Hawk's answer had been quick, without hesitation.
Gwen liked that. She could hear the brightness in her own voice because of it.
After a while, the two brand-new lovers—only together for a few days—finally ended their long phone call.
It was Gwen who was reluctant to hang up.
Well… fine. Hawk was a little reluctant too.
But he also knew why. Why he had liked Gwen since ninth grade but only now allowed himself to face that feeling.
The truth was simple.
Back then, he didn't feel worthy.
Now, with his strength, he finally did.
So whether it was for the sake of growing stronger, or for the sake of staying strong enough to be worthy, Hawk knew he couldn't slack off.
If he stopped now, how long could he maintain this strength? A year? Two?
The Marvel Universe had already begun to unfold. If he relaxed now, he'd be left behind. That sense of urgency burned inside him.
So, when the call ended, Hawk went straight into his daily task: ten thousand punches.
At this point, hitting a sandbag was meaningless.
But this wasn't about the sandbag—it was about calming his heart, about entering that stillness where he might finally brush against the elusive Sixth Sense he knew existed, just out of reach.
On the rooftop of his apartment, the sandbag hanging from the clothesline swayed with each blow.
Hawk's eyes were unfocused, his mind adrift in a void, searching for something the size of a grain of rice in infinite darkness.
Until—
Screams. Shouts.
His focus snapped back instantly. He turned his head toward the direction of the Williamsburg Bridge.
And then—
Whoosh!
Space itself seemed to fold before his eyes. In a blink, though he was kilometers away, Hawk saw everything on that bridge as if he were standing on it.
The Williamsburg Bridge—connecting Manhattan and Brooklyn, always busy with commuters. Tonight was no exception.
But something had gone wrong.
Office workers screamed as they ran, fleeing the sound of cars being hurled aside.
A hulking figure rampaged down the bridge. Covered in gray-green scales, its head the grotesque shape of a lizard, its massive tail smashed vehicles aside like toys.
It was searching for something.
"…The Lizard?"
Hawk's sword-like brows rose slightly.
Not "how did Connors transform without Spider-Man being around to stop him?"
No.
His thought was: Damn. There goes that recommendation letter.
New York University might respect Dr. Connors' endorsement. But would they respect a letter signed by the Lizard? Not a chance.
That handwritten letter had gone from invaluable to worthless in an instant.
Even the stock market didn't drop this hard.
Soon, the Lizard found what it was looking for—a man in a business suit.
With a flick of his tail, he yanked the man straight out of his car. The middle-aged man clutched a briefcase filled with serums destined for a military hospital.
The man trembled under the creature's glowing green gaze, but still stammered, "You—"
"Ahhh!"
Crash!
The Lizard tore the briefcase away, then whipped his tail. The man's body slammed into the bridge's steel cables. The cables sliced him clean in half, blood spraying as both halves plummeted into the river below.
And then—
Spider-Man.
No—Spider-Boy, really.
Peter swung onto the scene, webbing shooting from his wrists. He launched himself like a cannonball, feet-first into the Lizard's chest.
The Lizard staggered, then steadied, hissing with rage. Its tongue lashed, green saliva spraying.
Peter crouched on the roof of a car, glaring back.
With a flick of his wrist, he fired a webline that latched onto the briefcase. One yank—and the serum came free.
The Lizard roared, furious. Cars flew as its tail whipped left and right, hurling vehicles at Peter like missiles.
The battle of spider versus lizard had begun.
On his rooftop, Hawk watched, thoroughly entertained.
But then he remembered something.
He turned back to the sandbag. His body blurred into motion, fists raining down in a storm.
Thirty seconds later—ten thousand punches completed.
Only then did Hawk exhale in relief, turning his gaze back to the bridge, ready to enjoy the show guilt-free.
But—
"…Where's the Lizard?"
"…Where's Spider-Boy?"
"…Where the hell did they go?"
The bridge was empty.
Hawk frowned, then spotted movement below.
In the dark waters under the bridge, a shadow darted swiftly downstream.
It was fast.
Even swinging at full speed, Peter lost the trail by the time they neared Roosevelt Island.
Too dark. The Lizard's speed underwater was incredible.
Peter landed on a rooftop, scanning the waves, shaking his head.
Then—he froze.
Someone was watching him.
Not far away, on the rooftop of a ten-story building, Hawk stood calmly.
When Peter's eyes met his, Hawk smiled faintly.
And waved.
...
(End of Chapter)
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