CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
Kunai slammed into each other mid-air before splitting off, finally embedding themselves in the various target boards scattered along the walls.
Peter exhaled, eyes narrowing at the results. None of the kunai had hit the centre. Not even close.
"Tch… still off," he muttered under his breath.
He shook his hands out and took a step back, forming the hand signs slowly but smoothly.
"Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu!"
His chest swelled.
Then—
A swirling orb of fire burst from his mouth, roaring across the room. It slammed into one of the walls, engulfing a hanging target in flames.
The circular cardboard target was gone in seconds, reduced to black ash and soot. Kunai clattered to the floor as the wall behind it sizzled, scorch marks spreading like veins.
Peter blinked through the heat waves, wiping sweat off his brow.
"Better. But still not enough."
To speed up the assimilation process, Peter started using different abilities one after another. It wasn't just about unlocking them. It was about getting used to them and making them feel real.
Sure, once the assimilation completes, he gets all the knowledge and muscle memory, like a pre-installed package. But here's the catch. It's not really his. Not yet. It's like running a high-end simulation. You get the data, but it takes time before your body catches up and makes it second nature.
Take the Body Flicker Technique, for example. Both he and Shisui can use it, but Shisui's version was based on his body, his reflexes, his speed. Peter had to figure out how to adjust it to his own physical limits.
It's technically the same skill. It just won't work the same way unless he adapts.
A copy is still a copy. Not until you make it your own.
"I should get going," Peter muttered, checking his watch.
He walked over and started picking up all the kunai, slipping them into his bag. As for the rest of the gear, he didn't bother taking it. He just stashed it behind a loose panel near the wall. Hidden well enough that no one would find it unless they were really looking.
Once everything was cleaned up, he slipped out of the building without a sound.
The place he used for practice was in Brooklyn, far enough from his home in Queens to avoid suspicion. Some old warehouse that'd been bought by a new owner who was planning a full remodel but apparently got caught up with another project. Lucky for Peter, that meant he had the place all to himself for now.
Of course, this wasn't his only hideout.
He'd already found a dozen other abandoned or half-renovated places across the city. Each one had a different purpose.
Leave as few clues as possible. That was the rule.
So even if someone did track one location down, they'd only know a small piece of the puzzle. Never the full picture.
As for using Shadow Clones, yeah, he used them. But he didn't want to rely on them too much and end up getting lazy. Plus, it's not like he had unlimited chakra. He couldn't maintain a ton of them anyway.
BANG BANG BANG
BANG BANG BANG
"Hmm? What's going on down there…"
Peter stopped on the rooftop, squinting as he looked down into the alley below.
Yup. Another fight.
Not unusual. On his way to practice, he'd seen plenty. Thugs roughing each other up, gang turf wars, all kinds of street nonsense. And every time? He kept walking.
Why? Because he's Peter Parker, not Spider-Man. Not here to play hero.
He didn't want any attention. Not from the cops, not from civilians, definitely not from anyone connected to S.H.I.E.L.D. or whatever alphabet soup agencies were watching mutants these days.
Besides, what if he saved someone, and that person turned out to hate mutants? What if they reported him instead of being thankful?
Nah. Not worth the risk. Not until he was strong enough to protect himself if things went sideways.
But this one…
This one felt different.
Down there, it wasn't some back-alley brawl.
It was dozens of guys with guns. All unloading on one person.
A woman.
And somehow, she was still standing.
One woman against all of them, and they couldn't take her down.
Now that caught his attention.
Peter raised an eyebrow as she moved from cover, barely giving the guys a second to react. Two shots, two clean headshots. The kind of precision you don't just pick up on the streets.
"Damn…" he muttered under his breath, watching her reload like she'd done it a thousand times before.
She ducked behind a dumpster, popped out from the side, and took down another with a shot to the knee followed by a second to the chest. The others were scrambling now, barking orders, taking cover, but it was clear who had control of the fight.
Every little move she made. Her stance. The way her eyes flicked around. The slight twitch before she pulled the trigger. It all slowed down for him, thanks to the Sharingan.
Only one tomoe unlocked, sure. But still crazy useful.
She was good. Like really good. Ex-military or something? No idea.
But just because she was skilled didn't mean she was invincible.
And yeah. He saw it happen.
One small misstep. Boom. A bullet grazed her thigh. She hit the ground hard, rolled behind cover, and clutched her leg.
But she didn't stay down.
She popped right back up like she was running on pure rage and muscle memory. Didn't even flinch.
If anything, getting hit just made her mad.
The dudes who were hyped thinking they had her?
Big mistake.
She started blasting. Clean shots, no hesitation. Head, chest, leg—didn't matter.
They dropped like flies.
"Bro… she's cold."
One by one, they all hit the pavement. And just like that, in less than a minute, she was the last one standing.
Barely.
And then… she dropped.
Peter's stomach sank.
"Shit… is she dead?" he muttered, already shaking his head like he could deny the thought out of existence.
Something about her. It felt familiar. Like he'd seen her before. Somewhere.
But his brain wasn't giving him answers. Just more questions.
"Damn it, curiosity," he mumbled, already crouching.
Then, without another thought—
He jumped.
************
Guess who is she