After leaving the old gym, Hawk made his way toward the parking lot.
He had no idea what had just gone down behind him.
And honestly? Even if he did, he wouldn't have cared.
Sure, Spider-Man might be the face of Marvel Comics, its golden boy—but truth be told, Hawk didn't know Peter personally.
They were in the same grade, sure.
But that was about it.
By the time Hawk, slinging his single-strap backpack, reached the parking lot, the last orange school bus had already opened its doors.
At the wheel, a grizzled driver with a thick beard—Mr. Hall, wearing the school's blue maintenance uniform—was slouched over the steering wheel, fiddling with a portable radio.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Hall," Hawk greeted politely as he stepped on. "Any breaking news today?"
Mr. Hall looked fierce with his bushy beard and deadpan face.
But in reality?
He was a sweetheart.
"Still that Quantico building collapse," Mr. Hall muttered without looking up, eyes flicking to the time on his wristwatch. "Terrorist attack, apparently. You're two minutes later than yesterday, Hawk."
Hawk shrugged.
"Sorry. Got held up showering."
"Good thing I know you ride with me every day. Otherwise, I'd have left already. Go ahead and grab your seat—we're heading out."
"Got it."
Hawk gave a nod, backpack slung over one shoulder as he headed toward the back.
Mr. Hall started the engine, finger hovering over the door switch.
And then—
A blur dashed in from the far side of the lot.
Peter Parker came barreling toward the bus, barely making it on before the door shut behind him.
Mr. Hall jumped in his seat.
"Ho—ni—" He stopped himself mid-curse, remembering this was still a school bus and probably not the place for profanity. Glaring at the panting, disheveled Peter, he looked out the windshield to see Flash Thompson and his trio of goons approaching.
They didn't board.
Instead, they stood just outside the door, glaring in after Peter.
Mr. Hall's eyes shifted between Peter inside and Flash's crew outside. Finally, he frowned and called out through the window, "You boys getting on or not?"
Flash looked at Mr. Hall, then turned around and stalked off, his posse trailing behind him.
He was a bully, not an idiot. Harassing kids in the hallway was one thing. Doing it in front of school staff was a whole different ballgame.
Peter wasn't stupid either.
As soon as the door slammed shut, he let out a breath and quietly said, "Thanks, Mr. Hall."
Mr. Hall didn't reply.
He knew exactly what was going on—but as far as he was concerned, as long as nothing happened on his bus, it wasn't his problem.
Peter didn't say anything else either.
He turned to look for a seat and spotted Hawk sitting at the very back by the window. After a moment's hesitation, he walked over.
"Thanks."
Hawk, who had been quietly staring out the window, lost in thought about how tomorrow was finally Day One Thousand, turned his head toward Peter, his expression unreadable.
"I didn't help you," he said flatly. "No need to thank me."
With that, he turned back to the window, ending the conversation.
He didn't know if Peter had been bitten by a radioactive spider yet.
Probably not.
And even if he had… Hawk wasn't interested.
More accurately, he didn't want to get involved with any superheroes.
Sure, the term "superhero" sounded noble. But in reality, it was code for "walking disaster magnet."
Before his cheat activated, Hawk had no illusions about getting chummy with any cape-wearing vigilantes. All he wanted was to survive—live long, die old, and hopefully do it in a bed, not in rubble.
And now that his cheat was online?
His priorities hadn't changed.
Well—slightly.
Instead of just living freely, now he wanted to live longer and freer.
But either way, one rule remained the same:
Stay the hell out of superhero business.
So yeah—he knew who Peter Parker was. Knew who Gwen Stacy was, too.
Didn't mean he had any intention of befriending either of them.
Gwen was a different story, though.
She was their class's junior assistant after all, so occasional interaction was unavoidable.
But fall in love with the so-called "number one girlfriend in Marvel Comics"?
Hawk had zero interest.
At least for now.
Because right now?
He didn't even qualify to talk about love.
Peter opened his mouth again, clearly wanting to say something, but in the end, he stayed quiet. He sat down in the seat across the aisle, keeping to himself.
Soon, the bus reached the school gates.
Mr. Hall opened the doors, and a small crowd of students waiting for the final bus boarded in twos and threes.
The previously quiet bus quickly filled with chatter.
An hour later—
Jackson Heights.
Mr. Hall opened the doors again and glanced at Hawk, who was already standing near the front.
"See you tomorrow, Hawk."
"See you, Mr. Hall."
Hawk nodded politely, stepped off the bus, and walked toward a nearby five-story apartment building with faded orange walls.
The building was owned by the NYC Housing Authority.
Hawk's unit was on the top floor. It wasn't big, but it had one major perk: he could reach the rooftop easily via the fire escape right outside his window.
Back inside his apartment, Hawk dropped his backpack on the table, pulled out the bag of freshly washed clothes, grabbed two hangers, and opened the window.
Moments later, he was climbing up the creaky fire escape to the rooftop.
Once there, he hung his clothes up to dry, then leaned on the metal railing, watching the planes pass overhead—some descending toward LaGuardia, others rising into the night sky.
He let the wind wash over him.
And counted planes.
It was one of the few ways he let himself relax.
Though lately, he'd added something new.
Stargazing.
As night fell—
Hawk sat down with his back against the building's ventilation shaft, letting the summer breeze tousle his damp hair. He tilted his head back and stared at the sky, at the stars slowly beginning to emerge.
The night was deep.
The stars, endless.
Maybe it was just his imagination.
But ever since he began this daily training—ten thousand punches a day—he'd felt something strange. A growing connection to the night sky. To the cosmos.
Tonight, that feeling was stronger than ever.
Last night, the constellations were faint and hard to spot.
But tonight?
They were vivid.
Pegasus.
Draco.
Cygnus.
Andromeda.
Phoenix.
…
Scorpius.
…
Forty-eight constellations.
The symbols of the forty-eight Bronze Saints.
They shimmered now, clear and sharp in Hawk's eyes.
And in that moment—
It truly felt like—
Tonight, the entire universe was shining for him.