Clark frowned.
Hell’s Kitchen.
He knew that place well—even from his past life, every Marvel story described it as dangerous.
Now that he actually lived in New York…
He realized—
It was even worse than the stories.
He didn’t hesitate.
He pushed open the window and jumped out.
He still hadn’t learned how to truly fly—
But he had practiced it countless times in dreams.
So instead, he moved.
Across rooftops.
Fast enough that even surveillance cameras could only capture a blur.
Hell’s Kitchen.
47th Street.
Ben’s car was parked discreetly nearby.
Hands in his pockets, he walked cautiously toward the meeting point.
From the shadows, a thin man covered in tattoos stepped out, clutching a brown paper bag.
“Did you bring the money?” the man asked nervously, glancing around.
Ben pulled out a thick wad of cash and tossed it over.
“It’s all there.
Is the information real?”
“It’s shipment records from the past month,” the man said greedily, weighing the cash in his hand.
“Even includes buyer lists.”
He handed over the bag.
At that exact moment—
Something shifted in the distance.
High above, Clark stood on a rooftop, taking everything in.
With his vision, he spotted four men in vests, armed with rifles—
Closing in.
Slowly surrounding Ben and the informant.
“So the leak already happened…” Clark muttered.
He moved.
But he couldn’t reveal himself.
He needed to make it look like an accident.
One of the gunmen raised his rifle—
Aimed straight at Ben’s back.
Finger tightening on the trigger.
Clark exhaled.
He didn’t use heat vision—that would expose him.
Instead—
He blew.
Not freezing breath.
Just a powerful gust of wind.
The sudden blast slammed into the gunmen.
The wind knocked them off balance—
And sent a pile of metal pipes crashing down on top of them.
Clang!
Crash!
The pipes smashed into three of them, knocking them out cold.
But one—
More cautious—
Had stayed back.
He avoided the chaos.
“What the hell… was that wind?” the remaining gunman muttered, shaken.
But there was no time to think.
He raised his rifle—
And opened fire.
Clark narrowed his eyes.
Time to act again.
He picked up a small stone from the rooftop.
Weighed it in his fingers.
He couldn’t kill the man—
So he had to control the force precisely.
With a flick of his thumb and middle finger—
He launched it.
Under super strength—
The stone hit harder than a sniper round.
Several shots in rapid succession—
The rifle shattered instantly.
The gunman’s arms and legs were pierced, dropping him to the ground in agony.
“No!
Don’t kill me!” the man screamed.
“I was ordered to do this!
It was Kingpin!”
He had no idea where the attack came from—
Only that surrender might save his life.
He didn’t even look at his unconscious teammates.
This wasn’t loyalty.
This was survival.
He dragged himself to a car—
And fled.
Clark let him go.
That name alone—
Was worth it.
Kingpin.
The king of New York’s underworld.
Ben stayed in cover for a few moments longer.
Then cautiously peeked out.
Unconscious gunmen.
Blood on the ground.
Scattered metal pipes.
He frowned, completely baffled.
“…Did these idiots buy defective guns?
Blew themselves up?”
He shook his head.
“Guess God’s looking out for me tonight.”
From above, Clark watched until Ben safely left.
Only then did he finally relax.
Time passed quickly.
Saturday morning arrived.
The sky over New York was bright and clear.
And standing tall beneath it—
Was Oscorp Tower.
This hundred-story skyscraper stood as one of New York’s defining landmarks.
Ever since Tony Stark disappeared, Oscorp had been aggressively swallowing up market share—on the verge of becoming the largest tech giant in the United States.
Clark and the others stood in front of the building’s revolving doors, looking up.
“This place is ridiculously huge,” Peter muttered, pushing up his glasses.
The camera left by Richard hung around his neck as he looked around excitedly.
“You could fit our entire school inside and still have space left over.”
Today, the girls had clearly put effort into their outfits.
Gwen wore a light blue cardigan paired with a white pleated skirt, her blonde hair tied neatly into a ponytail.
She looked gentle—almost studious.
MJ, on the other hand, wore a denim jacket with denim shorts—full of energy and confidence.
Cindy Moon kept things simple, casual as always.
And then—
The one who drew every eye—
Felicia Hardy.
A fitted black leather jacket, a purple top underneath, silver hair flowing lightly in the breeze—
Paired with her striking looks, she was impossible not to look at twice.
“Morning, everyone,” Felicia said lazily.
She ignored the rest completely—
And walked straight up to Clark.
Without asking, she reached out and adjusted his perfectly fine collar… then leaned in slightly, letting out a soft breath.
Clark froze.
Then immediately pushed her away, stepping back half a step with pure survival instinct.
“G-good morning… Felicia.”
“Fox…” Gwen muttered under her breath, teeth clenched.
In one swift move, she stepped between Clark and Felicia.
Then she turned to Harry, forcing composure.
“So, Harry, when are we going in?
I think everyone’s ready.”
Harry honestly wanted to say:
No rush.
Please, continue.
But their relationship hadn’t reached that level yet.
So he coughed lightly instead.
“Follow me.
My father’s already waiting upstairs.
He’ll personally show us around a few of the top labs today.”
The group followed him through the grand lobby.
After scanning their VIP passes, they entered a high-speed elevator headed for the upper research floors.
Moments later—
The doors opened.
What greeted them looked straight out of a sci-fi movie.
Sterile white corridors.
Researchers in full biohazard suits moving back and forth.
It felt like—
At any moment—
A biohazard outbreak could begin.
At the end of the corridor stood a man.
Dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, every detail perfect.
His hair was neat, his posture straight, a polite smile resting on his lips—
Yet beneath it—
Was unmistakable pressure.
The aura of someone who stood at the top.
This was Harry’s father.
The man who controlled Oscorp.
Norman Osborn.