Peter should have been worried—very worried.
The next morning, when he went downstairs for breakfast, Uncle Ben was holding the Daily Bugle.
The front-page headline screamed in bold type: “MYSTERIOUS CRIMINAL TRASHES BLOCK PARTY.” Accompanying it was a sketch depicting Peter’s outfit from the previous night.
They had barely gotten the eyes right, but everything else made him look like a demon straight out of hell.
The jacket was drawn as if made of jagged scales, and ridiculous sharp claws had been added to his hands.
To be honest, though, Peter was secretly thrilled.
The world knew he was out there, but no one knew who he really was.
The only thing anyone was sure about was the spider logo on his jacket.
People were already calling him “Spider,” which was admittedly fitting.
At school, Harry walked ahead with his head down, followed closely by his father, Norman Osborn.
Peter was standing by his locker when he spotted Norman right away.
Norman noticed him too and flashed a smile that sent a chill down Peter’s spine.
Peter knew from the original memories of this body that he had met Norman before at Harry’s house.
The man possessed an imposing build, his suit hiding a frame packed with explosive power.
Peter’s instinct was to avoid him—or just bolt—but Norman was already walking straight toward him, dragging Harry along.
All Peter could do was take a deep breath, steeling himself for the confrontation.
“Mr.
Parker,” Norman said, extending a hand.
“Dr.
Osborn,” Peter replied, shaking it.
“Surprised to see you here.” Norman raised an eyebrow slightly, impressed that Peter used his title.
“I’m here on a personal matter.
Mind if we find somewhere private to chat?” Peter glanced at Harry, who looked mortified, then nodded and followed Norman out of the school.
They walked around the block, with Harry trailing ten meters behind.
“I have to admit, Peter, you surprised me.
How did you know I earned my doctorate?” “I was Harry’s best friend a year ago.
Back then, I was interested in your research, so I looked you up.
Your paper on mechanical muscle replacement surgery was way ahead of its time.” A flicker of surprise crossed Norman’s eyes.
“You understood it?” “Replacing damaged or dysfunctional muscle with semi-liquid metal.
The process requires injecting nanobots into the affected area to rebuild the system at a cellular level.
But the bottleneck is AI—the nanobots aren’t smart enough to handle complex micro-manipulation.” Norman smiled.
“Very good, Peter.
I appreciate a sharp mind.” Harry, listening from behind, looked completely lost.
“What?” “Not now, Harry,” Norman snapped, frowning, before turning back to Peter.
“You’re a clever young man.
Harry says your grades are always top-tier.
Is that true?” Peter narrowed his eyes.
Norman wasn’t an idiot—he definitely knew his grades.
Why bother with flattery?
Unless…
Peter let out a soft laugh.
“Dr.
Osborn, let’s cut to the chase.
Why are you really here?” “Straight to the point.
Excellent,” Norman smiled.
“Then let me test your brain.
Why do you think I’m here?” “You’re afraid I’ll sue Harry for attacking me last night.” Peter’s voice was calm.
In the distance, Harry flinched.
“You came to make sure I keep my mouth shut.” Norman nodded.
“Harry underestimated you.” “Thanks.
Honestly, the thought crossed my mind, but I decided it was too much hassle,” Peter shrugged.
“Are you sure?
As far as I know, your uncle and aunt are in urgent need of money,” Norman taunted, a slight edge to his voice.
Peter knew Norman was trying to bait him, but he stayed composed.
“Maybe so, but my uncle and aunt have standards.
Taking money like that isn’t right.” “Sacrificing your family’s chance at a better life for the sake of being ‘right’?” Norman stared at him.
“Peter, if doing one wrong thing could save the world and everyone in it, wouldn’t you do it?” Looking at the twisted sense of justice in Norman’s eyes, Peter could practically envision his future madness as the Green Goblin.
“Dr.
Osborn, Earth currently has a population of seven billion, but its carrying capacity is only four billion.
If I were to kill three billion people to save humanity’s future, would you consider that reasonable?” Norman froze.
A moment later, he burst into laughter.
“Peter, I like you more and more.” He pulled a checkbook from his coat, jotted down a string of numbers, tore off the check, and handed it to Peter.
“There aren’t many things in this world I care about, but my son is one of them.
He made a mistake, and I hope you can forgive his stupidity and put this behind us.” Peter looked down at the check.
Twenty thousand dollars.
His throat hitched.
With this money, he could upgrade his spider-suit, buy a top-tier computer, and solve countless problems.
But he couldn’t take it.
He would never accept charity—especially from Norman Osborn.
“Thank you, Dr.
Osborn, but I’ll pass.” Peter pushed the check back.
“This could drastically improve your family’s life.
Is your pride really more important than their struggle?” “You didn’t listen to a word I said.” Peter rolled his eyes.
“I said the means matter just as much as the end.
Put yourself in my shoes—if you were the one at a disadvantage, would you throw away your pride and listen to someone who thought you were worth nothing more than a piece of paper and some ink?
Where’s the Osborn family pride in that?” Norman was struck speechless.
He looked at Peter, then at the check, and suddenly threw his head back with a loud laugh.
“You’re a remarkable young man, Peter.” Norman took back the check and tore it to shreds right in front of him.
“My apologies for insulting you like that.
Since you have no intention of pursuing Harry’s actions, I trust you.
If you ever need anything, feel free to come to me.
Have a good day.” He turned and strode toward the Lincoln parked at the corner, casting a cold glare at Harry before leaving.
“We’ll talk when we get home.” “Yes…
Father.” Harry kept his head down, not daring to look him in the eye.
Watching the luxury car drive off, Peter patted Harry’s shoulder.
“Your dad has a scary vibe.” “You have no idea,” Harry said with a bitter smile.
Peter, of course, had every idea.
…
After school that day, Peter was worked to exhaustion at the dojo by Colleen Wing.
His swordsmanship was already quite refined—his strikes fast and precise.
Though he couldn’t beat Colleen yet, he was already one of the top fighters in the dojo.
Nighttime, basement lab.
Peter rubbed his sore shoulders, his mind consumed by thoughts of money.
Twenty thousand dollars gone, just like that—all to turn down a future nemesis.
It was a solid reason, but the harsh reality was that Aunt May and Uncle Ben were still struggling financially.
Uncle Ben was working two jobs, while Peter spent every spare cent on Spider-Man gear.
He needed to make money.
But how?
His first thought was to invent some high-tech gadget and file for a patent.
With his and original Peter’s combined brilliance, they could certainly come up with something impressive.
But reality quickly doused his enthusiasm: research costs were astronomical, or the concepts were too complex to commercialize.
Even patent application fees ran around three hundred dollars—a sum he couldn’t even scrounge up right now.
Selling photos to the Daily Bugle?
Out of the question.
Print journalism was dying, and with everyone carrying smartphones, swinging around in costume would turn him into a viral meme within three seconds.
Become a white-hat hacker?
Finding server vulnerabilities for corporate bounties?
Peter’s computer skills weren’t quite at that level yet.
Investing in future booming stocks?
Without seed capital, it was a pipedream.
Peter sighed, heading upstairs to ask Aunt May for advice, only to find her glued to the TV screen.
“Aunt May, what’s wrong?” “It’s terrible, Peter!
A fight broke out on the streets!” Aunt May pointed at the screen.
Peter turned to look.
A news broadcast was showing a fierce battle unfolding on Madison Avenue.
On screen, a man clad in metallic armor and a green cape was raising his hands, hurling bolts of lightning.
Moments later, a ball of fire rained down from the sky, slamming into the armored figure.
Yet the man caught the fireball bare-handed and hurled it right back at a massive orange rock monster.
Wait, that was the Thing!
Peter’s pupils dilated.
The green-cloaked figure was Victor von Doom!
And the fireball was Human Torch Johnny Storm!
The Fantastic Four had only gained their powers a few weeks ago, so it seemed Victor von Doom had acquired his powers around the same time.
“Aunt May, I need to head back to school!
I forgot something!
Back in an hour!” Peter yelled, ignoring Aunt May’s calls as he bolted back to the basement.
He quickly suited up in his spider-suit, checked his web-shooters to ensure full ammunition, and slipped out of the house.
He moved swiftly through tree canopies and shadows until he was well away from Queens, then shot a line of web and swung into the night sky.
Ten minutes later, Peter arrived at Madison Avenue.
His heart thudded against his ribs in a mix of excitement and tension.
The Fantastic Four could handle Victor von Doom, right?
They were the main characters—they didn’t need his help.
But no, he had to jump in.
Peter’s eyes sharpened.
He needed to put the name “Spider-Man” firmly into the public eye.
The Fantastic Four were the gold standard of heroes; if he fought alongside them in his debut, no one would question where he stood.
He swung into the high-rise canyons of Manhattan—3D terrain practically built for him.
Just as he rounded the corner onto Madison Avenue, his spider-sense blared in violent warning.
A car was flying toward him like a cannonball, thrown by Victor von Doom.
Peter released his web line without hesitation and landed squarely on the speeding car’s hood.
Shooting webs from both hands to anchor onto the buildings lining the street, he used the tension to rapidly decelerate the vehicle.
Just before the car plummeted, he yanked the webs hard, hurling the car back toward Victor von Doom like an electromagnetic railgun.
“Watch out!” The Fantastic Four turned simultaneously.
Johnny executed a dramatic climb to dodge out of the way, while Peter leaped into midair a split second before impact.
Boom!
The car detonated into a massive fireball upon hitting Victor von Doom.
Crawling down the side of a skyscraper, Peter landed lightly on the street, inwardly impressed.
He hadn’t expected that trick to work so well.
“Holy shit!
That was awesome!” Johnny extinguished his flames and landed next to Peter.
“Who are you, man?” “We’d like to know that too,” Mister Fantastic Reed and Invisible Woman Susan said, walking over.
“Uh…
a friend?” Peter said, spreading his hands.
“I mean, do you have a name?” the Thing, Ben Grimm, asked in a deep, gravelly voice.
Peter pointed at the large spider emblem on his jacket.
“I’m Spider-Man.” “Lame!” Johnny sneered.
“Who wants to be called Spider?” “Oh yeah?
Well, ‘Human Flashlight’ suits you pretty well.” Susan burst out laughing, and the corners of Reed’s mouth twitched upward.
The Thing let out a booming laugh.
“Ha!
Good one, kid!” Rumble!
The burning wreckage was tossed aside, and Victor von Doom stepped out of the flames, his armor completely unscathed.
Peter looked around.
Civilians were huddled in corners, trembling, while news cameras were trained squarely on him.
Perfect—Spider-Man was making his official debut.
“We need to lure him away!
Too many civilians in the crossfire!” Peter called out.
“Anyone got an idea?” Johnny hovered in midair, enveloped in flames.
“His power is plasma, right?” Peter locked eyes on the arcs of electricity dancing over Victor von Doom.
“Correct, and he’s wearing state-of-the-art armor that’s likely as durable as Stark’s,” Reed added.
“The river,” Peter said decisively.
“Get him into the river.
Water will short him out.” “Good idea.
Ben, can you drag him to the East River?” Reed stretched his arms into an offensive stance.
“Leave it to me, Rubber Boy,” the Thing grunted, cracking his knuckles.
“Susan, provide cover.
Johnny, keep him distracted with fireballs!” “Got it!” Johnny zipped straight forward.
“I didn’t say right now!” Reed gritted his teeth, turning to Peter.
“Spider-Man, can you lend a hand?” “Happy to help.” Peter vaulted onto a streetlight and swung into the fray.
“Eat this, Victor von Doom!” the Thing charged like a tank.
“It’s clobberin’ time!” Victor von Doom stood his ground and absorbed the punch head-on.
The pavement shattered beneath his feet, but he merely sneered.
“Still as pathetic as ever, Ben Grimm.” An arc of lightning burst forth, blasting the Thing off his feet and sending him crashing to the ground.