It was nearly evening, and most of the employees at Oscorp had already gone home. Yet, a crowd had gathered outside the Oscorp Tower — much like that morning. But the reporters and onlookers didn't bother Harry in the slightest. The man who truly caught his attention was already waiting for him inside.
"Mr. Osborn, hello. I'm Agent Phil Coulson of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. Here's my ID." His tone was calm and polite, his demeanor that of a gentle old friend. It was none other than Level 8 Agent Phil Coulson.
Harry took the badge bearing the eagle emblem and examined it.
"Nice design," he remarked, squinting slightly before handing it back. Without another glance, he brushed past Coulson.
"If you've got business, talk to my assistant," Harry said casually, walking out of the Oscorp lobby without looking back.
Coulson sighed, shaking his head helplessly. In the United States, even government agencies — especially those like S.H.I.E.L.D. — had to tread carefully when dealing with powerful figures like Harry Osborn.
The moment Harry stepped outside, reporters who had been waiting for hours instantly recognized him. They surged forward, cameras flashing like a storm. The security guards in black quickly formed a wall between Harry and the reporters, ushering him down the steps.
"Mr. Osborn, are you the Glider?"
"Don't deny it — someone photographed you at the scene!"
"Yes, and we saw Mr. Max Dillon from Oscorp Industries too!"
"Are you a mutant?"
The questions flew fast — some polite, others pointed — but Harry remained unfazed.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is our second time meeting today," he said as he stepped onto the makeshift podium.
"I just heard someone call me 'the Glider.' What a terrible name — sounds like a model airplane," Harry quipped, drawing laughter from the crowd.
"As for being a superhero—"
"Sir! Please tell us, are you really the Glider?" one young reporter blurted out, cutting him off.
Harry frowned slightly but saw the man's eager, nervous face — not malice, just excitement.
"Alright," Harry said with a shrug. "Yes, I'm that person."
"Oh!" the reporter shouted triumphantly, turning to his colleague. "See? I told you my photo was real!" He waved a blurry picture in his hand. Harry glanced at it — it was indeed him, mask off, but the image was so pixelated that only a careful eye could tell. Probably a rookie journalist, Harry guessed — someone like Peter had once been.
"But seriously, don't stick me with such an ugly name," Harry added loudly. "Even calling me 'Peter Pan' sounds better than 'Glider.'"
The reporters laughed again, satisfied now that they'd gotten their headline. Soon after, they dispersed to file their stories.
Ignoring the fact that Agent Coulson was still waiting inside, Harry left the Oscorp building entirely. He had something else to confirm.
When he arrived in Queens, New York, he asked around until he finally found Peter Parker's home.
"Ding dong. Ding dong." Harry pressed the doorbell.
"Peter, get the door," came an elderly woman's voice.
"Oh—coming!" Peter called back. Having just removed his Spider-Man suit, he sounded like any ordinary young man again.
Click. The door opened.
"Harry? What are you doing here?" Peter blurted, startled. His heart raced. Did Harry figure it out?
"What? Not happy to see me?" Harry said with a smile, holding up a small gift.
"Harry, is that you?" Aunt May appeared from inside, her eyes lighting up when she saw him.
"It's me, Aunt May," Harry said warmly.
"Oh, my, look at you — all grown up." Aunt May hugged him and kissed his cheek fondly. The sudden affection made Harry a bit flustered, but the genuine care in her gesture steadied him.
"Hello, Aunt May," Harry said politely.
"Come in, come in!" she said cheerfully, taking the gift from his hands and passing it to Peter before ushering Harry inside.
"You came just in time, Harry — Aunt May's making barbecue rolls," Peter said, regaining his composure. He stowed the gift in the kitchen and hurriedly led Harry to his room.
Once inside, Peter closed the window, locked the door, and turned to face Harry seriously.
"Harry… do you know something about me?" he asked cautiously.
"Yes," Harry answered without hesitation.
"What—? You really do?" Peter's eyes widened. He had always worn his mask while fighting — how could Harry know?
"You know, Oscorp has several satellites in orbit," Harry said casually. "They accidentally captured you in action. But that's not why I came."
"Satellites… oh my God…" Peter groaned, sinking onto his bed and clutching his head. This wasn't good. If Oscorp knew his identity, what if they experimented on him—? The thought made him shiver.
"I know what you're thinking, but relax," Harry said, pulling a USB drive from his pocket. "Take a look at what I found." He plugged it into Peter's computer.
"I found information about your father," Harry said, clicking on a file.
Peter leaned in, startled. On-screen appeared two familiar figures — Norman Osborn and Richard Parker — deep in discussion in a laboratory. Peter stared blankly, overwhelmed by the sight of his father's face.
"Your father used to work at Oscorp," Harry explained. "He and my father were researching ways to use genetically engineered spider venom to repair damaged human DNA while enhancing physical performance."
"You mean… the powers I got came from the spider venom my father created?" Peter asked quietly.
"That's right," Harry said, opening another video.
"When the project was nearly complete, your father discovered that mine had contacted the military," Harry continued. "Norman planned to mass-produce the venom to enhance soldiers. But your father disagreed. His goal was medical use, not weaponization. So… he made a choice."
On screen, Richard Parker's voice came through clearly:
'I injected my own DNA into the spiders. Without me — without my blood — the venom won't function.'
Richard could never have imagined that Oscorp's internal network still routed all data through the central systems — systems now under Harry's control.
"So… all of this happened because my father and yours disagreed?" Peter said softly, a pang of guilt rising in his chest. The fruit of their research had ultimately affected only him.
"I used to think so too," Harry said. "But after hearing this—" He clicked on the final audio file stored in the USB drive.