Spider-Man U-61016

The Amazing Spider-Man

Amazing Fantasy 3/6

Chapter Three: Go Get 'Em, Tiger

Peter slipped back through the bedroom window like a shadow, adrenaline still humming through his veins after his rooftop experiment. Barely thirty minutes had passed since he'd snuck out, but it felt like a lifetime of changes compressed into half an hour.

His body still buzzed—every muscle thrumming with new strength, vision sharp enough to count the cracks in the sidewalk from two stories up. He pulled off the hoodie, peeling it over his head to examine his reflection.

Leaning toward the mirror, Peter took in his lean, now-athletic frame. The wiry limbs he'd grown used to were gone, replaced by toned arms and a defined chest. His fingers traced the faint scar from the spider bite on his hand—small, circular, and almost insignificant compared to what it had done to him.

Before he could process it all, a sharp, playful wolf-whistle sliced through the quiet morning air.

Peter's head snapped to the side, eyes landing on the window opposite his—one he knew better than his own.

There, lounging casually on her windowsill, was Mary Jane Watson, red hair cascading over her shoulders like wildfire. The early morning sunlight set it ablaze, glowing like molten copper. She leaned on her elbows, her green eyes sharp and teasing, practically sparkling as they locked onto Peter.

She wore nothing but her underwear—a matching black set that, while modest by modern standards, still managed to turn Peter's brain to mush for a moment. Not that this was new. Living next door to Mary Jane since they were kids meant they'd seen plenty of each other—sometimes literally. But as they got older, those "accidental" glimpses turned into a subtle, unspoken game of teasing. And MJ loved to win.

"Whoa, Tiger," she teased, arching an eyebrow, eyes roaming his exposed torso with exaggerated appreciation. "When'd you go and get yourself a gym membership?"

Peter rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, the heat rising to his cheeks betraying how accustomed he really was. "I… uh… haven't been going to the gym," he stammered, scrambling for an excuse. "I've been… running in the mornings a little. Thinking of trying out for the football team. Y'know. It's… complicated and uh… a secret."

Mary Jane's grin widened like she'd caught him in the middle of a lie—which, technically, she had. "Football team? Since when do you care about impressing Coach Donovan?" Her eyes softened, head tilting as her gaze lingered on his face. "Gotta say, though… I kinda like the no-glasses look. You finally figured out your eyes are too pretty to hide?"

Peter sputtered, fumbling for words, but MJ cut him off with a wicked smile.

"I'm obviously teasing you, Pete. But whatever you're working out for—you're gonna crush it." She gave him a wink, her voice slipping into that playful lilt she always used when she wanted to fluster him.

"Go get 'em, Tiger." It worked.

She straightened, stretching lazily—clearly emphasizing her arms and toned frame—not at all oblivious to the effect it had on Peter.

"But hey, if football doesn't work out, there's always the amateur fights at the mall. You hear about those?" She was now leaning against the window, still looking at him.

Peter blinked, still reeling from the pretty eyes comment. "F-Fights?" he asked while digging around for his school clothes.

"Yeah," she said, casually adjusting her bra strap. "The old mall wanted to bring in more customers, so they modified a section into a wrestling ring where amateur fighters can try to beat Crusher Hogan. They've been paying pretty decent money to anyone who can last a round or two in the ring."

She smirked. "And with that new physique? You'd last. You might even enjoy it… unless you're still the same scrawny bookworm deep down." She grinned, then added, "Although… I was planning on going to the mall to watch some fights. Maybe you could make me some company."

Before Peter could retort, a sharp voice cut through the air from inside her house. "Mary Jane! Get down here! Now!" Mrs. Watson—irritated and loud, as always.

MJ sighed and rolled her eyes with practiced annoyance. "Welp, looks like your window-ogling time's up—for now."

She winked, pulling the curtain halfway closed. "Get to those football tryouts, Parker. Maybe I'll give you something else to ogle at after."

With that, the curtain snapped shut, leaving Peter standing there—shirtless, stunned, and slightly breathless.

He finally shook it off, finishing getting dressed, her words echoing in his head:

Amateur fights… money… last a round or two…

It wasn't a bad idea. Uncle Ben and Aunt May weren't exactly rolling in cash. And with these new abilities? He could do more than just last a round.

As he tugged on a T-shirt and jeans, the smell of frying eggs and toast wafted upstairs, drawing him to the kitchen. Uncle Ben stood at the stove, spatula in hand, humming some old tune from the '70s.

Ben looked over his shoulder and did a double-take.

"Whoa, Pete… you look different." His eyes narrowed playfully. "Where're your glasses? You finally cave and get contacts? One of your science club buddies hook you up?"

Peter swallowed down the nervous energy.

"Uh… yeah. Something like that."

He sat down and devoured the food like he hadn't eaten in days. Every bite tasted sharper, richer—more satisfying than usual. His metabolism was clearly in overdrive.

"Slow down there, sport," Ben chuckled, pouring coffee into his mug. "You're gonna choke. Food ain't going anywhere."

Peter smiled sheepishly, slowing just enough to finish the meal without inhaling it whole. As he set his plate down, he glanced at both Ben and May and said, "I love you guys."

They exchanged a brief, surprised look.

"We love you too, sweetheart," May said warmly, tousling his hair as she passed.

A few minutes later, backpack slung over his shoulder, Peter jogged down the street to the bus stop. His mind buzzed, replaying every strange moment since the spider bite—the strength, the speed, the climbing, the reaction time, MJ's teasing, the idea of fighting at the mall.

The bus pulled up with a groan of brakes, and Peter climbed aboard, greeted by familiar faces.

"Pete!" Liz Allan called softly, her eyes flicking over him with concern. "You okay? After… yesterday?"

Even Flash Thompson, usually full of ego and sarcasm, looked mildly concerned.

"Yeah, Parker, you looked like you were gonna hurl at Oscorp. You sure you're not dying or something?"

"I'm fine," Peter assured them both, sliding into his seat. "Really. Just… allergies or something."

A moment later, Harry Osborn slid into the seat beside him, his expression serious.

"My dad's worried, you know. Those spiders weren't normal. Genetically engineered. He thinks there might be side effects."

Peter forced a smile.

"Side effects? Nah… I feel… great."

Harry tapped him on the shoulder, his voice calm.

"If you say so, Pete. But if you need anything, just remember—Oscorp is at your service."

They finally arrived at school. Peter wasn't sure how far the news had spread, but judging by the stares he got in the hallway, it was clear:

He was that guy now—the one who got bit by a spider and passed out.

And that wasn't going to do any favors for his already fragile social life.

He tried looking for MJ, but it seemed she was going to arrive late again. They weren't in the same class group, but he could usually convince one of her friends to make an excuse for her. Most of the time, that worked.

But right now, he needed to focus. He headed to his first class of the day.

The lessons dragged on, but Peter's mind wasn't on algebra or history.

Instead, during a lull in class, he opened his sketchbook—his thoughts drifting—and began to fill the pages with rough designs: masks, suits, symbols… all with spider motifs.

By lunchtime, a name finally surfaced, scrawled in bold letters at the bottom of the page.

The idea he'd been tinkering about all day finally had a shape even if it was rough.

Spider-Man.

The start of something… bigger.

To Be Continued…