Peter Parker’s Good Habit

Kraft didn’t know whether this was the Black police officer acting on his own initiative or someone behind the earpiece pulling the strings, but he definitely couldn’t sell it.

"I’m afraid that won’t work." Kraft spread his hands and continued spinning his tale. "This bug has one fatal flaw: its signal isn’t very strong. You have to set up a fairly large receiving station, and I can only receive its transmissions in my own lab. Not only is that receiving station expensive, but each one can only correspond to a single bug, so this thing is actually a failed product."

Kraft wasn’t lying. The ones he made himself naturally didn’t have those flaws—they were compact, portable, and had a solid signal. But the bugs other people made by following Kraft’s steps had terrible signal strength, so setting up a large receiving station was necessary. Of course, distance didn’t matter much if they were close enough, but then there wasn’t much difference between them and the bugs already on the market.

After a brief pause, Kraft continued, "Still, if your police department is willing to spend the money, I can make one for you. I just don’t think it’s very cost-effective."

"Ah, all right then." The Black police officer shrugged. "I’ll report it to our boss afterward. As for whether he’s willing to pay for it, that’s not something a little cop like me gets to decide."

The Black police officer turned a page in his already-filled notebook and continued asking, "What about that skateboard you rode here? Solar-powered skateboards on the market aren’t that fast."

"Because of safety concerns…" Kraft looked at the Black police officer as though he were an idiot. "Most users of solar-powered skateboards and wheelchairs are minors or disabled people. What if they got into an accident after the speed limiter was removed? The lawsuits alone could bankrupt Dream Company, believe it or not."

"Uh… all right, you do have a point…"

The Black police officer scratched his smooth bald head, accepting Kraft’s explanation.

"And that pacemaker you used to save Mr. Parker—was that also your invention?"

"Yep. A portable pacemaker. Too bad it has a major flaw, so it can’t be sold."

"A major flaw? Didn’t you already use it to save Mr. Parker?"

The Black police officer asked curiously.

"Uh… all I can say is that Uncle Ben was indeed very lucky." Kraft rubbed his nose with an embarrassed laugh. "That thing isn’t very stable yet. It might explode."

"It can explode?!"

The Black police officer had yet to react, but Peter Parker, standing nearby, jumped to his feet.

"How dare you use something so dangerous on Uncle Ben!"

"Bullshit! Uncle Ben wasn’t even breathing at the time! What else was I supposed to do besides gamble on this?!"

Kraft shouted back with complete righteousness once again, and Peter Parker wilted once more.

In the end, Uncle Ben had been saved by Kraft. And Kraft had risked an explosion to save him. Peter, who was clearly in the wrong, had no standing to criticize Kraft.

Having thought it through, Peter Parker meekly apologized and thanked him again. "Sorry, Kraft. Thank you so much."

But Kraft didn’t give him a friendly look. Instead, he turned to the Black police officer and began actively pitching the Goblin Pacemaker XL, following Angela’s plan.

"Actually, if your police department wants it, that’s no problem. It’s a little dangerous, but in a critical moment, it still has a chance of saving someone."

Kraft held up his thumb and index finger a tiny distance apart.

"At most, this thing will blow off one or two fingers and cause some minor burns. Wear protective gloves or something when using it, and that problem is easily solved."

"Ahahaha… we’ll pass on that," the Black police officer said with a dry laugh, rejecting Kraft’s sales pitch. "New York cops may be tired most of the time, but we mostly deal with trivial matters. We don’t often face life-threatening situations, so we probably won’t need your portable pacemaker."

"Is that so? Suit yourself." Kraft shrugged indifferently. "If you ever need one, you can contact me again."

The police refusing was something Angela had calculated long ago. Even if they needed emergency treatment equipment, they couldn’t possibly use something that might explode. If the public found out, the NYPD commissioner and everyone responsible would be in deep trouble. As for the military or intelligence agencies lurking behind the scenes, they wouldn’t lack emergency measures with fatal flaws.

"That’s it, then." The Black police officer closed his notebook, took a small booklet from his pocket, and handed it along with his pen to Kraft. "Please sign it, and write that it’s for Hawk and Andy. If possible, it’d be best if you could add the words, ‘You have a good father.’"

That familiar, pushy attitude… this cop’s Black heritage was apparently very pure.

Kraft curled his lip discreetly, but he still wrote everything the Black police officer had requested. Compared to most Black fathers, the man before him had become a police officer and still remembered his children’s interests. He really did count as a good father.

Still, Kraft was somewhat surprised. The man hadn’t asked about the adrenaline at all. Maybe the hospital hadn’t discovered anything special about the adrenaline he had injected? It seemed this hospital’s medical standards—or rather, the technical level of the intelligence department meddling behind the scenes—were only so-so.

After the Black police officer left, Kraft raised his chin and looked at the uneasy Peter Parker.

"You think you’re pretty impressive now, huh? You actually dared to fight in underground boxing matches? I’m definitely telling Aunt May and Uncle Ben. Just wait till you’re dead!"

"Don’t, Kraft!"

Peter Parker gave him a flattering, ingratiating smile.

"There’s no need to tell them about something this minor, right? I only wanted to help ease their financial burden. Who knew something like this would happen…"

"Hmph! I heard it all. You clearly had the ability to take your wages back yourself, but you didn’t dare do it. Instead, you let a robber vent your anger for you. You’re really something else, Peter Parker!"

"But… wouldn’t that make me just like that robber…?"

Peter tried to argue weakly. To be honest, Kraft not pursuing the matter of him deliberately letting the robber go surprised him a little and secretly relieved him. Compared to Kraft calling him pathetic…

Well, hadn’t he gotten used to that long ago?

"Are you stupid?!" Kraft pointed at his nose and cursed furiously. "That was money you earned yourself! How could it be the same?! You’d still be in the right even if this lawsuit went all the way to the ends of the earth!"

Although Peter Parker felt that no court would accept a case involving an underground boxing job, he wisely didn’t argue. Instead, he hunched his neck like a quail and put on an aggrieved expression.

The sight made anger surge in Kraft’s heart.

"I don’t care why you suddenly became so good at fighting. But if you drag Uncle Ben or Aunt May into this kind of bullshit again, just see how I deal with you! Don’t think I can’t do anything to you just because you’ve gained a little ability!"

Right in front of Peter Parker, Kraft switched on his wristguard and slapped the table beside him, splitting it in two.

"Did you hear me?!"

"I-I heard you!"

Although that level of strength was nothing in Peter Parker’s eyes, Kraft’s invention still gave him quite a scare. Besides, he really was in the wrong here, and Kraft had far too much dirt on him. He could only obediently admit defeat.

Anyway, it wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. He would get used to it.