The next day, early morning.
As dawn broke, a thin mist draped the lake in Central Park like a veil. Squirrels leaped across the dew-kissed grass, scattering droplets from the oak branches.
Rose-gold ripples shimmered on the Hudson River as a few egrets skimmed past the distant silhouette of the Statue of Liberty.
A gentle breeze rustled through the tulip beds in the park. The city wasn't fully awake yet—only the whistle of the early ferry echoed between the buildings.
Inside a quiet apartment nearby, a ray of sunlight pierced through a gap in the curtains and slapped Damian across the face like a celestial wake-up call.
He squinted, groaned, and fumbled blindly under his pillow until his fingers closed around his phone.
Ding!
9:00 AM
"The password… It's only 9 o'clock~ Then I'll go back to sleep…"
A beat of silence.
Then—a shrill scream ripped through the bedroom.
"IT'S 9 O'CLOCK ALREADY—?!"
Damian vaulted out of bed and bolted into the bathroom with lightning speed.
Three minutes later, he emerged—fully dressed, hair somehow both tousled and stylish, teeth brushed—and sprinted out the bedroom window without hesitation.
Snap!
He landed in classic superhero fashion: one knee down, one fist on the pavement, cape (metaphorical) fluttering in the nonexistent wind.
…Then winced.
"Whoa—! My goodness! Who invented this idiotic landing pose…?" He rubbed his left knee, grimacing, and limped toward Midtown High School.
......
Ring ring—!!
The school bell's final chime hadn't even faded when Damian slid into the classroom using Robben's infamous sliding-knee maneuver—backpack arcing through the air and landing perfectly beside him.
The entire class froze.
Every student and teacher stared in stunned silence at the boy kneeling dramatically in the doorway.
"…" × N
Sensing the awkward energy, Ned Leeds—who'd been quietly celebrating his successful "reconnaissance mission" (i.e., sneaking snacks into class)—slung his backpack over his shoulder, glanced at Peter Parker, who was practically folded into the curtains, and whispered:
"Hey, Peter! Don't hide behind the drapes—I see your glass slipper! Class just started, dude."
Peter, caught red-handed, emerged with the expression of a man wronged by fate itself.
It's all Aunt May's fault, he thought bitterly. She kept warning him not to hang out with "shady" people when he was young. Now his friends were either wildly eccentric or suspiciously competent!
He muttered under his breath, voice muffled by existential despair:
"Hehe… class just ended."
Damian blinked.
"…"
A beat passed. Then he stood, dusted off his jeans, and beamed with practiced nonchalance.
"Oh! It's just the end of class~! I was so scared! I thought I was late—but turns out I just skipped it~!"
He clapped his hands together cheerfully. "Ah! I just remembered—I owe Verizon five cents on my phone bill. If they send a collector to school, it'll reflect badly on the institution. For the sake of Midtown's reputation, I must go settle this immediately."
He gave a crisp salute. "Goodbye, everyone! Be sure to stay happy!"
And with that, he sauntered out—limp slightly exaggerated for dramatic effect.
———————
Around noon, under the shade of trees on the playground.
"Outrageous!" Damian slammed his lunchbox down. "After all these years in the underworld, that old bastard Dwight has zero honor! He can't even beat us in a fair fight, so he calls our parents?!"
He took a furious bite of his sandwich. "They actually called my parents?!"
"As the saying goes," he continued, mouth half-full, "'The sins of the fathers should not fall upon the innocent.' If you've got a problem, come at me! Dragging in my family? That's low—unforgivably low!"
Peter Parker, Gwen Stacy, and Jessica Campbell exchanged glances.
Peter rubbed his temples. "Dude… just let it go. Before Mr. Dwight taught you, he had a full head of hair. Now he's naming each strand like they're his last surviving relatives."
Damian shot back instantly: "What does his hair loss have to do with me? How many Oni gangsters do you know who still have hair after thirty? It's practically a rite of passage!"
Peter opened his mouth—then closed it. No rebuttal.
Jessica set down her juice box, studying Damian with curiosity. "Speaking of which… why were you late today? You always look half-dead, but you're weirdly punctual. What time did you even wake up?"
Damian sighed, dark circles stark beneath his eyes. "Don't even ask. I barely slept. Only crashed around 4 a.m."
He glanced around, then lowered his voice.
"Did you guys watch the news last night?"
The three exchanged confused looks.
Gwen dabbed her lips with a napkin. "After school, I'm usually reading journals or researching for my internship. I don't really follow the news."
Jessica shrugged. "I was at the skate park till midnight. News isn't exactly on my playlist."
"What's wrong?" Gwen asked, frowning. "Did something happen?"
Damian hesitated. He'd almost asked if George Stacy—Gwen's police captain father—had told her… but stopped himself. Cops didn't share operational details with family. Not because of secrecy, but to keep them safe.
He took a breath.
"Remember those freshmen? The big group heading to Alaska for winter camp yesterday?"
Peter snorted. "Yeah—you said they looked like a troop of monkeys from Mount Emei."
"Do you have to quote me that part?"
Damian exhaled sharply, then said quietly:
"Last night… their flight crashed. Exploded shortly after takeoff from LaGuardia. Everyone on board… didn't make it."
"Only seven teachers and students survived—because they got off the plane before departure."
"What?!" ×3
The laughter from the playground seemed to vanish. Even the wind stilled.
Damian turned to Peter, brow furrowed. "Wait—you live in Queens. LaGuardia's right there. Even if you didn't see it, you must've heard the sirens or news helicopters. Why are you so shocked?"
Peter scratched the back of his neck, eyes darting everywhere except Damian's. "Uh… I, uh… slept really soundly last night. Like, comatose-level. Didn't hear a thing."
(He didn't mention he'd been swinging through Brooklyn as Spider-Man until 3 a.m., chasing a stolen Stark drone shaped like a raccoon.)
Jessica just looked grim. "Man… that's awful."
Gwen's face had gone pale. She stared at her untouched lunch, hands trembling slightly.
No one spoke.
Damian shrugged, but his usual bravado was gone. "This
is huge. The school can't handle it alone. They'll probably hold a memorial service in a few days."
Silence.
None of them had an answer.
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