Dodging my opponent's shoulder, I crouch down and land a sweep on his lead leg, sending Thompson falling on his ass. I'm sure it's on the concrete—that's pretty painful. To the muscleman's credit, he pretends not to notice and immediately gets to his feet. So, let's use a little more force. Still dodging, I wait for the right moment.
Noticing that he's out of breath, I quickly close in and, holding back as best I can, deliver a knee to the stomach. The crowd goes silent, and Thompson falls as if he's been knocked down, a fit of coughing. Everyone awaits my next move. I calmly approach Flash and raise my hand... the muscleman closes his eyes, covering his face, but when he opens them, he finds that I'm offering him my hand, inviting him to stand.
After much thought, Eugene finally accepts the helping hand. Lifting Flash, I glance around the silent room.
"Let what happened here today be a lesson to everyone. It's time to finish off this crowd, seriously. We don't need to be enemies." I look at the athlete. "For example, you, Flash. I know that somewhere very, very deep down, you're a normal guy. I don't know what makes you act like an asshole, but I hope what happened will make you think about your future actions towards others. Will make you all think." To the shocked glances, I walk through the crowd, parting before me like a wave dividing into two tributaries from a cliff.
I pick up my backpack and silently walk away.
*****************
*****************
"It. Was. Cool!" Miles yells at the top of his lungs. My friends caught up with me ten minutes later and immediately started barraging me with comments. True, Morales was mostly delighted, while Stacey was questioning and doubtful.
"Do you really think that what happened will change anything?" Gwen clarifies, raising an eyebrow.
"I can only hope. In any case, today's event will make them wary of me, at the very least. And not push my friends around. All in all, it was worth it."
"But seriously, where did you learn to move like that?" Miles asks, staring at me with admiring eyes.
"Apparently, the Bruce Lee movies paid for themselves," I joke back, not at all intending to admit it.
"Yeah, those few hours were worth it." Miles muttered.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
"How much?!"
"Yeah, you must have been so obsessed with beating up Flash that time flew by," Gwen added, while I was frantically processing the situation. It's about forty minutes from school to the warehouse, plus the distance home... damn!
"I'm late!"
Gwen and Miles didn't have time to react before I, as if stung by a bee, rushed away from them.
"Wow, he must be really late,"
Gwen nodded in agreement to his comment.
___________________
___________________
Come on, come on. How did I miss it? Now I'm less obsessed with enjoying the fruits of victory. I promised Uncle Ben. Damn! The old man is counting on me. Good job, Parker.
I take off at full speed, trying hard not to crash into anyone in the crowded streets. At the same time, I silently pray to every god I know that I don't get into any more trouble. I burst out onto the main street of my neighborhood and raced toward home.
The familiar sights blur as I focus on one thing: getting there fast. Reaching the front door, I throw it open and rush inside. Aunt May is in the living room, her eyes wide with fright and tea spilling from the cup she was holding.
"Peter Benjamin Parker! Why are you running in like a maniac? You scared me half to death!" she exclaims.
"Sorry, Auntie," I gasp, catching my breath. "I was in a hurry. Where's Uncle Ben?"
"He's in the garage. Didn't wait for you," she replies, the worry in her voice tinged with disappointment.
"I know, I screwed up. I hope he's not too mad," I say as I head toward the garage.Inside the garage, I see Uncle Ben perched on a stepladder, painting the wall with slow, careful strokes.
"Don't say a word. I know," he says before I can speak. "You promised to come right after school, and you're a few hours late."
"My mistake—I'm really sorry."
""Peter, you're young. There's a lot going on in your life at this age. Believe me, I'm not going to get angry or hold a grudge over one mistake. Besides, you showed up," he says kindly.
"Alright, then. Give me a hand. There's a lot of wall to paint," he adds with a small, teasing smile while handing me the roller.
I exhale in relief, taking the roller from him. We get to work, chatting occasionally to break the silence.
"So, what kept you?" he asks casually.
'Um... should I confess?' I thought hesitantly. 'Well, come what may.'
"Actually, I was repaying an old debt," I admit.
"More specifically?" Ben's eyes sharpen with interest as he concentrates on the wall.
"Remember Flash Thompson?"
"The bully who's been picking on kids in your school? Of course I remember. What happened?"
"Today, I decided to get back at him for all the humiliation he's caused me," I say quietly.
"Peter, you were always against fighting back, even when I suggested it. You said it was unwise to react and that everything would pass soon," my uncle says, glancing at me sideways, clearly puzzled.
"That's right. It was unwise to drag you into my conflict. But today, I've settled everything," I reply, keeping my eyes on spreading paint evenly.
"Were you in a fight?" Ben asks, his voice sober.
"Yes," I say steadily and confidently.
"Did anyone get hurt?" His brow furrows even more.
"Not as badly as they could have been," I assure him.
"Besides, I tried to talk some sense into them after it ended."
"Listen, Peter, I'm not going to lecture you. I'm no saint either. But remember—reason should always prevail. You may be strong, but with great power comes great responsibility," he says pointedly, placing a firm hand on my shoulder.
Wow. The very same catchphrase—from this man—still gives me goosebumps.
"I'll remember that, Uncle. Really," I look him in the eye earnestly.
"Good. I trust you, champ. I'm sure you did the right thing. Now let's get back to work."
We continue painting the garage, but the weight of guilt is gone. It's always good to vent to someone you trust.
Thirty minutes later, Aunt May walks in with a tray holding two glasses of lemonade. My uncle and I lean against the tool rack, resting and talking.
"Listen, Uncle Ben," I say, hesitantly. "Forgive me if I'm prying, but I've wanted to ask you something for a long time. Why don't you and Aunt May have children of your own?" I can't stop myself from asking.
His expression turns a little sad.
"You don't have to answer if it's too personal," I add quickly.
"No, no, Peter. It's not off-limits. It's just that when I was young, there was a lot going on—both in my life and in the world. Those events left their mark. I'm grateful every day to be alive, even if not entirely healthy," he says softly, not going into detail.
"I'm sorry, Uncle. I didn't know."
"Your Aunt May is a miracle—a real angel. Many women would have left after hearing the diagnosis, but she stayed. I'll be forever grateful for her sacrifice," Uncle Ben says, his voice brightening. "And then you came along. Despite all the terrible things that happened, and the loss of your parents, we were here and did our best to take care of you," he adds warmly.
"I'll always remember your sacrifice," I say, touched.
"No sacrifice, son. Quite the opposite," he replies.I smile and tease, "Wow, you really got the old man to show some emotion. Now let's get back to painting."
"Agreed," I laughed.
*******************
At the same time, in the office at Oscorp, Norman Osborn sits in the darkness of his massive office, staring out the panoramic window. His mind races as the city lights flicker below.
A knock at the door interrupts his thoughts.
"Mr. Osborn, Professor Doles requests permission to enter," his secretary announces.
"Let him in," Norman orders sharply. The door opens, and the bald scientist steps in, sweating and nervously adjusting the collar of his lab coat.
"Mr. Osborn, you wanted to see me," Doles says in a hoarse voice.
"What happened to the missing specimen?" Norman asks, his tone cold and demanding.
"The subject disappeared from its tank. We checked the surveillance footage, but the cameras didn't capture anything unusual that day. There was a school field trip, but nothing out of the ordinary was recorded," the scientist replies.
"Could the subject have escaped the lab?" the head of the multi-billion-dollar corporation asks sternly.
"Everything is supposed to be sealed airtight, but with children allowed in on that trip... anything is possible," Doles admits reluctantly.
"Check the surveillance footage again. I want answers. This is your only chance, Doles. Don't fail me..." Norman's voice trails off ominously.
At Oscorp, everyone—from the top scientist to the janitor—knows just how ruthless Norman Osborn can be with those who disappoint him.The scientist leaves the room cautiously, swallowed by the shadows of the imposing building
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