Chapter 148

Normal updates will continue from tomorrow.

...

At night, Peter tiredly crawled along the wall, opened the window, and slipped back into his room. He pulled off his Spider-Man suit and removed his mask with one hand. Standing in the dimly lit room, he didn't turn on the lights, letting the faint glow of the distant city shine through the window. Under the moonlight, he stared blankly at the mask in his hand.

The black lenses of his mask reflected his exhausted face.

During the day, he'd let the Green Goblin escape because of his own compassion—saving Mary Jane and others instead. Afterward, he'd chased down the Goblin to capture him, but the damage had already been done. He saw the trail of chaos left behind: streets littered with debris, cars wrecked, and destruction spread across the block.

The Green Goblin had unleashed havoc, dropping bombs to evade pursuit. Innocent people had been caught in the carnage, lives shattered by the ruthless assault. Now, Peter could almost hear the frightened screams echoing in his ears, the cries of people who had lost their loved ones.

This devastation had happened because he'd hesitated—because he hadn't allowed that woman to end the Green Goblin. By sparing the madman, he'd unwittingly allowed more innocent people to suffer. Broken families, lives lost… all because of his own choices.

Peter's heart ached with regret and guilt. Why did he let the Goblin go? Why had he stopped her? He'd known the Goblin was a madman. His legs buckled, and he sank to his knees, tears streaming from his weary eyes. The harsh reality of the devastation clashed with his own moral code, leaving him torn. He believed in capturing criminals and letting the law bring justice—but this time, that choice had led to even greater loss.

Clutching his chest, he felt as if his heart might burst. His vision blurred, and in his mind, he saw the faces of the innocent, bloodied and broken, reaching out, silently accusing him.

Unable to face these haunting visions, Peter curled up on the floor, his shoulders shaking as he whispered, "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."

The moonlight cast his shadow across the floor, and slowly, the darkness seemed to swallow him whole. For the first time, Peter began to doubt himself.

On the top floor of a building a few streets away, a figure watched silently.

"That child…" he murmured.

Beside him, a middle-aged man also observed the scene, his expression unreadable. He opened his mouth to say something but was silenced by a gesture. "What do you think we should do about him?"

"I sympathize with the kid, and I understand his pain," the figure replied, "but he made a grave mistake."

Coulson was taken aback for a moment, then shook his head. He had overseen S.H.I.E.L.D.'s investigation into Spider-Man's identity and knew about the boy's tragic past. He admired him greatly, but there was no denying the truth—both from a legal and a moral standpoint, mistakes had been made on both sides. This time, the cost had been high.

More than 20 lives had been lost, over 40 people were severely injured and still fighting for their lives in the ICU, and countless others had been wounded. Even if S.H.I.E.L.D. considered recruiting Spider-Man, these casualties could not be ignored—or forgiven.

Because of this, they had brought an elite combat team, prepared to apprehend Spider-Man.

Coulson's words made Nick Fury nod, his single eye glinting with an unreadable expression. After a moment of silence, Fury spoke.

"Begin the arrest."

With that, he turned and walked away. Coulson picked up his communicator.

"Begin the arrest. The target is extremely dangerous. If there is any resistance, shoot immediately."

A calm voice responded on the other end.

Through his binoculars, Coulson watched a dozen armed vehicles pull up in front of the apartment, surrounding it completely. Heavily armed agents moved swiftly and silently, positioning themselves to block every possible escape route.

A frontline agent knocked on the apartment door.

An elderly woman in a plaid dress answered, her face blanching at the sight of the guns pointed at her.

"Who are you?" she stammered.

"Detain her," the lead agent ordered tersely. Without further explanation, he advanced into the house, leading his team up the stairs with their guns raised. Two agents restrained the old woman, covering her mouth to muffle any cries.

Bang!

Reaching the second floor, the agents kicked open a door and saw a motionless figure curled up on the floor.

Upon spotting the target, the lead captain signaled, and several agents advanced to surround him. At that moment, Peter, who had been lying on the ground, finally woke up. He quickly looked up, seeing figures with guns and masks standing over him.

He was startled—these people had broken into the house, and he hadn't even reacted? Why hadn't his spider-sense warned him?

Instinctively, he tried to stand up, but commands barked sharply in his ears.

"Don't move! Surrender immediately, or we'll open fire!"

"Stay down! Lie on the ground, now!"

"Get down, or we'll open fire!"

Seeing their defensive stances, Peter seemed to realize something. Closing his eyes, he complied, lying flat on the floor as instructed. Cautiously, several agents approached him. One of them pulled out a needle and injected it into Peter's neck. As the liquid entered his bloodstream, he grew drowsy and quickly lost consciousness.

The agents swiftly carried Peter and the elderly woman out of the apartment. The entire operation was quick and forceful, completed in under three minutes.

Time continued its steady march forward, like a wheel rolling on.

The world was relatively calm this year. The Stark Expo had captivated audiences, and Iron Man—Tony Stark's name—echoed worldwide, drawing countless cheers and admiration. Yet, as his fame grew, so did the looming crises that shadowed him.

Meanwhile, in Kamar-Taj…

In this peaceful, hidden sanctuary, warm sunlight filtered through nearby branches, casting dappled shadows across a wide courtyard. There, a group of young sorcerers gazed in awe and admiration at the graceful sorceress before them—a striking woman in a casual T-shirt. Her presence commanded both respect and fascination.