That's just too much!

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Tim was caught off guard by Peter’s gaze, feeling as if he were being watched by a small dog. Unable to resist, he reached out to smooth his younger brother’s curls. “Got things to do, I’m off,” he said, making a polite nod toward Harry as he left, maintaining appearances.

This reconnaissance yielded crucial information: young Osborn was searching for the newly risen Spider-Man in Gotham, and this matter was linked to his hereditary illness. The Osborn family’s genetic disorder wasn’t exactly a secret; their main research focus and the group young Osborn ran at school hinted at it.

Gotham’s “upper class” harbored some sympathy for young Osborn, but mostly they pondered how to exploit and milk him for all he was worth. Tim’s attitude toward him would depend on whether the Osborns had done anything harmful to others in their bid for survival.

With the arrival of the new vigilante, Tim found a reason to infiltrate the Osborn Industries’ machine room physically. However, he fell just short of the critical data—the files had all been destroyed. Checking the system logs, he found the operator was from within Osborn Industries. Whatever young Osborn wanted Spider-Man for, it couldn’t be good.

Red Robin warned him.

That night, Peter patrolled with a heavy heart. Even the goofy music Bumblebee played over the radio couldn’t lift his spirits, and Bumblebee himself seemed downbeat. Both man and machine felt weighed down.

Finally, Bumblebee threw a tantrum, pulling over to the roadside and honking repeatedly, refusing to move forward. Peter sighed and prepared to soothe him, but then he heard an unusual sound nearby—the muted report of a silenced gun.

Peter touched the car doorframe, swiftly shot out a web, and rushed toward the source of the commotion.

A familiar shock of red hair came into view. Though they hadn’t met in three days, Peter didn’t feel distant; instead, he was glad—he could give the Red Hood a hard time... no, help him out again!

Jason felt a gust behind him just as the red-and-blue figure zipped past his right ear, delivering a kick that sent the thug who was about to smash a crate over his head flying.

Jason, haunted by PTSD, weighed his gun in his hand, relieved it was normal ammunition, not rubber bullets.

Though Spider-Man was here to help, Jason felt an itch beneath his skin.

“Mind your own business!” Jason shouted, firing at the gun at Spider-Man’s feet. “Get lost!”

“Ouch, that hurts my feelings,” Peter said, knowing the bullets wouldn’t touch him, so he didn’t bother dodging.

Jason thought it odd that after being insulted, Spider-Man wasn’t angry but rather seemed even more cheerful. Could he be a secret masochist? Better not insult him further or he might enjoy it.

Already holding back his anger, Jason’s attacks grew fiercer.

Three days ago, he received a tip about a shape-shifting monster leaving stains behind—a suspected Clayface. Jason pursued the lead, but the trail was elusive, seeming to draw his attention toward distant cities. He eventually gave up the chase.

Yet the few days of fruitless investigation only strengthened his belief that Clayface was still in Gotham. Dusty and weary, he returned, changed into his suit at the safe house, and plunged into Gotham’s night.

With Red Hood absent these days, his territory had become a chaos of villains—perfect for Jason to vent his rage.

But Spider-Man seemed to have a nose for him—he was everywhere Jason turned!

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“You’re surrounded by over fifty people,” Peter’s voice behind the mask carried a mechanical tone; Jason recognized the voice modulator, as he had one too. “You might get seriously hurt!”

As he spoke, his hands moved swiftly, webbing up three armed thugs lunging at him and sticking them to the wall.

“At this rate, can Gotham’s prisons even hold them?” Spider-Man sounded puzzled.

Armed brawling was a serious crime, not something a few days in holding could fix.

“You’re the one who’ll get hurt!” Jason snapped, eager to send Spider-Man away from his turf.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not doubting your skills,” Peter said casually. “I just think you could use a helper like me, right?”

As he spoke, he effortlessly caught a swinging long knife, surprising the thug with, “Really? A knife? How did you know my greatest weakness is fear of blades? You’ve got me pegged, buddy.”

With a sharp twist, Spider-Man snapped the blade in two. The thug screamed hoarsely, “You call that a weakness?”

Spider-Man answered with a solid punch to his nose.

Jason’s head throbbed again.

These thugs worked for the Penguin.

If it were another faction, seeing Red Hood backed by such a powerful ally would likely make them retreat and wait for another day. But the Penguin and Jason were mortal enemies. Until Red Hood crushed them, they would only send reinforcements, never retreat.

Jason had expanded his influence starting from the crime-ridden alley where he grew up, before reconciling with Bruce. He quickly earned the Penguin’s favor, becoming a trusted lieutenant in just three years, eagerly causing trouble for Batman.

Later, when Batman uncovered Red Hood’s true identity and his years of exploits, it became clear that even though Jason mingled with gangs, he cleverly avoided bullying the weak, confining damage within Gotham’s gray and black underworld.

Bruce naturally wanted to bring Jason back to the right path, half with explanations, apologies, and conciliation, half with tough love and hard knocks. Eventually, Jason turned against the Penguin, joining Bruce in imprisoning him in Blackgate.

Though Jason had taken over half of the Penguin’s operations, the villain still had informants and influence in Gotham’s underground.

Thus, Jason’s hold over these criminal enterprises played a significant role in Gotham’s current stability.

Bruce and Jason maintained a delicate balance; minor skirmishes rarely earned Jason any warnings.

This fueled gossip about Batman and Red Hood’s true relationship—how the latter could straddle both sides without invoking the Bat’s wrath.

Some guessed lovers, but that was quickly shot down: “Where would that leave Gotham’s prince’s pride?”

Such is the fate of Gotham’s dark dance.

Penguin’s men were famously reckless. Everyone knew that serving the Penguin meant death for any hint of disloyalty or cowardice, but loyalty could bring wealth and power.

Jason never held back when dealing with them.

One thug seemed to notice Red Hood distracted by Spider-Man. A young, small, unassuming man stealthily lay in the shadows beneath a shipping container.

His comrades pressed forward with firepower, driving Red Hood toward the ambush.

Red Hood’s body armor covered all but his joints. To kill him, two options existed: a rocket launcher blast to shatter his organs with explosive force, or a blade to pierce the vulnerable neck.

The abdomen wasn’t reliable; everybody knew how hard it was to kill these vigilantes.

The youth waited patiently, watching Red Hood retreat behind the container under fire, seeking cover.

He gripped a forearm-length knife tightly.

His sister suffered from a rare disease. With no education, no job, and no credit, he was forced into being a thug.

If he killed Red Hood, he could level up at least three ranks.

Just kill Red Hood...

The instant Jason stepped into the container’s shadow, he sensed someone there. His left hand swung in an arc; the gun barrel aimed precisely at the youth’s forehead, and he pulled the trigger without hesitation!

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As he fired, Jason turned his head and saw the young face and the gleaming blade.

Regret flashed through his mind, but it was too late. The shot was fired so close, the youth couldn’t dodge the fatal wound.

At the same time, Jason felt a tug on his hand—something yanked sharply.

The gun barrel veered; the bullet grazed the youth’s head, slicing off one ear.

Jason himself felt a sharp pain at his waist. The keen blade cut through tough fabric, leaving a deep gash.

He sprayed a clotting agent on himself and then on the youth’s ear, who had passed out.

He wouldn’t dream tonight of a severed head coming to claim him.

Jason glanced at the strands of webbing clinging to the back of his hand. It was those webs that had diverted his shot.

...Annoying fellow.

As the fight wound down, all the thugs were subdued. Peter exhaled with relief. “Phew, having me around does save some effort, right? You’re not one of those ‘this is my turf, no outsiders allowed’ heroes, are you? A little cooperation and mutual aid are good for the soul—huh? Where’d you go?”

Peter blinked; the vigilante who had been standing just moments ago cleaning his gun was gone, leaving a mess of knocked-over bodies for Peter to deal with.

Peter shouted into the air, “It’s terribly rude to disappear like that without a word!!”

“You’ll get used to it soon enough.”

That was another vigilante’s voice. Peter turned to see Red Robin crouching atop the container.

Peter shrugged. “Why would I get used to this?”

Because Gotham had Batman and his trained vigilantes, Red Robin answered silently, then leapt down to help Peter handle the unconscious thugs. He asked, “Why are you in Gotham?”

The usually talkative red-and-blue vigilante suddenly clammed up. “Secret.”

“We trade secrets,” Red Robin baited. “You tell me your purpose, I’ll tell you about a plot against you.”

Peter hated mysteries like that.

Come on! A plot! How could it escape the ears of Peter Parker? Especially one targeting Spider-Man!

Though suspecting the other might be bluffing to extract information, Peter bit the bait. “Alright, deal. I’m here for someone I care about.”

It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was honest. Because of Tony, Peter even had the chance to come to Gotham.

“You mean your family moved here?” Red Robin guessed wrongly.

Peter silently nodded, letting it slide. His spider-eyes widened, urging, “Now tell me about that plot.”

“Beware Osborn,” Red Robin whispered, honoring the deal. “He seeks to use you.”

Peter’s eyes widened.

How did he know?

Just then, a thug stirred awake nearby, brandishing a gun and sweeping toward them. Peter quickly aimed at his nose and shot a web, knocking him down again before turning back to press, “What do you mean by ‘seeks to use’? Tell me—”

The rest of the sentence hung in the air. Red Robin had vanished.

...

“Hey! That’s really rude!!”