On the other side, Peter Parker stood in front of the FEI Titan Krios electron microscope, excitedly adjusting the camera focus to capture the spider silk nanostructure displayed on the screen.
He was completely unaware that danger was approaching from behind.
"Bang!"
A hairy, muscular arm clamped around Peter Parker's neck from the side with such force that he nearly suffocated instantly.
Peter subconsciously struggled, grabbing the attacker's forearm with both hands—but it was useless. The arm's owner was far stronger than an ordinary person and began dragging him backward.
"Ugh—"
Peter tried to shout, but his voice caught in his throat.
His struggle caused a slight commotion, yet the football team members trailing behind him silently formed a circle, blocking the view of anyone outside.
Still, Peter's disappearance went unnoticed by most people in the lab.
"Bang—!"
A dozen seconds later, Peter was roughly dragged into the bathroom near the laboratory, his back slamming hard against the tiled wall.
"Cough, cough, cough…"
He coughed violently and finally saw his attacker—Flash Thompson!
Flash seized Peter by the collar and lifted him off the ground.
His already unpleasant face was now twisted with rage, veins bulging on his forehead. His voice dripped with suppressed fury as he growled:
"You did it, didn't you? That video on YouTube!"
Peter's feet dangled in the air as he gasped for breath, his eyes darting nervously. He stammered in protest:
"W-What video? What are you talking about!?"
"Stop playing dumb! I got humiliated in that video—the one with over three million views! The whole school's laughing at me because of that damn clip!"
With that, Flash slammed Peter against the wall again.
Feeling the sharp pain in his back and seeing the murderous glare in Flash's eyes—as if Peter had killed his father—Peter swallowed hard and offered a weak explanation:
"I just… posted it casually… I didn't expect it to go viral…"
But that only poured gasoline on the fire.
Flash's pupils contracted. His free hand clenched into a fist, and he roared:
"'Casually'? You ruined my reputation—all because of 'casually'?!
I'll show you what casual really means!!"
He raised his fist, ready to smash it into Peter's face.
But Peter was pinned, helpless and defenseless.
Just as he braced for the blow…
"Put him down. I'll pretend I didn't see anything. But if you dare touch him, you can choose one of these two things in my hand."
A calm voice cut through the tension from the bathroom doorway.
At the sound of that familiar voice, Flash froze.
Slowly, he turned his head—and saw Damian standing there. In his left hand was a toilet plunger; in his right, a dripping wet mop. Despite the absurd props, an unmistakable aura of intimidation radiated from him.
"Need I repeat myself?" Damian asked. His voice wasn't loud, but it left no room for argument.
Flash's muscles tensed—but after a moment, he reluctantly loosened his grip on Peter's collar.
"Ahem…"
Peter slid to the floor, clutching his throat and coughing twice.
"This is between me and Parker," Flash said stiffly, deliberately avoiding Damian's gaze. "It's got nothing to do with you."
Damian did not respond, but turned his gaze to Peter Parker and said,
"You go out first. I want to talk to him alone."
Peter Parker struggled to stand, glanced at Damian—who looked relaxed—and then at Flash, who was tense, as if facing a formidable enemy.
An eerie silence filled the air, broken only by the tick-tick of water dripping from the faucet.
"I… I'll be right outside," Peter said. "If anything goes wrong, I'll call for help immediately."
He finally chose to obey Damian and added the last part quickly as he passed by.
Damian gave an imperceptible nod.
With a soft click of the bathroom door closing, only Damian, Flash, and Flash's friends remained inside.
Damian looked at the group before him and spoke in a calm, clear voice:
"Listen. I'm the one who made you look bad. If you have any complaints, take them up with me.
But if I see you bothering Peter Parker again… I promise I'll shove this thing up your ass."
As he spoke, he shook the toilet plunger in his hand and swept his sharp eyes over everyone present.
Flash clenched and unclenched his fists, his expression shifting from gloomy to livid.
Damian ignored him and turned toward the door.
But just as his fingertips were three inches from the door handle, the boy in the baseball uniform on the right suddenly lunged forward!
"Hit him!"
A burly figure—over 200 pounds—charged like a storm, his fist aimed squarely at Damian's temple.
If the blow had landed cleanly, it would have knocked an ordinary person unconscious—or worse.
Bang!
Damian's left arm shot up like an iron rod, blocking the strike. The dull thud of forearm meeting fist echoed through the bathroom.
Before the baseball player could recover from the recoil, his vision went black.
Bang!
The rubber suction cup—reeking of filth—slammed over his entire face. The powerful suction and foul stench choked his breath.
In the next instant, a devastating side kick struck his ribs.
Crack!
A sharp snap of breaking bone rang out, and the boy flew backward like a ragdoll, smashing through two stall doors before coming to a stop.
"Ughhhhhhh!"
Wood splinters flew everywhere as he curled up on the floor, groaning in agony.
The attack was like a starting gun.
"Damn it! I'm gonna fight you!" Flash roared, his voice making the bathroom walls tremble.
Five other hulking figures surged forward simultaneously, their combined weight shaking the floor.
Damian took half a step back and thrust the mop handle in his hand like a spear.
With a muffled puff, the mop head drove straight into the gut of the first attacker. The man's eyes bulged; before he could vomit, an uppercut smashed into his chin.
Bang!
His head cracked against the tiled wall with a sickening crunch.
Swish!
At that moment—a sharp whoosh of wind came from the left. Damian ducked beneath the incoming fist and swung the toilet plunger.
Bang!
The rubber cup, caked with yellowish-brown grime, clamped tightly over the man's cheek. Damian yanked hard, yanking him off balance—straight into his own companion's rising knee.
Bang!
Blood erupted from the man's nose, splattering the mirror like a crimson blossom.
"Haaaa—!"
Seeing his chance, Flash launched a sneak attack from behind.
His fist—big as a casserole dish—slammed into Damian's back with a sound like splitting wood. The force alone could have shattered a plank.