Mrs. Snow.
Full name: Selina Snow. She was their 11th-grade counselor.
From personal support to university guidance, all of it fell under her responsibilities.
Unlike public schools, where a counselor might handle 100–200 students, Midtown High was private. Mrs. Snow only had 35. That made her support more personal, more detailed.
And as coincidence would have it, both Hawk and Gwen shared her as their counselor.
But—
Dragged to her office by Gwen, Hawk couldn't help but ask along the way:
"Did she say what this was about?"
"No, just asked if I knew where you were. Once I found you, she said to bring you both."
"University stuff then? Maybe your Berkeley acceptance and scholarship came through?"
That was the only reason Hawk could think of. After all, by September they'd be seniors, and college offers were already starting to circulate. Gwen had her eyes on Berkeley.
The University of California, Berkeley: public Ivy, cradle of over 100 Nobel laureates.
Gwen tilted her head at him. "And you? Still set on law at NYU? Not even considering Stanford?"
True, NYU Law was strong.
But compared to Stanford? No contest.
She added, "Mrs. Snow said she recommended Stanford to you too."
"I'll never land a Stanford scholarship," Hawk replied evenly. "NYU, maybe not top-tier aid, but I'll qualify for enough. With that, when I take out loans, I'll get a better rate."
Simple. Practical.
Sure, in a dream world he'd have gone to Yale Law, maybe even joined one of those mysterious organizations whispered about in legal circles.
But this wasn't a dream world.
Stanford and Yale weren't just "admissions problems"—their tuition alone was a crushing weight.
Better to take the school that would actually help carry the load.
He had no intention of still paying off loans at sixty.
That had been the plan before awakening his Microcosmos.
Now? The idea of chasing those names held even less appeal. NYU was fine. He knew New York, liked New York, and comfort had always been his goal.
Gwen frowned at his matter-of-fact tone, wanting to argue—but seeing his reality, seventeen years old with no car, no phone, no luxuries, she bit back the words.
Soon, they reached Mrs. Snow's office.
Knock knock.
"Come in."
Gwen opened the door. Behind a desk sat Mrs. Snow, glasses perched on her nose, kind eyes softening her forty-something features.
"Gwen," she greeted warmly. "Sit down." Then her gaze shifted. "Hawk. Again—I must say it. You need a phone."
Life without one in this era was unbearable.
She'd even offered him an old spare once, back when he was a freshman. He'd politely declined, promising to buy one himself.
From 9th grade to now, nearly finishing 11th, his answer hadn't changed.
"I'll get one soon."
"You always say that," she sighed, clearly tired of hearing it.
Before she could press further—another knock.
The door opened.
Hawk raised an eyebrow at the familiar face entering.
Peter Parker.
But this time… something was different.
Last time Hawk had seen him, Peter had been a scrawny, awkward kid. Now, his frame had filled out, lean muscle under his shirt, posture firmer.
And in his eyes… Hawk caught something else.
A flicker of recognition. A hidden spark.
The shadow of Tobey Maguire's Spider-Man.
Yes.
Not the MCU's tech-reliant kid with web-shooters.
This was the first Spider. The one who shot webs from his own wrists.
A true Spider-Man.
Mrs. Snow lit up. "Peter! Just a few days and you've bulked up already!"
Indeed, he looked sturdier, almost like a calf compared to the reed-thin boy before.
Peter smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. But when his eyes met Hawk's—he froze.
And Hawk saw it clearly.
The moment Peter's gaze landed on him, his pupils constricted and dilated in rapid succession, reacting violently.
Confirmed.
The mutation had begun.
The first Spider was online.
…
(End of Chapter)
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