Dr. Curt Connors fastened the buttons on his shirt with slow, deliberate movements, his reflection staring back at him from the mirror. His face looked more worn than usual... Years of relentless work had etched deep lines into his features. Yet today, as always, the weight of expectation rested heavy on his shoulders.
The pressure… he thought, adjusting his tie. Create a regenerative serum on time, they said. Breakthroughs are rare, they said. Progress? Slow, painstaking, and often fleeting. Yet Norman expects miracles on a tight deadline. Typical.
He moved to the kitchen, his prosthetic arm hanging by his side as he poured himself coffee. The steam curled upward, and for a moment, he allowed himself the brief solace of the warmth in his hand.
Focus. I need to focus on the important parts. That's why I asked Oscorp to get me an assistant. But what do they send me? Not a trained technician, not a postdoctoral researcher. No. A high school boy.
Connors scowled into his coffee, his mind replaying the conversation with Norman Osborn.
The metro rail station was unusually crowded, forcing Connors to wait longer than he liked. He shifted impatiently, checking his watch. His thoughts swirled as he recalled the first day Peter Parker had entered his lab.
"You'll like him," Norman said, practically forcing the boy on me. "A bright mind. A prodigy." Prodigy? Please. What would a teenager know about advanced genetics?
The train finally pulled up, and Connors stepped inside, gripping a pole as the train jerked into motion. His mind continued its tirade.
"I've read all your papers," the boy said on his first day, eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. As if reading my papers makes him an expert! Intelligent as he may be, he's still limited by his high school knowledge. A mere novice playing in a professional's domain.
Connors eventually managed to grab a seat, easing himself into it with a sigh. Yet, despite his initial irritation, he couldn't deny what had been unfolding over the past few weeks.
Day by day, he's proven to be more than just a fanboy. His questions—they're annoying, sure. But they're not entirely baseless. The curiosity is genuine, and the way he asks them… It's calculated. Measured. Just enough to challenge me without outright disrespect.
The cab ride to Oscorp was uneventful, save for Connors' thoughts, which had become increasingly reflective.
The boy's interactions have become harder to dismiss. The way he prepares the lab every morning... Everything meticulously arranged, ready to go. And the cleaning? Impeccable. He's more thorough than some of the graduate students I've had in the past.
Connors stepped into the Oscorp building, nodding briefly at the receptionist before heading to the elevator.
And then there are his observations. At first, they felt like insults... Questioning my efficiency, my methods. A child, barely out of his diapers questioning me? For a moment... Dr.Connors transformed from a mad scientist to an evil Sect Master from isekai novels.
But when I revisited the areas he pointed out… He was right. Each point, carefully chosen. Each one forcing me to rethink something I'd overlooked.
The elevator dinged, and Connors stepped out, swiping his access card against the scanner. The lab doors hissed open, and he donned his lab coat, setting up for the day ahead.
Connors reached for his notebook, only to find a sheet of paper tucked inside that he didn't remember placing there. His brows furrowed as he unfolded it.
The handwriting was unfamiliar, small, neat, and precise. His irritation flared immediately.
Peter… he thought, gripping the paper tightly. That boy scribbled in my notebook? The nerve! I should fire him for this...
He stopped mid-thought, his eyes scanning the notes.
They weren't random scribbles. They were calculations. Adjustments. Suggestions for the Regenerative Serum. Modifications that hadn't occurred to him. Connors' heart quickened as he read further.
He… reduced the side effects? This could work? This could actually work!
His anger dissolved, replaced by a mixture of surprise and grudging respect.
Where is that kid? he thought, pacing the lab. How did he even see this? And how did I miss it?
Connors stared at the paper for a long moment before setting it down carefully on the counter.
It's decided, he thought, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Peter Parker is no longer just some high school intern. From this day forward, he's my official assistant. The boy may be young, but he's no fool. Let's see what he's truly capable of.
Dr. Connors began preparing for the day's work with a renewed energy. For the first time in weeks, he felt something other than frustration. Beneath his hardened exterior, a flicker of hope sparked. Maybe, just maybe, the boy was exactly what he needed to finally complete the serum.
An energetic Dr.Connors grabbed his pen...
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