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In the world before Shen He, many believed Peter Parker became Spider-Man purely out of guilt for failing to save his uncle.
But Shen He—having met countless heroes through Chaldea's cross-dimensional records—believes differently. He sees Parker as someone who innately finds joy in helping others, and that Ben Parker's death was merely the catalyst, not the cause.
In reality, Parker was deeply conflicted.
He longed to join the Guardians, but feared rejection. He also worried that this choice would disrupt the delicate balance of his civilian life, his schoolwork, and his role as Queens' quiet protector.
Despite the occasional moments of bravado—quick web-slinging rescues or flashy rooftop landings—he tried to keep a low profile.
So for now, Peter decided to wait, to watch from the sidelines.
Shen He's public address at the academy was framed as a formal explanation of the Guardian Team's formation. But anyone listening carefully knew—he had subtly leaked deeper truths.
Though students were barred from taking photos, nothing stopped them from typing on their phones.
By evening, countless text versions of Shen He's speech had spread across the internet. Many were written with flair by the academy's brightest students, transforming a strategic announcement into an epic tale. Their vivid descriptions of Shen He's quiet presence and the energy in the room brought it all to life.
The virtual space buzzed with excitement.
"The Hooded Woman is actually married? And she's that beautiful?"
Joan's popularity soared. Footage and fan art of her radiant aura while healing wounded during the Hydra-S.H.I.E.L.D. fallout gained traction again. Her calm grace, compared to Skye's intensity and Wanda's raw chaos magic, earned her a massive online following.
"Punching through reinforced steel like that? Not even Steve Rogers could manage that."
Many debated Shen He's power level after his offhand demonstration.
"The hooded goddess has blonde hair—but the chairman of the VR company is Chinese. Chaldea really is global."
Others speculated about Chaldea's origins. Why, despite such groundbreaking tech, was there no public inventor?
"Could this be a Pirates of the Caribbean thing?"
"Wrong Chaldean, genius. Totally different mythos. Also, Caribbean doesn't deal with mana reactors or dimensional rifts."
Questions about the group's legitimacy and secrecy spread quickly.
"I'm more concerned about what that guy said—about the rise of extraordinary powers. What happens to normal folks?"
There was unease, but it was marginal.
In the United States—where neighborhood crime rates varied drastically—most brushed off the concern. Only when powered individuals became statistically significant did people begin to take real notice.
…
At Chaldea HQ, Shen He quietly scrolled through comment threads in his minimalist black office.
From dawn till dusk, his name and Chaldea's logo flooded trending lists on both mainstream and alt-platforms.
Predictably, the major newspapers and conservative networks ran counter-narratives, labeling him an existential threat. Stark Industries and the VR Corporation had stakeholdings in several platforms—but control wasn't absolute.
Some pundits speculated wildly.
"Chaldeans are clearly extraterrestrial infiltrators."
"Tony Stark and Captain America have been mind-controlled."
These conspiracy theories lacked substance—but had traction.
Just then, a familiar ripple of energy appeared beside him.
"Master, there's a situation."
Only Qi Mu Nanxiong could arrive silently like this, stepping between atoms using his psychic space-time compression.
But he looked… disastrous.
Face smudged with black soot, his usually pristine school uniform torn and charred.
"You blew up the kitchen?!" Shen He nearly dropped his phone.
Today was a rare celebration—Joan had proposed a Chaldean family dinner. Most of the Guardians-in-training had agreed to pitch in.
Shen He, amused by their excitement, had mentally prepared himself for anything. Even if the food turned out disastrous, his Sage Body would handle the aftermath.
"I had a sudden clairvoyant spike," Qi Mu explained, his tone uncharacteristically grave. "Tonight, Manhattan. A high-rise. Total collapse by fire. Fatalities approaching a thousand."
Shen He's tension eased slightly.
So it wasn't just the kitchen.
"I was stabilizing a natural gas flame with mind power when the vision hit me," Qi Mu continued, "and… yes. The kitchen exploded."
"…"
"I rewound time-space locally to restore it."
"…"
"But the dishes were reset to base ingredients."
"…"
Shen He massaged his forehead. He was now the embodiment of the word done.
"Cough… no big deal." He cleared his throat. "If there's a disaster, we'll respond. If anything, this is exactly the kind of moment we need."
Within Chaldea, Qi Mu was a known precog—his foresight centered exclusively on disaster-class events. Shen He had already positioned Chaldea as the organization that handles situations even the Avengers can't—divine interference, temporal paradoxes, interdimensional incursions.
Publicly, they had only recently begun operations, but their mythology was being seeded.
"But I didn't pinpoint a location. The building—it was burning, engulfed. But the coordinates were fuzzy," Qi Mu admitted, eyes flickering with frustration.
His visions were mostly involuntary—triggered by future calamities. Unlike Skye or Wanda, his control was limited in that regard.
"It's fine," Shen He said, rising and straightening his hooded robes. "We'll handle it. But first, let's not waste the effort everyone's put into this feast. Prioritize morale."
He would still sample the so-called food, even if it was doomed to be bad.
"I feel like you're prematurely labeling it garbage," Qi Mu muttered, brushing ash from his shoulder.
"Listen," Shen He raised a solemn finger. "When it comes to women and kitchens, they usually fall into two extremes—culinary geniuses or kitchen arsonists. There's no middle ground. Joan probably hasn't unlocked her Cooking skill tree, so we're just facing reality, Qi Mu."
"That's not real logic. Apologize to every competent housewife on Earth."
Qi Mu groaned, following Shen He toward the now-perfectly restored industrial kitchen.
It could house over a dozen chefs. Now, it looked untouched, as if it had never hosted a fire, much less an explosion. Even the exhaust ducts gleamed like new—thanks to time reversal.
The storm outside Chaldea—media hysteria, misinformation, and Manhattan's looming disaster—could wait.
Tonight, they had dinner to face.
And maybe, just maybe… it would be edible.
Joan and the Two Rituals were all wearing aprons, making Shen He's eyes light up with surprise.
Especially the Two Rituals—finally not in her usual kimono, but a simple long-sleeved shirt with an apron tied over it. The change brought a refreshing sense of novelty.
She was undoubtedly beautiful in a kimono, but constant repetition risked aesthetic fatigue.
"Master…"
Joan stood there with an aggrieved expression.
"It's alright, not your fault." Shen He rolled up his sleeves, stepping forward. "If you're feeling awkward, come help out. It's easier when there are more hands. That said... why are Mikoto and Violet here too?"
Initially, he thought only Jeanne d'Arc and the Two Rituals were around, plus Qi Mu Nanxiong.
Lelouch and Yifangtong only knew how to eat, while Sister Pao always gave off an aura like she'd blow up the kitchen on a whim.
"Stop looking down on people." Misaka Mikoto's bangs sparked with tiny arcs of electricity as she turned her head proudly. "Hmph, I scored excellently in my cooking class. This little stuff is no problem at all."
"Alright then… start by killing the fish." Shen He glanced over the fresh ingredients.
The fish, prawns, and crabs were still wriggling energetically—they were picked live for ultimate freshness.
Unfortunately, there was no Gutai. Shen He had always liked Gutai.
Misaka Mikoto's face paled. Even though this wasn't Gutai, the wriggling baby fish still looked far too cute.
"I'll handle it."
The Two Rituals stepped up, picked up a large grass carp, placed it on the cutting board, and raised a kitchen knife. With a sharp stroke, she split the fish open and ended its thrashing in an instant.
Killing fish… activated the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception.
Violet, standing on the other side, mimicked the process and picked up a smaller fish. But even after slicing it open with her dagger, the fish thrashed violently.
Her delicate expression turned blank for a moment.
Back when she lived alone on an uninhabited island, she used to catch prey and eat it raw. She had never learned how to prepare it.
"Don't worry about it. You're better off making a cake."
The Two Rituals knelt beside her, wiping blood from Violet's cheek with her apron.
Shen He suddenly realized that cooking together like this was much more fun than doing it alone. It had an oddly seductive charm.
The only disappointment was… Jeanne was surprisingly good at it too.
"I used to cook for my mother, back in my village." Jeanne looked slightly embarrassed under Shen He's surprised gaze. "The taste wasn't great… and we didn't have spices back then."
"It's okay," Shen He forced a smile.
He couldn't just admit that he was looking forward to unholy food.
Together, they prepared a decent spread in a short time. Misaka Mikoto really was as competent as she claimed. The Japanese dishes she whipped up were both beautiful and meticulous, refreshing Shen He's impression of the so-called Sister Pao.
To think Misaka Mikoto was also good at embroidery… it was honestly hard to imagine.
The dish made by the Two Rituals reflected her personality—a simple plate of boiled white radish. Shen He was fairly certain she hadn't added anything besides salt.
"I've never cooked before," she said. "But when it's plain, it's not hard to swallow."
She took a bite herself, then silently pushed the plate toward Shen He. Though she said nothing more, her gaze was clear in intent.
Shen He took a piece, and his eyes brightened.
"Not bad. It's not mushy or stiff. The saltiness is just right. White radish has a naturally sweet and peppery note."
"It's because the ingredients are high-grade," the Two Rituals replied with a smile.
Then her smile froze, as she was startled by how genuinely happy she felt at that moment.
"Master…" Violet gently tugged Shen He's sleeve, holding up the cake she made with both hands. Her eyes were timid—but that just made her even more lovable.
"It's delicious." Shen He stuffed a big bite of cake into his mouth. In truth, it was a little burnt. But watching the beautiful Violet offering it so sincerely—it was impossible for it not to be delicious.
Come to think of it, Violet really had a thing for strawberry cake…
While Shen He was immersed in this cozy domestic bliss, Steve and the rest were beginning today's operations.
Today was different. With a fresh batch of student recruits in the logistics team, Skye and the others were visibly on edge.
From the logistics center, they could monitor every movement in real time.
"Captain, there's a robbery in the alley of Block Nine. All four suspects are armed."
"Understood." Steve nodded, turning to his team. "Quicksilver, handle it. Be sure to restrain the suspects and notify the police."
Pietro nodded and took off in a blur.
It was the fourth night of their joint patrols. For better efficiency, they had started splitting up for smaller incidents. Pietro, being the fastest and fully capable of subduing armed criminals, often acted solo.
"Captain, we've got a report of illegal trades between two groups in the condemned apartments of Block Six. Total of thirteen people."
"Block Six… Daisy, go by air. Don't engage until you get there and confirm." Steve jumped onto his motorcycle, Wanda hopping on behind him. "We'll reroute for speed."
"Roger."
The logistics center continually fed them intel from security cams, police systems, and emergency calls, calculating optimal paths.
These routes weren't just the shortest—they factored in road conditions, traffic density, and minor incidents along the way. It gave the interns their first real taste of what hero work looked like from behind the scenes. It wasn't just bravery—there was a whole elite team enabling that efficiency.
"Captain, we've got a fire at a bar in Block Three."
The voice over the comms grew more urgent.
"Block Three? That's a distance." Some of the intern students looked at the digital map and began murmuring.
"Even at full throttle, it'll take the captain over an hour to reach it."
"And it's a fire? Haven't there been too many fires in Manhattan lately?"
When the main screen lit up with a live feed from the scene, the students felt their anxiety spike.
Flames devoured the bar, smoke roiling, people escaping in panic. If Steve took an hour to get there… even the neighboring buildings might go up by then.
"How long until the fire department arrives?" Steve's voice came through, calm as always.
That calm tone immediately dampened the growing tension among the students.
"The location's terrible," the logistics chief responded. "It's right at the border of three fire zones. Any team would need at least an hour to arrive."
It was the worst-case scenario for emergency response time. And that didn't even consider traffic.
"This is probably arson," Harry whispered to Peter beside him.
They were assigned to Guardian Route Planning together.
"Because of the location?" Peter whispered back.
"Not just that," Harry shook his head. "This is a big bar in a high-risk spot. You'd expect strong fire-prevention measures. But look—none of the in-house water pipes were used. That means the fire spread too fast for any reaction."
Peter blinked. He hadn't even noticed that detail.
What he didn't know was that, at the sight of the screen, Harry instinctively imagined what he would do as the arsonist.
That empathy made it easier to piece together the scene.
"Whoa—!"
Gasps rang out across the room.
On the screen, Steve's motorcycle suddenly shifted—its wheels turned downward, flames burst from the rear, and it launched into the sky.
"That's so cool," Peter couldn't help but exclaim. "That's Stark's Arc Reactor tech!"
Only Tony's arc energy had the output to enable that kind of personal flight.
"Why didn't he use it sooner?" Harry slipped back into the mindset of a villain. "Ah—I get it. The energy consumption. It can't sustain long-range flights."
Exactly as Harry guessed.
Tony was always reluctant to design Steve a dedicated suit of armor. Steve didn't need one to fight. The only Stark tech on the bike was the arc reactor; the rest came from S.H.I.E.L.D. Though built by expert engineers, time constraints meant this was still a prototype.
It could only maintain flight for about an hour—reserved for emergencies.
And this was definitely an emergency.
"Captain, we've confirmed—at least twenty to thirty people are still trapped inside, and the fire's spread to adjacent buildings."
"Received," Steve's voice remained composed.
Behind him, Wanda used her powers to manipulate wind pressure, boosting their speed exponentially.
What should have taken an hour was now a ten-minute sprint.
"Captain!" A voice at the logistics center suddenly rose. "There's another fire in Block Eight! No fire department nearby!"
"Again?!"
"That's no coincidence!"
"This is premeditated!"
This time, even the remaining students grew alarmed. Multiple fires in one day was plausible—but each one erupting in the farthest possible zone from the nearest fire station? That was suspicious.
They remembered previous unsolved arson cases.
This… was a direct challenge. A blatant provocation aimed at the Guardians.
"What now?" Peter asked nervously.
There were only four main field agents—two were now split up. Only Steve and Wanda remained in tandem, and they were already far from the new blaze.
Fires were a battle against time. Each passing minute meant mounting damage.
Peter wished, more than anything, that he could be there right now.
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