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The next day, at Midtown High.
Across campus, students were still buzzing about yesterday's heart-stopping four-way showdown; every other minute the corridors echoed with shouts of "F*** The Arbitrator."
Because the school had inexplicably rebuilt itself overnight, the previously obscure Arbitrator was suddenly flooded with media attention.
Reporters poured into Midtown High, cornering anyone for interviews and doing whatever they could to dig up more dirt on The Arbitrator.
JJJ (J. Jonah Jameson) praised The Arbitrator to the skies.
Though both hid their faces, JJJ insisted Ghost-Spider left destruction wherever she went, whereas "The Arbitrator" had restored an entire school in front of the city—giving kids a place to learn and saving tens of millions in property damage.
The comparison made one look clearly superior.
Such blatant double standards had Gwen so furious she suited up at dawn and plastered Times Square's giant screen with webbing over JJJ's smug face.
"Class, because Mr. Tommy—our politics teacher—broke his leg, we have a substitute: Ms. Tasha."
As the homeroom teacher spoke, a black-stockinged leg stepped into view, snapping every dozing boy upright.
When the red-haired, pin-up gorgeous, pencil-skirted Ms. Tasha strode in, the room exploded.
The boys near-morphed into Indians, dying to whoop and holler.
Even the girls stared, equal parts envy and awe.
She was too stunning, too sexy.
She eclipsed every awkward teen in the room.
Listening to the wolf-whistles, Gwen rolled her eyes.
So shallow. Peter would never act like that.
Thinking so, Gwen glanced sideways—then huffed in disgust.
Not far away, Peter was staring unblinking at the new teacher, a weird grin on his face… turning Gwen's already sour mood even darker.
I can't believe you're that kind of Peter!
She glared at Ms. Tasha's curves, looked down at her own modest bumps, and felt worse.
If Peter could hear her thoughts, he'd swear his innocence.
Sure, he'd looked—okay, several looks.
But he wasn't mesmerized!
He was only shocked that the One-Eyed Pirate Director had rolled out Marvel's must-eat-list Black Widow on day one.
"Good morning, class."
Just as Peter was enjoying the surprise.
Ms. Tasha—Black Widow Natasha Romanoff—introduced herself while sweeping the room.
A moment later her gaze locked on Peter and Gwen.
A top-tier Agent, she could read status from bearing and mood from eyes.
To her, these two teens stood out.
They were also the exact names Nick Fury had told her to watch.
Last night S.H.I.E.L.D. had phoned Norman Osborn and squeezed a few vague facts from him.
Like: Gwen had assisted Curt Connors; Peter had cracked the Decay Rate Algorithm.
Norman had said little, but for Natasha it was enough.
A pro spy, she was sure she could spot their weak points.
With that, Natasha started the lesson.
Forty-five minutes flew; when the bell rang she paused.
"Peter Parker, see me in my office."
Peter stayed calm, winked at Gwen, and followed.
As expected, the office was empty—just Natasha and him.
"Have a seat."
She flashed a sultry smile and crossed her black-sheathed legs.
The stockings whispered as thigh pressed against thigh, curves shifting distractingly.
Natasha meant only small talk to fish for intel.
But Peter's first line jolted her rigid.
"Skip the pointless fishing, Agent Natasha Romanoff."
Instantly every muscle coiled; her hand brushed the lipstick-gun in her pocket.
"I don't know what you mean, Peter."
"Don't you?" He smiled, tapped the desk with one finger.
Thud.
Solid wood parted like wet paper.
"My patience is thin. If I don't hear what I want, you and your people lose the chance to talk to me—forever."
He'd considered playing along, then tossed the idea.
No need.
Sparring with S.H.I.E.L.D. gained him nothing.
They already suspected; any future move would let them piece together his identity.
Better to hit first, make the one-eyed man fear his power and bargain for better terms.
Staring at the hole, Natasha broke a cold sweat. Decades in the field and she'd never seen a target like this.
It left her off-balance, unsure what to do.
How did a high-schooler know her name?
Even if he was super-powered and had heard of S.H.I.E.L.D. from Norman Osborn, he shouldn't have spoken her real one.
Questions swirled, but she inhaled, steadied herself, and played along.
"Fine. I admit it, Peter—or should I say Arbitrator. I'm here on behalf of Director Nick Fury.
"Your abilities are strategically vital. Serve your country."
She opened with the patriot card; Peter sneered.
"Auntie, times have changed. You think I'll jump at 'serve your country' like Captain America and snap on a dog collar?"