He led us through a series of security doors, each requiring his biometric scan to open. The interpreter followed a step behind, translating his casual commentary about the building's architecture and security protocols.
Then the final door slid open, and I forgot how to breathe.
The Atrium was three stories of glass and light. The outer walls were floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of Tokyo that made the one from the conference room look like a postcard. The interior was filled with terrariums and enclosures, each one a sealed ecosystem under full-spectrum lighting that cast everything in a soft, almost ethereal glow.
Vines with leaves that shimmered like oil slicks climbed the walls of one enclosure. Another held what looked like flowers, except they pulsed with bioluminescence in slow, rhythmic patterns. A third contained something that might have been coral, except it was growing in soil and seemed to be breathing.
"Welcome to our bio-engineering division," Harry said, and his voice had genuine pride in it now. The corporate polish was still there, but underneath it was something real. "Everything you see here is the result of genetic modification and enhancement. We're not just studying how Quirks work. We're learning to replicate their effects through controlled manipulation of DNA."
He walked toward a large central display, his movements loose and confident. The students followed in a clump, most of them looking either fascinated or vaguely nauseated.
"Our primary research focus is mapping what we call the Quirk Genome. The specific genetic markers that allow humans to manifest supernatural abilities. Once we understand the code, we can theoretically stabilize harmful Quirks, amplify weak ones, or even introduce beneficial traits to individuals born without great powers."
There it is. The sales pitch. 'Don't worry, useless masses. Science will save you.'
"The key to our research has been cross-species genetic integration. We've found that certain animal species possess remarkable genetic plasticity. Their DNA can be manipulated in ways that human DNA can't, making them perfect test subjects for Quirk factor experimentation."
He stopped in front of a large circular enclosure, easily fifteen feet in diameter. The glass was perfectly clear, offering an unobstructed view of the habitat inside.
"Of all our subjects, none have proven more adaptable than spiders."
Inside the enclosure, suspended from branches and structures that looked like abstract art, were webs that shouldn't exist. They shimmered with an iridescent quality, catching the light and reflecting it in colors that hurt to look at directly. The strands looked metallic. Organic steel spun by creatures that scuttled across the geometry they'd created.
The spiders themselves were works of art. Vivid colors that didn't exist in nature. Electric blue and deep crimson and a green so bright it looked radioactive. Some had patterns on their abdomens that resembled circuit boards. Others had markings that looked almost like runes.
A brass plaque on the base of the enclosure listed fifteen distinct species names. Latin nomenclature I didn't recognize, each followed by "Oscorp Variant" and a designation number.
Most of the students looked grossed out. Miki had her hand over her mouth. Koji was making exaggerated gagging sounds. Even some of the boys looked uncomfortable.
I stepped closer to the glass.
This is incredible.
My eyes tracked across the enclosure, cataloging each spider. The blue one near the top right. The crimson pair in the lower left. The green one with the circuit patterns near the center. I counted them systematically, the way I used to count heroes in my notebooks.
One, two, three, four...
Harry was still talking. "The commercial applications are enormous. Imagine support gear made from bio-steel that's stronger than Kevlar and naturally produces its own adhesive. Imagine prosthetics that integrate with the nervous system using organic computing similar to spider neural networks. The potential is—"
Fourteen.
I counted again. Slower this time. Checked every corner, every shadow, every web.
Fourteen spiders.
The plaque said fifteen.
I stared at the enclosure, scanning for the missing specimen. Maybe it was molting. Maybe it was hidden in one of the artificial structures. Maybe—
There. Upper right corner of the enclosure. A hairline fracture in the glass. So small I almost missed it. The crack was sealed with what looked like industrial epoxy, nearly invisible unless you were looking for it.
Oh.
The interpreter was mid-sentence when I stepped forward, cutting through the cluster of students. Mr. Takahashi's head whipped around, his expression somewhere between alarm and resignation.
I looked directly at Harry Osborn. Bypassed the interpreter. And spoke in English.
"Excuse me, Mr. Osborn. The plaque says there are fifteen specimens, but I only count fourteen. Is one of them unaccounted for?"
Mr. Takahashi looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. His mouth opened and closed like a fish drowning in air.
Every student turned to stare at me. Nanami's jaw literally dropped. Koji's eyes were so wide I could see the whites all the way around. Miki grabbed the arm of the girl next to her like she needed physical support to process what just happened.
Bakugo's head snapped around so fast I was surprised his neck didn't break. His crimson eyes locked onto me with an expression of pure, undiluted shock that would have been hilarious if it wasn't also murderous. His lips pulled back from his teeth.
Oh, that's right. I forgot to mention I taught myself English. My bad, Kacchan.
Harry Osborn himself looked genuinely surprised. His corporate smile faltered for half a second. He blinked, processed, then looked at me with new interest.
He pulled out a sleek datapad from his jacket pocket, tapped something on the screen, and his smile returned. Less polished this time. More real.
"An excellent observation," he said, still in English. His eyes met mine, and I saw the reassessment happening in real time. "I'd actually forgotten about that. No, it's not missing."
He walked closer to the enclosure, gesturing at the empty space near the top.
"Specimen fifteen, codenamed Mono, was our most successful experiment in adaptive camouflage. She can alter the chromatophores in her exoskeleton to perfectly match her surroundings, rendering her effectively invisible to the naked eye."
He looked back at me, and his grin was genuine now. Impressed, maybe even a little delighted.
"Clever. Both of you."
I stared at the space where the invisible spider presumably lurked. Adaptive camouflage. Chromatophore manipulation. Perfect environmental mimicry.
That's not a spider. That's a work of art.
"I see," I said, keeping my voice neutral. "Thank you."