[Third Person PoV]
"Oh my God, I just remembered…" Aunt May said suddenly, pinching the bridge of her nose with a long, tired sigh as the memory came flooding back.
"Remembered what?" Uncle Ben asked curiously, leaning forward as if preparing himself for a story.
Aunt May, still holding the bridge of her nose as if bracing for impact, lifted four fingers and said gravely, "Four words. Fourth. Grade. School. Play."
"Ah…" Harry, Gwen, and MJ all exclaimed in unison, the same look of dawning realization spreading across their faces. Madeline and George exchanged a glance before snickering under their breath. Uncle Ben gave Peter a sympathetic pat on the back as his nephew's face turned bright red.
Felicia tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. "Okay, I feel like I'm missing something here. What happened during his fourth-grade school play?"
"Well…" Aunt May began, her lips twitching as she tried to keep a straight face. "Let's just say it was… a little too early for him to fit into his big boy pants."
The rest of the room broke into muffled laughter. Gwen was already covering her mouth, Harry had to look away, and even MJ was trying to hide a smile. Peter glared daggers at Aunt May, his jaw tightening.
"Pete here," Gwen began, her voice trembling with laughter, "was chosen as the main character for the school play. Flash, of course, got jealous since he wanted the spotlight. So when it came time to perform in front of everyone—parents, teachers, students—Flash decided to… well…" She took a breath and could barely finish through her giggles. "He pulled down Pete's pants. Right there. In front of the entire audience, who were all recording by the way."
"Pffft—!" Felicia and Lizzy both snorted at once, barely holding it together, while Peter clenched his jaw and ran his tongue across his teeth.
"It wasn't funny then," MJ said, struggling not to smile but failing miserably. "But I can't lie—it's kind of hilarious now."
"Oh, that's not even the best part," Harry chimed in, his grin widening. "Pete here was so mortified and furious that he started beating the crap out of Flash—pants still down and everything."
Aria was now covering her mouth with both hands, trying to stifle her laughter, but the mental image had already done her in. George leaned back, clearly enjoying Peter's torment.
"Ben and I had to sprint onto the stage," George said between chuckles, "and physically pull him off before he could throttle the poor kid to death."
Peter's expression went completely flat as he stared at George, who looked entirely too pleased with himself, clearly savoring the poetic justice after the earlier teasing.
"Well," Lydia said with a soft chuckle, "that would certainly explain his fear of public speaking."
Felicia reached out and patted Peter's shoulder, her grin playful. "Don't worry, Tiger," she said between giggles, "When you go out in front of everyone, we'll make sure Flash is nowhere in sight. Promise."
Peter gave her a deadpan stare. "I'm leaving. You guys are assholes." He shrugged her hand off and started walking toward the door.
That, of course, only made everyone laugh harder.
"I'd rather be outside with them," Peter said in a monotone voice as he left the room, "than stuck in here with you animals."
As he walked down the hall, Janice quietly followed behind, snickering under her breath. Peter whipped his head around instantly, and she froze like a statue—expression suddenly blank and professional.
He resumed walking, only to hear her stifled giggle again. He turned once more, catching her mid-smirk. She instantly straightened, her expression once again composed and unreadable.
Peter stopped beside her, stepping a little too close. His eyes narrowed. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple as she tried to maintain her composure.
"Laugh. I dare you…" he warned, his tone low and dangerous.
"I don't know what you mean, boss," Janice said coolly, without an ounce of amusement present. "Is something supposed to be funny?"
Peter studied her for a moment, then scoffed. "You're good… but I've got my eye on you."
He turned and started down the stairs. Janice remained at the top, perfectly still until he disappeared from view—then exhaled a long, shaky sigh of relief before finally letting out the laugh she'd been holding in.
…
As Peter stepped outside, he was immediately assaulted by the sound of camera shutters snapping in rapid succession and the blinding strobe of flash photography. The lights flickered across his vision, each one stabbing at his oversensitive senses and making him instinctively squint. He inhaled through his nose, steadying himself, trying not to flinch at the chaos of sound and movement around him.
Behind him, the doors opened again and his friends and family filtered out, forming a loose semicircle of moral support. They exchanged worried glances, some whispering under their breath as they watched Peter walk toward the podium at the center of the stage. Even from a distance, they could tell he was tense — the stiff shoulders, the shallow breaths — but he moved with a calm purpose that surprised them all.
Peter tapped the microphone once, twice, causing a sharp echo to ripple across the plaza. "Testing, testing — one, two, three. Can everyone hear me?"
A murmur of acknowledgment rose from the crowd as heads nodded and cameras continued to click. Peter adjusted the microphone a little higher, cleared his throat, and offered a small, almost bashful smile.
"I'm sure many of you already know who I am," he began, his voice carrying with surprising steadiness, "but for those who don't — allow me to officially introduce myself. My name is Peter Benjamin Parker, Owner and CEO of Parker Industries."
A few more flashes went off as he spoke. Peter leaned forward slightly against the podium, his smile softening into something more natural and playful.
"Now, I'm not exactly the kind of guy who enjoys being in front of cameras," he admitted with a light chuckle. "Public appearances like this aren't really my thing, so I'll be honest — I'm a little nervous up here. So with that I'll only say this… you all look fantastic in your underwear."
The crowd erupted into laughter. The tension broke. Even the more stoic reporters cracked smiles, their pens pausing mid-note. Peter's charm, casual posture, and boyish grin did the rest.
Behind him, his friends and family exchanged looks of disbelief.
'Wait, this is him being nervous?' Lydia thought, eyebrows twitching.
'He's a natural…' Felicia added silently, lips curling upward in pride and irritation.
Meanwhile, Peter's internal monologue told a very different story. 'God, I can't feel my legs. Did my knees just give out? Okay, cool, just… lean casually, no one please notice…'
He took a steadying breath before continuing, his tone shifting slightly — from lighthearted to earnest.
"The reason I decided to make this rare exception — to step out and personally present this project — is because of how deeply it means to me," Peter said. "F.E.A.S.T. isn't just a project or an initiative. It's something personal. It's a way for me to give back to the community that gave me everything — the one I grew up in."
He paused and smiled toward the crowd. "It's no secret where I'm from. I'm just a kid from Midtown Queens. That's where I was raised, and it's still where I go to school. I come from humble beginnings — raised by none other than my Aunt May and Uncle Ben, who worked themselves to the bone to make sure I had the chance to become who I am today."
Peter gestured toward the pair standing proudly behind him. Aunt May gave a small, graceful wave while Uncle Ben smiled warmly beside her. The crowd's attention briefly turned their way as more cameras flashed.
"When we're kids," Peter continued, "we all tell ourselves the same thing at some point — 'When I grow up and have money, I'm going to help people. I'll give to charity, I'll help the homeless man I walk by every day.' We make those promises with our hearts wide open, with that pure belief that we can change the world."
He paused, his tone softening. "But as we grow older, reality sets in. Life gets complicated. You have bills to pay, families to take care of. Time becomes a luxury, and money feels like it's never enough. You start to believe that helping everyone — or even helping anyone — is a fantasy. You tell yourself that's just part of growing up, of becoming an adult."
Peter's lips curved into a faint, knowing smirk. He gave a short, amused breath through his nose before continuing.
"But here's the thing…" he said, his voice steadying again. "I'm still young. I'm still naive. I still have a lot of growing up to do. And maybe, just maybe, that's a good thing."
He leaned forward slightly, eyes sweeping across the audience. "People say being naive — or being young — are weaknesses. But I think they're the exact opposite. I think they're strengths. Because it means I can still believe in impossible things. It means I can still dream — and still act on those dreams before the world tells me not to."
Peter smiled again, the faintest glimmer of emotion flickering behind his eyes. "And that's what F.E.A.S.T. represents. It's the dream of a kid from Queens who still believes he can make a difference — no matter how unrealistic it sounds."
The crowd fell silent for a brief moment, the weight of his sincerity hanging in the air before the applause began — hesitant at first, then growing in warmth and volume.
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