"Did you hear about Flash? That guy..."
"He's seriously disgusting! Someone like him is a disgrace to Midtown High!"
Thanks to the students who had witnessed the incident on the school bus, news of Flash Thompson's supposed scheme spread throughout the school like wildfire.
By lunchtime, practically everyone in the cafeteria was talking about him.
Flash's reputation was now thoroughly ruined. Whether the accusations were true or not hardly mattered anymore. Everyone had already decided he was guilty.
Listening to the students whispering around him, Peter finished the last bite of his lunch with a satisfied smile before quietly leaving the cafeteria.
This was exactly the kind of social humiliation he'd carefully planned for Flash.
Because Peter needed to protect his civilian identity, he couldn't simply kill the guy.
But he could certainly make Flash lose everything he'd once enjoyed.
That was how Peter intended to handle people who crossed him in this new life.
'Leave me alone, and I'll leave you alone. But if you come after me, I'll make sure you regret it twice as much.'
...
The school's athletic equipment storage room was rarely visited, making it an excellent place for Peter to practice.
He wouldn't have to worry about anyone overhearing him.
More importantly, he wouldn't have to worry about the satellites operated by the HYDRA-infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. detecting anything unusual.
Just as Peter had predicted, learning the Rasengan became considerably easier once he treated the chakra involved in the technique as a mathematical model.
He didn't even need to bother with the traditional training exercises involving water balloons, ordinary balloons, or rubber balls.
Instead, he simply attempted to form a Rasengan while recording his observations on sheets of scratch paper, adjusting one variable at a time.
After spending only a single lunch break experimenting, a rapidly rotating sphere of blue energy finally appeared above his palm.
Peter studied the glowing sphere for a moment.
Then, after a brief hesitation, he pressed it directly against the floor of the storage room.
BOOOOM!
A deafening explosion shook the room.
The solid floor instantly collapsed beneath the impact, leaving behind an enormous crater more than two meters across and over half a meter deep.
Peter activated the Horse Talisman, restoring the damaged floor to its original condition.
Then he nodded in satisfaction.
'Rasengan. Mastered!'
And its destructive power was far greater than he'd expected.
With the Rasengan's raw force combined with his already extraordinary physical strength, Peter doubted that many of the supervillains in the Spider-Man universe could withstand a direct hit.
Even Iron Man's armor would probably suffer serious localized damage if it took a Rasengan head-on.
"With the Rasengan, I shouldn't have any major shortcomings in destructive power for the time being."
Peter smiled to himself.
"And that makes me a lot more confident about taking money from criminals tonight."
...
Night soon fell over New York City.
Wearing a black hooded sweatshirt, Peter told Uncle Ben and Aunt May that he was going over to Gwen's house to help her study.
The excuse worked perfectly, allowing him to leave without difficulty.
Once outside, Peter quickly ducked into an alley.
He pulled his hood into place, then covered his face with a mask and a pair of sunglasses, making sure nobody could recognize him.
Unfortunately, his limited budget meant that this was the best disguise he could manage.
For now, he looked less like a superhero and more like someone preparing to rob a bank.
After finishing his preparations, Peter began moving through the shadows between the city's skyscrapers.
His figure slipped through the darkness like a ghost.
Before long, he arrived in one of Manhattan's most notorious neighborhoods.
Hell's Kitchen.
Peter slowed his pace and concentrated on the surrounding sounds.
As he passed an auto repair shop, his enhanced hearing picked up a particularly interesting conversation.
"Listen up, boys! Tonight's shipment is important. Mr. Fisk had to go through a lot of trouble to get his hands on this batch from Madame Gao!"
A rough, hoarse voice reached Peter's ears.
"If we pull this job off, every single one of us will get at least this much!"
"The meeting's at Pier Nine in Brooklyn, thirty minutes from now. We're dealing with a bunch of Russians, so make sure you're armed. Keep your eyes open, too. Those bastards might try to double-cross us!"
'Kingpin? Madame Gao?'
Peter stopped walking.
A sharp gleam appeared in his eyes.
Wilson Fisk was publicly known as a successful New York businessman.
Behind the scenes, however, he was the Kingpin of Crime, the criminal mastermind who controlled much of New York City's underworld.
Madame Gao, meanwhile, was a high-ranking member of the Hand and one of Hell's Kitchen's notorious drug traffickers.
Peter hadn't expected to stumble across an operation involving such major figures on his very first night hunting criminals for profit.
And that was excellent news!
After all, the more famous and influential a person was, the easier it would be to obtain valuable items associated with them.
And those items could be offered to the Sacrifice System!
The corners of Peter's mouth gradually curved upward.
'Well, then...'
'Looks like I've found my target.'
'You're up, Fat Fisk!'
...
Pier Nine, Brooklyn.
The pier had been abandoned for years.
The sea breeze carried the salty smell of seawater mixed with the lingering scent of rust, while dim yellow streetlights cast grotesque, twisted shadows across the surrounding shipping containers.
More than a dozen gang members were scattered around the area.
They smoked cigarettes and chatted casually, but their eyes remained alert, constantly scanning their surroundings.
Weapons were tucked into the backs of their waistbands.
Before long, the rumbling of engines broke the silence.
Three black sedans rolled into the abandoned pier.
Their doors opened, and a group of heavily built Russian men climbed out.
Their leader, a muscular man sporting a mohawk, stepped forward and demanded in heavily accented English, "Where's Fisk? Why didn't he come to meet me himself?"
"Our boss has more important things to do. He doesn't need to personally attend every little transaction."
A scar-faced man stepped forward from Kingpin's group, responding with a smile that contained no warmth.
He snapped his fingers.
One of his subordinates immediately opened a briefcase, revealing numerous packages tightly wrapped in tape.
The Russian leader's eyes lit up when he saw the contents.
He quickly gestured for his men to retrieve two heavy metal briefcases from their vehicles.
The cases were opened.
Inside were neatly arranged stacks of crisp, freshly printed American dollar bills.
Both sides began inspecting the merchandise.
Everything appeared to be proceeding smoothly.
They were just about to exchange the drugs for the money when...
Whoosh!
A faint sound cut through the air.
The next instant, one of the muscular Russians standing near the edge of the gathering suddenly collapsed.
He didn't even have time to make a sound.
His neck tilted to one side, and his body dropped stiffly to the ground.
A tiny pebble was embedded directly between his eyebrows.
"SNIPER!"
Scarface reacted almost immediately.
He shouted a warning, drew his handgun, and rolled across the ground before taking cover behind a car.
The dark barrel of his weapon swung toward the Russians.
For a brief moment, the Russians were stunned.
Then fury erupted among them.
'What the hell is wrong with these local gangs?!'
'They're trying to murder us and make it look like someone else's doing!'
"Stop them!" the mohawked Russian roared.
His men immediately drew their weapons and opened fire on Kingpin's gang.
Gunshots erupted across the abandoned pier as both sides began exchanging bullets.
Meanwhile, the Russian leader seized the opportunity to grab one of the money-filled briefcases and sprint toward a nearby black sedan.
But just as his hand reached the car door...
A black-clad figure suddenly emerged from behind a shipping container.
Moving with the speed and ferocity of a hunting leopard, the mysterious attacker lunged directly toward him.
The mohawked Russian was no inexperienced street thug.
The moment he heard the approaching movement, he reacted instinctively, raising his handgun and pulling the trigger.
He intended to empty the entire magazine into whoever was attacking him!
But he'd barely managed to fire two shots when a black shadow closed the distance between them.
BANG!
The Russian's vision abruptly went dark.
His consciousness plunged into an endless void.
SPLAT!
At the same instant, a gruesome spray of red and pale matter splattered across the car window.
The driver sitting inside nearly died of fright.
'Dear God!'
'What the hell did I just witness?!'
The Russian leader had been a massive, powerfully built man weighing well over 220 pounds.
Yet that masked stranger, whose figure looked relatively slender and well-proportioned, had just destroyed the man's head with a single punch!