**"Ah? Oh—oh, oh..."**
Peter Parker's eyes were dull, and he only snapped back to his senses when he heard Damian's voice. With stiff movements, he tossed the backpack back to him.
It traced a graceful arc through the air and landed neatly in Damian's hands.
After slinging the backpack over his shoulders, Damian looked at the boy in front of him, smiled, and extended his right hand.
"Thanks a lot! I'm Damian Zagan—if that's too much of a mouthful, just call me Z. What about you?"
Peter Parker stared at the outstretched hand. His expression twisted into something deeply perplexed, as if someone had just told him, *"When God closes a window, He also slams the door on your head."*
He replied in a flat, stiff tone:
"Uh… I'm Peter Parker. Your classmate. Your *desk mate*. We've been sitting together for almost a year—312 days, to be exact."
He paused, then added with a mix of disbelief and dry humor:
"I thought you were just being modest when you said you had a bad memory. You know, like how people sometimes downplay things… But I didn't actually think you *meant* it."
"…"
Damian regarded the Level 10 chatterbox before him with an odd look in his eyes.
*A chatterbox. Midtown High. Peter Parker.*
It was practically a neon sign: this guy was almost certainly the future Spider-Man.
But he probably hadn't been bitten by that radioactive spider yet—or chosen by any spider totem—so for now, he was just an ordinary, slightly insecure high school student.
Come to think of it… Given Peter's genius-level intellect and scientific talent, why did he seem so self-deprecating?
If it were me, I wouldn't just eat humble pie—I'd make Stephen Hawking stand up and raise a toast in my honor.
"Hey, Z! Earth to Z! Were you even listening?"
Noticing Damian's distant gaze, Peter waved a hand in front of his face.
"Oh—sorry," Damian said, blinking back to reality. "I spaced out for a second. It's getting late. Let's head in before we're late."
For some reason, Peter couldn't shake the feeling that something was… off about Damian today.
The moment the two disappeared around the corner of the school building, the crowd by the front gate erupted into chatter.
"Did you see that? Holy crap! His umbrella moved like it was alive! In just a few swings, he took down Flesh and his whole crew!"
A boy in a baseball cap gesticulated wildly, nearly knocking his cap off.
"That's gotta be Chinese kung fu! I saw a video on YouTube—some master took down a guy with a knife using nothing but chopsticks!"
Another boy's eyes lit up as he mimicked Damian's spinning umbrella move—nearly clocking the kid next to him in the head.
A group of girls huddled together, whispering excitedly:
"He looked so cool holding that umbrella!"
Nearby, a substitute player from the rugby team rubbed the bruise on his lip—left by Flash's fist just yesterday—and paled.
"Man… did you see how he *jabbed*? If he'd aimed for the eyes…"
He shuddered and fell silent.
A Black girl with glasses pushed them up her nose and murmured to her friend:
"I know him. His name's Damian. Last semester in PE, he couldn't even do three pull-ups…"
"No way!" came the chorus of disbelief from the surrounding crowd.
At the same time, in the teaching building, Damian, who had been walking ahead, suddenly stopped and looked thoughtful.
Seeing this, Peter Parker felt a little confused, so he hurried to catch up and asked curiously,
"Didn't you just say you were going to class? Why'd you stop all of a sudden?"
Hearing this, Damian turned to Peter's inquisitive eyes, smiled faintly, and said in a mysterious tone:
"I just realized something profound: in the long journey of life, the destination isn't what matters most—it's the reflections and lessons we gather along the way. The world is round. As long as we have a goal, no matter where we start or how long it takes, we'll eventually get there."
Peter blinked. "Speak in words I can actually understand, Mr. Shakespeare!"
Damian sighed. "...Okay, fine. I forgot which classroom we're supposed to be in, and I desperately need a kind, honest soul to guide me. I'd be eternally grateful."
Peter groaned and pressed a hand to his forehead, his expression screaming, *If I can't curse you out loud, then I have nothing left to say.*
They'd been desk mates for nearly a year—how had he never noticed Damian was such a hopeless airhead?!
Just as Peter was about to drag him toward the classroom, a clear, cheerful voice called out from behind them:
"Good morning, Peter! And… Zagan? Wow, I'm surprised to see you at school!"
They both turned to see a girl with a high ponytail, calm confidence, and a bright smile.
Damian, however, drew a complete blank. He nudged Peter and whispered,
"Who is she? Why's she saying hi? Do we even know her?"
Peter stared at him, utterly exasperated. "That's Gwen Stacy! We're in the same class—and she's been sitting right in front of you for almost a year, man! Did you get a lobotomy last night?"
Damian ignored the jab and asked, "Oh… okay. But why does she sound so surprised to see me here?"
Peter sighed. "Let's just say you've been… *less than consistent* with attendance. You're rarer around here than pandas at the Atlanta Zoo."
"Hiss—!" Damian sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly realizing the original owner of this body must've skipped class constantly.
*Original me… you've laid such a solid foundation for truancy. I'll honor your legacy!*
Still, he was puzzled. The original Damian remembered random details—like that gym teacher "Flash"—but had zero recollection of the girl sitting directly in front of him?
Then Gwen approached, and it all made sense.
Not because of anything inappropriate—but because Damian, in his absentmindedness, had probably never actually *looked* at her. He'd been too busy daydreaming, napping, or plotting elaborate excuses for being late.
Gwen narrowed her eyes slightly. "Hmm… I swear I just felt someone talking about me behind my back. And it was *definitely* unfair."
Damian instantly snapped his gaze forward, clapped Peter on the shoulder with exaggerated cheerfulness, and said,
"What? No way! Who'd do something like that? There's no one that petty in the world! Anyway—class! We're gonna be late!"
He quickly used his signature "classroom escape maneuver," shoving Peter ahead of him as a human shield.
Gwen watched him suspiciously, her eyes lingering on his overly innocent smile—the kind that screamed,
*"Don't worry, I absolutely *didn't* just insult you in my head!"*