As someone who knew the plot inside and out, Maya was well aware that plenty of people in the Marvel universe could perform spatial travel. The Mirror Dimension, by the later arcs, was so common it was practically a dime a dozen—every sorcerer and their apprentice seemed to know the trick.
All she'd done was study a sealing jutsu and dip her toes into the spatial domain. She never could have imagined that would be enough to catch a major player's attention. It was like a newbie author publishing a total flop of a webnovel, only for the site's number-one bestselling legend to show up in the comment section and post a mega-thread.
What Maya didn't realize was that her "dipping her toes" was the equivalent of camping outside that legend's apartment every day, screaming, "If you don't acknowledge me, I'm gonna keep shouting under your window forever!" Of course the Ancient One came to find her.
Well. Ignorance was bliss before, and now this newbie had gotten her first glimpse of how the real world worked—and she was shook.
But Madam President had one reliable virtue: she never wasted energy on things beyond her control.
Whatever the Sorcerer Supreme's attitude toward her might be, Maya was powerless to resist. So she'd just... ignore it.
If she looked on the bright side, the Ancient One had at least shared some basic spatial knowledge. That suggested no ill intent. Then again, Maya shouldn't flatter herself—the Ancient One probably hadn't given her a second thought. The information was all foundational stuff. Not a single piece of advanced theory in the lot.
Returning to her original objective—learning the Dead Demon Consuming Seal—Maya could now confirm the verdict: she'd gotten absolutely fleeced.
Pocket dimensions, spirit entities, sealing techniques—she couldn't accomplish a single one of the three prerequisites. And independent pocket dimensions were now essentially extinct around Earth, slamming the door shut on her last hope.
"It's only 150,000. I've got plenty of money now. Worst case, I'll just drag Matt out every day to play superhero and farm Influence Points."
President Maya made this decision quite cheerfully.
The next morning, on the yellow school bus headed to campus.
Foggy studied his best friend's ashen complexion and the heavy dark circles visible even through sunglasses. He leaned in, concerned. "Matt, I get that your eyes can't see so you can't read magazines. But even if you've got needs, you shouldn't be staying up all night listening to those late-night shows!"
Matt blinked in sleepy confusion, fighting off the urge to doze. "What late-night shows? I have no idea what you're talking about."
Foggy glanced around with a conspiratorial grin, then dropped his voice. "Right, right. None of us know anything about it. Hehehe. So was it New York Seventh Audio, or Jersey City's Happy Boys?"
"What? Speak clearly. And I didn't listen to any radio."
"Hehehe, I bet it was Seventh Audio. That host, Christy—man, she's something. You can practically smell that proper-lady-turned-vixen vibe right through the speaker. I mean, honestly? I love her late-night segment too. Problem is it doesn't start till two in the morning. And the Parents' Association got it banned from daytime reruns. Hard to catch a full episode. Hey—Matt, next time, could you record it for me? I don't care if the quality's bad."
Even though Matt couldn't see the foolish, leering grin plastered across Foggy's face, Foggy's wavering voice and suddenly galloping heartbeat betrayed him completely. The sheer magnitude of this kid's pervy energy radiated outward like a beacon—vivid, unmistakable, and thoroughly conspicuous on an elementary school bus.
Matt palmed his forehead in defeat. "Foggy, if I told you I was up late studying until the early hours, would you believe me?"
Foggy looked at him the way you'd look at someone who'd just claimed the moon was made of cheese. "Do I strike you as gullible?"
Matt straightened up immediately. He leaned in close to Foggy's ear and whispered, "Okay—truth? Last night I was with Spider-Man the entire time. I even helped him catch bad guys. Don't tell anyone!"
Foggy matched his deadly-serious expression without missing a beat. "Funny you should mention it—I was also with Spider-Man all night. Right there beside him, spamming '666.' Well... beside the TV, anyway."
They arrived at school shortly after. The moment they stepped through the gate, they were hit by a wall of noise. Students streamed in and out of the building, hustling and bustling with obvious purpose—though what that purpose was, nobody could quite tell.
Then the school PA crackled to life with a familiar female voice. Foggy recognized it instantly: Maya Hansen, Student Council President.
"Attention, please. First through fifth graders, assemble on the main field. Sixth through eighth graders, assemble in the open area in front of the main building. Same as always—line up by grade and homeroom."
"Lower grades will be organized into groups of twenty, each led by one teacher and one upper-grade Student Council officer. Upper grades—I'll come arrange things personally. If you have anything you need to bring, carry it with you. Do not leave it in your locker. We won't be returning to campus mid-trip. We depart for Central Park at nine-thirty, which means assembly should be complete by nine. At the latest."
Foggy checked his watch the instant the announcement ended and groaned. "It's only eight-fifteen! Are we supposed to just stand there like idiots for over an hour?"
"Foggy, do you have a piece in the talent show too?" Matt asked.
"Nah. Wait—Matt, did you sign up for the poetry recital?"
"I did. So all of us performing need to get there early for setup. Someone's doing a piano piece—they have to haul speakers, a diesel generator, a backdrop, full-size instruments. An hour is actually tight."
Matt knew a thing or two about the logistics, so he filled his best friend in.
Despite the early hour, neither of them bothered going to the classroom. They found a spot on the front steps of the building and sat down.
Foggy suddenly pointed at a student wearing a red armband. "Hey—Matt, isn't that William Beck? When did he join the Student Council? And he's an officer?"
"Is he keeping order, or is he helping move equipment?" Matt asked.
"Neither. He's just standing there like a lump."
Matt didn't answer right away. His ears twitched. After a moment, he said, "He's been brought on as temporary security. Central Park is safe enough, but with several hundred students from the whole school, they still need people to help keep an eye on things."
He listened a bit longer, then added with a complicated expression, "Any student who volunteers gets counted as a temporary Student Council member—and earns ten Conduct Points."
Foggy did some quick mental math, then gasped. "William Beck only had 57 points left this year! He was definitely going to be held back again. But now, with these ten points, he actually makes the cutoff to graduate! Plus, I heard a high school football coach from Brooklyn was scouting him. Shit—that bonehead might actually land a scholarship. Lucky bastard stepped in it!"
Matt could hear the jealousy dripping from every syllable.
"Well... maybe it's not just luck," Matt said quietly. Then he corrected himself. "Actually, no—it is luck. The luck of meeting someone who bothered to help."
Foggy assumed Matt was jealous too and pivoted to consolation mode. "Matt, you've got great grades! You could've gotten a scholarship to another high school if not for your—uh, I mean, our high school's really solid too! Tons of famous alumni! Like Frank—no, wait, not him. Uh..." He scrambled. "There's gotta be someone. Too many names, my brain's blanking!"
Matt patted Foggy on the shoulder. "Foggy, we don't have to become big shots. Growing up safe and sound, becoming someone useful to society—that's already a successful life."
Foggy turned to look at Matt's earnest face, then smiled. He reached up and laid his hand over Matt's on his shoulder. "Yeah. Okay, Matt. We'll get there together."
For one shining moment, the bromantic sparks flying between the two of them seared the titanium-alloy dog eyes of every classmate within a ten-foot radius...