The neural link hums to life as I settle into SP//dr's cockpit, Tokyo's neon skyline stretching endlessly below us. Another anomaly detected—something's torn through the fabric between realities again, and the familiar weight of responsibility settles on my shoulders like an old coat.
"Just another Tuesday in the multiverse," I mutter, fingers dancing across holographic controls that respond to my thoughts as much as my touch. The spider that bit me years ago stirs in its containment unit, our psychic bond pulsing with shared purpose. Dad always said this job would be lonely, but he never mentioned how exhausting it gets, constantly switching between homework and saving existence itself.
The dimensional readings are getting stronger. Whatever's coming through isn't like the usual glitches—this feels personal, deliberate. SP//dr's systems sync perfectly with my heartbeat as we launch into the night, web-shooters ready. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to just be a normal teenager, but then I remember: normal teenagers don't get to protect infinite worlds. And honestly? Despite everything, I wouldn't trade this bond, this purpose, for anything. Even if it means facing the unknown alone... again.
