Around noon, Damian, who had just woken up, stretched comfortably. Just as he was about to reach for his lunchbox, he noticed that there were still many people sitting in the classroom.
Their expressions were sorrowful, and tears streamed down their faces. It felt as if they were peeling an onion rather than turning the pages of a book.
Damian nudged Peter Parker, who was engrossed in revising his artwork, with his elbow and asked curiously:
"Peter, what's going on today? Why haven't they left yet? Aren't these guys usually sworn enemies of books?!"
Before Peter Parker could speak, Gwen Stacy casually replied:
"What's so strange about that? It's almost the end of the semester! At our school, the final exams account for more than 30% of the GPA—Grade Point Average.
Even if I fail the exam, there won't be any serious consequences, but my allowance will definitely be significantly reduced for a while."
Damian nodded knowingly. But then he glanced at Gwen Stacy, who had just finished packing and was looking at Peter Parker drawing with a tender expression.
He couldn't help but twitch his lips.
There is a group of students in the world who study so hard that they don't eat, rest, or even go to the toilet… and they still fail.
But there is another group of students whose existence is like Landau's ten volumes—visible, yet incomprehensible.
The differences between the two groups became even more apparent after the exam:
Top student: "I've finished my exams."
The underachiever: "Oh no, I'm doomed!"
During lunch, Damian, who had just perked up, started to feel drowsy again.
Seeing his half-dead state, Peter Parker's lips twitched involuntarily, and he said, exasperated:
"Z, why do you always seem sleep-deprived? If I didn't know you hate drugs and Japanese people the most, I'd suspect you're on something!"
Upon hearing this, Damian rolled his eyes and retorted without hesitation:
"I'm suing you for defamation! I've always believed the Japanese have many admirable qualities that we should learn from!"
"For example: patience. In August 1945, the temperature in Hiroshima and Nagasaki reached 6,000 degrees Celsius! But the residents of both places never complained!
For example: courage. Mitsubishi Electric's Nagasaki plant falsified train air conditioning performance test data—a violation that continued for 30 years! Yet they just wouldn't change their ways. At worst, they'd just bow to you!
For example—"
But before Damian could finish speaking, Gwen Stacy made a "pause" gesture and asked curiously:
"Stop, stop, stop! We can see that you really 'admire' the Japanese. But we'd like to know—why do you always look so sleep-deprived?"
"Rewarding someone occasionally is understandable," she added with mock solemnity, "but you need to be more restrained. You're young and naive—"
"Cough! Cough! Cough—!"
Peter Parker suddenly started coughing violently.
Damian took a sip of coffee, glanced at Peter Parker—whose face was red and neck thick—and then said slowly:
"I won't go into the criticism of your part about using color; Uncle George will speak for me."
"As for my sleep problems… it's fine, I'll tell you directly. I recently took on a part-time job. The pay's pretty good, but it involves night shifts."
When he said this, Damian felt very depressed. They were both grandfathers, so why was it that DC's Grandpa Wayne could still be full of energy—chasing girls, dancing, never needing to sleep—while Diluc's grandfather actually had to catch up on rest, sleeping until the afternoon of the next day?
But upon hearing that the pay was substantial, Peter Parker's eyes lit up, and he eagerly asked:
"Wow? The pay isn't bad! How much is the hourly wage? What's the main job? Are they still hiring?"
Upon hearing this, Damian shook his head and explained without changing his expression:
"We're currently fully staffed. I've signed a confidentiality agreement with the company, so I can't disclose the exact salary—but it's very generous."
"As for the job duties… it involves cleaning up certain kinds of hazardous waste that aren't safe for ordinary civilians to handle."
"There is some risk," he added, "but it's not considered high. A powerful figure is backing us from behind the scenes."
Hearing Damian's explanation, the two of them felt much more at ease.
————————
Meanwhile, at S.H.I.E.L.D.'s New York office…
Beep—beep—beep—
In the monitoring room of the New York branch, three biosignal detectors simultaneously lit up with yellow warning lights.
Albert, the technician on duty, yawned and lazily opened the alarm interface.
"Detected in the North Brother Island area… huh?"
Seeing the data on-screen, he sat bolt upright, rubbed his eyes, and muttered in confusion:
"Fifty-seven unidentified heat sources?"
On the monitor, the thermal image of Riverside Hospital showed a blurry orange-red mass.
Frowning, Albert pulled up the raw data and muttered to himself:
"Body temperatures ranging from minus 142 to 700 degrees Celsius?! And they're all concentrated in the hospital lobby… What the hell is going on?"
He grabbed the communicator and stammered:
"Uh… Monitoring Team to Duty Supervisor. We've got an abnormal biological signal on North Brother Island."
Five minutes later, the branch's night shift team had slowly assembled.
"It's probably just urban explorers, homeless people, or some streamers making a fire to stay warm," said the duty supervisor, Mark, flipping through reports with a coffee cup dangling from his lips. "No need to panic. Send a drone to check it out."
But the tech department was already in chaos.
Intern Elisa frantically worked the control panel. "Drone Three is ready—wait, why is the feed so blurry?"
"Damn it, the thermal imaging's glitching! Switch to night vision!" a colleague beside her snapped, slamming his palm on the console.
The moment the feed switched over, the command center fell dead silent.
In the grainy night vision footage, dozens—no, hundreds—of hunched, unnatural figures could be seen shuffling through the hospital corridors.
Then, one by one, they turned toward the camera.
Their blood-red eyes glowed with an eerie light, staring directly into the lens.
Mark's coffee cup clattered to the floor. He shot to his feet and barked:
"Damn it! Activate Level 3 Incident Protocol! Notify the Coast Guard—cordon off a fifteen-mile radius around North Brother Island! Evacuate all civilians in the vicinity!"
The entire branch sprang into action.
Meanwhile, aboard a Quinjet soaring through the night sky, Nick Fury and Steve Rogers were en route.
Steve gazed out at the futuristic aircraft and remarked with quiet awe:
"In my day, planes that could fly at tens of thousands of meters weren't generally called 'airplanes.'"
Nick turned, raising an eyebrow. "Not called an airplane? Then what were they called?"
"Science fiction."
Fury opened his mouth—then closed it, momentarily speechless.
Before he could respond, Maria Hill rushed in, report in hand.
"Sir! Urgent bulletin from the New York bureau. Suspected mutated organisms detected on North Brother Island."
Fury took the report, scanning it. "Three hundred fourteen abnormal heat signatures? Get Jeffrey to dispatch an—"
He
stopped mid-sentence. His expression darkened instantly.
Noticing the change, Steve turned to him.
"Should I go take a look?"
Visit patreon.com/ShiroTL to gain access to 40+ chapters