Mrs. Snow.
Full name: Selina Snow, the guidance counselor for the eleventh grade.
From supporting students' emotional well-being and social development to guiding them toward college applications and personal growth, everything related to their development fell under her responsibilities.
Unlike public high school counselors, who often had to manage over a hundred or even two hundred students, Midtown High was a private school. Mrs. Snow was responsible for only thirty-five students in total.
This allowed her to offer a much deeper and more personalized level of support to each student.
And coincidentally, both Hawk and Gwen happened to be assigned to her.
At first, Hawk had intended to take a quick shower and change into clean clothes, but Gwen rushed him out of the dorm and toward Mrs. Snow's office before he had the chance.
Curious, Hawk glanced at Gwen as they walked side by side.
"Did she say what it's about?"
"She didn't," Gwen replied. "She just asked if I knew where you were, and if I did, to bring you with me to her office."
"Really?"
Hawk thought for a moment, then looked at Gwen again. "Could it be about college? Maybe your early admission to Berkeley came through, along with a scholarship?"
It was the only thing that made sense to him — why else would Mrs. Snow want to meet them both?
After all, by the time this month ended and September rolled around, they'd officially be seniors. Twelfth grade. Graduation would follow next June.
But before that, top-performing students often locked in their preferred universities early. And vice versa — the best schools also made sure to secure their ideal candidates.
Gwen's first choice was the University of California, Berkeley.
Located in California, Berkeley was a public research university often referred to as a "Public Ivy." With over a hundred Nobel Prize laureates, it ranked third globally in that regard.
Gwen gave a light shrug and looked back at Hawk. "What about you? Still planning to study law at NYU? You're not considering Stanford?"
True, NYU had a strong law program.
But when it came to comparisons, Stanford dominated the field, especially in legal education.
So Gwen was genuinely puzzled by Hawk's decision.
"I heard Mrs. Snow also recommended Stanford to you," she added.
"Yeah, but I definitely won't get a scholarship from them," Hawk replied with a shrug as they continued down the hallway. "NYU is different. Even if I don't get the full scholarship, I'll probably get something. And with a scholarship, it's easier to negotiate loan terms with the bank."
That was it.
Simple, really.
He did want to go to Stanford — or even Yale — to study law, maybe even get involved in some secret society just for the thrill of it.
But it wasn't just about what he wanted. Whether those schools would even accept him was uncertain. And if they did, the tuition alone would be enough to crush him financially.
Hawk was being practical.
If he had to take out loans either way, why not choose a school that would likely offer him a scholarship and reduce the total amount he'd have to borrow?
The last thing he wanted was to still be paying off student loans in his fifties or sixties.
Of course, that was before he awakened his Microcosm.
Now?
He didn't even want to consider Stanford or Yale.
NYU was just fine. He knew New York well. That familiarity brought comfort. He had always wanted a life where he could feel stable, not constantly chasing prestige or uncertainty.
Gwen frowned slightly at his casual tone. She'd wanted to say something but, remembering Hawk's situation — seventeen years old, no car, no phone, no home of his own — she held her tongue.
Soon, they arrived at Mrs. Snow's office.
Knock knock.
"Come in."
Mrs. Snow's voice came from inside the room.
Gwen pushed the door open. Seated behind the desk was a woman in her early forties with a pair of glasses and a kind, composed demeanor.
"Mrs. Snow," Gwen greeted politely.
"Gwen, come have a seat," Mrs. Snow said, gesturing to the couch. Then her eyes fell on Hawk, who stepped in behind Gwen.
"Hawk," she said with a sigh, "I'm going to say it again — you really need to get a phone."
In this day and age, not having a phone was just too inconvenient.
When Hawk had first enrolled in ninth grade, Mrs. Snow had offered to give him a spare phone after learning about his situation. He'd declined and said he'd get one soon.
That was years ago.
Now, with eleventh grade nearly over, Mrs. Snow brought it up again. Every time she asked, Hawk gave the same answer.
Sure enough, this time was no different.
"I'll get one soon," he replied.
"You say that every time," Mrs. Snow said with a tired smile, just about to say more when—
Knock knock.
The door was knocked on again.
A familiar figure stepped inside.
Hawk, just settling onto the couch, raised an eyebrow when he saw who it was.
Peter Parker.
But something about him looked… different.
There was a shift.
This Peter Parker wasn't quite the same one Hawk had seen back in the locker room.
It was hard to explain, but...
This time, Peter Parker looked like he was channeling the energy of Tobey Maguire's Spider-Man — the original, the OG.
If before he had seen Peter as just a regular high schooler, now there was something unmistakably heroic about him.
A spark.
That subtle transformation — the posture, the eyes, the presence — it all felt like watching Spider-Man being born in real time.
Yes.
Technically, this was the Marvel Universe. According to canon, the Spider-Man in this world should be the younger, more modern version.
But standing here in front of him... was Tobey's Peter Parker.
And it was baffling.
Almost surreal.
"Mrs. Snow," Peter said as he stepped into the room.
"Peter," she replied with a bright smile. "Wow, it's only been a few days, but you look... stronger."
It was true.
If Peter used to be a skinny stick, now he looked like a young bull.
Peter scratched his head shyly, offering a sheepish grin before his gaze landed on Hawk sitting on the couch.
He froze.
As if something clicked.
Hawk met his eyes.
For a second, neither of them looked away.
Hawk saw it clearly — when Peter's eyes locked onto him, his pupils contracted and expanded rapidly.
No doubt about it.
Something had changed.
Peter had mutated.
The original Spider-Man — the one who didn't rely on tech, who could shoot webs straight from his wrists — had arrived.
And he was standing right here.