The elevator glided to a silent stop, and the golden doors parted with a soft chime. Peter stepped into the Osborn penthouse—pristine marble floors, chrome-framed glass, and the faint smell of citrus-scented polish. The kind of place that screamed money without needing to shout.
A uniformed butler was already waiting."Mr. Parker, Master Harry is expecting you. Please, follow me."
Peter nodded, his steps quiet behind the butler's precise pace. The hallway was decorated like a museum—vases that probably cost more than his apartment, abstract art that tried too hard, and not a speck of dust in sight.
Clean. Controlled. Kinda cool, Peter thought.
They turned a corner and entered the main living area—floor-to-ceiling windows showing the skyline like a digital backdrop, sunlight bouncing off glass tables and lacquered furniture.
And then came the voice.
"Peter Parker," Norman Osborn said, stepping out from his study like a ghost in a tailored suit. "I didn't expect to see you here on a school day."
Peter halted, casually adjusting his bag strap. "Harry invited me over. Said he wanted to show me his new gaming setup."
Norman's eyes narrowed slightly—measuring, as if evaluating a stock purchase. "Academics are more important than video games, wouldn't you agree?"
Peter smiled, thin and polite. "Of course, sir. We've already handled our homework. Mr. Ramos gave a light assignment."
Norman tilted his head. "You're top of your class, if I'm not mistaken."
"Second," Peter replied. "Liz Allan holds the first spot right now."
Norman raised a brow. "Impressive. Though... distractions like girlfriends can be problematic."
Peter shrugged. "I try to keep my grades clean."
You try to keep your experiments hidden and your alibis airtight, he thought.
Before the conversation could veer further, Harry's voice rang from down the hall.
"Pete! You made it!"
Peter glanced past Norman and saw Harry jogging over, hair slightly tousled and hoodie sleeves rolled up. His grin was wide and unguarded—the kind that only appeared when his father wasn't looking.
Norman stepped aside, brushing invisible lint off his sleeve. "Well, I'll leave you two to it. I have a meeting. Try not to blow up the servers, Harry."
"No promises, Dad," Harry said, only half-joking.
Norman left with the butler in tow, the elevator sealing him away with a faint ding. The moment the doors shut, the atmosphere in the penthouse softened. Harry exhaled and turned to Peter.
"Man, sorry about that. He's in full 'Empire Mode' this week. You know how he gets before board meetings."
Peter smirked. "Yeah, I got the impression I was being interviewed for a hostile takeover."
"Welcome to Osborn Inc.," Harry quipped, waving Peter toward his room. "Now come check this out. This baby cost more than Flash's car."
Inside Harry's room, the contrast was striking. Gone was the polished glass—here it was shelves of games, posters half-tacked, wires running like spaghetti under a massive dual-monitor setup. LED lights pulsed gently under the desk.
Peter dropped his bag and sat beside him as Harry fired up the system.
"CyberStrike 2070?" Peter asked.
"Full ray-traced, max settings," Harry said proudly. "And guess what—I finally beat your high score in GravDuel."
Peter raised an eyebrow. "No way."
"Yup. Liz saw the screenshot and everything. Witness certified."
Peter smirked as he grabbed a controller. "Guess I've got work to do."
They played in bursts—bantering, jabbing, sometimes silent with competitive focus. After about half an hour, they dropped the controllers and leaned back in their chairs, the screen fading into the idle menu.
Harry sighed, eyes still on the flickering light bars.
"School's been weird lately. Flash is still in the hospital. Mark and Kevin act like they're gonna throw hands at anyone who looks at them funny."
Peter didn't respond right away. He just hummed faintly and stared at the controller in his hands.
"You think it's my fault?" Harry asked suddenly.
Peter blinked. "For what?"
"Flash. Everything. He's been a pain since forever, but... I dunno, man. The guy's a mess, and I've been... just letting it slide."
Peter set the controller down. "You're not responsible for his life, Harry."
Harry looked at him, uncertain. "And you don't think people like Flash can change?"
Peter considered the question for longer than necessary.Then: "No. Not really."
A silence passed between them. Then Harry laughed—just once. "Jeez, Pete. Brutal."
Peter smiled faintly. "Reality usually is."
There was another pause, but this one was lighter.
"So... you and Liz, huh?" Harry asked, poking him in the ribs.
Peter leaned away. "Oh no, you don't get to change the subject that fast."
"I'm just saying," Harry said, grinning. "Midtown's golden girl going out with our school's weirdest genius. It's like a rom-com with chemistry equations."
"She likes brains," Peter said dryly.
"Clearly. So when are you two getting married?"
Peter stared at him.
"I'm kidding!" Harry laughed. "God, relax. You've got that 'calculating death' look again."
Peter leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.
Norman Osborn has no idea his son is the only decent part of the empire he's built. And the saddest thing? He wouldn't even care.