and gave Peter a tight hug.
"This is the best gift I've ever received," she whispered in his ear. "Thank you."
After saying that, Gwen gave Peter a ligh
t peck on the cheek.
Peter's ears instantly turned bright red—as if they were about to bleed—but he couldn't suppress the smile on his lips.
Visit patreon.com/ShiroTL to gain access to 40+ chapters