"Kingkong was wearing a Yankees baseball cap, casually chatting with his friends about the latest news.
"Harry's lab got bombed. I wonder if he's okay," one of them said.
"Who knows? I'm not really interested in the problems of a second-generation rich kid," another responded indifferently.
Flash Thompson stretched, shifting the football in his left hand to his right. As he did, his gaze landed on Kingkong T-shirt. The white fabric had a striking black spider emblem printed on the front.
With a raised eyebrow, Thompson stepped closer, pointing at the design. "Where'd you get that?"
"In front of a Mexican stall," Kingkong replied, grinning with pride. "Looks cool, right? Spider-Man's become a fashion icon."
Thompson hesitated for a moment before he scoffed, "Tch, lame." But then, almost instinctively, he muttered, "Can you get me one?"
Kingkong smirked and rubbed his bald head. "Yeah, but only if you take me to Liz's party."
Thompson narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing him. "Which girl are you after? Elizabeth? Gloria? Or…" He smirked. "Do you actually think you have a shot with Liz Allan? Hate to break it to you, but not only is she out of your league, her mom once dated a woman."
Kingpin rolled his eyes. "Of course not Liz."
Thompson considered his options for a moment before sighing. "Fine. You get me two more shirts, and I'll bring you along."
"Deal," Kingkong said with a satisfied nod.
As they continued down the hallway, their conversation faded into the background.
Not far away, Peter Parker quietly slipped his schoolbag into his locker, his enhanced hearing picking up every word of their exchange. He stood still for a moment, processing the information. Then, shaking off his thoughts, he turned toward the classroom.
Before he could take more than a few steps, a familiar voice called out to him.
"Hey, Peter!"
He turned to see Liz Allan standing in front of him, a flyer in her hand.
"You coming to the party this weekend?" she asked, holding it up. "It's a superhero-themed masquerade. Everyone's hyped about it."
Peter glanced at the flyer but shook his head. "Sorry, not interested in superheroes."
Liz frowned. "C'mon, you might get some scientific inspiration from it," she pressed, knowing his passion for science.
"Probably not," Peter said flatly, confused by her persistence.
Liz pursed her lips before switching tactics. "Okay, then how about this—let me interview you?" Her expression brightened. "My new channel, Miss Liz's Pursuit of Strangeness, just hit ten thousand subscribers!"
Peter's brow furrowed. "That sounds familiar…"
Liz beamed. "It should! I borrowed the name from Kraven the Hunter's Pursuit of Strangeness! But honestly, that show isn't my favorite. I prefer Carol Teaches You to Cook."
Peter sighed, already tired of the conversation. "Not interested in being criticized on camera."
"Aww, don't be so quick to turn me down!" Liz pulled a small notebook from her pink bag and flipped through it. "Here, check this out—'From School Bully Victim to the Feared Grim Reaper.' Cool, huh? People keep calling you 'Death God' lately. I mean, from Josh's death to that crazy hospital incident… Death seems to follow you."
Peter's expression darkened. "Their deaths had nothing to do with me, Liz."
"Fine, we can focus on bullying instead," she said quickly, flipping through her notes. "Maybe we start with the Lumple case? Or the Frick case? Or—oh! How about District 4 v. David? Do you know about that one?"
Peter just stared at her, unimpressed.
Liz didn't seem to notice his disinterest. "George Kramer, the vice principal of District 4 Union High, actually cut a student's hair himself. Later, he quit and started working for an insurance company. The school district ended up paying $7,000 in damages—about $1,000 per strand of hair!"
Peter rolled his eyes and pointed at her bag. "Your bag's got a hole."
Liz blinked. "Huh?"
She quickly looked down at her designer bag, eyes widening when she saw the tear at the bottom. Her belongings were dangerously close to spilling out.
Muttering a curse, she scrambled to fix it, momentarily distracted.
Peter took the opportunity to slip away. He felt no remorse for damaging her bag. The more bad things he did, the easier they became.
He reached the classroom door and glanced down the corridor, spotting a familiar face approaching.
"Harry."
Harry Osborn was dressed in an orange turtleneck sweater, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. His expression was heavy with worry.
Hearing his name, he looked up, forcing a small smile when he saw Peter.
"You okay?" Peter asked.
"I'm fine," Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Gwen isn't here yet?"
Peter shook his head. "She's been coming to class at the last second lately."
"Yeah…" Harry muttered, looking down. "She never used to do that."
Peter observed him carefully. Something was off.
"Is your dad okay?"
Harry inhaled sharply. The explosion at Oscorp Labs had been all over the news, but Peter still didn't know exactly what had happened.
Norman Osborn—the infamous Green Goblin—wasn't someone who would go down so easily.
"He's still in the hospital," Harry admitted, his brow furrowed. "He was at the lab when it happened."
Peter's eyes narrowed. "And the doctors?"
"They say he's stable," Harry said, running a hand through his hair. "But the burns are bad."
Despite his complicated feelings about his father, Harry didn't want this. He even regretted some of the things he had said before the explosion.
"It'll get better," Peter assured him.
Harry gave a weak nod, then hesitated.
"Sometimes I feel like a failure," he confessed quietly.
Peter stopped walking. "What?"
Harry sighed, lowering his head. "I've never been what my dad wants me to be. I disappoint him, and now, when he actually needs help, I can't do anything."
Peter stayed silent, letting him talk.
"I used to joke that you'd become a great scientist, and guys like Thompson would end up working for you," Harry said with a small, bitter smile. "But me? I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with my life. What value do I even have?"
Peter didn't respond right away.
Harry took a deep breath, shaking his head. "Sorry. I shouldn't have dumped that on you."
He quickly composed himself. "I just came to check in on you and Gwen. Tell her I'm okay."
With that, Harry turned and walked away.
Peter watched him go, his frown deepening.
Something wasn't right.