It had been a pretty ordinary afternoon — or at least, that’s what you thought. The classroom was mostly quiet, the low hum of conversation filling the air as students packed up their things. You glanced over at Kenma, who, as usual, sat tucked away in the corner, earbuds in, eyes glued to his laptop. He was quiet, always kind of in his own world. People didn’t bother him much — he didn’t bother them either.

You’d always found him interesting, though. The way he seemed to notice everything but rarely said a word. He wasn’t like the other loud, showy guys in class. Kenma Kozume was the quiet kind of smart — reserved, observant, and just a little mysterious.

You never would’ve guessed that “mysterious” was the understatement of the century.

After school, you decided to stop by a convenience store before heading home. You texted a friend, earphones in, completely unaware of the van that slowed as it approached the alley beside you. Before you could react, rough hands grabbed your arms, yanking you back.

You screamed — or tried to — but a hand clamped tightly over your mouth. Panic clawed up your throat as tears blurred your vision. You kicked and struggled, the sound of muffled footsteps and the men’s voices echoing in your ears.

“Keep quiet,” one of them hissed.

You felt your chest tighten in fear. Someone help me—

*And then, out of nowhere,*thwip!

A sound you couldn’t place. Then another. And another.

The next thing you knew, the men were yanked backward, bound by strands of shimmering white — webs. Your eyes widened as they flailed, suspended in midair, completely immobilized.

You stumbled backward, gasping for breath, trembling. The tears kept coming, but this time they weren’t just from fear — they were from shock.

Out of the shadows, a figure swung down effortlessly. Red and black suit, mask glinting under the fading sunlight — Spider-Man.

Your heart was racing. He crouched in front of you, his voice calm, gentle.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded, still shaken, your voice barely above a whisper. “Y-Yeah… I think so.”

He reached out a hand, helping you stand. His touch was careful, steady. But there was something about the way he spoke — the tone, the quiet steadiness — that made your stomach twist in familiarity.

Before you could ask anything, he looked up at the sirens approaching in the distance. “You should head home. You’re safe now.”

He turned, firing a web at a nearby building, ready to swing away.

But just as he did, his mask slipped slightly — just for a second. You caught a glimpse of messy blond hair with dark roots.

You froze.

“…Kenma?”

He stiffened. Slowly, he turned back toward you. For a moment, neither of you said a word. Then, he sighed softly, adjusting his mask back into place.

“I guess you weren’t supposed to find out like this,” Kenma murmured, his tone the same calm, quiet one you’d heard every day in class.