Chapter 115: I Do Not Want to Investigate Anymore

From her conversations with Peter and her own deductions, Gwen knew that Peter was likely linked to—if not an active member of—the group that robbed Stark Industries. Otherwise, it made no sense for him to intervene and obstruct her while she was tracking the transport truck, even going so far as to change his clothes as if he were terrified of being recognized. Because of this, Gwen viewed Peter as the key to unmasking the mastermind behind the attack.

When she noticed this afternoon that Peter had once again skipped his usual vigilante rounds, just as he had yesterday, Gwen couldn't help but speculate: was there a second phase to their operation? Or was this a period of reflection after their initial actions, which had led Peter to break his Spider-Man routine for the second time in recent memory? The answers were not easy to come by, and Gwen prepared herself for a long investigation.

However... just as she arrived near Peter’s home, hoping to find some clues, there was Peter, walking right out of Zhong Shenxiu’s house!

In normal circumstances, Gwen wouldn't have thought twice about it. They were neighbors, after all; people visited each other all the time. But on a day like this, the timing was suspicious. This was the prime window for the organization to regroup after the heist. Gwen had calculated that she and Peter had been locked in a chase until nearly dawn that morning. Assuming Peter’s speed was comparable to hers, if he had tried to make it home from their last location and then get to school on time, there would have been no room in his schedule. Yet, she had seen Peter at school, and he hadn't been late or skipped class. He simply hadn't had a spare moment. Furthermore, even when Peter had been severely injured in the past, he hadn't stopped his Spider-Man activities for a single day. Today was his second time doing so. This was exactly why Gwen believed Peter’s movements after school were the key to cracking the case.

Seeing him walk out of Zhong Shenxiu’s house left Gwen stunned. Her instincts immediately began to suggest that Zhong Shenxiu might also be involved in the Stark Industries robbery.

Yet, her heart refused to accept this theory. She remembered those beautiful, innocent, sky-blue eyes—the ones she recalled every night before sleep, eyes that always brought her a sense of peace. She didn't want to believe that someone with such eyes could be a cold-blooded criminal. Perhaps it was a girl’s intuition, or perhaps she simply didn't want to shatter the beautiful impression she’d had when they first met.

At the thought of this, Gwen pursed her lips beneath her mask. She suddenly realized that being a hero wasn't nearly as fun as she’d imagined. She glanced once more at Zhong Shenxiu’s small courtyard and the large "Zhong Shen Clinic" sign hanging by the door, then turned and walked away without a moment's hesitation.

She didn't want to investigate anymore. Stark Industries had nothing to do with her, and besides, they were global arms dealers anyway. If they got robbed, they had it coming. Gwen reasoned with herself. In truth, it was because she had only just begun her investigation, and the cold reality she was starting to face was more than she could handle. Before she had forced the title of "hero" upon herself, she was just a teenager.

***

9:00 PM. Malibu, California. Inside the underground workshop of Tony Stark’s seaside villa.

Escorted by S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, Tony had returned home safely and discreetly. Initially, they had wanted to keep him at the New York branch, as it had excellent medical resources and, more importantly, agents who could ensure total secrecy. But Tony had insisted on returning home, claiming that only there could he remove his Iron Man armor.

He wasn't lying. At the moment, he truly could only remove the suit at home.

He sat in his workstation chair, his face pale—not because his injuries had worsened from the travel, but because of the clumsy mechanical arms that had removed his armor without any sense of delicacy. It had pulled at his skin, and it hurt like hell!

"I'm going to dismantle you all and donate the parts to MIT!" Tony rubbed his neck, glaring at the "Dummy" arm, which hadn't actually done anything, as he made his threat.

Dummy tilted its head, revealing a surprisingly human-like expression of confusion.

*Ha.* Seeing this comical display, Tony couldn't help but genuinely laugh.

Only within this house, which had accompanied him for so many years, could he feel a moment of inner warmth. Of course, the fact that Pepper was upstairs played a large part in that as well.

"Jarvis." After relaxing for a moment, Tony didn't forget the main reason he had returned home. He rubbed his still-aching, severed right wrist and called out.

"I am here, sir. How may I assist you?" Jarvis’s elegant, magnetic voice responded from nowhere in particular.

"Pull up the Arc..." Tony had intended to use the Arc Reactor as a breakthrough to start his investigation, but after a second thought, he decided to wait. He was suddenly curious about something else. "...Uh, pull up the medical data from when I was first injured. Let me see just how badly off I was."

"Very well, sir."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Jarvis, his powerful AI butler, retrieved the vital sign data from the now-wrecked Mark II armor. In an instant, through complex calculations, a 3D projection appeared before Tony.

It was a blue model of a human body. A glaring red hole marked the abdomen, and the right hand was missing, also highlighted in red at the wrist. Tony knew immediately that this was him. He reached out with his intact left hand and lightly tapped the red area on the abdomen. A flood of information instantly materialized.

[Maximum diameter of abdominal penetrating wound, 72% loss of intestinal tract, blood loss...]

The next column listed the mortality rates:

[Probability of death from blood loss: 95%. Probability of death from infection: 91%. Probability of death from hypertonic shock: 87%. Impaired intestinal function...]

The probabilities were absurdly high, enough to make Tony’s scalp tingle and his brow furrow. He looked at the right hand, which carried similarly astronomical mortality odds. Only now did Tony truly understand how difficult it had been for him to survive.

He couldn't help but think of the young, handsome man in the shabby little clinic in Queens. The guy he often teased for being a "money-grabber"—the one who charged a million to extract a single piece of shrapnel—was, in this crisis, his true savior. It was rare for Tony to call anyone a "benefactor"; Yinsen had been one, and Zhong Shenxiu, without a doubt, deserved that title as well, Tony mused.