Chapter 3: Gwen Checks the Body! Strange is a Chatterbox!
Power surged through his body, an overwhelming force flooding every fiber of his being. A refreshing sensation coursed through him, leaving him feeling invigorated.
Silently, a black bracelet materialized on Ethan Lee's wrist.
This was the Knight Spider suit in its dormant state.
At the same time, newfound knowledge about spider silk launchers surfaced in his mind—details of their mechanics, potential modifications, and tactical applications. Yet, Ethan found them unnecessary. After all, if he wanted to, he could simply take off from the ground at will.
Just then, Gwen suddenly placed a hand on her chest.
A strange tremor had just rippled through her heart, unprovoked yet undeniable.
"Gwen, what's wrong?" Jessica asked, noticing her unease.
"I don't know… I just had a sudden palpitation," Gwen frowned.
"Are you feeling sick?" Jessica's concern deepened. She turned to Ethan and nudged him. "Hey, don't just stand there like a statue. Help Gwen."
Ethan sat down beside Gwen, wrapping an arm around her shoulders for support. A thought crossed his mind—was it possible that his own spider sense had triggered Gwen's reaction?
He spoke gently. "Gwen, do you need to see a doctor? I can take you to Presbyterian Hospital. Dr. Strange is a friend of mine—he'll arrange a checkup right away."
"This…" Gwen hesitated.
She thought back to the moment her abilities first manifested. It had happened not long ago, during her summer internship at Oscorp. She had entered a research lab filled with experimental spiders, one of which had bitten her. She left the lab hurriedly, but soon after, she discovered she had extraordinary powers.
Now, a lingering doubt gnawed at her. Was something wrong with her body?
Ethan noticed her unease.
"It wouldn't hurt to get checked out," he reassured her. "At least for peace of mind."
Before she could protest, he swept her up in his arms, carrying her princess-style.
"Come on, don't be stubborn," he said with a grin.
"Ethan! I can walk, you know." Gwen didn't know whether to laugh or be exasperated.
It was a strange contrast—Ghost-Spider, a dignified superhero, being treated like a delicate patient. Yet, there was something oddly comforting about it.
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Presbyterian Hospital, New York City
A sleek, customized car—flashier than most sports cars—pulled up in front of the hospital. Ethan, Gwen, and Jessica stepped out.
Bringing someone here just for a routine checkup felt like overkill, but who cared? Connections had their perks.
"Did we make an appointment, Ethan?" Jessica asked.
"We don't need one," he replied.
Ethan led them through the hospital halls, bypassing the front desk. The staff seemed to recognize him and didn't stop them.
Inside one of the departments, a sharply dressed doctor with a neatly trimmed beard greeted him with an air of arrogance.
"Well, well, the great artist graces me with his presence. What happened? Cut yourself with a paint scraper?"
Dr. Stephen Strange—the brilliant surgeon and future Sorcerer Supreme—smirked at him. His arrogance rivaled that of Tony Stark's.
Ethan, unfazed, sat down casually.
"Cut the nonsense, Stephen. I messaged you earlier."
Strange waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah. It's all taken care of. My colleagues will handle it." He slid a document across the desk. "Here's the test list. Just register her info, and they'll take it from there."
Ethan handed the paper to Jessica. "Take Gwen for her checkup. I'll catch up with Strange for a bit."
Jessica sighed dramatically. "Wow, Ethan. Instead of sticking with Gwen during this rare bonding opportunity, you'd rather chat with another man? You're too straight."
"Jessica!" Gwen protested, pulling her away.
Ethan watched them leave, shaking his head.
Of course, he wasn't avoiding Gwen—he had another motive for staying behind. If he was lucky, talking to Strange might trigger a hidden mission or even earn him a Supreme Sorcerer template.
Strange leaned back, eyeing him. "You know, Ethan, I'm at work. I don't offer casual chatting services."
"Yet here you are, chatting anyway."
Strange scoffed. "Last time I swung by Sunnyvale Manor, I planned to take one of your paintings. But the place was locked up tight. Did you move out?"
Ethan sipped his coffee. "Too quiet over there. I prefer the Lower East Side, so I moved back."
"You? Prefer noise?" Strange arched a brow. "If you're struggling financially, I could buy a portrait from you."
Ethan rolled his eyes. "Do I look like I'm struggling? Besides, I only paint portraits of beautiful women. You don't qualify."
Strange smirked. "So, nude portraits?"
"Professional art, Stephen," Ethan corrected. "I have standards."
"Sure, sure." Strange slid him a cup of coffee. "So, really—why'd you move back? Don't tell me it's because of those two girls."
Ethan gave a nonchalant shrug. "Maybe."
Strange sipped his coffee thoughtfully. "Are they even adults? Ethan, I won't cover for you."
Ethan nearly choked on his drink. "...Seriously?"