Chapter 88

Peter gently pushed open the door, holding a stack of files, and saw a middle-aged man in a white lab coat packing up. He said, “Dr. Connors, are you leaving today?”

The middle-aged man had gray-white hair and looked worn out; more importantly, his right arm beneath the lab coat was empty—he clearly had only one arm.

“Oh, Peter? Yes, the research collaboration has ended. I have to go.”

Peter gently placed the files on Dr. Connors’s desk, then whispered, “I’m sorry. If I’d been more capable, maybe I could’ve produced results before the research ended…”

“You’ve already done brilliantly,” Dr. Connors said gently. “You’re still in high school, yet you’re smarter and more diligent than most graduate students I’ve ever met. If you’d like, I’d be happy to write you a recommendation letter.”

“Thank you, but I haven’t decided which university to attend yet, and I still have time before college.”

Peter moved his lips and asked, “Then where are you going next? The serum research has reached its final stage—just a decent lab should be enough to finish it.”

Dr. Connors looked around his office and said, “Nowhere will have conditions as good as Stark Tower. When they invited me here, it was precisely the laboratory’s hardware that convinced me to join.”

As he packed with his single remaining arm, he added, “But it doesn’t matter. As you said, the experiment is at its final stage. With a little more effort, I’ll succeed.”

“Then maybe not just me will regain my arm. I know many others lost limbs in the war—the military’s compensation barely covers their basic needs, and prosthetics are too expensive. If a regeneration serum truly exists, they can become normal again.”

Peter heard the excitement in Dr. Connors’s voice. During his internship, this doctor had left the deepest impression on him.

Peter hadn’t originally been assigned to this research group. He’d been running errands for the group leader when he happened to meet Dr. Connors, who had just been invited by the military to join the Stark medical collaboration.

The moment he saw him, Peter was stunned—Dr. Connors had only one arm, yet it didn’t hinder his scientific work at all. He possessed a genius mind, unmatched in biomimetics and serum technology.

Peter was deeply shaken. Even fully able-bodied people rarely achieved such heights. So he applied to transfer into Dr. Connors’s research group.

After all, he himself had been mutated by a spider bite—he desperately wanted to understand what had caused this change.

Peter was brilliant and hardworking. Though a bit bookish, he was the kind of student teachers loved. Soon, Dr. Connors grew fond of this young intern.

From Connors, Peter learned he had once been a military doctor, a veteran who lost his arm on the battlefield—but that hadn’t stopped his scientific path.

On the contrary, he forged a unique medical path, studying the effects of biological serums, achieving remarkable success.

While assisting Dr. Connors, Peter absorbed vast biological knowledge. After his spider mutation, his genius mind accelerated further. Two geniuses working together naturally pushed their research forward at lightning speed.

But just as they were moments away from completion, Stark’s collaboration with the military ended, and all researchers were ordered to leave Stark Tower.

Normally, even if such invited projects halted midway, researchers still received their pay—they’d be glad to finish early and take vacation time.

But Dr. Connors was different. He wasn’t here to coast. He truly wanted to develop a serum capable of regenerating lost limbs—to restore his own, and help other disabled veterans who’d lost limbs in war.

Naturally, he felt disappointed. But seeing Peter’s reluctant expression, Dr. Connors said, “It’s fine. When you get to college, I might teach at a university in the East. You can come to my lab—we can continue our research.”

“It’s a deal!” Peter said happily.

Previously, Stark had tried teaching Peter about mechs and artificial intelligence, but Peter wasn’t interested.

He wasn’t an industrial purist like Stark. He preferred exploring humanity’s unknown mysteries—secrets hidden in nature, or the wonders of outer space.

During his time with Dr. Connors, Peter learned many secrets of cold-blooded creatures like spiders and lizards, which fascinated him. He thought becoming a biologist or entomologist might suit him well.

If he could invent something as life-saving as Dr. Connors aimed to, that would be perfect.

Though Peter had become Spider-Man and fought crime every night, as a good student, his life plan wasn’t just to be a superhero.

He still wanted to get into a good university, choose a major he loved, pursue research, ideally earn several doctorates, then stay on as faculty or open his own research center.

Perhaps due to the spider mutation, Peter felt a special affinity for cold-blooded creatures during his work with Dr. Connors, and gradually solidified his future goal.

With a clear goal, the sadness of parting from his mentor faded. After leaving Stark Tower, Peter returned to full energy, ready to continue his Spider-Man mission.

His last battle with Bullseye taught him much. Peter realized that while his web-shooters let him swing between skyscrapers, his speed wasn’t truly fast—barely quicker than a car. Worse, his dramatic swings made it obvious to all of New York whenever he went after criminals.

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By the time he swung to the scene, seasoned criminals were long gone.

The only plan in his last operation that received widespread praise was his use of New York’s labyrinthine sewer system.

It was an excellent tactic. The sewers were filthy—walls and floors slick with slime, dark and damp. Ordinary people couldn’t move easily there.

But Peter was different. He was Spider-Man—he could cling to any surface and run without worrying about slipping.

The straight, wide corridors of the sewers were practically made for him. No traffic, no pedestrians. When he sprinted at full speed, he outpaced even speeding cars.

Most importantly, it was perfectly hidden. He moved underground, then emerged from the nearest manhole—no one could trace where he’d come from or gone to.

This was ideal against experienced criminals.

Once, a gang of bank robbers—seasoned pros with three or four lookouts—had vanished the moment Peter appeared on the skyline.

Later, Peter used the sewer tactic to catch them off guard. Before they could load their bags of cash into their getaway car, Spider-Man burst out of a manhole near the street, punched the engine to ruin, and arrested them without trouble.

Now Spider-Man understood the sewers’ advantage—they were essentially a convenient elevator to any point in New York.

So Peter began paying attention to the sewer layout.

New York’s sewers were built long ago and rebuilt countless times. No map accurately showed all routes.

So Peter decided to walk every sewer himself and draw a complete map.

His studies weren’t demanding—he had plenty of time, moved fast, didn’t tire easily, and could cover half a district in a single day.

That day, Peter wandered the sewers again, holding a map and marking its structure with a marker pen.

He’d been focused on drawing and hadn’t looked down—until his spider-sense tingled, alerting him that a section of brick ahead was raised. If he kept walking, he’d trip.

So Peter set down his map, deciding to finish this section before looking again.

But then he noticed something unusual.

Most of New York’s sewers were untouched—covered in slimy algae and scale. But here, the algae looked deliberately cleaned away.

Peter walked to the junction of wall and floor tiles and spotted a faint white powder. He sniffed it—it was an acidic substance, clearly used to remove algae.

Who would bother coming here to clean? Peter thought. Even he wouldn’t stay in this dark, damp hell unless he had to fight crime.

He followed the trail forward and found signs of human activity at a long-abandoned sewer maintenance access point.

Easy to tell: the air smelled of burned fuel—someone had lit a fire here. Peter peered through the iron door. His sharp vision spotted traces of habitation inside.

Peter didn’t force the door—he knew it might alert someone. He had no lock-picking tools either. So he pulled out his map, marked the spot with a dot, and planned to return in a few days with proper tools.

Whoever this was, living in the sewers was bizarre. If he was a good person forced into hiding, Peter would help him. If he was a criminal, Peter would bring him to justice.