….
The screen went black.
…and how were the reactions of the people that watched the movie?
For a few seconds, the theater held its breath, just a suspended heartbeat of disbelief.
No one had come expecting this, especially from a superhero film.
Yet here they were - blinking through damp lashes, trying to pretend they weren't.
Some had cried, honest tears slipping free during scenes they hadn't seen coming, moments so raw they cut past the armor of spectacle and found something soft beneath.
Cried.
To a superhero film.
A first …standalone superhero film at that.
In just two and a half hours, it had done what most franchises struggle to achieve even after sprawling trilogies, it made them care.
Not about explosions or costumes or who wins the final fight, but about the person behind the mask.
The connection was startlingly real, almost disarming in its intimacy, and as the credits rolled and the lights stayed low, it left the audience not with closure, but with a quiet, aching hunger.
They didn't want it to be over.
They wanted more.
….
Regal in the back slipped his phone back into his pocket after his chat with another man in a 'red' costume or soon to be…
Then after the overwhelming silence… It started.
As polite clapping from a few scattered rows, but quickly gathered force, building into an uproar.
People were on their feet now, their silhouettes rising like shadows against the glow of the screen.
Some were whistling and the others were shouting Andrew's name.
Andrew himself had sunk forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, and laughing.
Not the easy kind, but the kind that bursts out when pressure finally gives way, he turned, dazed, blinking hard, as if trying to make sure this wasn't a trick of the light.
Two seats down, Stan Lee clapped slowly and steady, grinning like a man watching history rewrite itself, his lips moved with words Regal couldn't hear over the thunder, but the glimmer in his eyes said enough - You did it, kid.
Regal rose only when the crowd around him began to surge toward the aisles, his face betrayed nothing, but inside, the static buzz of adrenaline had not yet faded.
Months of stress - the deals, the sleepless edits, the fights over release windows, it was all slipping into the past, drowned out by this echoing storm of applause.
Studio reps and PR agents were already threading through the aisles, herding cast and crew toward the stage for the photo op.
Flashes sparked as photographers darted ahead like restless moths.
A reporter nearly tripped trying to get her recorder closer to Andrew, who was still dazed and grinning, eyes glassy from the onslaught of cheers.
….
Right after premium's?
It's a formal sit-down press interview that usually happens immediately after a Hollywood premiere - while the afterparty is buzzing on one side, the studio sets aside a private room where press outlets get quick 5-10 minute interviews with the director and lead cast.
They hadn't even had time to catch their breath.
Fifteen minutes - that was all the handlers allowed before the next battle began.
"Press room." one of them mouthed at Andrew from across the atrium, tapping her watch like a metronome.
Andrew exhaled, rolled his shoulders back, and followed her down the side hallway. The roar of the reception faded behind them, replaced by the hushed thrum of studio air vents.
The room they stepped into had been completely transformed: a pocket of calm carved out of the noise. Softbox lights glowed like low moons from the corners, framing a pair of charcoal couches set against a massive Spider-Man backdrop. Two camera rigs loomed at the edges, their red tally lights blinking like watchful eyes. On the side table, bottled waters stood in a perfect military line, labels turned outward.
Andrew's steps faltered for half a beat, his eyes skimmed the gear, the crew, the lenses already trained on him, but then he lifted his chin, straightened his jacket, and walked in with the barest flicker of swagger.
Regal came behind him with the quiet poise, while Stan Lee trailed last, leaning on his cane, the eternal mischief already flickering in his eyes.
The second Andrew sat, the flood began.
"Andrew! Over here - Andrew!"
"Was it intimidating putting on the suit?"
"Did you do your own stunts?"
The questions collided in midair, voices tripping over each other in their rush to be first. Microphones stretched closer like spears.
Andrew blinked rapidly, searching for which one to answer first.
Then, unexpectedly, Stan Lee leaned forward from the center seat, lifting a single hand. His voice cut clean through the noise.
"Let's not scare the kid." He said cheerfully. "Why don't you start with this other young man sitting here?"
Every head turned - straight to Regal.
Stan's eyes twinkled. "And by 'young man,' I obviously mean me."
The room cracked, laughter tumbled out of the reporters in a wave, breaking the tension like glass.
Stan chuckled along with them, then turned and tapped a hand gently on Andrew's shoulder, then Regal's.
"I do have one thing to say though." He said. "These two… they have made the greatest superhero movie ever."
The laughter faded to a silence that was warmer this time.
It was the same statement that Stan had released when he announced the movie, which actually created quite a fuss in a rather negative manner.
But now?
A few journalists even clapped softly, their smiles no longer the sharp-edged ones they wore for soundbites.
Stan tilted his head, eyes sweeping the room. "How many of you agree now? Or does it still sound like it's just coming from some retired old man?"
A few hands rose, more smiles bloomed, and the cameras caught everything.
Regal gave a quick side eye to Stan…
The laughter still lingered in the air like champagne bubbles when the next reporter leaned forward in her chair. She was from Vanity Fair, red lacquered nails wrapped around her notepad, eyes glinting with the kind of curiosity that always spelled trouble.
"Well." She said slowly. "Since Stan's just casually dropped a thunderbolt, maybe I will toss in a lightning strike of my own…"
Andrew, mid-sip of water, froze.
"There has been… talk." She continued. "That your mentor during this film was Ross. The Ross. Which-" she flicked her pen for emphasis. "Most people find it a bit unbelievable. He's not exactly famous for… mentoring anyone, at all. So, is that actually true? And if it is, what on Earth was that experience like? Because it could not have been easy."
A ripple ran through the room, cameras adjusted focus. Regal's brow lifted half a millimeter.
Andrew laughed, the sound a bit too quick, and set his bottle down with exaggerated care. "Oh, wow. You are really going for a difficult one this early, huh?"
"She is doing her job." Regal murmured, not even looking up from the arm of the couch.
Andrew shot him a betrayed look, then sighed dramatically. "Okay, fine. Yes, it's true."
That detonated the room, a dozen pens scratched paper like claws.
Andrew threw up both hands. "And yes, I know how insane that sounds, Ross doesn't mentor. Rose doesn't even explain the time of day to people, but somehow—" he jabbed a thumb at Regal "—this madman convinced him to take me on. I still don't know what kind of blackmail was involved."
"Charm." Regal said simply.
"Bribery." Andrew corrected under his breath, earning snickers from the press.
"So what was it like?" another reporter piped up from the back.
Andrew leaned back, dragging a hand through his hair like he was bracing for shrapnel. "Picture trying to learn to dance… while the floor's on fire and the instructor occasionally throws knives at you to see if you flinch, that's Ross. He would rip everything down to pieces - my movement, my line delivery, even the way I stood, and then somehow build it back up twice as strong, it was brutal. But it changed me, I owe half of Peter Parker to him."
There was a pause, the kind of pause that only drops when everyone collectively realizes they have just been handed something real.
Stan broke it with a grin. "And the other half?"
Andrew grinned back. "Therapy, lots of therapy."
The room cracked with laughter again, and even Regal's mouth tilted, barely, in quiet amusement.
"Your first film under MDC Studios." A woman said, voice cool but eyes bright with curiosity. "Your first superhero epic… and you release it right next to a juggernaut like Pixy's Power Rangers. Were you… trying to provoke them? Because if I am not mistaken, this isn't your first clash. Actually your third one, and you have only made four movies."
Her words landed like darts, sharp and precise, the room seemed to tilt toward Regal, waiting.
Regal's lips curved just slightly, the kind of smile that never reached his eyes. "It's a coincidence." He said smoothly. "...obviously."
The reporter blinked, pen frozen midair.
Then she let out a small laugh, conceding with a nod as she scribbled something down.
"So, Andrew." one of the interviewers began, leaning forward with a grin that suggested he'd been saving this question all night. "What's it like… seeing the audience finally watch you as Spider-Man tonight?"
Andrew blinked, and for a heartbeat he looked like a kid who had just been told the roller coaster wasn't stopping yet. Then the grin came, slow and genuine, spreading like sunlight breaking through stubborn cloud.
"Surreal. Completely terrifying. I was shaking the whole time - honestly, I still am. But… yeah." He let out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "I think I only survived it because I went through someone's training. Not complaining, by the way…"
He raised his hands as if to ward off imaginary flying shoes. "Please don't cut off the 'not complaining' part in your articles. For my safety."
There was laughter from the semicircle of reporters, a few camera flashes popping like tiny fireworks. Andrew glanced sidelong at Regal and Stan; both men just shrugged at him, as if to say, you're on your own here.
Andrew's grin sharpened with mischief. "If you want to see the next part of the movie you just watched, that is…"
The laughter rippled louder this time, playful and conspiratorial, before the questions pivoted again.
The flood of questions eventually slowed, the press finally gathering their things, chatter fading into the distant hum of the ongoing afterparty. When the last camera clicked off and the final cables were coiled, silence settled in the interview lounge, broken only by the gentle tick of cooling lights overhead.
Andrew sank deeper into the couch as if gravity had just doubled, still wide-eyed, like the adrenaline had nowhere left to go.
He turned to Regal slowly. "Did that just happen?"
Regal stood, adjusting his cuffs with a calmness that felt almost unreal in the aftermath of the storm.
"It's still happening." He said quietly, and with that, he opened the door.
The low thrum of music and laughter spilled back in, warm and electric, and they stepped into it, back into the eye of the celebration.
.
….
[To be continued…]
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