Chapter 21: Your Homework Is Still Too Little

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In truth, Ophelia and Miles had struggled their way to Gotham; the journey was far from easy. Miles’s physique was exceptional, and the effects of the hallucinogens wore off quickly on him. Ophelia, however, had been running a high fever since they arrived in Gotham—her mind fogged, babbling nonsensically, throwing punches and kicks at the empty air. Fearing the fever might damage her brain, Miles was forced to take them both to a clinic midway through their journey. Looking back now, that was when things began to go awry.

A kind-hearted doctor living opposite the Iceberg Lounge agreed, at Miles’s earnest plea, to conduct a simple checkup on Ophelia.

But just as the doctor handed her the thermometer, Ophelia suddenly struck it out of his hand with force, raised both hands, closed her eyes, and loudly declared, “‘We must reject bodily resurrection and supernatural spirits!’”

What are you saying in this clinic filled with science and materialism?

The doctor raised an eyebrow. Miles smiled awkwardly and hurriedly helped pick up the thermometer. “Sorry, she’s not usually like this. Does a fever affect personality? She seems a bit off.”

Saying Ophelia was off would be an understatement—she seemed possessed by something. When Miles tried to bring the thermometer close again, Ophelia snatched it from his hand, lifted her arm like wielding a broadsword, and solemnly intoned, “‘Seize her, vengeful spirits, take her to torment—’”

The well-read doctor remarked, “That was Joseph Granville’s *Resisting Modern Satanism*. Now you’re quoting Shakespeare’s *The Life and Death of King Richard III*. Your sister’s reading quite the eclectic mix.”

Miles, who had previously lied that Ophelia was his cousin for convenience, stammered, “She, uh, well…”

The doctor cut in, “So, can we get an accurate temperature reading or not?”

Ophelia answered clearly, “‘We must believe in witches, for after all, everyone believes in them. Anything believed by the majority must be true.’”

The doctor nodded thoughtfully. “Hmm? That’s from the theologian Merrick Casubon’s *Credulity and Skepticism*. Quite obscure.”

Miles struggled to keep a straight face, nervously asking, “Sir, how do you know all these book titles?”

The doctor replied, “Coincidence—I’m a classical literature enthusiast.”

He glanced thoughtfully at Ophelia before turning to fetch some fever medicine. Taking advantage of the moment, Miles whispered to Ophelia, “Calm down. We’ve already escaped the International Gang’s base. This doctor shouldn’t be a bad person.”

Ophelia turned her head sharply, her speech clear despite the fever: “But she’s a witch.”

“I’m not,” the doctor said without turning back. “Because whether you look at me from the front or the back, I’m definitely a man.”

Just as Miles was about to apologize, Ophelia suddenly gripped his wrist tightly, her fingertips trembling, and shouted sharply, “Run! Leave here—witches are not welcome here!”

Miles felt a strong vibration where she held his wrist. He could hardly describe it, but the trembling seemed to resonate from his very soul, as if he had been stuffed into a spinning washing machine. For a moment, the world spun and his ears buzzed; he felt as if he had split into two people… no, not just felt.

There was a mirror in the clinic.

Miles turned to look at his reflection—and to his horror, saw a figure clad in red and blue spandex slowly materializing behind him.

It was the phantom of Spider-Man!

Moreover, the apparition was solidifying, about to become a tangible, living being!

Though clueless about what was happening, Miles shivered in fear, made a quick decision, and said to the doctor, “Sorry, I just remembered something urgent. We won’t be needing the fever medicine. Thanks so much, see you next time!”

He swiftly flicked out a web from his palm, snagged the fever medicine from a nearby desk, and half-carried, half-supported Ophelia as they leapt out the window.

The doctor was left standing, puzzled.

Having missed the sight of Spider-Man’s phantom, he saw no one around, grabbed a red helmet from a cluttered corner, popped it on, stripped off his white coat to reveal a chest emblazoned with a red bat insignia, and muttered softly in confusion, “Even if I’m not a real doctor, your vigilance is over the top. That girl was acting crazy—was she faking it?”

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In the alley downstairs, Miles was drenched in cold sweat, carrying Ophelia as they climbed the stairs of the Iceberg Lounge. The building’s roof was jagged and irregular, resembling a craggy iceberg; standing in its midst made it hard for passersby to spot them. Ophelia’s fevered mind cleared a bit during the jostling. She realized they were climbing, then glanced back and saw a stranger climbing the wall behind them like a spider. Her eyes widened slowly as she asked, “...Who is that?”

Panting, Miles replied, “I—I want to know too!”

The ‘Spider-Man’ trailing them cupped a hand to his mouth and called out, “Hey, where are you running? Didn’t you pull me into the parallel universe?”

Miles exclaimed, “Parallel universe?!”

Ophelia asked, “What is a parallel universe?”

You don’t even know what a parallel universe is!

Miles sighed and began explaining from the beginning: this world had countless parallel universes. In most of these, the people were roughly the same, so Spider-Man had numerous counterparts across these universes, varying slightly or greatly. The same was true for Batman, Superman, and even ordinary people.

“In short, parallel universes were once mere sci-fi concepts years ago, but now they’re everywhere.”

Ophelia listened attentively and suddenly asked, “What is sci-fi?”

Miles was momentarily taken aback.

Science, translated as “science,” before the 19th century generally meant knowledge.

Back then, what we now call scientists were known as natural philosophers.

Besides, the first widely recognized sci-fi novel was *Frankenstein*, published in the early 19th century.

Before the Industrial Revolution, people’s understanding of science was too limited to support grounded imagination.

“You’ve read Shakespeare and so many obscure books, but you don’t know what sci-fi is...?”

“But I understood parallel universes,” Ophelia said. “Like Giordano Bruno said, the sun is the center of the universe. There are many identical suns in this world, so there are many versions of us that look nearly the same.”

Miles was speechless. A vague thought about Ophelia’s origins flickered in his mind but escaped capture. He simply answered, “That’s right.”

“So, Spider-Man is your counterpart?” Ophelia glanced back at their pursuer and asked in surprise, “You are Spider-Man?!”

Miles was silent.

He pulled his hoodie over his head, then took out a black mask and put it on, muttering, “It’s a long story! But you—he must be your doing, right? You need to figure out how to send him back. It’ll be trouble if anyone finds out.”

“My doing?” Ophelia looked even more astonished. “Do I really have superpowers?”

She looked like a cat discovering it had grown a tail for the first time—utterly shocked. Then, hurriedly accepting this premise, she said, “Okay, wait, I’ll try...!”

Ophelia grabbed Miles’s wrist again.

He felt the vibration anew.

They watched helplessly as yet another Spider-Man figure materialized behind Miles.

“No, it’s reversed!”

“I know you’re anxious, but don’t rush—I’ll try again!”

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The familiar vibration.

The familiar third figure.

Miles screamed, “Aaaaaah!!”

Ophelia shouted, “Aaaaaah!”

Both were on the verge of collapse. Ophelia yelled, “I’ll try again!”

Miles urged, “You should try adjusting the frequency! Switch from in-phase to out-of-phase!”

Ophelia suddenly empathized with her old father. “Can you please say something I can understand?”

Miles paused, then said, “Go to school! You should go to school!!”

His suggestion was highly constructive—just a little late.

The science-illiterate Ophelia couldn’t adjust the vibration frequency. Now, three Spider-Men from parallel universes stood beside them. These Spider-Men, young and old, male and female, were all very talkative, chattering nonstop around the two local youths. Ophelia’s fever worsened; she reached out to grab Miles again but didn’t get to continue testing if she could send the Spider-Men back—

The owner of the Iceberg Lounge, Gotham’s mob boss, the Penguin, appeared behind them.

He held a black umbrella, twirling his monocle impatiently, and snapped, “Damn it, where did these Spider-Men come from... Spider-Men?! Get them off my roof! I have visitors later!”

A group of well-dressed mob henchmen charged forward at his command.

The Spider-Men fought against Gotham’s criminal syndicate.

Miles and Ophelia crouched weakly on the sidelines, watching the scene.

A long while later, the Penguin’s visitor—the new international gang leader from Metropolis, Galer Esposito—hurriedly took the elevator to the second floor, intending to rescue his unfortunate little sister.

He found a battlefield in disarray, multiple Spider-Men, and Ophelia surrounded in the center.

At that moment, Galer’s first thought was: Is my sister a genius?

He didn’t say it aloud but, with the cold demeanor of a mob boss, strode forward, lifted Ophelia from the crowd—and caught everyone’s attention.

What happened next was what Black Lightning witnessed:

The Penguin fleeing.

Galer trying to take Ophelia away.

Spider-Men attempting to stop them.

And, once again, the helpless Ophelia shed tears: “Daddy! Help me!”

Galer snapped angrily, “What good does calling him do? He wouldn’t care if you lived or died. You might as well call Batman!”

Ophelia’s tears stopped abruptly. She looked at him with contempt and said, “Really? I don’t believe it.”