"Honestly, it's incredible!"
Gwen stared at the coffee in her hand and remarked to Peter, "I thought magic itself was unbelievable. If it does exist, magicians should at least have a PhD."
"A PhD?" Peter asked with mild curiosity.
"Think about it—reciting spells, summoning lightning, teleportation, energy transfers, telepathy—all of it seems like a highly systematic field of study. Mastering all of that must require immense intelligence."
Her observation sounded quite reasonable, and Peter nodded slightly. "Perhaps."
He sipped his coffee and added, "It might be hard to invent magic from scratch, but if you borrow energy from gods or demons, magic essentially comes into existence."
Peter was reminded of the ancient line of sorcerers and the magical energy Doctor Strange would one day master. He considered the Ancient One, who in her time drew from the Dark Dimension to protect the Earth.
"Although," he mused aloud, "I wonder if this universe even has an Ancient One. And if so, is it a he or a she?"
"But magic must come at a cost," Peter concluded, looking at Gwen. "There's always a price for power. It's the law of equivalence."
Gwen pondered this. "Like how humans used the fire stolen by Prometheus? That brought knowledge, but also punishment. From the moment they used fire, humanity was marked by original sin. Yet, people willingly embrace such risks."
Her words startled Peter, reminding him of a conversation he'd had with Helen about power and sacrifice.
After a moment, Peter admitted, "Yes, that's exactly it. There's always a price to pay."
"Then I feel bad for Helen," Gwen murmured. She misunderstood Helen as a typical magician, akin to the witches burned at stakes in history.
Although magic wielded great power, it often seemed intertwined with unavoidable tragedy.
"By the way," Gwen added, "did she really agree to a truce? And what was that werewolf-like creature from the livestream—her pet?"
Peter responded ambiguously, "We've signed a temporary ceasefire. Helen has bigger enemies than us. As for the creature, you'll see it again someday."
"I hope not. That thing was terrifying," Gwen muttered, shivering slightly.
She suddenly remembered someone—Black Cat! That enigmatic, unpredictable woman who acted like a rock star always seemed to have ulterior motives.
---
Back home, Gwen found her father, George Stacey, fast asleep on the sofa, exhausted from his work. She sighed softly, choosing not to wake him. Instead, she sat nearby and scrolled through the day's news. Headlines about the terrorist attack at JFK Airport dominated every platform.
If Peter hadn't intervened, countless innocent people might have been hurt.
When George woke up, he greeted his daughter groggily, "Gwen? What time is it?"
"Seven o'clock," Gwen replied. "You must be exhausted, Dad. You need more rest."
George sighed, heading to the coffee machine. "The department's short-staffed, and there's been a spike in crime. Everyone's stretched thin."
He prepared himself a cup of coffee, mixing it with milk from the fridge. Gwen couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. Her father had always lectured her about drinking coffee, claiming it would stunt her growth. Yet, she'd indulged in multiple cups during her date with Peter earlier.
---
"Are you still in charge of the Special Crimes Unit?" Gwen asked.
"Yes," George replied curtly.
"Then have you changed your opinion about Spider-Man? He saved a lot of people today. Maybe he's just a good guy trying to help."
George shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee. "It doesn't matter what I think of him, Gwen. Even if he's a good person, it doesn't change the reality."
"Why not?"
"Because the world isn't black or white; it's gray. Everyone has their own perspective, and conclusions differ based on where they stand."
"But, Dad, that's not what you taught me before," Gwen protested. "You once said you protected this city because you chose to, because you believed in justice. That kind of bravery and conviction inspired me. Are you saying you're compromising now?"
George froze at her words, the coffee mug trembling slightly in his hand.
Her question hit home. Just that morning, he'd received a threatening call from Kingpin's people warning him to drop his investigation—or risk Gwen's safety.
After a long pause, George patted Gwen on the head and reassured her, "No, I'll always stand by my principles. I'll fight for justice, in my own way."
---
Meanwhile, at Fisk Tower, Wilson Fisk hosted a grand banquet. The mayor praised him for his philanthropy, calling him a "true friend of New York." Reporters eagerly documented the exchange, though many privately knew Fisk's criminal empire spanned drugs, extortion, and worse.
Back in his luxurious office later, Fisk dropped his polite facade. Speaking with a member of the mysterious "Spider Silk" organization, he demanded answers about their reckless attack at JFK Airport.
The voice on the other end—a woman identifying herself as "Spider Silk"—dismissed his anger and subtly warned him, "We know your secrets, Fisk. Play nice, or we might reveal them."
---
Elsewhere, Cindy Moon—secretly the mastermind behind Spider Silk—reflected on the night's events. Although she had no desire to harm Gwen's father, she was curious how Gwen and Peter would fare against someone as dangerous as Fisk.
Back at Peter's house, he endured Aunt May's worried lectures about staying out late. Uncle Ben, however, lightened the mood by teasing that Peter was simply in love.
Later, Peter's phone buzzed. It was Helen.
"Peter," she said urgently, "I've uncovered something big!"
"What is it?" Peter asked, tension creeping into his voice.
---
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