005. How Can You Fall in Love Without Money?

Fighting back against the school bully was nothing more than a diversion for Su Ye—nothing to be proud of or delighted about. Now that he had acquired the powers of Spider-Man, his ambitions reached for the stars and the boundless sea, no longer confined to the petty squabbles of school life.

After finishing his meal, he left the cafeteria without a backward glance, ignoring the curious stares of his classmates. Yet, he did spare a glance for the girl whose tray had been snatched by Thompson—a bespectacled girl with her hair tied in a bun. He couldn’t quite recall her name, but she always seemed to linger in the background whenever the second Spider-Man was either bullying someone or being bullied himself. She was rather pretty, too.

“Ask Flash to pay you back for your lunch money. If he doesn’t, let me know,” Su Ye said to her before leaving, not sparing another word.

He had far more pressing matters to attend to. Designing the suit, purchasing fabric and paint—now that he possessed Spider-Man’s powers, it was only right to take them for a spin. He would swing between skyscrapers, roam the night, mete out justice and stand tall.

To be a hero, one must have a costume. Otherwise, it would lack all sense of gravitas; after all, no superhero makes their debut in street clothes. Besides, a mask would save him a lot of trouble.

With Spider-Man’s innate tailoring and artistic skills, he needed no help in making his own suit. The first two Spider-Men had always worn the classic red and blue, the colors of the American flag. To Su Ye, those colors held no appeal. If he had to choose, he’d go with red and yellow—red for blood, yellow for light, maybe adorned with a few stars. But that combination already belonged to Iron Man, and Su Ye didn’t want to risk a fashion clash, nor did he wish to draw unnecessary attention to his home country.

In the end, he settled on a red base with black accents—a nod to the red-and-black suit of the latest Spider-Man incarnation. The mock-up looked rather striking.

Next came the web-shooters, arguably the most important part. The suit was merely the shell; the web-shooters were the soul of Spider-Man. Despite having gone through the transformation of the first Spider-Man, his body resembled that of the second, with no natural web glands on his wrists.

So, he’d have to make the web-shooters himself. It was a bit of a hassle, but far better than growing two odd organs capable of spraying white fluid from his body. That might have been more convenient, but having such glands exposed and constantly shooting webs into the air would be awkward, to say the least.

In Su Ye’s view, web-shooters were the way to go; at least it preserved his sense of humanity. He had already dreamed up the basic design last night. As a skilled craftsman, this was hardly a challenge for him.

He skipped his afternoon classes to start a shopping spree online, ordering all the materials for the suit and web-shooters. Then he returned home and made his way to the landlord’s unused workshop to get started. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could head out for some adventure.

He still remembered the awe and envy he’d felt the first time he watched “The Amazing Spider-Man 2” in 3D at the cinema—the way Spider-Man swooped down from the sky and the breathtaking first-person perspective as he swung between the city’s towering buildings.

Now, he finally had the chance, and he was determined to prepare as quickly as possible.

Just as he was tinkering with a jumble of tools and devices, struggling to name half of them, the doorbell rang. Opening the door, he found Gwen standing there, accompanied by a suited member of the school's disciplinary committee and a uniformed police officer.

“Mr. Ye Su,” the committee member addressed him in an official tone. “We need to ask you a few questions regarding your alleged assault on Eugene Thompson earlier today in the classroom and cafeteria.”

Beside him, Gwen whispered, “You acted in self-defense, so don’t worry. Just tell them the truth.”

“Miss Gwen Stacy,” the police officer called out sternly, though his expression was not unfriendly; in fact, he seemed rather familiar with Gwen.

Gwen made a face, mimed zipping her lips, stepped back, and gave Su Ye a small fist of encouragement.

It was only then that Su Ye noticed Gwen’s affection rating had risen to 60 (Friendly) without him realizing it—a rather rapid improvement.

With Gwen’s support, Su Ye felt no anxiety answering the committee and police. In the end, the incident was deemed legitimate self-defense. Not only did Su Ye avoid any legal consequences, he wasn’t even required to pay medical expenses.

The case was quickly closed, and the officials left, but Gwen lingered behind.

“Thank you, Gwen,” he said. Even though he didn’t think he’d done anything wrong, it was clear the officer knew Gwen and had been inclined to help because of her. He couldn’t ignore such goodwill.

Gwen clasped her hands behind her back and smiled. “Thank me? Just with those words? I thought at the very least you’d buy me dinner—or maybe take me to a movie.”

Su Ye was momentarily stunned by the straightforwardness of American girls. Dinner and a movie—was this gratitude or a date?

Was he being pursued? He chuckled inwardly. Perhaps not pursued, but clearly his looks and bravery had made an impression. She wanted to get to know him better.

Naturally, Su Ye wouldn’t refuse Gwen’s invitation—except he didn’t even have a hundred dollars to his name. His money had gone into a skateboard, a camera, and all the materials for his gear.

You can’t court a girl without money. But to give up a date just because you’re broke was utterly out of the question.

After agreeing with Gwen to go out together over the weekend, Su Ye saw her off and then started poring over the classifieds. He was out of funds and too embarrassed to ask his parents back home for more, so he scoured the paper for quick, short-term jobs to earn some fast cash.

He actually found something tempting: “Wanted—Amateur Wrestling Contestants. Three minutes in the ring, $3,000 reward. Requirement: Must have an optimistic personality.”

Three minutes for $3,000—that was an hourly rate of $60,000. Eight hours a day would be $480,000; twenty days a month, $9.6 million. Twelve months a year...

Good heavens, in a year he’d be a millionaire!

Was his personality optimistic enough?