My legs moved before my brain caught up. I remember the weight of everyone's eyes burning into my back—Flash was probably smirking somewhere behind me, enjoying the show.
I picked up the marker, staring at a set of incomplete formulas describing neural signal transmission into mechanical actuators—prosthetics.
Brilliant. Elegant. But stuck. He'd hit a wall.
The thing is—I had lived this before. With the knowledge I carried, all the mistakes and breakthroughs I already knew were coming, I saw the missing piece instantly.
My hand began to move across the board, sketching out the correction, aligning the theory with a more efficient conduction model.
The sound of the marker against the whiteboard echoed through the room, each stroke tightening the silence around me.
When I finally stepped back, the classroom was utterly still.
Dr. Octavius tilted his head, eyes narrowing in sharp focus as he studied the solution.
For a flicker of a second,
I swear I saw real surprise in his expression—an almost childlike wonder buried beneath the layers of intellect.
Then, slowly, he smiled. It wasn't the warm kind of smile teachers usually give students. No, this one was sharp, curious, maybe even a little hungry.
"That is… amazingly insane."
Otto turned toward me, his gaze heavy with curiosity. "How did you come up with this?"
I simply tapped the marker against my temple, then clicked my tongue like a ticking clock. The little sound echoed in the room, drawing a few confused looks from my classmates.
"Peter, right?" Otto asked, adjusting his glasses as if he wanted to get a clearer look at me. "How about coming here on the weekends? I'd like to ask more about this."
I nodded, unable to hide a small grin tugging at my lips. "Sure, Mr. Octavius. After all, intelligence is not a privilege—it's a gift. And we use it for the good of mankind."
Otto's eyes widened at the words, his lips parting slightly. That quote—it was something he had once given meaning to, before the man became Doctor Octopus.
"Otto, old friend!"
The voice broke the charged moment. The class and I turned as the lab door swung open.
Striding in with confident steps was Norman Osborn. Not the Green Goblin. Not yet, at least. But still every bit the imposing presence he would one day become.
At his side walked a woman—a silver-haired beauty who drew the eyes of half the room instantly.
Felicia Hardy.
Mature, poised, with the kind of hourglass figure and full bust that commanded attention without her even trying.
She carried herself with a mix of grace and danger, her heels clicking against the tile floor in a rhythm that sounded almost deliberate.
I froze for a second, my mind betraying me with thoughts I had no business entertaining. Wait a minute… what am I saying?!
Sure, she was beautiful—gorgeous even—but she was also a thief.
And I don't really know exactly why she was working for Norman Osborn as his secretary. But I do know one thing, she's bad news in every sort of way.
"Norman, quickly—come look at this," Otto called, his voice sharp with excitement as he gestured toward the board.
Norman stepped closer, eyeing the equations I had completed. His brow lifted, impressed. "Amazing, Otto. You've been trying to solve this for weeks. How did you—?"
Otto shook his head. "It wasn't me, Norman. It was Mr. Peter Parker here."
"Peter?" Norman turned, his sharp eyes landing on me. He studied me for a long second before asking, "You did this, Peter?"
"Yes, Mr. Osborn."
Otto adjusted his glasses and asked, "You know this gentleman, Norman?"
Norman chuckled, placing a hand on Otto's shoulder. "Know him? Hell, Otto, I basically see him as a son."
Before I could react, Norman reached back, pulled Harry out from the group, and wrapped both of us—Harry and me—into his arms in one rough, almost fatherly embrace.
"These two kids are a pair of out-of-this-world prodigies, Otto. They grew up together."
He ruffled both of our hair with a wide grin.
"Ehehe…"
Harry and I exchanged a glance, both of us silently thinking the same thing: Are we in trouble again? Our faces must have mirrored that awkward mix of guilt and amusement.
"Sir," Felicia's smooth voice cut in as she stepped forward with her clipboard in hand, "you have an appointment in twenty minutes."
Norman sighed, loosening his hold on us. "Well, at least I get to see my son and Peter doing alright."
He turned to Felicia.
"You've met Harry, of course. But have I ever introduced you to Peter here?"
Felicia raised an elegant brow and stepped closer, her heels clicking lightly against the floor until she was face to face with me. She tilted her head, silver hair catching the light.
"Honestly," she said coolly, "I have no interest in little brats."
Little brats? Really, Cat? Fine—you asked for it.
"Oh, little brats, huh?" I shot back with a grin. "Says the one dressed tight."
Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second at my remark, then curved into a sly smirk.
"Oooh," she purred, her voice dipping low as she leaned in, tracing two fingers along the front of my jacket. "A feisty little tiger, aren't you?"
She circled me with her gaze, lingering just enough to make it uncomfortable before her lips curled again.
"Black T-shirt. Brown leather jacket. Blue jeans. Black shoes. You're quite the fan of black, I see."
I tilted my head and shot her a grin of my own.
"Are you? …Kitty?"
Harry almost spat out the drink he had just taken a sip of. He covered his mouth quickly, then grabbed me by the sleeve and dragged me into the nearest corner, whispering urgently,
"Dude, don't say Kitty in front of her. She hates being called that!"
What? She's fine when I call her that…!
Oh. Right. That's after I become Spider-Man. I forgot—she prefers Spider-Man over plain old nerdy Peter Parker.
A tap on our shoulders froze both of us. Slowly, we turned.
Felicia was standing there, smiling—but not the sweet kind. No, this was the devil's grin. Harry and I could imagine the fire blazing behind that smile.
"Kitty, huh… Mr. Parker…♡?"
I'm dead. She's going to bad-luck me into next week.
"Here…"
Felicia handed me a small slip of paper. For a second, my brain short-circuited. Felicia Hardy—the infamous Black Cat—was giving me her phone number. To me. To plain old Peter Parker?
I must be dreaming, right?
"Uh… sorry I called you Kitty?" I tried to apologize, scratching the back of my head.
Felicia just chuckled, low and amused. "Hehehe… you're funny, Mr. Parker. But I like your persuasive confidence."
She slid the number smoothly into the inside pocket of my jacket, her touch lingering longer than it needed to.
"Stay in school, kid. Keep my number as a gift for succeeding in being a little playboy. No sharing."
Before I could respond, she leaned in close and pressed her lips against my cheek, leaving a plum-red kiss mark behind. Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper.
"Don't worry, tiger. The number is genuine."
With that, she twisted a strand of my hair around her finger, then released it and walked back toward Norman, Otto, and the others.
She glanced over her shoulder with a teasing smirk. "And I don't mind you calling me Kitty… but I prefer you call me Cat. Meow…"
The click of her heels carried her out of the lab beside Norman Osborn.
Harry and I stood frozen, like statues, faces blank with shock.
"Dude, punch me," I muttered.
"Same here, man," Harry said, equally stunned.
Later, we headed deeper into the building—toward the lab that would begin my journey. The spider lab. The place where everything had, and would again, happen.
"Still can't believe she gave you her number, Pete,"
Harry said, shaking his head.
"Like, out of thousands of scientists and interns who probably tried, and she picks you? You're a player now, man."
He sounded jealous, but I could tell there was respect in his tone too.
Before I could answer, I felt a sharp sting.
"Ouch!"
Something bit the back of my neck. I froze. I knew exactly what it was. Slowly, carefully, I reached back—not to swat it, but to catch it.
I opened my hand.
There it was. The spider that bit me in my previous life. It didn't attack or bite again. It just sat in my palm, watching me.
"…Heh. Thanks, Dad," I whispered softly, before slipping it gently into a small jar I found nearby. I poked a few holes in the lid and sealed it carefully.
Finally, we reached the last stop before the end of the tour—Dr. Curt Connors' lab.
He stood at the front, his right sleeve empty where his arm had once been.
Figures. I already knew where this story was heading. He wanted to make everyone a lizard. But… all this, just for an arm?
Dr. Connors began explaining his research, his voice heavy with conviction. "Lizards can reproduce lost limbs… imagine if a human could do the same."
Gwen raised her hand politely. "Sir, any breakthroughs on your research?"
Dr. Connors exhaled, his shoulders sagging slightly. "For now, it's still in the testing phase, Ms. Stacy. And honestly, this formula is really starting to get on my nerves."
Before I could relax, Gwen suddenly grabbed my wrist and pulled me out from the group.
"Gwen—what are you doing? Please don't—"
Too late.
"Just an hour ago, my friend Peter Parker here solved a question in one of Dr. Otto Octavius' labs."
Damn it…!
Sure enough, Dr. Connors' eyes sharpened, and he walked straight up to me.
"Peter Parker… as in Richard Parker's son?"
"Ehehehe… I guess the jig is up?" I said nervously.
"Afraid so, boy."
He rested a hand on my shoulder, his expression heavy with regret.
"How have you been? I'm sorry I wasn't able to say my goodbyes to your parents."
I swallowed hard, nodding quietly.
"Your father was the greatest out of all of us," Connors said with genuine respect. Then his gaze shifted, troubled.
"Yet the spiders he worked with… they caused a little mayhem back then."
I gave him my reassurance, and he was grateful. With a small nod, he walked back to an empty board and began writing out the formula with steady strokes.
While he was busy, Gwen leaned close to my side, her whisper brushing my ear.
"Your dad and my mentor were colleagues?!"
I chuckled, waving my hand dismissively. "More like college buds, or something like that."
"Ah, I see…"
She pouted slightly, her lips pressed tight. I could guess why—jealousy. She thought she was the first to truly know Dr. Curt Connors, and now here I was, connected to him through my father.
By the time Connors finished writing, he turned back toward us. His expression was sharp with expectation.
"Peter," he said, gesturing toward the board. "Why don't you try your luck? No shame if it doesn't…"
I stepped forward slowly, marker in hand.
In my previous life, I had tried this too. Back then, I wanted to find out more about my parents through him.
But I made a mistake. I connected the dots without realizing the formula wasn't fully complete… and from that, I helped create a monster.
This time, though, I already knew the path. I had failed enough times before. Now, I wouldn't.
Without hesitation, my hand moved across the board, adjusting, correcting, perfecting. Line after line, connection after connection.
"And… done."
I stepped aside, handing the spotlight back to Dr. Connors.
He stared at the formula, frozen. Then, slowly, he removed his glasses, his eyes wide.
In a rush, he turned and bolted to the nearby console, typing frantically into the testing simulator.
The program generated a trial with a virtual lab rat. The simulated test ran its course—limb regeneration complete. Success.
One hundred percent.
The room gasped.
Connors' hands shook as he ran the test again. And again. He even skipped the clock forward a simulated year. The results held steady. Success every single time.
Then—he staggered back, legs buckling beneath him.
"Dr. Connors!"
The class rushed forward, some of them grabbing his arms, others steadying him before he could collapse fully.
"I'm alright, kids… easy there," he breathed, forcing a shaky smile.
His chest rose and fell quickly, his eyes darting back toward the board as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd seen.
"Peter, this is amazing. Truly. Maybe you should become my student. What do you say?"
Knew it. Not a bad deal at all, but…
"Thanks, Dr. Connors," I said with a polite smile. "But that's a big responsibility. I'd like to think about it for now."
"Very well then."
We shook hands, firm and respectful.
After the trip to Oscorp, the buses took us back to Midtown High. Aunt May was waiting there to pick me up, Gwen joining us again for the ride home.
We dropped Gwen off at her house, then continued on. May glanced at me through the rearview mirror, her eyes warm as always.
"So, how was the trip, Peter?"
I turned my head to her, and for once, I couldn't hold back the excitement. I rambled about everything.
I had seen—the labs, the experiments, even the breakthroughs I had gotten a glimpse of. May just smiled, that gentle, patient smile she always wore.
By the time we reached home, dinner was already waiting. Uncle Ben asked his usual questions, May chimed in, and I answered with all the enthusiasm of a kid who had just glimpsed the future.
Later, after clearing the dishes, I went upstairs to my room and carefully pulled the jar out from my bag. Inside, the spider sat calmly.
"Heh… so you're the little guy who brought me so much trouble, huh?" I whispered, peering at it.
It was tiny—no bigger than a thumbtack. Still, I dropped in a few breadcrumbs and a bit of water. The spider twitched its legs, alive and well.
Satisfied, I took a shower and crawled into bed early, the jar resting on my desk beside me.
"Goodnight," I murmured to myself before drifting off.
Boom!
A thunderclap cracked through the night sky, shaking the windows and jolting me awake.
"Ouch!" I yelped, hitting my head on something hard. Except… my bed wasn't beneath me.
Blinking, I rubbed my eyes—only to realize I was stuck to the ceiling.
For a long moment, I just stared, heart racing, adrenaline flooding my veins.
Finally, a grin spread across my face.
"Look out, world. Look out, Knull… Spider-Man is back."
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Chapter 6 — End