[Peter's POV]
—Midtown High School—
As I made my way to Midtown High, my thoughts kept circling back to this morning's incident. The memory of Danny Rand pinning Colleen Wing against that wooden pillar lingered like a bad itch I couldn't scratch. I wasn't sure why it bugged me so much—jealousy wasn't something I let myself feel—but I couldn't ignore it.
"Peter!"
Gwen's voice, full of her usual enthusiasm, snapped me out of my spiralling thoughts.
I turned around to see her jogging toward me, her radiant smile lighting up her face. Alongside her was her father, George Stacy, exuding his usual calm and serious demeanour.
"Good morning, sir!" I greeted George with a respectful nod.
He gave me a quick once-over, his sharp eyes catching more than I'd like to admit. "You've changed a lot since I last saw you, kid," he remarked, his tone calm yet firm.
Then, almost under his breath, but loud enough for my enhanced senses to catch, he muttered, "No wonder my daughter likes you."
I couldn't help the grin that tugged at my lips.
"I get that a lot, sir," I said, my tone just the right mix of confidence and self-awareness.
"It's been a while, but I'm working hard to be a better person," I added with that trademark innocent charm that always put people like George at ease. I knew how to play the part of Peter Parker—there was no harm in leaning into the image.
George let out a small chuckle, but his expression turned serious again.
"Good," he said. "But remember, this city's more dangerous than ever. Two new vigilantes are already running around, and things could get messy fast." He patted my shoulder firmly—both a gesture of trust and a word of caution—before turning to leave.
Once her dad was out of sight, Gwen turned back to me with a warm smile, her curiosity piqued.
"Missed you, Peter… and yesterday was such an amazing day," she said, stepping forward to hug me.
Her hugs always caught me off guard. They were so casual, yet so comforting—like she didn't realise how much they meant to me. Arms around her slim waist, I let the tension in my shoulders ease for a moment.
"Well, Ghost-Spider," I teased with a playful grin, "look at you now—an actual superhero."
She laughed, the sound so genuine it was impossible not to smile along with her.
Unable to resist, I leaned in and kissed her neck lightly, inhaling the faint, floral scent that always seemed to follow her.
"You know," I murmured,
"it always feels good when I hug you."
Her cheeks flushed as she whispered hurriedly, "Peter, they're watching."
"Let them," I said with a shrug, holding her just a little longer, savouring the moment until I was satisfied.
"Geez! Don't do that in front of everyone!" she protested, though her slight smile betrayed that she didn't entirely mean it. Gwen had always been a mix of confidence and awkwardness—brilliant and composed in her scientific endeavours, yet endearingly unsure of herself in moments like this.
Smiling, I pulled out the modified phone I'd worked on the night before and handed it to her. "Here. I made sure this is completely secure. Your identity's safe now, but you still need to be careful. And no reckwith lessness," I added, my tone firm.
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, the scientist in her questioning my work. "Are you sure about this?"
"Of course," I said with confidence, though a part of me couldn't ignore the fact that this world was full of genius hackers. "No one will be able to trace or hack it. But like I said, always stay cautious."
She examined the phone for a moment, then nodded. "Alright, I trust you."
We walked into the hallway, the buzz of student chatter filling the air. It was alive with rumours about the Eternal Spider and Ghost-Spider—the new superhero duo. Gwen seemed a little flustered by the attention, which wasn't surprising considering how modest and grounded she was, but I could see the pride flickering behind her eyes.
As we walked through the crowded halls, I couldn't help but notice the lingering stares. Whispers followed us, but I knew they weren't about us—at least, not directly.
"I wonder what they'd say if they knew the truth," I murmured, smirking.
"Let's hope they never find out," Gwen replied quietly, her sharp gaze scanning the hall. She looked slightly uncomfortable, but there was an underlying pride that she couldn't hide.
We passed by a familiar group near the lockers. Liz Allen, effortlessly stylish in a fitted green jacket and jeans, was holding court as usual. Her warm brown eyes sparkled with excitement as she spoke, her curls bouncing with every animated gesture.
"Did you guys see how Eternal Spider rescued that woman from the burning building?" Liz said, her voice filled with genuine awe.
"And the way Ghost-Spider carried those kids out of the fire? It was like something out of a movie," she added, clearly impressed.
Betty Brant, usually quiet but sharp as a tack, nodded as she clutched her notebook. "It's not just that they're strong—they're smart, too. Did you see how they worked together? They're not amateurs."
MJ leaned against the lockers, arms crossed, red hair framing her freckled face. Despite her casual stance, her voice betrayed her excitement. "Eternal Spider's moves were insane. The way he used his webs? It's like he's been doing this forever."
Flash Thompson, standing next to Liz, visibly stiffened. His arm rested possessively on Liz's shoulder, but his scowl was a dead giveaway of his irritation. "Oh, come on. They're just show-offs in costumes," he scoffed. "Bet they're loving all this attention."
Liz turned sharply, her brows furrowed in disapproval. "They're saving lives, Flash. Why are you always so negative about everything?"
Flash shrugged, trying to play it cool. "I'm just saying. People like that… they're dangerous. They think they're better than everyone else."
The jab landed. Flash's face turned red, and he looked away, muttering something under his breath.
Harry Osborn stood nearby, his arms crossed and lips pressed into a thin line. His usually composed demeanour was cracking as MJ continued to gush.
"Eternal Spider's so confident," MJ said, glancing at Betty. "He just dives in with no hesitation. You've got to respect that."
Harry's jaw tightened. "Confidence is one thing. Recklessness is another," he replied, his tone clipped. "They're bound to screw up eventually. Heroes like that always do."
MJ turned to him, her green eyes flashing. "At least they're trying. What do you think we should do, Harry? Sit around and wait for someone else to fix everything?"
Harry's silence spoke volumes.
I leaned closer to Gwen and whispered, "This is better than TV."
Gwen rolled her eyes, but I saw the faintest smile tug at her lips.
As we walked away, I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction. Midtown was buzzing with excitement, their daily lives momentarily interrupted by the arrival of the city's newest heroes. But deep down, I knew that the attention came with a price.
"Think they'll still admire us if they knew how messy things get behind the scenes?" Gwen asked quietly.
"Probably not," I replied with a smirk. "But who cares? Let them have their heroes."
"Morning, Peter!" MJ called out as we passed by her.
"Hey…" I greeted her, but I was already turning to leave. Honestly, I didn't like getting tangled up with high school drama.
"Wait… what do you think of Eternal Spider?" Liz asked, drawing the attention of the whole group. I noticed MJ staring at me, which only seemed to intensify the jealousy bubbling on Harry's face. Whether he was her so-called boyfriend or not, I didn't care.
"Eh?… Mhm…" I paused, then replied, "They're new heroes, and honestly, I admire their selfless act of saving people." I turned to Gwen, who was doing her best to keep her expression neutral.
…
….
The school was always dull for me. For someone like me—a genius trapped in a room full of average minds—it felt like torture. But I kept my cover intact; it was necessary for the bigger picture. My thoughts, though, kept straying to the morning, to Gwen's flustered face, and to MJ and Harry, who were still arguing. Students were comparing Eternal Spider to the Fantastic Four, and some even suggested we might be mutants, which was kind of hilarious. If we were mutants, there would already be a bald professor knocking on our door.
After the final bell rang, I caught Gwen's eye as we walked out of class.
"I'll text you tonight with the details," I whispered before turning to leave. Gwen opened her mouth as if to say something, but I quickened my pace, leaving her behind.
I headed straight to Oscorp, where I'd been working on a project using Dr. Connors' lizard serum as a base to develop something new—a serum capable of healing minor wounds. It wasn't purely altruistic; it was for those I cared about or might need to rely on in the future.
Dr. Connors had been trying to stabilize his original serum, something I'd subtly nudged him toward during my previous visits. While I couldn't openly intervene, planting the right ideas at the right time? That was my specialty.
Flashing my ID badge at the receptionist, I made my way to Connors' lab. My enhanced senses picked up voices—an argument—long before I reached the door.
Inside, Norman Osborn's voice cut through the air like a knife.
"Connors, do you think I'm finding excuses? This isn't a charity," he snapped, his sharp eyes narrowing as he paced the room with a predator's intensity. His tailored suit only added to his aura of control and authority.
"Norman, these aren't excuses," Connors shot back, his frustration clear. He stood by his desk, one hand gripping its edge while the other—the one still intact—gestured animatedly. "The failures stem from instability in the e serum. I've been analyzing—"
"and Iand don't care about your analysis," Norman interrupted, his tone low and menacing. "I care about results. Investors are breathing down my neck, the board is questioning my leadership, and if you can't deliver, I'll find someone who can."
Connors' jaw tightened, his face lined with exhaustion. The man was driven by science, not corporate deadlines, and the toll of balancing both was visible in his weary eyes. "Norman, the serum isn't ready for human trials. The mutant experiments were catastrophic—organ failure, brain degeneration—it's not stable."
Norman stopped pacing, turning to face Connors with a cold, calculating smile. "Then stabilize it. Use better subjects. Rats, mutants, humans—it doesn't matter to me. The only thing that matters is progress. If you don't give me something usable soon, I'll pull your funding and hand your work to someone who will."
Connors' frustration boiled over. "Do you think this is easy? You bark orders from your office while I'm here trying to piece together miracles! This isn't a Corporate takeover, Norman—it's science!"
Norman's smile disappeared, his gaze turning icy as he stepped closer to Connors. His presence was suffocating. "Let me make one thing clear, Doctor: this is business. Science is just a means to an end. If you don't understand that, you're in the wrong line of work."
Connors clenched his jaw, his knuckles white as he gripped the desk. He knew arguing further would be futile.
Norman adjusted his tie, his voice turning patronizingly calm. "You have one month, Connors. Show me results, or you'll find yourself out of a job—and out of options."
With that, he turned toward the door—and saw me standing in the hallway.
"Peter Parker," he said, his tone shifting to something more curious. His sharp eyes studied me, dissecting every detail. "Harry's old friend, if I'm not mistaken?"
I nodded, forcing a polite smile. "Yes, sir."
Norman's thin lips curled into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "A bright mind, full of potential. You remind me of myself at your age." He paused, his gaze sharpening. "I wish Harry had your focus. Such a disappointment, don't you think?"
The jab at Harry was unexpected, but I masked my reaction. "Harry has his own strengths," I replieplomatically.
Norman chuckled, though the sound was devoid of warmth. "Perhaps. But strength without direction is wasted." He clapped a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm and possessive. "I like ambitious young men, Peter. Don't squander yours."
As he walked away, I let out a slow breath. Norman Osborn was like a storm—unpredictable and dangerous.
Inside the lab, Dr. Connors looked up as I entered, relief and exhaustion etched into his face.
"Peter. I'm glad you're here," he said, gesturing to his chaotic spread of notes—formulas, diagrams, and calculations strewn across the desk. "We've got a lot to do."
I nodded and stepped closer, but my mind lingered on Norman's parting words. His relentless pressure on Connors, his disregard for ethics, his obsession with results—it painted a picture of a man willing to cross any line to achieve his goals.
And if I wasn't careful, I could find myself tangled in his web.