Chapter 8: Early Morning

After hearing Abigail's detailed introduction, Peter's expression turned sour.

Of course, his face was entirely covered with a mask, so no one could tell his exact emotions.

Eric, having seen all kinds of storms in his life, wasn't in the mood for an argument with the little jealous one. He calmly sat on the couch, ready to continue watching the horror movie.

Peter immediately pegged Eric as a bad guy, so he shot a strand of web straight at his face.

Magneto reacted quickly, moving a nearby metal decoration to block the web. The metal object stuck to the web and was thrown out the window with great force. Peter didn't react in time and was dragged along by the metal object, flying out of the window like a meteor streaking across the sky.

Abigail watched in shock as the two fought.

"My precious copper print..." she moaned.

"That's my hard-earned money, my blood and sweat..."

Abigail covered her chest in agony and said, "Shark King, can you guys go outside to fight?!"

Before she could finish her sentence, Peter, still unwilling to back down, leapt back in through the window. He quickly grabbed a porcelain vase from the table with his webs and hurled it at Magneto's head!

Abigail: !!! My Chinese porcelain Guanyin vase!!

That vase was expensive! All those nights of overtime for that vase!

Eric remained unruffled, and the ball he had been spinning in his hand instantly transformed into a flat shield, letting the porcelain vase shatter harmlessly against it. He wasn't hurt at all, his long legs crossed lazily as if he were waiting for the next attack.

Peter, who had gone into a frenzy, quickly turned and grabbed a chair by the window, tossing it at Magneto on the sofa!

Eric furrowed his brow. The sofa slid back quickly, avoiding Peter's strike, crashing into the wall, causing the frames on the wall to tremble and fall.

Before the frame could hit Eric's head, it stopped mid-air.

Abigail was completely stunned.

Peter gritted his teeth, thinking he had backed his opponent into a corner. His final strike had to land. He aimed his webs at Abigail's TV and fired.

But after that, an eerie silence filled the room.

Abigail suddenly shot her hand out and grabbed the web, stopping its progress.

Sitting on the couch, Eric smirked. "See? Your girlfriend is on my side."

Peter was taken aback. He hadn't expected Abigail to side with the stranger. He turned toward her, confusion written all over his face.

...and that glance sealed their fate.

Abigail's normally gentle and beautiful face was now shrouded in an ominous aura. Her entire expression seemed to disappear into the darkness, leaving only her eyes—bright and menacing, and her lips twisted into a twisted smile.

She slowly walked toward Peter, every word coming out through gritted teeth: "I told you, go outside and fight, didn't I?"

Both Peter and Eric shivered.

Abigail's smile grew wider and more terrifying. Her expression seemed as though she wanted to tear them both apart: "You broke my stuff, so are you two going to pay? Huh?"

And so, the mighty Spider-Man and the renowned Magneto were both lifted by a girl, one in front, one behind, like little chicks by their collars, and unceremoniously thrown out of the window.

...After tossing out her "stars," Abigail stormed to her bedroom and collapsed onto her bed to sleep.

...Let the drafts leak, she didn't care.

However, what Abigail didn't expect was that when she woke up the next afternoon, she found that her window had been repaired.

Furthermore, the once-chaotic living room was now tidy. Even the shattered porcelain vase had been glued together halfway and placed on the table.

Peter, exhausted, was asleep on the sofa, still holding a piece of porcelain that hadn't been glued on yet.

Abigail, worried that he might cut himself, carefully took the porcelain shard from his hand and set it on the table.

This fool...

Before she could soften her heart, the doorbell rang downstairs.

Abigail quickly went down to answer.

The warm midday sunlight streamed down from above, lighting up the face of the man in the wheelchair. His deep blue eyes, like the ocean, reflected the sunlight, revealing a calm and composed expression.

His sapphire eyes gave a sense of tranquility, and the slight smile on his red lips made him seem exceptionally approachable: "Long time no see, Abigail."

Without needing an introduction, Abigail immediately recognized him and quickly said, "Long time no see, Professor."

At this moment, Peter, rubbing his eyes and with messy hair, came down the stairs. When he saw Abigail's guest, he immediately felt awkward, quickly pulling his mask over his head and rushing out the door: "I... I'll just go!"

Abigail invited the professor in.

The wheelchair slowly turned, making a slight sound.

Abigail smiled and realized that she hadn't even washed her face yet.

After letting Charles into the house, she poured him some coffee. While in the kitchen, she wiped her face, dried it quickly, and ran a comb through her hair before walking out.

Charles turned to look at her, his lips curling into a gentle smile. "I didn't expect that you would grow up so quickly, so soon."

"Your father, Carlos Landon, was my mentor. Many of the things I know now were taught to me by him, including the original intention behind building the school. That, too, came from him."

Abigail carefully asked, "Then, is he...?"

Charles smiled softly, "Unfortunately, he passed away. But he always kept an eye on you during his lifetime. That's how I know your address and your work. Though he never came to meet you, I know he was always proud of your accomplishments, Abigail."

Abigail froze for a moment.

She lowered her head, gently tapping the side of her coffee cup.

Her father was proud of her achievements?

That felt strange—at least her mother never said anything like that. All her mother ever said was: "Abigail, I need money. I'll take whatever's in your cupboard."

A small warmth rose in her heart, and she sincerely thanked Charles for sharing this with her.

After reminiscing for a while, the warmth on Charles' face faded and turned serious. "Abigail, I need you to trust me and tell me your current situation."

Abigail hesitated.

Charles's beautiful eyes looked at her, and he said, "Abigail, from what I can sense, you are far too powerful. If you need my help, you must tell me everything."

Seeing that Abigail was still silent, he leaned back in his wheelchair and said in a slightly colder tone, "Do you know why your father came to find me so urgently back then?"

Abigail felt a bit nervous. She didn't want to upset Charles, after all, he had come all this way to see her.

She nervously shook her head.

Charles said, each word deliberate, "Precognition."

Abigail froze completely.

Charles slowly continued, "Precognition. Do you realize how terrifyingly powerful that ability is, Abigail? If you let your power develop unchecked, your life will become a straight line, and you will fall into utter despair. You will know the ending, but be powerless to change it. Isn't that a tragic thing?"

He spoke softly, leaning closer to Abigail, his tone gentle as he whispered, "So, trust me, I can help you."

Seeing that Abigail was still unsure, he reached out and held her hand, as though trying to comfort her.

However, the moment his fingers touched hers, Abigail once again heard that voice—

"Say it now."

The voice was almost urgent and forceful, but it was clearly not Charles's voice—it was a woman's voice.

Abigail hesitantly looked at Charles's hand. His fingers were long and delicate, white and beautiful, holding her hand firmly. However—

In the blink of an eye, she seemed to see scales on the blue skin beneath Charles's pale hand. Her heart jumped.

Abigail instinctively pulled her hand away from Charles's, and the intrusive voice immediately vanished.

Charles, with his serene blue eyes, gazed at her, his gentle expression now replaced by something colder: "Are you afraid of me, Abigail?"

Abigail felt something was wrong. She reached out to touch Charles's face. But suddenly, the handsome and gentle face blurred, and beneath it, overlapping with the face, was the face of a woman with yellow eyes and blue skin.

Abigail recoiled in shock, dropping her hand. But when she looked again, it was just Charles's face, still as gentle as ever.

At that moment, the doorbell rang again.

Flustered, Abigail stood up quickly. "Professor Charles, I'm sorry. I'll go answer the door."

Charles smiled and reached out, his strong fingers firmly gripping her wrist, almost forcefully. "I hope you'll give me an answer now."

Abigail tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong, and she winced in pain.

Feeling the threatening energy radiating from him, Abigail raised an eyebrow in irritation. Then Charles suddenly felt a sharp pain on his hand. Small thorns sprouted from his skin.

He furrowed his brow and immediately let go of Abigail's wrist, his previous cold expression replaced by his usual warm smile.

Abigail massaged her sore wrist, took a deep breath, and went to the door.

She opened it.

The bright sunlight shone down.

The midday sun illuminated the face of the man in the wheelchair. Charles sat outside, still smiling gently, and greeted her with a soft smile: "Good