Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the curtains, painting a crooked line of gold across Gwen Stacy's face.
She opened her eyes and stared blankly at the ceiling for three seconds.
On the white ceiling, a small piece of plaster was peeling slightly, shaped like a chubby pigeon.
She stared at that "pigeon," her mind a chaotic mess—she had stayed up until three in the morning reading a novel, and now she felt like a sponge drained of all its water, dry and wrinkled.
Get up.
Must get up.
She pulled back the covers and her feet touched the floor, the chill creeping up from the soles of her feet and making her shiver.
In her daze, she stood up and felt her way toward the door with half-closed eyes—the bathroom was on the left side of the hallway, a home she had lived in for twenty years, she could walk it with her eyes closed.
Then she stopped.
Something on her chest swayed.
It was light, soft, and carried a strange sense of presence.
She looked down.
Beneath her white pajamas, the slight curve of her chest rose and fell gently with her breathing.
The curve wasn't large, but it was absolutely there—existing in a way that could not be ignored.
"...?"
Gwen's brain crashed for three seconds.
She raised her hand, her fingers hovering in mid-air as if facing a butterfly that might fly away at any moment. Then, driven by an inexplicable impulse, she gave a light squeeze.
The soft sensation traveled from her palm into her mind, like someone setting off fireworks inside her head.
Soft.
It was real.
It was a girl's chest.
Gwen's breathing hitched, and she suddenly looked down, her gaze scanning her lower body like a searchlight—
Flat.
Completely flat.
What should have been there had vanished without a trace, replaced by two pale, slender legs, her toes curled against the floor, painted with light pink nail polish.
"..."
Gwen stood in place, like a statue.
It took her a full ten seconds to reboot her brain, then she drifted toward the bathroom in a near-sleepwalking state.
The mirror reflected a strange girl—
Her long golden hair was a bit messy, with a few strands stuck to her cheeks. Her eyes were blue-gray, like the surface of the sea in the early morning, now wide open, her pupils slightly constricted. Her skin was so pale it was almost transparent, and there were red marks on her cheeks from sleeping. Her lips were slightly parted, revealing neat teeth.
She stared at herself in the mirror.
The person in the mirror stared back at her.
Then, a stream of warm liquid flowed from her nose.
Gwen reached up and touched it—blood.
She had a nosebleed.
While staring at herself in the mirror.
"No, no, no—" Gwen scrambled to grab a tissue to plug her nose, her cheeks burning as if they were about to catch fire. "How could I have such strange thoughts about myself? This isn't right, this is absolutely not right—"
She covered her face, peeking through her fingers, unable to resist stealing another glance at the mirror.
Then the nosebleed started again.
"Gwen?"
A male voice suddenly came from outside the door, startling Gwen so much she almost jumped.
"Are you up yet? If you don't get up soon, you'll be late!" The voice carried a hint of amusement. "Or is our drummer planning to skip class today?"
Gwen.
He was calling Gwen.
So she really was Gwen now. Gwen Stacy.
She opened her mouth, wanting to respond, but the sound that came out startled her—a clear, female voice with a post-sleep huskiness, like sandpaper wrapped in honey.
"I, I know..."
Footsteps receded outside the door.
Gwen leaned against the sink, took several deep breaths, and only then slowly raised her head to look at the girl in the mirror again.
Gwen Stacy.
She was too familiar with this name. A character from the Spider-Man series, Peter Parker's first girlfriend, the blonde girl who died at the hands of the Green Goblin. Her father was Captain George Stacy of the New York Police Department.
But which version of Gwen was this?
The Maguire version? In that World, Gwen was just a background character. The Garfield version? In that one, she and Peter had a tragic romance. Or the comic book version? Or perhaps the cool Spider-Gwen, the rock drummer from Earth-65—
Wait.
Drummer.
Gwen looked down, looking at her body again.
She had just heard that person say "drummer."
An ominous feeling welled up in her heart.
She rushed out of the bathroom, stumbled back to the bedroom, and grabbed the notebook on the desk.
On the cover, a name was written in neat, rounded English:
Gwen Stacy
Opening the notebook, the first page had a band logo drawn on it—the words "Mary Jane" intertwined in script, with a member list noted below:
· Mary Jane Watson—Lead Vocalist + Guitarist (Leader)
· Gwen Stacy—Drummer
· Betty Brant—Bass/Keyboard
· Glory Grant—Keyboard/Songwriter
Gwen stared at the lines, silent for a long time.
So she was Gwen the drummer. The Gwen who formed a band with Mary Jane. The Gwen whose father was a Captain. The Gwen who—
The Gwen who grew up with Peter Parker.
She slowly closed the notebook, staring at the name on the cover, and suddenly remembered something.
How old was Peter Parker in this World? Had he been bitten by a spider yet? Or was it—
A voice came from outside the door again: "Gwen? Are you okay?"
"Coming, coming!" Gwen responded subconsciously, then looked down at herself—pajamas.
She needed to change.
Five minutes later, Gwen stood in front of the closet, lost in thought as she faced a closet full of skirts.
Dresses, skirts, short skirts, long skirts, floral skirts, solid-colored skirts...
She reached in and rummaged around, finally finding a pair of jeans in the corner. She pulled them out like a treasure, then searched for a long time before finding a simple white T-shirt.
Then she faced a brand-new problem.
Underwear.
Gwen stared at the soft fabric in the drawer, her cheeks heating up slightly. She reached out and picked one up—a bra, light purple, with lace trim, looking very normal—and then held it up to the mirror.
How do you put this on?
She recalled scenes from movies and TV shows she had watched, trying to put her arms through the straps, and then reaching her hands behind her back—
Couldn't reach.
Tried again—
Still couldn't reach.
"This design is definitely flawed." Gwen gritted her teeth, her arms twisting behind her like a pretzel. "The person who invented this clasp must never have worn it themselves—"
Just then, the bedroom door was knocked on.
"Gwen?" It was her mother's voice. "Do you need help?"
Gwen's movements froze.
The doorknob turned slightly.
"No—no need!" Gwen practically shouted, scrambling to put the bra on—whatever, just put it on first—and then grabbed the T-shirt and pulled it on.
The door opened a crack, and Helen Stacy poked her head in. She looked to be around forty, her blonde hair tied back, her features somewhat similar to Gwen's.
"Honey, are you okay?" Helen's gaze fell on her daughter's flushed face, and she gave a knowing smile. "It's okay, every girl has those days. Do you need me to make you a hot water bottle?"
Gwen paused for two seconds before realizing what "those days" meant, and her face turned even redder.
"No, no thanks, I'm fine—"
Helen nodded with a smile, her gaze sweeping over Gwen's haphazardly put-on clothes, her smile deepening: "Jeans and a T-shirt? Rare to see you not wearing a skirt."
"Today... I wanted to change my style."
"It looks good." Helen walked over, naturally reaching out to help Gwen straighten her collar and smoothing out her messy hair. "Go down for breakfast, your father is already urging you."
Gwen nodded and followed her mother out of the room.
At the dining table, George Stacy was holding a newspaper, the coffee in front of him steaming. He looked up, his gaze falling on his daughter, and he raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Gwen, did you not wake up?"
Gwen subconsciously looked down at herself—the T-shirt was on backward.
"...A little."
George laughed and put down the newspaper: "Stayed up late practicing drums?"
"Yeah... something like that."
Helen brought out the fried eggs and bacon from the kitchen and placed a plate in front of Gwen: "Eat more, have you lost weight again recently?"
Gwen looked down at the food on her plate, suddenly feeling a bit dazed. She had seen this kind of family breakfast scene countless times in movies, but this was the first time she had experienced it herself. The edges of the fried egg were slightly browned, the bacon was fried to perfection, and it was still steaming.
She picked up a fork and took a bite.
It was delicious.
"By the way," George said, flipping through the newspaper without looking up, "I'll be passing by your school on patrol today, do you want me to drop you off?"
"No need," Gwen shook her head, "I'll just walk there myself."
"Then be careful on the road." George put down the newspaper and looked at his daughter with a gentle gaze. "Call me if anything happens."
Gwen nodded, suddenly feeling a warmth in her heart.
After breakfast, she put on her backpack and walked out the door. The heat of summer had already faded from September in New York, and the maple trees on both sides of the street were beginning to turn a light red. Gwen walked on the sidewalk, feeling the warmth of the sun on her face, her steps a little unsteady.
She was still digesting the fact—she was now Gwen Stacy.
No, not just Gwen Stacy. She was the Gwen Stacy who grew up with Peter Parker.
Just as she was thinking this, a commotion came from ahead.
Gwen looked up and saw a small group of people gathered at the entrance of Midtown High School.
A few boys were shoving each other, and in the middle was a thin, small figure—brown hair, thick glasses, and a rumpled school uniform, stumbling as he was pushed.
"Nerd Parker! Weren't you quite something in science class yesterday? Why aren't you saying anything today?"
The leader of the boys was tall and burly; it was none other than the school's notorious bully, Flash Thompson.
Peter Parker was pushed back two steps, his glasses askew, a look of forbearance on his face.
He didn't fight back—or rather, he knew fighting back was useless.
"Flash, let it go—"
"Let it go? What are you talking about?"
Flash grabbed Peter by the collar. "Let him speak. Wasn't he quite the talker in class yesterday? All that stuff about spiders, genes—"
"That was the content of the science class." Peter's voice was calm, but Gwen could hear the tremor hidden beneath that calmness. "I was just answering the teacher's question."
"Oh? So you're saying we don't understand?"
The few lackeys behind Flash laughed. Flash shoved Peter against the wall. "Then let's have you explain it properly today—"
"That's enough."
A voice cut in.
Everyone turned around.
Gwen realized she had already walked over.
She stood in front of Flash, looking up—well, looking up because Flash was indeed taller than her—but her gaze was calm.
"Let him go."
Flash froze for a moment, then laughed. "Yo, isn't this Stacy? What, want to be a hero today?"
"I just don't like seeing a group of people bullying one person." Gwen's gaze swept over Flash and his lackeys. "It's pretty pathetic."
"You—"
"Flash," Peter suddenly spoke up, his voice a bit hoarse. "Let it go."
Gwen glanced at Peter, then turned to Flash. "Did you hear that? He said let it go. So you can let him go now."
Flash's expression shifted, but eventually, he let go.
He stared at Gwen for a few seconds and snorted. "Fine, Stacy. I'll give you face today."
He turned and left with his group, casting one last glare at Peter before walking away.
The crowd gradually dispersed.
Peter leaned against the wall, slowly straightening his glasses.
His fingers were trembling slightly.
"Are you okay?"
Peter looked up and saw Gwen watching him.
The sunlight outlined a golden rim behind her, and her blue eyes were like a washed sky.
"I-I'm fine…" Peter's voice was strained. "Thank you."
"It's nothing, we're childhood friends, aren't we?" Gwen said the words almost subconsciously, then froze for a moment herself.
childhood friends.
That's right, they were neighbors who had grown up together.
The original owner of this body and Peter were friends who had grown up playing together.
Peter seemed to freeze as well, then the corners of his mouth curled slightly—very faintly, but he was indeed smiling.
"You're… a bit different today," he said.
"How so?"
"I can't put my finger on it." Peter lowered his head, tidying his rumpled backpack. "It's just… you seem more confident."
Gwen smiled without answering.
The two walked toward the school gate together.
Gwen secretly observed the boy beside her—thin shoulders, a slightly hunched back, always walking with his head down as if afraid of disturbing others.
This was the future Spider-Man.
The Spider-Man who would wear a red and blue spandex suit, swinging between buildings, and risking his life for this city.
But now, he was just a nerd who didn't dare to fight back even when bullied.
"Peter." Gwen suddenly spoke up.
"Hmm?"
"If one day you suddenly became very powerful, the kind who could scale walls and vault over roofs, what would you do?"
Peter stopped and looked at her, confused. "What?"
"I mean… just imagine." Gwen looked at him. "If you suddenly had superpowers, what would you do?"
Peter was silent for a few seconds, then thought about it seriously. "I would probably… use them to help people, I guess." He smiled embarrassedly after saying it. "Isn't that silly?"
Gwen looked at him and smiled too.
"It's not silly."
Just then, a crisp female voice came from behind.
"Gwen!"
Gwen turned around and saw three girls walking toward her.
The one in the lead had red hair and a bright smile—it was Mary Jane Watson.
Behind her were Betty Brant and Glory Grant—Gwen recognized them as the other two members of the band.
"Don't forget about the club this afternoon!" Mary Jane approached and linked her arm with Gwen's. "I have something important to announce!"
"Oh? Okay." Gwen replied, her heart skipping a beat.
The club.
The band.
The drummer.
She suddenly remembered that the original owner was the band's drummer.
But she—the one who had transmigrated here—couldn't play the drums at all.
"Oh, right," Mary Jane saw Peter and greeted him with a smile. "Hey, Peter, are you coming in too?"
Peter nodded, his gaze lingering on Mary Jane's face for a split second before quickly darting away.
The look was too obvious, and Gwen saw it clearly—it was the unmistakable infatuation of a teenager.
Peter liked Mary Jane.
This realization stirred a subtle feeling in Gwen's heart.
"Let's go, let's go," Mary Jane pulled Gwen toward the teaching building. "I thought of a new tune this morning, I'll have you try the rhythm this afternoon—"
Gwen was dragged along, turning back to glance.
Peter was still standing there, his gaze following Mary Jane's back, until he realized Gwen was looking at him, at which point he hurriedly lowered his head and walked quickly into the school gate.
The afternoon club activity took place in the music room.
Gwen stood in front of a drum set, her palms sweating slightly.
"What's wrong?" Mary Jane tuned her guitar strings and looked up at her. "Why are you just standing there? Warm up."
"Oh… okay." Gwen took a deep breath and picked up the drumsticks.
Then her hands descended.
The drumbeats poured out.
Gwen was stunned.
Her hands seemed to have a life of their own, leaping and striking against the drumheads, producing a fluid rhythm.
Her body swayed slightly with the beat, and the timing of her foot on the hi-hat was flawless.
This was the original body's muscle memory.
Her body remembered how to play the drums.
"Not bad," Betty said, walking over with her bass. "You're in good form today?"
Gwen gave a vague reply, not stopping her hands.
The drumbeats grew faster and more intense until the song ended, and only then did she stop, her palms slightly sweaty.
Mary Jane clapped her hands. "Alright, alright, come over here, I have an announcement."
The four of them sat in a circle.
Mary Jane stood in the middle and cleared her throat. "I've decided—we are going to officially form a band, the kind that will release albums in the future."
Betty blinked. "Aren't we already a band?"
"That's different!" Mary Jane waved her fist. "Before, we were just messing around, but now I'm serious. We need our own logo, our own style, our own original songs. We're going to be the best school band in New York, then release albums and hold concerts—"
"Fine," Betty shrugged. "Maybe it's a good idea."
Glory pushed up her glasses. "I agree too. We will be the next generation of The Rolling Stones."
"What about you, Gwen?" Mary Jane looked at her.
Gwen looked at the three pairs of expectant eyes and slowly raised her hand. "Er… I don't have any objections."
Mary Jane smiled with satisfaction. "Then it's settled! Starting today, the 'Mary Jane' band is officially established!"
The setting sun spilled in through the windows, casting a warm glow on the four of them.
Gwen looked at the three girls beside her and suddenly felt that this World didn't seem so bad after all.
On the way home from school, Gwen ran into Peter again.
He was walking ahead alone, carrying a heavy backpack, his steps somewhat dragging.
Gwen quickened her pace to catch up. "Peter!"
Peter turned his head, and upon seeing her, a Flash of surprise crossed his eyes. "Gwen?"
"Let's walk together."
The two walked side by side in the sunset.
Gwen secretly glanced at the boy beside her, thinking of the hero hidden within that thin body, and thinking of everything he would go through in the future.
"Peter."
"Hmm?"
"If one day you really do have superpowers," Gwen looked at the distant sky, "you must remember, you are not alone."
Peter stopped and looked at her, confused.
Gwen turned her head and smiled at him. "I mean, if you ever need help, you can come to me."
She waved her hand and ran toward home.
Peter stood where he was, watching the golden figure disappear around the corner, and scratched the back of his head.
"Gwen is really strange today."
He said softly, then lowered his head and continued walking forward.
The sunset stretched their shadows very, very long.