Chapter Text
Haruki Takahashi never liked field trips. They were loud, long, and always filled with classmates trying too hard to impress teachers they didn't care about. But even he had to admit—Oscorp Japan was a step up from the local museum or shrine walk. Massive glass towers gleamed against the Tokyo skyline, their edges too sharp, too sterile, like something out of a science fiction movie. And he was stuck in the middle of it, trying not to get trampled by a group of overexcited third-years.
“Don’t look so miserable,” Peni Parker said, nudging him with her elbow as they walked past the entrance scanners. “You’re gonna make the corporate drones cry.”
Haruki smirked. “They can add it to the list of things ruining their day.”
Ahead of them, Akari Nakamura spun on her heel and walked backwards with a grin far too big for how early it was. Her hair bounced with each step, her energy practically radiating off her.
“You two lovebirds done sulking? Or do I have to start singing?” she asked, hands cupped around her mouth. “Ohhh Peniiii~ Harukiiiii~ sitting in a—”
“Shut up, Akari!” Peni snapped, cheeks flushing instantly. She glanced around, hoping no one else heard.
Haruki just groaned. “Why do we even hang out with her?”
“Because I’m the sunshine in your cold, broody lives,” Akari replied proudly.
A step behind, Miyuki Kageyama adjusted his headphones around his neck and gave a lazy shrug. “She’s got a point. Without her, we’d probably forget how to talk to people.”
“Rude,” Haruki muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
The four of them had known each other since primary school. Years of after-school hangouts, cram sessions, and comic book marathons had forged something solid between them—unspoken, maybe, but dependable. Even when life got messy.
Their class shuffled into the main lobby, where a tall holographic display flickered to life with a monotone welcome message. A company rep, stiff in his pressed suit, guided them toward the central exhibit.
“Welcome to the Oscorp Japan Headquarters. Today, you’ll be viewing our newest breakthroughs in environmental and medical genetics. The future of sustainable science is being written here, right now.”
Behind thick glass displays, creatures of every shape and size lay in carefully monitored enclosures. Lizards with regrown limbs. Albino monkeys are exhibiting signs of advanced cognitive abilities. Bioluminescent fish glowing in soft purples and blues. And at the center of it all: a cylindrical, sealed-off habitat with a bold red logo on the side.
Project M.
According to the guide, the project was Oscorp’s golden ticket. A genetically optimized line of organisms meant to revolutionize healing, regenerating tissue, resisting disease, and adapting to toxic climates. A miracle, they said. A chance to heal the world. Students leaned in, took pictures, and whispered over the glass. The usual.
But Haruki couldn’t shake the feeling that something about it felt… off. Too rehearsed. Too clean.
Eventually, the group was herded toward the next section, but Haruki and Peni lagged behind.
“This stuff’s insane,” Peni muttered, raising her phone for a picture. “Imagine if half of it actually works.”
“Yeah. Probably costs enough to bankrupt a country.”
They paused in front of the spider enclosure—a smaller unit tucked off to the side, marked with hazard symbols and scientific notations. Inside, a single spider dangled from a synthetic web. Its body shimmered with strange iridescent hues, pulsing like something alive and aware.
Peni crouched down and took a few pictures. “Creepy little thing.”
Haruki leaned closer, squinting at the label.
Specimen: M-132.
The spider moved faster than either of them could react. In a blink, it shot from its web, skittered to the edge of the glass, then—
Pain.
Haruki flinched, jerking back with a sharp breath. “Ow—what the hell?”
He looked down. A tiny red mark bloomed on the back of his hand.
“Did something—?” Peni started, but stopped, clutching her own wrist.
“…I think it bit me too,” she said slowly.
Haruki glanced at the floor, catching a blur of motion disappearing into the shadows. He swatted at his arm instinctively, brushing something off without thinking.
Then Akari’s voice rang out from across the room.
“There you two are! Stop flirting with each other and get over here!”
Haruki and Peni exchanged a look. She rolled her eyes and stood up.
“Come on,” she muttered.
He followed, rubbing his hand absently as the sting faded to a dull throb.
One Year and 6 Months Later..
Morning sunlight spilled into Haruki Takahashi’s room, cutting through dusty blinds and illuminating the mess he called a desk — half-finished sketches, open textbooks, a cracked phone screen, and three different alarm clocks all buzzing in unison. None of them made him move.
The door slammed open.
“Haruki! You idiot! We're late!”
Peni Parker stood in the doorway, fully dressed and fuming, her schoolbag already slung over one shoulder. She grabbed the nearest pillow and chucked it straight at his face.
The impact jolted him awake. “Can't a guy get some rest around here?” he groaned, yanking the blanket over his head.
“Rest? It's Monday. You forgot again, didn’t you?” She stormed in and yanked the covers off. “We missed the early train. You have exactly three minutes to look like a functioning human being.”
Haruki sat up in a panic, hair a complete disaster, and began pulling on his school uniform with a level of chaos only a half-awake teenager could achieve. As Peni turned to leave, her eyes caught something peeking out from under his bed — web cartridges, a torn mask, and a metal wristband.
Haruki noticed her gaze and moved fast, shoving the gear into a drawer before she could say anything.
“Haruki—” she started.
“Later. Let’s not get murdered by the homeroom teacher, yeah?”
Moments later, the two of them were out the door, bolting down the narrow streets of their Tokyo neighborhood. The morning crowd was thick, cars and bikes swerving past as Haruki and Peni weaved between pedestrians. Haruki jumped onto the curb, grabbing Peni’s hand as they darted through an intersection, narrowly avoiding a van.
“Are you trying to get us killed?!” Peni shouted.
He just laughed, leaping over a row of vending machines and skidding down the ramp to the station.
The train platform was packed, the doors already starting to close.
“Haruki—!”
He lunged forward, dragging Peni with him. The doors slid shut behind them with a clunk . They made it.
Both of them leaned against the wall of the crowded car, gasping for breath. Peni rested her head against his chest for a moment before realizing where she was.
She pulled away instantly.
“Ugh, gross,” she muttered, cheeks slightly red. “You're sweaty.”
“You’re welcome for the heroic train save,” Haruki replied with a crooked grin.
Peni crossed her arms, glaring at him. “You owe me breakfast.”
At their stop, the moment the doors opened, they were sprinting again — through the station, up the stairs, and into the streets toward their high school. Uniform jackets flapping, bags bouncing, shoes slapping pavement.
Halfway there, Peni began to slow, a stitch forming in her side.
“Go! I’ll catch up!” she called, wheezing slightly.
Haruki turned on his heel, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her along.
“No way I’m letting you take the heat for both of us.”
They reached the school gates just as the chime rang through the courtyard. Still holding her hand, Haruki pulled her through the entrance. Inside, the floors were already polished clean, and students were settling into their classrooms.
At their lockers, they yanked off their outdoor shoes, shoved them in place, and slipped on their inside slippers with practiced speed.
Peni looked at him. “If we get written up again, I’m blaming you.”
“Noted,” Haruki grinned.
They made it to the classroom door just as it slid shut behind them — bell ringing, breathless, alive.
By the time lunch rolled around, the gang sat in their usual spot — a corner table in the school courtyard just outside the science wing. Trees rustled in the breeze, and bentos clicked open in unison.
Haruki poked at his rice, eyeing the mystery meat with suspicion.
“Still tastes like rubber,” he muttered.
“You say that every week and still eat it,” Miyuki replied, unwrapping his sandwich.
“That’s because I want to believe it’ll change.”
Akari leaned back with her juice box. “So. Who else wants to talk about spider monkeys and lizards that regrow eyeballs?”
“Oh, oh—here comes the brag,” Peni said.
Miyuki gave her a lazy grin. “My dad’s one of the lead researchers on Project M. He was in that Oscorp lab when we visited.”
Haruki looked up. “Seriously?”
Miyuki nodded. “Yeah. He mostly handles cellular regrowth and genome mapping. He said they’ve started cracking environmental mutation rates. Stuff like adapting organisms to survive nuclear zones or regenerate after toxins.”
Akari raised a brow. “Sounds like sci-fi.”
“It kind of is,” Miyuki said. “But they’ve made some insane progress. My dad said they’ve got organisms evolving mid-life cycle. Real Frankenstein stuff.”
Haruki shifted in his seat, suddenly remembering the spider from that tank.
“What about spiders?” he asked.
Miyuki paused. “Yeah… that was part of the batch. Medical delivery vector, if I remember right. Tiny, resilient, adaptable. However, that part of the project was recently classified. Guess it hit a breakthrough.”
Peni’s chopsticks slowed mid-air.
Haruki gave a slight nod and looked back at his food. His stomach twisted just slightly — not from the meat this time.
The last bell rang, and the school gates opened like floodgates. Students spilled out onto the sidewalk, voices high with weekend plans and club chatter. The late afternoon sun bathed the neighborhood in a soft golden hue, the kind that made Tokyo’s rooftops look like a sea of endless light.
Haruki, Peni, Miyuki, and Akari walked together through the Suginami ward, weaving between corner stores and vending machines humming quietly along the sidewalk.
Miyuki slung his bag over one shoulder. “So—are we hitting the usual spot? I could go for some ramen. I think Ishida’s got the heater working again.”
Akari perked up. “Only if I don’t have to listen to your weird music on the speaker this time.”
“Too late. I’m bringing the playlist.”
Haruki scratched the back of his neck. “Actually, I can’t. I’ve got… stuff.”
“Same,” Peni said quickly. “Homework. Big test coming.”
Akari looked between them, eyebrows raised. “Huh.”
Miyuki smirked. “You two always get mysterious at the same time.”
Peni rolled her eyes. “Coincidence.”
“Suspicious,” Akari said with a sing-song lilt.
They reached the station corner, and after a round of lazy goodbyes, the group split up. As soon as he was out of view, Haruki ducked down a narrow alley tucked between a laundry shop and a closed manga café.
He jogged up the rusting staircase to the rooftop of the building, the city humming beneath him.
Once there, he dropped his bag and opened it, pulling out a familiar bundle of red and black. The suit was lightweight, almost skin-thin now, after months of tweaking —a mix of synthetic fabric and nanofiber mesh. He changed quickly, fingers practiced from routine. Then came the web-shooters — homemade, adjustable pressure nozzles locked tight against his wrists.
He slid on the mask, eyes hidden behind reactive lenses.
Finally, he pulled out his phone and tapped the Yami Spider app. The screen lit up — HUD Connection: Online. Lenses Synced. Pulse Mic Active. Tokyo Grid: 84% coverage.
Everything was good to go.
A breath in. The city buzzed.
A breath out.
He ran to the edge, leapt from the rooftop, and fired a web into the sky.
The sun dipped lower as Spider-Man soared above the skyline of Shinjuku, weaving between billboards and blinking neon kanji. His silhouette flashed across the windows of department stores and salarymen's offices. Still, no one ever quite got a clear look. Just a blur. A flicker. A whisper.
He landed on a streetlamp near Harajuku Station, where a group of lost tourists stood, map flapping in the breeze.
“Uh, hello?!” one of them called up.
Spider-Man flipped down, hanging upside-down by a single strand of web.
“You folks looking for Yoyogi Park?” he asked in perfect English.
The tourists blinked in awe.
“…Yes?”
“Left at the corner, pass the Lawson’s, follow the music. Can’t miss it.”
One of them fumbled for their phone. “Can I—?”
“No time for selfies,” he said with a wink before vaulting back into the sky.
Later, in a quieter alley near Ikebukuro, he found a kid crying beside a spilled bento box. His backpack had clearly been snatched.
“Hey,” Spider-Man said, crouching next to him. “You okay?”
The boy sniffled and nodded. “They… they ran that way…”
Spider-Man patted his head gently. “Stay right here. I’ll be back before your rice gets cold.”
Five minutes later, the punks who thought they could push kids around were webbed to a lamp post, their sneakers dangling off telephone wires, and the backpack was returned in one piece.
And just before sunset, in an alley near Akihabara, he dropped into a scene where a group of older teens were roughing up a small shopkeeper. With precise strikes and dazzling web work, he disarmed one, tripped another, and had them stuck to the vending machine in under sixty seconds.
“You want to rob someone?” he muttered, tightening the webbing. “Maybe pick on someone who isn’t trying to sell gacha figures and instant ramen, yeah?”
The store owner bowed repeatedly. “A-Arigatou…!”
Spider-Man just gave a wave. “Just doing my job.”
As night began to fall, the city lights flicked on, a kaleidoscope of pinks, whites, and blues. From the rooftops of Shibuya, he perched silently, the Hachikō crossing pulsing with thousands of moving lives below.
He watched, listened.
Somewhere out there, danger waited. But for now, it was just him and the city.
Tokyo’s own Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man.
The wind rushed past as Spider-Man flipped above the glowing rails of the JR Yamanote Line, the shimmer of passing trains below like veins of light threading through Tokyo. He landed briefly on a lamppost near Ueno Park, balancing with ease as he checked his phone.
A soft chime echoed from his custom app.
ALERT: Possible Yakuza Activity.
Location: Asakusa District.
Tag: Anonymous Source // Verified // Suspicious Movement Detected.
Haruki narrowed his eyes behind the mask.
“Well,” he muttered, pocketing the device. “Guess ramen's gonna have to wait.”
He launched another web, swinging toward the Tokyo Skytree, the golden sliver of Asahi Beer Hall in the distance marking his path.
In a quiet alley near the Kaminarimon gate, a group of masked men surrounded a van. Seven in total. Armed. Dressed in black with red insignias. Each wore a twisted Oni mask — horns, snarls, glowing paint.
Spider-Man perched above.
“Wow. Field trip to folklore class?” he muttered. “Or is this a Halloween rehearsal?”
He dropped in. First, the thug lunged. Spider-Man ducked, webbed his face, and kicked him into two more. Another swung a bat. Spidey caught it, yanked it forward, and elbowed him down.
“Okay,” he said to the guys in Oni masks, “last chance to walk away before this gets embarrassing.”
They charged.
He ducked the first swing, webbed a bat out of someone’s hand, and kicked off the wall to slam his heel into another guy’s face. Two tried to flank him — he flipped backward, shot a webline, and yanked one into the other.
Then a shadow dropped behind him.
The second Spider moved fast — black-and-white suit, ribbons of webbing trailing from her arms. No words, no introduction. Just action.
She hit the ground running, sliding under a punch and jabbing a palm into a thug’s ribs. Her movement was sharp, economical. Not flashy — efficient .
One of the Oni-mask goons pointed in panic. “There’s two of them now?!”
The two moved together — instinctively.
Spider-Man swung in low, sweeping two guys off their feet with a web-line kick. The second Spider landed behind them and launched one into the air with an uppercut. Spider-Man caught him mid-air and webbed him to the fire escape.
Another Oni ran up with a pipe.
The second Spider sidestepped and webbed his weapon to the ground. Spider-Man came over the top with a spinning back-kick, sending the guy flying into a stack of crates.
They passed each other again. This time, their eyes met. Something pulsed.
Recognition.
Their spider-senses flared — not in warning, but in harmony. Like they were moving to the same invisible beat.
The second Spider webbed a thug mid-dash, yanked him in. Spider-Man planted a boot in his chest before he could hit the ground.
Another tried to run — she whipped a ribbon-web at his ankle. Spider-Man, already mid-swing, used the tension like a springboard and launched himself forward, slamming the runner into a wall.
One last thug tried a cheap shot from behind. They turned in sync — Spider-Man grabbed the guy’s arm, twisted it, and flipped him. The second Spider swept his legs, and he landed flat on his back.
Silence fell.
Bodies groaned. The alley stank of sweat and ozone. Spider-Man looked at the girl beside him, breathing lightly. Still no name. Still no clue who she was.
“Not bad,” he said.
She stared back, unreadable behind her mask.
Then, without a word, she fired a web upward and vanished.
Spider-Man stood there, hands on his hips, heart still racing.
Spider-Man didn’t hesitate.
The moment she vanished over the rooftops, he fired a web. He chased after her, cutting between neon signs, antennas, and rusted scaffolding above Asakusa. She moved fast, but not fast enough to lose him. And maybe… she didn’t want to.
She landed on a quiet rooftop near the Sumida River, just beneath the glow of a blinking billboard. When he touched down behind her, she was already waiting — arms crossed, wind tugging at her webbed silks.
“You followed me,” she said.
“Yeah,” he answered, catching his breath. “Couldn’t shake the feeling.”
She tilted her head.
“Our senses,” he continued. “They… synced. I felt it. You’re like me.”
That got a small smile out of her. She stepped closer, the faint hum of the city below filling the space between them.
“You’re cute when you’re serious,” she said, amused.
He blinked behind the lenses. “Wait—what?”
She reached out and tapped his chest with two fingers, right over the spider symbol.
“Silk,” she said. “That’s what they call me.”
Then she raised a finger to the mouth of his mask, silencing anything else he was about to say.
“Let’s keep this interesting,” she whispered.
She leaned in, just slightly — close enough that the city seemed to fade, her voice the only thing he could hear.
“See you around, Tiger.”
With a flick of her wrist, she was gone — a white streak vanishing into the Tokyo skyline.
Spider-Man stood alone, heart pounding, a million questions swirling in his head.
“…Silk?”
Then a beat later, with the faintest laugh beneath his breath:
“…Tiger?”
He stared out over the city, unsure whether to feel excited, confused, or both.
Probably both.
Spider-Man landed on the fire escape outside his window, boots tapping lightly against the metal. The city below was still buzzing, but up here, it felt quiet. Calm. Familiar.
Haruki tugged off his mask, hair messy and damp with sweat, and slid through the window into his dark room. He tossed the mask onto the bed, kicked off his shoes, and sat down with a long exhale.
He pulled out his phone and unlocked it. A notification from the group chat lit up the screen.
[Group Chat]
Miyuki: [Photo attached — him and Akari at a konbini, Akari mid-slurp on a cup of ramen, throwing up a peace sign.]
Akari: u both ditched us. Rude.
Miyuki: You missed some serious philosophical ramen talk
Akari: And I dropped tea on a guy. Classic me.
Haruki snorted.
Haruki: Tell that guy I’m sorry for your existence.
Then a message slid in, this time private.
Peni: Akari says you owe her snacks.
Haruki: I didn’t even go anywhere with you guys.
Peni: Exactly. Emotional damage.
Haruki: Fine. Gummy bears next time.
There was a beat of quiet. Haruki looked out the window for a second — the breeze brushing his hair, the lights of the city blinking steadily beyond the rooftops.
On the other side of the street, in another room, Peni sat cross-legged on her bed, hair tied back, phone in hand. She stared at the chat, thumb hovering before she typed:
Peni: Doing anything right now?
Haruki: Just got back. Tired. However, I did manage to pick up that old Ultraman disc.
Haruki: The one where he suplexes a kaiju into a dam.
Peni: The cursed one they banned from TV?
Haruki: The one and only.
She didn’t reply right away. Her eyes wandered toward the window.
So did his.
Neither of them saw each other.
But the typing bubble returned.
Peni: Be there in ten.
Haruki set his phone down with a smile and stood up, already clearing space on the floor.
Just another movie night.
Just the two of them.
The boardroom lights flickered.
Not from a power outage, but from fear.
Seven Oscorp executives were lined up against the tall window overlooking the Tokyo skyline. Glass crunched beneath their shoes. The long conference table had been split in two, and armed men in black suits and snarling Oni masks stood silent guard along the walls. Each mask was different — white fangs, red horns, obsidian eyes — but all radiated one thing: a sense of control.
At the head of the room stood a man clad in dark, reinforced armor, shaped like a twisted echo of Sengoku-era samurai, with blood-red trim cutting along the chest plate and sleeves. His cape flicked behind him like a flag caught in a typhoon. No mask yet. Just a face twisted with fury.
“Kuroshi, listen to me,” one of the executives said, voice trembling but firm. “You’re making a mistake. There’s still a way out of this—”
“ Don’t call me that,” the man barked.
The room fell quiet.
“You kicked me out of Project M,” he continued, voice sharp and acidic. “You stripped my name off every file, every formula, every breakthrough I made. And for what? To cover your failure?”
One of the older board members stepped forward, arms raised. “Your work was unstable. You nearly—”
“ You took my research and handed it off to lab rats. Then had the gall to call me unstable?”
He laughed. Loud and cruel.
“You think hiding behind contracts and board votes protects you? You have no idea how much weight the name Kageyama carries in this country.”
The room tensed. One exec stepped back. Another whispered something to the one beside him — maybe a plea to stall him long enough for help.
“You think the police will stop me?” the armored man growled. “Tokyo’s finest couldn’t catch a cold. And the superheroes? Please. They’ve been long dead.”
He reached for something leaning beside the window.
A kanabo — black metal, studded and heavy. A weapon that belonged to monsters in old stories. Demons.
He turned to the man who had spoken first.
“You stole everything from me,” he said, quietly now. “Let’s see what you’re worth without your title.”
Then he struck.
The blow hit like thunder, the man’s body collapsing in a heap before the others could even scream. Blood pooled across the floor. Some cried out. One of them tried to run.
The Oni-masked gang members stepped in immediately.
“ Clean up the rest, ” the man ordered, not even looking.
Behind him, the final piece waited — a helmet shaped like a demon’s face. Red, carved, crowned with curled horns. Fangs along the jaw. Eyes dark and hollow.
He lifted it slowly, then slid it over his head.
The face of the Oni stared back from the window reflection.
Kuroshi’s voice was gone. What remained was something colder. Older. Hungrier.
“Now,” he rumbled, voice distorted through the helmet, “let’s begin.”