Chapter 14: May Offers the Leftover Dinner
The moment the first bone cracked, his body jerked violently. The man woke up and thrashed about wildly, his eyes bulging with sheer panic—but I didn’t care. I ignored the terror in his gaze and focused on finishing what I had already decided to do.
When it was over, I struck him again until he passed out, making sure his body truly went limp, completely devoid of resistance.
Then I did the same to the other robber, repeating the process with movements that were faster and more efficient, as if my hands were already accustomed to this kind of violence, even though my mind had not fully accepted it.
The small cracking sounds of fingers breaking rang clearly in the silence of the alley, like dry twigs being snapped one by one. The man’s muffled screams trembled behind the net covering his mouth, turning into hoarse, choking noises. No one came. No one cared. The alley remained quiet, an emotionless witness to everything that happened.
Their bodies shook in panic, cold sweat soaking their skin despite the cool night air. I gripped their hands tightly—cold, tense, and filled with fear.
I could feel their erratic pulses beneath my fingers. When everything was finally done, the silence returned, leaving behind only two bodies slumped helplessly on the ground, sprawled like ugly sacks tossed aside without care.
After that, I pressed myself against the wall and began to climb, my fingers easily finding the gaps between the bricks. It would be better to change out of my Spider-Man costume somewhere safer.
After leaping from one rooftop to another for a while, I found another small alley that was more hidden, far from anyone’s line of sight.
There, I immediately issued a mental command to my suit. The fibers of the costume shifted and softened, then began to reshape themselves.
My Spider-Man suit transformed into casual clothing: a dark blue short-sleeved T-shirt, comfortable, well-fitted long pants, and a pair of lightweight black sandals. The transformation felt smooth, almost as if the suit were a part of my own body.
The humid night air brushed against my skin as the suit fully disengaged. The alley wall felt cold against my back, and a gentle breeze lightly tousled my hair.
It felt like shedding a skin after a night filled with adrenaline and chaos, leaving behind my former identity to return to my ordinary self—at least on the surface.
Then I began walking back toward my house with relaxed yet alert steps. Streetlights illuminated the sidewalk with a pale glow. Just as I was about to enter my home, the door of the house to my left opened.
From there appeared May.
Good heavens—May in a black dress looked incredibly beautiful and sexy. The lines of her body were perfectly framed by the fabric, radiating a charm that made me freeze for a moment, my heart beating a little faster without asking permission.
The dress was simple, without excessive ornamentation, yet that was precisely where its appeal lay. The black fabric draped softly over May’s body, following her natural curves with graceful ease, as if the dress had been made specifically for her.
Under the yellowish light of the porch lamp, the black color looked deeper, like a piece of the night shaped into clothing. Every small movement May made caused the fabric to sway gently, subtly highlighting an elegance that felt effortless and unforced.
May’s hair was slightly messy, a few strands slipping free from their arrangement and falling to frame her face. Perhaps it was because of what had happened earlier in the alley—or perhaps she was simply too tired to fix it properly.
Yet that very imperfection made May look more human, more real. There was a faint sense of fragility mixed with a soft allure that unconsciously held my attention longer than it should have.
“Hm? Dante, you’re already home?” May greeted me with a polite smile. It wasn’t wide, but it was sincere.
May’s voice sounded soft and warm, like someone trying to restore a sense of normalcy after a night that had felt absurd and exhausting. Her tone was calm, though there was a faint tremor beneath it—something you would only notice if you were truly paying attention.
“Yes, I just arrived.” I gave a small nod. My answer sounded calm, at least to my own ears, even though I could feel my heart beating a little faster than usual. There was a trace of tension that hadn’t fully faded yet, lingering in my body like a faint echo.
“Is that so? Ah… have you had dinner yet?” May asked suddenly. The question came out of nowhere—simple, casual—yet it caught me off guard. I hadn’t expected the conversation to turn in that direction so quickly.
The shift in atmosphere felt strange. Just moments ago, May had nearly become the victim of rape by two pieces of trash, and now she was standing at the door of her house, talking to me about dinner, as if the world itself were forcing everything back onto its tracks without giving anyone time to truly process what had just happened.
Was May interested in me? Even though we had only met this morning. Or was this simply her way of being friendly, a way to calm herself by clinging to small, ordinary routines? And if May invited me inside… then what? Those thoughts jumped wildly around my head, uninvited and completely unfiltered.
Would we end up sleeping together?
The thought surfaced on its own, triggering a mix of nervousness, ridiculous expectation, and unhealthy humor inside my mind. It felt like two voices were crashing into each other.
Oh God! I’m not ready!
I’m kidding! I’m always ready!
Damn it, let’s do it!
My inner voice danced around like an idiot who didn’t know his place. I had to restrain myself as much as possible so I wouldn’t look like a fool in front of a woman who had just gone through something traumatic. This was not the right time for thoughts like that.
“Not yet. Why?” I finally asked. I tried to keep my voice normal—flat and polite—at least, I hoped it sounded that way.
“I think I made too much food. Would you like some?” May asked, smiling again. This time, her smile looked a little awkward, as if even she wasn’t sure whether the offer sounded strange. Behind her eyes, there was still a trace of unease that hadn’t completely disappeared.
“Really?” I replied with a small smile. I tried to look relaxed, even though my mind was still spinning, trying to reorganize all the emotions that had been tangled together since the night began.
“Of course. I made too much chicken soup. Peter—my nephew—and I just finished eating, but there’s still a lot left.” May paused for a moment, then gave a faint smile. “It’s a good thing you haven’t eaten yet. Wait here for a moment, I’ll get it for you right away.”
After saying that, May turned around and went back into her house. The black dress swayed gently with her steps, and a moment later the door closed softly, like the end of a calm movie scene that still left many things unspoken.
Seeing that, I could only smile faintly. I then sat down by the window of my house, on the small chair I usually used. Its surface felt cool, but comfortable enough to sit on for a while.
The night wind blew softly, carrying the scent of grass, damp soil, and a faint hint of cooking aromas from May’s kitchen. For the first time that night, I allowed myself to breathe a little easier, savoring the brief silence before whatever might happen next.
Not long after, May returned, carrying a pot in her hands. Her steps were slow and measured, as if she still had to make sure that every breath she took didn’t falter or sound too heavy.
Her shoulders were slightly slumped—not merely from physical fatigue, but from something deeper, something that hadn’t fully settled since what had happened earlier.