As the car drove into the long driveway of the Osborn Estate, everyone subconsciously fell silent.
Gwen looked out through the car window and saw a meticulously manicured giant garden. The lawn was so green it looked fake, stretching as far as the eye could see. In the distance, the classical main building was partially hidden in the woods, its spire shimmering softly in the sunlight. The driveway was lined with flowers whose names she didn't know—red, white, and purple, all in full bloom. A faint fragrance drifted in the air—not the scent of perfume, but the real, expensive smell that belonged to "money."
Betty was the first to lose her composure, whispering in awe: "My God... Is this really a home? I thought it was some kind of national estate."
Mary Jane let out a low whistle, her eyes sparkling as she pressed herself against the window to look outside: "As expected of the Osborn family. This scale... I've finally seen what true high-society life is like."
Glory crossed her arms, her tone a mix of envy and bitterness: "The World of the rich really isn't on the same dimension as ours... Harry is usually too low-key."
Peter scratched his head and muttered softly: "I'm just worried now that I might accidentally step on some precious flower or grass while walking... I couldn't afford to pay for it."
Gwen didn't respond.
She looked at the main building drawing nearer outside the window, and images she had seen in her past life surfaced in her mind—the Osborn Estate, the Base of the Green Goblin, Norman Osborn's gradually twisting face. And Harry, the second-generation Green Goblin who eventually followed his father's old path in the comics.
But at this moment, it was just a beautiful house.
The car stopped at the entrance of the main building.
The car door opened, and a middle-aged man in a crisp Suit walked up to greet them. His hair was combed meticulously, a professional smile on his face, and he bowed slightly.
"Young Master Harry, welcome back."
Harry jumped out of the car, smiling and patting him on the shoulder: "Bernard, I've told you so many times, don't call me Young Master."
The butler, Bernard Houseman—Gwen remembered the name—maintained the perfect smile: "Very well, Young Master Harry."
Harry shook his head helplessly and turned to greet the others: "Everyone, get out! Don't be polite, just make yourselves at home."
Make themselves at home?
Gwen looked at the main building, which was larger than the school gymnasium, and fell silent for a moment.
How could they?
Several people followed Harry through the front door and were instantly stunned by the sight before them.
The high-ceilinged hall had a crystal chandelier hanging from three or four stories up, and sunlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows onto the polished marble floor. Several oil paintings hung on the walls—Gwen didn't recognize them, but the texture and brushwork clearly showed they weren't imitations. The staircase was spiral, covered with a deep red carpet, and the banisters were polished until they gleamed.
Betty's mouth hung open, and it took her a while to squeeze out a sentence: "Harry... does your family need a servant? I can do it."
Harry laughed out loud: "Stop it. Come on, I'll take you all for a tour."
Just then, a figure walked down the stairs.
Everyone stopped in their tracks.
It was a middle-aged man, about 1.8 meters tall, wearing a dark gray tailored Suit, a white shirt with a navy blue tie, and every strand of hair combed meticulously. His facial features were sharp, his cheekbones high, his skin pale, and his blue eyes were as sharp as an eagle's. The line of his mouth was tight, carrying an innate sense of oppression.
Norman Osborn.
Gwen's heart skipped a beat.
This was the future Green Goblin. The man who would, in his madness, try to kill his son's best friend. The man who would eventually be impaled by his own glider.
But at this moment, he was just a father.
Norman's gaze swept over the group, lingering on each person for a moment before landing on Harry. That sharp look softened slightly.
"Son," he said, his voice steady and resonant, "I'm glad you have friends of your own."
Harry nodded, his tone carrying a touch of reserve—that unique reserve he had in front of his father: "Dad, these are my classmates. Peter, Gwen, Mary Jane, Betty, Glory."
Norman's gaze landed on Peter again.
"You must be Peter," he said, "Harry has mentioned you to me, saying you are a genius."
Peter was stunned for a moment, clearly not expecting Harry to have mentioned him at home. He quickly stood up straight, trying to look less nervous.
"I've heard so much about you, Mr. Osborn. It's an honor to meet you."
The corners of Norman's mouth curved slightly—the arc was faint, but it was there.
"I consider myself a scientist too," he said, "I've read your research report on nanotechnology. Did you do that all by yourself?"
Peter nodded.
A Flash of genuine appreciation crossed Norman's eyes.
"Very outstanding," he said, "You're still a high school student, it's rare to have such research depth."
Peter was a bit embarrassed by the praise: "You... you can understand it?"
Norman raised an eyebrow, the expression as if to say, "You underestimate me."
"I am the head of the Oscorp Group, after all," he said, "I have at least that much professional competence."
He paused and added: "Your parents must be very proud of you."
Peter's expression changed slightly.
"I live with my aunt and uncle," he said, his voice very soft.
Norman's gaze lingered on his face for a moment, then he nodded without pressing further.
"You young people go have fun," he said, "I won't disturb you."
He turned to leave, and when he reached the staircase, he suddenly looked back.
His gaze swept over Gwen, lingering on her face for a moment.
Gwen's heart tightened, but her face remained expressionless.
Norman withdrew his gaze and went upstairs.
Not until his figure disappeared around the corner of the stairs did Betty let out a long breath.
"My God..." she whispered, "He has such an oppressive presence."
Harry shrugged: "You'll get used to it. My dad is just like that, he's actually a decent person."
Gwen didn't speak.
A decent person.
She thought of the Norman Osborn in the stories of her past life—the man consumed by ambition and madness. Looking at him now, it was hard to connect this dignified and restrained middle-aged man with that Green Goblin.
But who knew?
Who knew if the seeds of madness had already been planted within him?
Harry continued to take them on a tour.
The swimming pool was in the backyard, as big as a small lake, with water so blue it shone. Next to it was a barbecue area, where a dedicated chef was waiting to serve them. Further back was a small grove of trees, and deep in the woods, one could vaguely see a tennis court and a small golf course.
Betty marveled all the way, Mary Jane's eyes shone with excitement, and Glory silently took pictures with her phone. Peter followed behind, talking to Harry from time to time.
Gwen walked at the back, looking at this estate that was unrealistically luxurious, but her mind was on other things.
Norman Osborn.
The Green Goblin formula.
And that cursed Osborn family.
"Gwen?"
She came back to her senses and found that Peter had walked to her side at some point.
"What are you thinking about?"
Gwen shook her head: "Nothing."
Peter looked at her, his eyes appearing very clear in the sunlight.
"You don't seem very happy?"
"No," Gwen smiled, "Just a little... unaccustomed to this."
Peter nodded and didn't ask again.
But his hand lightly touched the back of her hand, just a light touch, and then he quickly pulled it back.
Gwen was stunned for a moment.
Peter was already walking quickly ahead, his ears red.
She stood there, watching his back, and suddenly felt a little warmth in her heart.
The tour ended, and Harry arranged for a barbecue by the pool.
The steaks and lobsters grilled by the chef tasted so good that Betty almost swallowed her tongue. Several people chatted while eating, and the atmosphere became increasingly relaxed.
Gwen sat on a lounge chair, drinking a beverage, watching Peter and Harry talking by the pool in the distance.
The two didn't know what they were talking about; Harry had a "you know" expression on his face, while Peter lowered his head, his ears red beyond belief.
Gwen suddenly had a premonition.
Sure enough, not long after, Harry walked over to their side.
"Mary Jane," he said, "Shall I take you to see my collection of game consoles? The latest models, with many two-player games."
Mary Jane blinked, her gaze shifting between Harry and Peter in the distance, and she instantly understood something.
"Okay!" She stood up, gave a wink to Betty and Glory, "Let's go, let's go together."
Betty was still gnawing on a lobster: "Huh? But—"
Mary Jane pulled her up: "No 'buts', let's go."
Glory pushed up her glasses, revealed a knowing smile, and followed them as they stood up.
The three followed Harry toward the house. As they passed Gwen, Mary Jane leaned down and whispered in her ear:
"Good luck."
Gwen was stunned for a moment.
Good luck?
What kind of luck?
Then she saw Peter walking toward her.
AI Model: gemini-3.0-弗莱士
The sunlight fell on him, gilding his silhouette in gold. His expression was a bit nervous, but it carried a seriousness that Gwen had never seen before.
He walked up to her and came to a halt.
"Gwen," he said, "can... can we talk alone?"
Gwen's heart suddenly began to race.
She didn't know why.
"...Okay," she heard herself say.
The moment the word left her mouth, she was stunned.
Okay?
She had agreed instinctively.
She hadn't even had time to think.
Peter was also momentarily stunned, and then a smile bloomed on his face—it was a light smile, but the light in his eyes was startlingly bright.
"There's... there's a garden over there," he pointed toward the woods, "shall we take a walk there?"
Gwen nodded.
The two of them walked toward the garden side by side.
Behind them, from behind a window in the house, four heads were squeezed together.
"They're going, they're going!" Harry lowered his voice, looking as excited as if he were commanding a battle.
Mary Jane tapped him: "Keep it down! They'll find us!"
Betty squeezed forward with all her might: "Let me see! Let me see!"
Glory pushed up her glasses and analyzed calmly: "This angle is very good; we can see them all the way to the garden entrance. Once they enter the garden, we won't be able to see them anymore, so we can move to the second-floor balcony."
Harry looked at her in surprise: "You're so experienced?"
Glory's face turned slightly red: "...I learned it from watching TV dramas."
The four of them continued to squeeze behind the window, watching the two figures slowly walk away with expressions of relief.
Mary Jane said softly: "Finally..."
Betty nodded: "That blockhead Peter has finally seen the light."
Harry looked proud: "I'm the one who gave him a push. I told him, if you like her, go for it, don't wimp out."
Glory smiled, which was a rare sight: "Let's place a bet—will he stutter?"
"Definitely," Mary Jane said. "I'll bet five dollars."
"I'm in."
"Me too."
The four of them laughed quietly as they watched the two figures disappear into the garden entrance.
Deep in the garden, there was a long corridor covered in vines.
Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, casting mottled shadows on the ground. The air was filled with the scent of flowers, and it was so quiet that one could hear the buzzing of bees.
Peter walked in front, and Gwen followed behind.
Neither of them spoke.
Gwen looked at Peter's back, her mind in a mess.
Why did she agree just now?
She clearly hadn't made up her mind yet. She clearly hadn't sorted out her feelings. She clearly—
But in that moment, her body was faster than her brain.
It was as if something was making the decision for her.
Peter suddenly stopped.
Gwen almost bumped into him.
"We're here," Peter said.
Gwen looked up and realized they had reached the end of the corridor. There was a small pavilion here, surrounded by white flowers.
Peter turned around to face her.
The sunlight shone from behind him, leaving his face somewhat backlit, but his eyes were still very bright.
"Gwen," he began, his voice trembling slightly, "I... I have something to say to you."
Gwen's heart raced again.
"Mm," she responded softly.
Peter took a deep breath, as if gathering all his courage.
"We've known each other for... twelve years," he said. "We grew up together. I've always felt that you were my best friend. My childhood friend. The girl next door."
He paused.
"But recently... recently, it's been different."
Gwen looked at him.
"I don't know when it started," Peter continued. "Maybe it was the first time you spoke up for me in front of Flash, maybe it was when you stood in front of me in the lab, maybe it was when you were wearing that red and blue hoodie, standing in the moonlight looking at me—I don't know."
His voice grew softer, but more determined.
"But I know that when I look at you now, my heart beats faster. I know that when you're hurt, I feel afraid. I know that when you're not around, I miss you."
He looked up, staring straight into Gwen's eyes.
"Gwen, I like you."
A gentle breeze blew, rustling the vine leaves and blowing down a few white petals.
Gwen stood there, looking at the boy in front of her whose ears were red and whose voice was trembling, yet who was still trying his best to finish his sentence.
She remembered that morning when he was waiting for her downstairs, his ears all red.
She remembered that night when he was leaning on the window, handing her the clues about The Hand.
She remembered the day of the competition, when he stood in the crowd, waving to her.
She remembered him helping her make her Suit, accompanying her to investigate cases, and bandaging her when she was injured.
She remembered every time his ears turned red, every time his eyes darted away, every time he hesitated to speak.
Then she remembered what Mary Jane had said—
"The simplest feeling won't lie."
She remembered what her mom had said—
"If you want to be with him, then that's liking."
She remembered how she had instinctively said "Okay" just now.
Gwen smiled.
"Peter," she said, "do you know why I agreed to talk to you alone just now?"
Peter shook his head.
Gwen took a step closer.
"Because I also wanted to know," she said, "if I liked you."
Peter was stunned.
Gwen looked at him, her eyes curving.
"Now I know."
She stood on her tiptoes and lightly pressed a kiss onto his cheek.
It was very light.
As light as a petal falling onto the water's surface.
But Peter's entire body froze.
Gwen took a step back, and seeing his dumbfounded expression, she couldn't help but laugh.
"Silly."
Peter blankly touched the cheek that had been kissed; that patch of skin was as hot as if it were on fire.
"You... you..."
"Me what?"
"You like me?"
Gwen tilted her head and looked at him: "Isn't it obvious?"
Peter opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again.
Finally, he smiled.
That smile was brighter than the sunlight.
"Gwen," he said, "can I... can I ask one more thing?"
"What?"
"Well... can I hold your hand?"
Gwen looked at him and smiled.
She reached out her hand.
Peter took it.
His palm was a bit damp and trembling slightly, but his grip was very firm.
The two of them stood in the pavilion, holding hands, looking at the white flowers around them.
The sunlight poured down, feeling warm and cozy.
In the distance, on the second-floor balcony, four heads were squeezed together.
"They're holding hands, they're holding hands!" Betty squealed in a low voice.
"I see it!" Mary Jane covered her mouth, her eyes startlingly bright.
Harry looked smug: "I told you, my assist was definitely spot on."
Glory pushed up her glasses, the corners of her mouth curving up uncontrollably.
"Where's the five dollars?" Mary Jane suddenly asked.
"What five dollars?"
"The bet on whether he'd stutter. Did he stutter just now?"
The few of them thought about it.
"I don't think so?" Betty said.
"He didn't," Glory confirmed. "He was nervous, but he didn't stutter."
Mary Jane sighed and pulled out five dollars, slapping it into Harry's hand.
"A bet is a bet."
Harry smiled as he took it.
In the distance, those two figures were still standing in the pavilion, holding hands, talking about who-knows-what.
The sunlight was beautiful.
The breeze was gentle.
Everything was just right.
On the way back, Gwen and Peter walked at the very back.
Up ahead, Mary Jane and the others were chatting with Harry, their laughter drifting back in waves.
Gwen lowered her head, looking at her hand being held.
Peter hadn't let go.
"Peter," she suddenly spoke.
"Hmm?"
"How long did you prepare those words you just said?"
Peter was silent for two seconds.
"...A week."
Gwen laughed.
"A week? Just for that?"
"I—I usually have to help you investigate cases, go to class, and think about how not to let you find out—" he defended himself, "being able to find a week was already not easy."
Gwen smiled and shook her head.
After walking for a bit, she asked again.
"Then that time in my room, was that what you wanted to say?"
"Yeah."
"What if you hadn't been able to say it then?"
Peter thought about it.
"Then I'd say it next time," he said. "The day would come when I'd say it."
Gwen looked at him, a very warm feeling welling up in her heart.
This was Peter.
He would keep trying, keep persisting, and wait until the day she had made up her mind.
"Peter."
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
Peter was stunned for a moment: "Thank you for what?"
Gwen didn't answer.
She simply tightened her grip on his hand.
The sun was setting, dyeing the entire Estate in gold.
The laughter in the distance continued.
Gwen suddenly felt that this World didn't seem so bad after all.
There was The Hand, there was Murakami, and there were those dark things.
But there was also this moment.
There was the sunset, the scent of flowers, and The Hand holding her own.