"Roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet, but Josh Robb is a jerk!"

In the classroom of Midtown High School, the English teacher was writing furiously on the board.

Peter suddenly received a text message with this line.

The sender was listed as "Gwen Stacy."

Recalling from memory, Peter turned his head to the back left of the classroom.

The girl with blonde hair and delicate features smiled at him as soon as he turned around.

"Buzz!"

Peter's phone vibrated again.

Gwen Stacy sent another message: "I heard Josh gave you trouble again this morning. You okay?"

Gwen was one of Peter's good friends, and it seemed that they might become something more in the future. But the outcome was tragic.

Thinking about what he knew of Gwen from his previous life, Peter replied, "It's fine, but I think he's the one in trouble."

A moment later, Gwen responded with a question mark and a black-question-mark emoji of Nick Young.

Peter put down his phone and didn't respond further. He turned his focus back to his notes, recalling all the information he had read about aliens, extracting memories, and trying to understand how the alien embryo was affecting him.

By 5 p.m., Peter left the campus, only to feel a tap on his shoulder.

"Peter, I heard about it!" Gwen's voice called from behind. "You pushed Josh against the lockers? Nice one!"

Gwen smiled, clearly in a good mood. "You should've done that a long time ago."

"Thanks," Peter responded casually, not in the mood for conversation. He nodded and started to walk away, only to notice someone lurking in the corner, their eyes fixated on Gwen.

"I'll head home now. Be careful on your way back," Peter said, offering a warning in return for her earlier kindness.

"Sure, see you tomorrow!" Gwen replied, a bit surprised by his strange remark, but she nodded anyway.

As Peter walked away, Gwen sighed. "Maybe Peter's just in a bad mood," she murmured to herself. "I shouldn't expect everyone to meet my standards."

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Reflecting, she headed towards the subway when her phone rang.

"Dad? I'm fine, heading home now. Need me to pick up some quinoa? The stock's low in the fridge, I think I can…"

Her father, George Stacy, interrupted, "Gwen, have you received any strange letters?"

"Strange letters? No," Gwen replied, thinking. "Well, I got an invitation to a Christian Youth Camp. Are you talking about that? I heard it's run by Methodists, Baptists, and Congregationalists. Some called it outdated and spiritually regressive. Is that what you mean?"

"No, not that. Never mind. Just come home quickly, and we'll talk," George replied, unable to shake his worry.

George Stacy, chief of the NYPD, had received a warning from a criminal group earlier that day, threatening his family's safety. His imagination ran wild, leading him to call his daughter in a panic.

Unaware of her father's concerns, Gwen hung up and continued toward the subway.

Nightfall crept in, and George Stacy's worst fears came true.

On a quiet stretch of road, Gwen was suddenly stopped by three burly men.

Without a word, they confirmed her identity and attacked.

Alert, Gwen sensed danger and made a break for it before the men could reach her.

But they were in pursuit.

Ten minutes later, Gwen stood on the roof of an unfinished building, panting heavily.

"Well, maybe we can talk this out? I can give you the money in my wallet," she suggested, trying to catch her breath.

Facing her were the three men, equally out of breath.

Despite her best efforts, she had been cornered.

*If only I were a superhero,* Gwen thought, *I wouldn't have to be bargaining with criminals.*

"We don't care about your money," the lead thug growled, pulling out a dagger. "We care about you. Your father's caused us some problems, so we'll be taking you instead."

"Can I refuse?" Gwen asked, half-joking, half-terrified.

"No."

The lead thug stepped forward, his dagger glinting in the dim light, while Gwen backed toward the edge of the rooftop, her heart racing.

*Can I make that jump?* Gwen wondered, eyeing the building three meters away. It was a long shot, and the fall was at least ten meters. If she missed, she'd be in serious trouble.

With no other option, Gwen took a few steps back. In the thugs' startled eyes, she sprinted forward and leapt with all her might.

*Maybe I am a little crazy,* Gwen thought mid-air.

The wind whistled past her ears as she fell, her feet aiming for the edge of the opposite roof.

*Bang!*

She landed!

But as soon as she thought she'd made it, her feet slipped. She lost her balance and tumbled toward the street below.

Her eyes widened in despair. Her arms flailed, desperately reaching for anything to hold onto.

*Snap!*

A hand shot out from the darkness, grabbing her wrist.

"Got you!"

A warm, familiar voice reached her ears.

Peter's face emerged from the shadows as he held onto her firmly.

Gwen, wide-eyed and shocked, stared at him.

"Peter?"

Of all the moments she expected, this was the last. Peter, of all people, had come to her rescue.

"Why are you here?" she asked, barely able to believe it.

Without answering, Peter pulled her up. Overwhelmed with relief, Gwen threw her arms around him. "Thank you, Peter," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes.

Peter's icy expression thawed slightly.

He hadn't come to save Gwen on purpose. He had been wandering aimlessly, consumed by the dark, violent urges that seemed to bubble up from deep within him—alien instincts, perhaps.

The night felt like a hunting ground, and the primal urge to kill had lured him out.

Seeing Gwen in danger had snapped him out of that haze.

Feeling the warmth of Gwen's embrace, Peter lifted his gaze toward the thugs, who were now preparing to make a swift exit.

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