The next day at school I tackled classes a little differently. I had gone to the library before class and taken out a guide to conversational French. While the teacher taught us English, I worked through it quietly in my lap.
It was difficult at first, but once I began to actually think about what I'd read rather than just absorbing it passively... things got a lot easier. Thank God for the mind of a genius.
With Peter's advanced neural processing, I managed to memorise several French phrases in a single day. I wouldn't be impressing any passing French supermodel with my conjugations, but it was a solid start.
I also began paying closer attention in class, bombarding the teachers with detailed, probing questions. They seemed to appreciate it at first — but I got the distinct impression that by the third or fourth question some of them were starting to find it exhausting.
I ended up filling several pages with notes. Good. No reason to keep all of it in my head and waste precious storage space.
I didn't take the bus home with MJ that afternoon. Instead, I caught the train to Manhattan to visit the dojo I'd found the previous night. I let Aunt May and Uncle Ben know where I was going before I left. Needless to say, they were surprised.
"Peter, why do you want to take classes like that?" May asked, worried.
"I want to be able to protect myself, Aunt May," I replied. "If I ever get into a difficult situation, I want to be able to handle it."
"But, Peter—"
"May, let the boy do what he wants," Ben stepped in with a reassuring smile. "He wants to be able to protect himself — that's a perfectly reasonable thing. Besides, it's good that he's finally getting a hobby."
'Not really a hobby. More of an agenda,' I thought, though I nodded outwardly. "Yeah. Besides, life's getting kind of dull. I need something to keep me busy."
"Surely you and MJ could find something to do together," May suggested.
"No — MJ's busy with other stuff," I shrugged. "No big deal. But I do want to do this, Aunt May. Please."
She held my gaze for the longest time before finally relenting with a sigh. She warned me not to push myself too hard. I told her I wouldn't, which was only half a lie. I also told her there was one class, not three separate ones. No need to add extra worry.
I arrived at the dojo in Chinatown. People were already going in — I saw so many kids being dropped off by parents that I almost turned around, worried this would turn out to be an elaborate money dump.
I sighed and was just about to leave in frustration when I noticed a small sign down the road, half-hidden behind a neon sign for a Chinese restaurant. I paused, blinking at it.
'Chikara Dojo.'
And then I realised why that name meant something to me. Colleen Wing. She owned this dojo. She was Iron Fist's close ally — and she was, at this point in time, still a member of the Hand, the organisation that quietly brainwashed its recruits into becoming assassins.
And just like that, I was at an impasse.
Option one: try my luck at another dojo and hope it wasn't a glorified money sink.
Option two: go to the Chikara dojo, learn everything I could, and leave before the Hand became aware of me.
It was a dangerous gamble, no question. The Hand were a league of assassins — ninjas without equal in this universe. It was arguably insane to think I could learn from them and simply walk away. But then again, one of the greatest heroes in this same universe had once learned from Ra's al-Ghul himself.
To hell with it. I wanted to be a ninja. But if they ever thought I was joining their little clan, they had another thing coming.
I walked into the building and found a staircase leading up to the first floor with a sign for the dojo. The place looked exactly as I had imagined — yellow-painted walls, the faint smell of polished wood and old sweat. I stopped in the doorway, peering inside to see students already in uniform standing before Colleen Wing, who was — I had to admit — absolutely breathtaking.
She looked up and spotted me, nodding for me to enter. With a deep breath, I stepped inside, removed my shoes, and walked across the mat.
The other students turned to look at me. I met their gaze one by one, then turned to Colleen. "I wish to learn. Please."
The instructor smiled. "You came to the right place. Though — you don't have to speak like you're in a kung fu film, you know."
I chuckled, rubbing the back of my head. "Sorry. I'm nervous."
"It's fine. My name is Colleen Wing. And you are?"
"Peter. Peter Parker." I put down my bag and stripped off my outer shirt, revealing the exercise clothes I had on underneath. "Can I start now?"
Colleen looked impressed. "Not today. For today, I want you to stand to the side and watch. Think you can do that, Peter?"
I nodded. "Sure." I sat down to the side and watched closely.
"Right. Then let's begin," Colleen turned to her students. They began working through the basic forms of the blade — it appeared she was teaching them kendo at this entry level.
The more advanced classes were probably where things got interesting. Perhaps only the most advanced recruits were considered for the deeper training — the techniques that would eventually be turned toward darker purposes. I needed to learn everything they were willing to teach me and stay alert to the line I could not afford to cross.
For now, I sat and observed. I used Peter's formidable mind to break down each swing and foot placement, analysing the mechanics — the leverage points, the weight transfers, the way a missed extension became a liability. I learned why each form was structured the way it was. I even began to identify their mistakes.
By the end of the first session, everyone on the mat was sweating. Kendo was demanding in a way most people didn't anticipate — it wasn't simply swinging a sword. It involved a great deal of footwork and body positioning that the body would suffer for if done incorrectly.
"Alright, class — good work today. I'll see you all tomorrow, same time. Joey! Don't be late!"
"I'll try, Sensei Wing!"
She smiled as the students filtered out, leaving her and me alone. She sat down before me and studied my face. "So? What do you think? Can you keep up?"
"If I can, will you advance me ahead of the rest of the class?" I asked. She looked surprised — confused, even — so I explained: "They're too new at this to be your best class. I imagine you teach the more advanced techniques to separate groups at different times. I was wondering if I learned the basics quickly enough, whether you'd hold me back just to keep me with the beginners."
Colleen looked at me with fresh assessment. "I would never hold back a promising student. If I believe you're ready for the next level, I'll advance you. But don't get your hopes up just because you watched a single session."
I smirked. "I think I've already got it."
Colleen chuckled. "Really?"
"Yup." I got up and walked to the weapon rack, picking up a wooden bokken. "Care to test me?"
Colleen looked uncertain before shrugging. "Why not? Show me what you've got."
I nodded and proceeded to demonstrate the three kata she had taught the class that session. The first was a basic attack-and-block combination. The second added footwork and lateral movement. The third incorporated more complex swing mechanics that several of the students had struggled with earlier — but thanks to my enhanced agility, I worked through it cleanly.
Colleen stared. "H-how did you do that? Have you trained before?"
I shook my head. "No. I just watched how they moved and copied it. I also noticed a few technical mistakes in the forms as they were being performed, so I corrected those while I was at it."
Colleen's eyes went wide before a slow smile crossed her face. "I would be honoured to teach you, Peter."
I bowed. "Thank you, Sensei Wing. I won't disappoint. Will your next class be arriving soon?"
Colleen nodded. "Yes — I have three more classes after this one. Why? Do you wish to stay?"
"Yes."
"Alright. But you mustn't attempt the techniques I show the other groups today. They are far more advanced and can cause serious injury if performed without sufficient preparation. Understood?"
I smiled. "Wouldn't dream of it."
I spent the next three hours watching class after class come and go. Colleen had a well-designed system, honestly. Kendo for the beginners, more advanced blade-work for the intermediate group, multiple hand-to-hand combat styles for the third group, and the fourth group — only seven people — was run into the ground with brutal, efficient training designed to forge fighters.
I could see it clearly now. Those seven were being prepared for the Hand's compound. The programme was methodical and deliberate, each stage removing weakness, instilling obedience. No, these students would eventually be taken to the facility — somewhere in New York, if Iron Fist's accounts had been accurate — and what started here would be finished there.
I paid Colleen for the month and reached home earlier than I expected that night. Aunt May was pleased I'd found a dojo with sensible timings — she didn't need to know I was technically training alongside the recruitment pipeline of a league of assassins. If she did, I don't think she would have been standing.
---
The next day I was up bright and early for a jog.
The mere mention of physical exercise seemed to surprise my aunt completely. She looked at me like I'd grown a second head. "You know, MJ must really be a wonderful influence on you, Peter," she remarked.
I got pissed. "I'm not doing this for her, or for anyone else, Aunt May," I said flatly. She wasn't expecting the sharpness. "I'm doing this for me."
I had two hours to work in some exercise before school. I ran for half the time and spent the rest in the hangar at the abandoned train yard, swinging from chain to chain overhead. It wasn't perfect, but it gave me real experience with shifting weight at distance — which was going to be useful when I eventually swung at speed across city blocks.
Unfortunately, I misjudged the time. I had to sprint home at full speed and barely made it. I must have showered and changed in record time. When I finally got downstairs, Aunt May already had breakfast on the table.
"Morning, Peter," Ben greeted me as he looked through the morning paper.
"Morning, Uncle Ben," I replied before stuffing my face with breakfast.
Ben blinked. "Slow down, Peter! You're going to—"
I coughed.
He sighed. "Choke. Here — have some water. Don't rush."
I drank it. "Can't be late. Need to catch the bus."
"Well, I'll drive you then," Ben told me. "Now finish your food."
I nodded and quickly finished up. I walked out of the house in a few seconds with Uncle Ben following at a more leisurely pace.
As I stood outside though, I noticed MJ waiting by her own front door. I smiled. Had she been waiting for me? But before I could say anything, a convertible pulled up in front of her house.
My eyes widened as I saw Harry Osborn in the driver's seat, honking the horn. "MJ! Come on!" he called out.
"Coming!" MJ ran out and slipped into the passenger seat, laughing at something Harry said as they took off.
I couldn't help it. I growled. I literally growled.
"Peter," Ben said quietly as we got into the car. "She's not abandoning you."
"Could've fooled me," I muttered.
He sighed as he started the engine and pulled out of the driveway slowly. "Peter, she's just happy that she has friends. Can't you understand that?"
"Yes, Uncle Ben, I understand that. I also understand that the moment she made those friends, I was completely forgotten."
Ben drove in silence for a moment. "Peter, just because she doesn't talk to you as much right now doesn't mean she's written you off."
"Maybe she hasn't," I sighed, "but it feels like it. And honestly, I don't even know why I'm complaining — it's not like I had friends before her. But... it hurts being ignored, Uncle Ben."
Ben smiled. "I know, son. I know. But it will get better. I promise you." I didn't reply. I just watched the passing scenery and wondered: should I even bother being Peter Parker at school?
That day I got to school and kept to myself. I barely tolerated the classes, taking notes out of habit more than anything else. I didn't break from the schedule I'd set for myself.
After school, I went back to the Chikara dojo, where Colleen allowed me to join the beginner class — though it became obvious within minutes that I was operating well above the rest of them. The look on their faces when I bested one of the more advanced students at the end of practice was honestly satisfying.
I arrived back in Queens via train. As I walked out of the station, I heard a scream.
My eyes went wide. A mugging. I shot through the doors like a bolt and looked around frantically. Across the street, I saw someone being pushed into an alley by three men. I pulled my hoodie tight and charged.
"Your jewels and your money, rich boy — or I'll stick you where you stand!"
"Please, don't hurt us!" a man said, standing protectively in front of his girlfriend as three thugs surrounded them with knives.
"Hey, jackass!" I yelled out.
The thug nearest to the street turned. "What—" — and connected his face with my boot. His nose snapped and he went flying backward.
"Get him!" the second thug yelled as the third lunged at me with his blade. He thrust it forward, trying to gut me, but I managed to dodge it — my spider-sense screaming at me a fraction of a second before it happened.
He roared and charged, trying to tackle me to the ground. I jumped straight over his head, landed behind him, and drove my foot into his back, knocking him down hard.
Before anyone could recover, I charged the last one standing and seized his knife hand, wrenching the blade free and throwing it aside.
"What the fu—" my fist connected with his face hard enough to feel the nose crack under the impact. He went flying back and hit the alley wall.
I turned to the second man, who was struggling to get up. I kicked him in the stomach — hard. The air left his lungs in a sharp gasp and he curled up on the ground, clutching his midsection.
"Th-thank you," the man gasped, looking at me with wide eyes.
I didn't turn around. I kept my face hidden by the hoodie. I looked at the couple for a moment, then turned and ran — as fast as I dared without looking inhuman. I wasn't a superhero yet, and explaining how a skinny teenager had just put three armed muggers in the dirt with a few clean hits? Yeah — not a conversation I wanted to have.
I got home that night with a smile.
"Oh, good day at the gym?" May asked when she saw me.
"It's a dojo, Aunt May. And yeah — I did," I smiled, thinking about the mugging I'd stopped, the two people I'd kept safe. I was right. If I trained hard enough, if I genuinely knew how to fight, I could do so much more.
"Well, that's good! Wash up, Peter — we're having your favourite tonight! Pizza!"
And just like that, the day got even better.