Peter went home directly after taking down the new villain thinking of ways to improve his life and the city's while the shadow forces continued to move against that goal.
His appearance hadn't missed anyone that considered New York their territory.
His power and ability was enough to threaten the balance created that would force them to use higher quality mobs.
One of the boss monsters of this region was Norman Osborn. To many he was also known as a top class businessman and leading figure in New York with his company.
He had his hands in chemicals, pharma, education and weapons.
It was powerful business empire that had started with the man and was spreading beyond the borders of US.
Norman wasn't a simple man and his life wasn't simple either. Naruto had told Peter about him, and many others that could be threats to him. This information was there for him to understand and learn.
As a child, Norman Osborn became obsessed with gaining wealth and power. His father, a failed business inventor who claimed that he was swindled out of his inventions and personal fortune, took out his rage on Norman. It caused hatred for the man inside him and Norman would not allow himself to become a failure like his father, he realized that he could not depend on him for financial security, thus began working after school.
Norman studied chemistry and electrical engineering at Empire State University, and also took a number of courses in business administration. However, he had a cheating apparatus which was reported by one of his friends, Ned Tobolowski, causing him to lose his scholarship and nearly getting expelled. One of his teachers was Professor Mendel Stromm. They became good friends and later formed a business partnership. Since Norman put up the bulk of the financing, they called their company Osborn Chemical (Oscorp).
He married his college sweetheart; Emily Lyman and they had a son Harold "Harry" Osborn. Unfortunately, his wife became ill. After she died, he buried himself in his work and rarely had time for young Harry.
As the co-owner of Oscorp, Norman Osborn, loving wealth and power, decided to take full control and had his business partner Mendell Stromm arrested after he discovered he was committing embezzlement, granting Norman complete control over the company; making him the official CEO of Oscorp. While going through Stromm's notes, he found a secret formula that would make him superhumanly powerful. However, his son, Harry, tired of always being ignored and rejected by his father, switched the chemicals in the serum, causing it to explode in his face. Later, at the hospital, Osborn found himself thinking more clearly than ever before, not knowing that he was slowly going insane.
Attempting to achieve power beyond his wildest dreams, Norman Osborn planned to become the most powerful gang-lord of all by uniting all the independent gangs under his leadership in an attempt to gain control over all of New York's crime.
He had gathered gangs under him with force and even mutants along with super powered individuals with offers of wealth.
His dream of conquering was going well over the 5 years of its beginning but there was obviously a constant thorn making it take longer.
His rival, Wilson Fisk also known as the Kingpin of all crime in NY, owned the gangs and started fighting back once Norman started making too much noise.
New York was a city of giants, a place where the biggest heroes roamed—but only when the stakes were world-shattering.
✔ The Fantastic Four—they faced cosmic threats and interdimensional crises.
✔ The Avengers—focused on global security and alien invasions.
To them, street-level crime was barely a concern.
The only real threats to the underworld's status quo were:
Daredevil – The Devil of Hell's Kitchen, a nightmare for organized crime.
Punisher – A one-man army, relentless in his war against criminals.
Elektra – A deadly assassin who worked on her own terms.
Rogue supervillains – The wild cards, powerful but unpredictable.
And now—there was another name on the list.
A new hero had stepped in.
And he wasn't some rookie stumbling through the streets.
He knew how to fight.
He knew how to win.
And Norman Osborn had taken notice.
Norman was always watching.
The moment Spider-Man took down Supercharger, Norman saw an opportunity.
✔ Supercharger was powerful.
✔ Supercharger was angry.
✔ Supercharger was broken.
A tool—ready to be reshaped and used.
And Norman loved using fools for his plans.
"Bring him to me," he ordered his men.
This new player—Spider-Man—was a problem.
But Norman?
Norman didn't just react to problems.
He twisted them.
He molded them.
He turned them into weapons.
Supercharger had potential, but he lacked direction.
Norman?
Norman could fix that.
Since the Goblin Formula altered his mind and body, Norman had dedicated himself to martial arts and weapon mastery.
✔ He trained relentlessly, ensuring that he was a fighter, not just a businessman.
✔ His physical strength was superhuman—far beyond any normal man.
✔ But hand-to-hand combat wasn't enough.
Which is why Norman built an arsenal.
✔ Advanced weapons developed by his personal research teams.
✔ Cutting-edge tech stolen and reverse-engineered.
✔ Even Stark Industries technology, though outdated, was a starting point.
Norman had stolen Stark's designs.
But he hadn't used them yet.
Because the moment he did—
It would bring down Tony Stark's wrath.
And Norman wasn't ready for that fight.
Not yet.
But of course, that didn't mean he hadn't tried to kill Stark multiple times.
Norman played a long game.
He didn't need victory today.
He needed control tomorrow.
There was one more piece Norman was watching closely.
At Empire State University, Professor Curt Connors was working on a new serum.
One that could regrow limbs.
One that could alter DNA.
Norman knew everything about it.
Because he kept tabs on his old university.
Especially since his son, Harry, was studying there.
Not that he cared about Harry.
Harry was a disappointment.
Norman had zero expectations for him.
But the serum—
The serum was worth watching.
Imagine combining it with the Goblin Formula.
A formula that already gave him strength, speed, and durability.
Now add regeneration.
Now add adaptability.
The thought alone made him smile.
Norman had no intentions of stopping.
New York was his battlefield.
And if Spider-Man wanted to play hero?
Then Norman would reshape the board.
Because this city belonged to him.
And no mask-wearing wannabe was going to change that.
Norman Osborn sat in his luxurious office, high above the streets of New York.
"Where did this spider come from?" he muttered, staring at the latest reports.
A new player had entered the game.
He hadn't directly interfered with Osborn's operations yet—
But it was only a matter of time.
Norman had seen this pattern before.
✔ First, they take down small-time villains.
✔ Then, they start messing with shipments.
✔ Before you know it, they're tearing apart the underworld piece by piece.
Osborn had already driven off one vigilante, but another always took their place.
It was infuriating.
Because only true power—absolute power—could silence them forever.
Norman leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing.
'Galactus.'
The name crossed his mind.
That was true power.
Something that ruled without question.
Something that destroyed without consequence.
And compared to that—
What was a mere Spider?
Norman wasn't a fool.
You didn't become the most dangerous man in New York without knowing how to play the game.
'Maybe I can use him to weaken Fisk?'
Wilson Fisk—The Kingpin of Crime.
His biggest rival.
For years, they had been locked in a silent war, both struggling to control the city's criminal empire.
If this Spider-Man was as strong as he seemed—
Then why not turn him against Fisk?
'Kill two birds with one stone, or will this backfire?'
Norman smirked.
That was the risk with wildcards.
You never knew which way they'd jump.
Better to observe first.
"Track him."
The order was simple—but the execution wouldn't be.
✔ Street cameras.
✔ Surveillance drones.
✔ Criminal informants.
Norman wanted everything on Spider-Man.
His movements.
His methods.
His connections.
Because vigilantes had weaknesses.
They always had someone they loved.
And when the time came, that weakness would be his leash.
While Spider-Man played his little hero games, Norman had bigger ambitions.
The military project at Empire State University—
The serum Dr. Curt Connors was developing—
It was almost ready.
Norman had been waiting for this moment.
✔ The military funded it.
✔ The scientists developed it.
✔ And Norman?
Norman was going to take it.
Not the legal way—of course not.
No, he would steal it.
Because power isn't given.
It's taken.
And soon, Norman Osborn would take everything.
His phone buzzed.
An encrypted line—one reserved for matters of personal importance.
Norman sighed, already knowing who it was about.
He answered.
"What happened?" His tone was sharp, no patience for nonsense.
On the other end, a nervous voice spoke.
"Mr. Osborn, it's about your son. He—uh—got into a fight at the club."
Norman's grip on the glass tightened.
"Where?"
"Inferno Lounge, sir. VIP section. He's fine, but—"
The guard hesitated.
Norman's eyes narrowed.
"But what?"
A gulp came through the line.
"The other guy wasn't. Harry… he lost control."
Norman's jaw clenched.
'That idiot.'
Harry was his only son, but that didn't mean he wasn't a disappointment.
Norman had long since accepted that Harry would never be his equal.
Not in ambition.
Not in intellect.
Not in power.
And now, it seemed, not even in self-control.
He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply.
Then, his voice dropped to a deadly calm.
"Clean it up. Pay off whoever you need to. And bring Harry home."
"Yes, sir."
The line went dead.
Norman exhaled slowly, placing his whiskey glass down.
His son was weak.
And in this world, weakness was nothing more than a liability.
The Inferno Lounge pulsed with heavy bass, neon lights casting shifting shadows across the VIP section.
Harry Osborn sat at his private booth, a glass of expensive bourbon in his hand.
The night was supposed to be uneventful—just another night out to drink, forget, and pretend his life wasn't a complete disaster.
But then he heard it.
"Osborn's just another greedy bastard playing king of the city," a sneering voice muttered from a few seats away.
Harry's jaw tightened.
He knew people talked about his father. Most did. He had grown up hearing the whispers. The rumors. The accusations.
But tonight?
Tonight, he wasn't in the mood to ignore it.
The man, mid-30s, arrogant smirk, leaned in toward his friends, completely unaware that Harry was watching him now.
"Guy pretends he's some brilliant CEO, but we all know what he really is—a glorified thug in a suit. If Fisk wasn't around, Osborn would be crawling on his knees to kiss his ring. He's just playing gangster until someone bigger puts him down."
His friends laughed.
Harry's blood boiled.
He slammed his drink onto the table, chair scraping back as he stood.
"What did you just say?"
The man turned, eyebrows raised in amusement. "And who the hell are—"
Harry punched him across the face.
The man stumbled back, crashing into a table, knocking over drinks.
The entire VIP section froze.
Harry wasn't done.
He grabbed the guy by his collar and slammed him into the nearest wall.
"You talk a lot of shit about my father," Harry snarled, rage twisting inside him like wildfire. "But what the hell have you done, huh? Who even are you?"
The man spat blood, giving a cocky grin.
"Just telling the truth, Osborn," he slurred. "Your old man's nothing but a—"
Harry punched him again.
And again.
His knuckles were aching, but he didn't stop.
Not until he felt hands grabbing him from behind, his father's security team pulling him off.
The man slid to the floor, face bruised and bleeding.
Harry breathed heavily, chest rising and falling as he looked around—saw the staring eyes, the phones recording, the whispers starting.
He knew he'd screwed up.
Again.
But he didn't regret it.
Not one bit.
The club's throbbing bass still pounded in the background, but everything around Harry felt muffled—like he was underwater.
The man he had beaten lay slumped against the wall, groaning, his lip split and blood pooling at his chin.
The security team was still holding Harry back, his chest rising and falling in quick, angry breaths.
His fists ached, knuckles bruised and sore, but he barely noticed.
Then, a familiar voice cut through the tension.
"Whoa, whoa—easy there, rich boy."
A flash of flame and a cocky grin stepped into view.
Johnny Storm.
The Human Torch, the Fantastic Four's resident hothead, and—unfortunately for Harry—his friend.
"Didn't take you for the 'brawling in a club' type," Johnny quipped, hands raised in mock surrender as he approached. "What, did he steal your VIP bottle service?"
Harry glared at him, breathing hard, still wired from the fight.
"He was talking shit about my dad."
Johnny's smirk faltered slightly. He glanced at the bloodied guy on the floor, then back to Harry.
"Yeah, okay," Johnny muttered, rubbing the back of his head. "That's... fair, I guess."
The club was watching—people whispering, phones still recording.
Johnny sighed and stepped between Harry and the scene.
"Alright, everybody! Show's over, thanks for coming!" He threw his arms out dramatically. A small burst of flame flickered in his hands, making some people instinctively back up.
Some snapped out of their trance, putting their phones away and returning to their drinks.
Security finally let go of Harry, but one of them—a tall, bald guy in a sharp black suit—leaned in close.
"Your father will hear about this," he warned in a low voice.
Harry yanked his arm away and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, like he doesn't already have spies watching my every move."
Johnny clapped a warm hand on Harry's shoulder, guiding him toward the bar.
"Come on, let's get you a drink before you torch the place worse than I usually do."
Harry let himself be pulled away, running a frustrated hand through his hair.
"I don't need a drink."
Johnny raised an eyebrow. "No? Because you look like you need about five."
They reached the bar, and Johnny signaled the bartender.
"Whiskey. Neat," Johnny said. "And a soda for my grumpy friend here."
Harry shot him a flat look. "I don't want a soda."
"Yeah? Well, I don't want to be babysitting you while you're drunk and making worse decisions, so suck it up, Osborn."
The bartender placed their drinks down, and Johnny slid the whiskey to himself, nudging the soda toward Harry.
Harry sighed but took the glass.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The fight still lingered in his veins, his fingers tightening around the glass.
Johnny watched him carefully, before finally breaking the silence.
"Look, I get it," Johnny said, voice less playful now. "People say crap about my sister all the time. About my team. And I wanna punch them too. But you know what?"
He swirled the whiskey in his glass.
"I don't. Because they're not worth it."
Harry let out a bitter chuckle. "Easy for you to say. Your family actually gives a damn about you."
Johnny hesitated, but didn't argue.
Instead, he leaned back against the bar, staring at the neon-lit bottles behind the counter.
"Maybe. But that doesn't mean you have to prove anything to anyone, man. Especially not like this."
Harry stared at his reflection in the glass, jaw tight.
"Yeah, well… maybe I'm just sick of everyone thinking my father's weak."
Johnny exhaled through his nose. "Your old man's many things, Harry, but weak ain't one of them."
He took a sip of his drink before grinning slightly.
"And you're not either. You just need to pick your battles better."
Harry stared at his bruised knuckles, flexing his fingers. The pain was dull now, but the frustration burned hotter than ever.
"I don't even know what I'm doing anymore," he muttered, voice low.
Johnny, mid-sip of his whiskey, raised an eyebrow. "Uh-oh. We're going existential now?"
"I'm serious," Harry snapped, rubbing his face. He let out a heavy sigh and leaned against the bar. "I can't live up to anything. Not to my dad. Not to the company. Not even to myself. I'm a failure."
Johnny's smirk faded, and for a second, he actually looked thoughtful.
He put his drink down.
"Alright, listen up, Osborn." He turned to face Harry fully. "You wanna know what I think? Screw expectations."
Harry scoffed. "Easy for you to say, Storm. You're famous. A hero. You've got the Fantastic Four backing you up. You were born for greatness."
Johnny snorted. "Dude, do you know how many times I've been called a reckless idiot? A hotheaded loser who can't think before he acts?" He gestured dramatically. "Spoiler alert: A lot."
Harry didn't answer, just kept staring at his drink.
Johnny sighed and leaned in, his voice quieter now.
"Look, man. I get it. You grew up in your dad's shadow. You feel like no matter what you do, it's never enough."
Harry's grip on the glass tightened.
"But let me ask you this—who do you wanna be?"
Harry blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
"You heard me." Johnny tilted his head. "Not 'who does Norman Osborn want you to be.' Not 'what does the world expect.' Who do you wanna be?"
Harry opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Who did he want to be?
For so long, he had just tried to measure up. To not disappoint his father. To prove himself. But he never stopped to think about what he actually wanted.
"I…" His throat felt dry.
Johnny leaned back with a small nod. "Yeah. That's what I thought."
The silence stretched between them for a moment.
Johnny tapped the bar twice. "Look, you don't have to have all the answers right now. But beating the crap out of some random guy at a club isn't gonna magically make everything better."
Harry let out a breath. "Then what should I do?"
Johnny smirked, but there was no mockery in it this time.
"You start by figuring out who you are—not who people want you to be. And when you do? You stick to it."
Harry looked at him, searching for something in Johnny's expression. But all he saw was genuine confidence.
Maybe Johnny was right.
Maybe it was time to stop chasing shadows.
"Still, what should I do?"