The River of Time did not flow like water.
Water moved from one place to another.
Time carried worlds.
Countless streams stretched beyond perception, each containing civilizations, wars, friendships, tragedies, victories and possibilities that had never touched one another.
KB sat silently upon its shore.
Golden light surrounded his body.
His breathing had become so slow that centuries could have passed between one breath and the next without disturbing his meditation.
Here, distance meant very little.
So did ordinary time.
His physical body remained motionless while his consciousness traveled across realities.
He had come here for two reasons.
First—
to stabilize the inexhaustible power continuing to awaken inside him.
Second—
to understand the message his future self had given him.
Solve the regrets of heroes.
Give hope to those whose stories became tragedies.
And if necessary... do not hesitate to touch the River of Time.
KB still disliked that final instruction.
Time was not a toy.
History wasn't something to rewrite simply because one disliked the ending.
But Steve's reaction to Peggy had taught him something.
Perhaps changing the past wasn't always necessary.
Sometimes merely discovering another possibility could heal a regret.
Now KB wanted to understand the lesson completely.
His consciousness moved deeper.
Millions of lives passed before him.
Warriors.
Kings.
Scientists.
Gods.
Ordinary people who became extraordinary for one impossible moment.
Then—
something caught his attention.
KB opened his eyes.
A thread within the River shimmered.
It felt strangely familiar.
"Spider-Man?"
KB's eyebrows rose.
His consciousness touched the timeline.
New York appeared.
But not his New York.
The skyline was different.
The atmosphere was different.
Even the rhythm of the city felt different.
KB smiled.
"So..."
He leaned slightly forward.
"Another little spider."
Peter Parker was late.
Again.
A battered scooter raced through New York traffic while several pizza boxes threatened to escape from behind him.
Peter glanced at his watch.
"No, no, no..."
A truck blocked the intersection.
Peter hit the brakes.
Cars surrounded him.
His eyes widened.
"You've got to be kidding me."
Somewhere beyond reality, KB watched.
At first he almost laughed.
This Peter was immediately different from the young Spider-Man Alexa had recently reported in his own universe.
The Peter of KB's world was younger.
Still in school.
Excited by his abilities.
Still constructing his identity as Spider-Man.
He had Tony Stark waiting somewhere in his future, advanced technology approaching his life, and the enthusiasm of a teenager who still occasionally thought being a superhero was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.
This Peter?
KB's smile slowly faded.
This Peter looked tired.
Not physically tired.
Tired of living.
Peter abandoned the scooter.
Moments later, Spider-Man swung between buildings with pizzas held awkwardly beneath one arm.
KB blinked.
"...Efficient."
Then Spider-Man stopped.
Police sirens.
Peter looked toward the pizza.
Then toward the sirens.
He closed his eyes.
"Oh, come on."
Seconds later, the pizza delivery was forgotten.
Spider-Man changed direction.
KB watched silently.
That single decision told him almost everything.
This Peter wasn't trying to become an Avenger.
There were no Avengers here.
No Stark Industries internship waiting for him.
No billionaire mentor secretly watching his progress.
No team prepared to catch him when everything became too heavy.
He heard a siren—
and went.
Because someone might need him.
Even if it destroyed something in Peter Parker's life.
"You're fired."
Peter stared at his employer.
"I had—"
"You're fired."
"But—"
"Go."
Peter opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Then quietly removed his pizza uniform.
KB watched from the River.
One sacrifice.
Small.
Almost meaningless.
Except there were thousands of them.
The River moved.
Another scene appeared.
Dr. Curt Connors stood before Peter.
Peter looked exhausted.
Again.
"Peter, you're brilliant."
Peter's eyes lifted slightly.
"But brilliant isn't enough if you're never here."
Peter lowered his head.
KB's expression became serious.
Another sacrifice.
Rent.
Another.
Aunt May.
Another.
Mary Jane.
KB stopped.
Peter stood several feet away from MJ.
The young woman he loved.
The woman he wanted to tell everything.
The woman he repeatedly pushed away because enemies could use her against him.
Peter smiled at her.
But his eyes didn't.
KB recognized that expression.
A man pretending that the decision hurting him was the responsible one.
The River moved again.
Peter watched MJ leave.
He remained standing.
Alone.
Another sacrifice.
The next scene was quieter.
Peter sat inside his tiny apartment.
The walls were thin.
The room was cramped.
Bills waited nearby.
College work remained unfinished.
His landlord wanted rent.
His job was gone.
His academic career was collapsing.
His relationship with MJ seemed impossible.
Aunt May was struggling financially.
And somewhere outside—
sirens.
Peter closed his eyes.
KB watched.
The siren continued.
Peter slowly stood.
He reached for the Spider-Man suit.
His hand stopped.
For perhaps five seconds, Peter Parker simply stared at it.
KB leaned forward.
There.
Something important.
Peter finally grabbed the suit.
Spider-Man swung through New York.
For a moment, everything seemed normal.
Then—
the web disappeared.
Peter's eyes widened.
"What?"
His momentum vanished.
He fell.
KB immediately stood on the shore of the River of Time.
Golden energy appeared around his fingers.
Peter plummeted toward the street.
KB's eyes narrowed.
Space opened around his hand.
One movement—
and he could catch him.
Then KB stopped.
Peter desperately twisted.
He struck an awning.
Bounced.
Crashed into several objects.
And finally landed painfully.
Silence.
KB stared.
Peter groaned.
"I'm back!"
A second later—
pain.
"My back..."
KB's raised hand slowly lowered.
For a moment amusement crossed his face.
Then it vanished.
"What happened?"
KB replayed the event.
No outside interference.
No magical attack.
No dimensional disturbance.
No poison.
No technological suppression.
Nothing.
Yet Peter's powers had failed.
KB became interested.
"Show me again."
The River obeyed.
Peter climbing.
His ability failed.
Peter attempted to shoot a web.
Nothing.
His eyesight blurred.
His enhanced physical capabilities fluctuated.
KB watched every biological process.
His expression became increasingly strange.
"The mutation is stable."
Peter's altered genetics remained intact.
His body was healthy.
The spider-derived abilities had not disappeared.
Yet the connection between Peter's mind and those abilities had become unstable.
KB looked into Peter's emotional state.
And stopped.
Guilt.
Grief.
Stress.
Anxiety.
Loneliness.
Exhaustion.
Resentment.
Love.
Duty.
Fear.
And beneath all of it—
one question Peter had never allowed himself to ask.
What about me?
KB became silent.
Peter had spent years believing every desire belonging to Peter Parker was less important than Spider-Man's responsibility.
Peter wanted MJ.
Spider-Man couldn't risk her.
Peter needed education.
Spider-Man heard sirens.
Peter needed money.
Spider-Man had to save someone.
Peter needed sleep.
Spider-Man had responsibility.
Peter wanted one ordinary day.
Spider-Man had responsibility.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Until responsibility had stopped being something Peter chose.
It had become punishment.
KB's eyes slowly widened.
"Your powers aren't leaving you."
He looked toward Peter.
"You want them gone."
Peter sat across from a doctor.
"My dream..."
He tried explaining what was happening without revealing the truth.
The doctor listened.
Eventually the conversation turned toward choice.
Perhaps Peter needed to understand what he wanted.
KB observed silently.
Peter left.
The River shifted.
And eventually—
Peter made his decision.
Night.
Rain.
An alley.
Peter Parker stood beside a garbage can.
Spider-Man's suit rested in his hands.
He stared at it.
For years that suit had represented everything Uncle Ben taught him.
Responsibility.
Sacrifice.
Courage.
But now—
Peter saw something else.
Everything he had lost.
His eyes lingered on the mask.
KB stood invisibly several feet away.
Not physically.
A projection through the River.
Peter couldn't see him.
KB could have spoken.
One sentence.
Don't give up.
That might have been enough.
Peter respected responsibility too much.
Tell him people needed Spider-Man and he would probably put the suit back on.
KB remained silent.
Peter slowly placed the costume into the trash.
The mask rested on top.
Rain struck it.
Peter turned.
He walked away.
KB watched.
His face revealed nothing.
From the River of Time, countless possibilities appeared.
In some, Peter turned back.
In others, he didn't.
In some, tragedy forced him back immediately.
KB could interfere.
Future KB's instruction echoed.
Give hope.
Golden light appeared around his fingers.
Then disappeared.
KB smiled.
"Good."
The River became still.
"Put it down."
For the first time in years—
Peter Parker slept.
Actually slept.
The alarm rang.
Peter woke.
Sunlight entered the apartment.
He didn't have to hide bruises.
Didn't have to inspect torn webbing.
Didn't have to calculate how to reach class after fighting criminals until four in the morning.
Peter walked through New York.
Someone shouted for Spider-Man somewhere in the distance.
Peter's steps slowed.
Then continued.
He attended class.
Dr. Connors noticed.
Peter answered questions.
He studied.
He smiled.
He bought food.
He walked instead of swinging.
The world suddenly seemed slower.
KB watched all of it.
At first Peter's happiness made him smile.
Then KB noticed something.
Every police siren still caused Peter's head to turn.
Every scream made his shoulders tense.
Every newspaper headline about crime caught his eyes.
He had abandoned Spider-Man.
But Spider-Man hadn't abandoned him.
Peter saw police racing somewhere.
He looked away.
Then looked back.
His jaw tightened.
He forced himself to continue walking.
KB whispered,
"Interesting."
He finally understood why Future KB had directed him toward regrets.
This wasn't a hero who needed more power.
Peter didn't need training.
Didn't need armor.
Didn't need a stronger web.
Didn't need a cosmic blessing.
He needed permission to answer a question.
Why am I Spider-Man?
Not because Uncle Ben died.
Not because Peter failed once.
Not because the universe had sentenced him to lifelong repayment.
Why did Peter Parker choose to help?
That answer had become buried beneath guilt.
The River shifted.
Peter visited Aunt May.
KB's expression softened.
She was another difference between this Spider-Man and the younger Peter of his own universe.
This Peter had already lost Uncle Ben.
He had already carried responsibility for years.
He had already faced enemies who knew his identity.
Already experienced love and rejection.
Already discovered that being Spider-Man didn't make life easier.
This Peter wasn't discovering heroism.
He was surviving it.
And he was doing so almost entirely alone.
KB thought of the Spider-Man in his own universe.
Tony would eventually find him.
The Avengers existed.
KB himself existed.
Even if that Peter didn't know it yet, there would eventually be people capable of understanding his world.
This Peter had no Avengers Tower.
No Tony Stark.
No Steve Rogers.
No Natasha.
No SHIELD.
No Happy Café where exhausted heroes could sit around a table and complain about Tony's coffee.
When this Spider-Man returned home—
he returned to Peter Parker's bills.
KB's expression became increasingly solemn.
"You're lonely."
That, perhaps, was the deepest wound.
Then Peter saw MJ again.
The happiness faded.
She had moved forward.
Or was trying to.
Peter wanted her.
Now that Spider-Man was gone, perhaps Peter Parker could finally have what he wanted.
But life didn't suddenly become simple.
KB watched Peter struggle with his feelings.
He saw hope.
Jealousy.
Regret.
Confusion.
And again—
guilt.
Peter had believed removing Spider-Man would solve Peter Parker.
It hadn't.
It had only given Peter enough silence to finally hear himself.
KB smiled.
"Now we're getting somewhere."
Then came the fire.
Peter saw smoke.
People gathered outside a burning building.
Firefighters rushed forward.
Peter stopped.
He was no longer Spider-Man.
He didn't have powers.
At least, none he could reliably access.
He could walk away.
Nobody would blame Peter Parker.
Nobody even knew Peter Parker had once been Spider-Man.
Then someone screamed.
A child remained inside.
Peter's expression changed.
KB stood.
Peter ran toward the building.
No costume.
No mask.
No webs.
No superhuman certainty.
Just Peter.
KB's eyes widened.
"There."
Peter entered the flames.
Heat struck him.
Smoke filled his lungs.
He coughed.
He wasn't moving like Spider-Man.
He was moving like an ordinary young man who knew entering a burning building might kill him.
And he entered anyway.
KB's smile slowly appeared.
"There you are."
Peter found the child.
He carried them.
Debris fell.
Peter barely escaped.
Firefighters rushed forward.
The child survived.
Peter stood outside coughing.
For a moment he looked almost happy.
Then he heard something.
Another person had died.
Someone he hadn't saved.
Peter's face collapsed.
KB's smile disappeared.
There it was again.
Peter immediately absorbed the death as though it belonged to him.
Even without Spider-Man.
Even without powers.
I should have done more.
KB closed his eyes.
"That's your real wound."
It had never been the spider bite.
It wasn't the powers.
It wasn't even Spider-Man.
Peter believed every person he failed to save became evidence of his failure.
Responsibility had become infinite.
And no human being could survive infinite responsibility.
Not even a superhuman one.
KB finally stood.
Golden light gathered around him.
"I understand."
The River reacted.
He could enter.
But he hesitated.
Future KB's instruction returned.
Give hope to tragic heroes.
KB thought about Steve.
Steve's regret had been connected to Peggy.
Showing him another possibility created hope.
But Peter was different.
Peter didn't need to know that another Spider-Man had a better life.
In fact, showing him Tom's Peter might make things worse.
A younger Spider-Man with Avengers around him.
Advanced technology waiting in his future.
Friends.
Mentors.
Opportunities.
That wasn't what this Peter needed.
Comparing tragedies was not healing.
KB smiled.
"No."
Peter needed something simpler.
Someone needed to look at Peter Parker—
not Spider-Man—
and tell him that he was allowed to exist.
KB stepped toward the River.
Then stopped again.
His eyes widened.
Something moved beneath Peter's timeline.
Not an enemy.
Possibility.
KB saw flashes.
Mechanical arms.
A brilliant scientist.
Fusion.
A woman named Rosie.
Otto Octavius.
Then—
tragedy.
KB's expression became serious.
Another regret.
Another brilliant man whose life would turn because of a few terrible minutes.
KB could interfere now.
Prevent the experiment.
Save Rosie.
Stop Doctor Octopus before he existed.
His hand rose.
The River trembled.
One movement.
That was all.
Then KB remembered his own rule.
Understand before acting.
His hand lowered.
"No."
Not yet.
This wasn't about fixing everything he saw.
He had come here to learn.
Otto's story could wait.
Peter came first.
KB looked deeper.
Then another presence flickered within the timeline.
Harry Osborn.
Anger.
Grief.
His father.
Spider-Man.
Peter.
Another tragedy growing quietly beside the first.
KB's expression became increasingly complicated.
"So many regrets..."
For the first time he understood the scale of Future KB's instruction.
Every hero's life touched dozens of others.
Save one person and perhaps another fell.
Prevent one tragedy and perhaps a greater one emerged.
The River wasn't a collection of isolated stories.
It was a web.
KB laughed softly.
"Of course."
He looked toward Peter.
"A web."
Perhaps that was why this timeline had caught his attention.
KB stepped forward.
The River opened.
His golden aura disappeared.
Divinity vanished.
Cosmic pressure vanished.
Even his clothing changed into something ordinary.
Dark trousers.
Simple shirt.
Coat.
No Aureon.
No crown.
No armor.
No indication that the stranger about to enter Peter Parker's life could look across universes.
KB examined himself.
"Better."
He stepped through.
New York surrounded him.
Cars.
People.
Noise.
Life.
KB stood on a sidewalk.
Nobody noticed his arrival.
He could feel Peter several blocks away.
Walking alone.
Thinking.
Always thinking.
KB didn't approach him.
Not yet.
Instead, he followed from a distance.
Peter stopped outside a shop window.
A television inside displayed the news.
Crime.
The absence of Spider-Man.
Questions about where the masked hero had gone.
Peter watched.
His expression tightened.
Then he continued walking.
KB followed.
Peter passed an alley.
A police siren echoed.
He stopped.
His hand clenched.
Then relaxed.
He kept walking.
KB's expression softened.
This wasn't cowardice.
Every step away hurt him.
That mattered.
Peter finally entered a small diner.
Rain had begun falling over New York.
Not heavily.
Just enough to cover the windows of the small diner in thin streams of water and turn the lights outside into blurred streaks of red, yellow, and white.
Peter Parker sat alone beside the window.
A textbook lay open before him.
He had been staring at the same page for almost ten minutes.
For once, the problem wasn't that Spider-Man had interrupted his studies.
There was no Spider-Man anymore.
Peter had made sure of that.
The suit was gone.
The mask was gone.
The responsibility—
Peter's fingers tightened around his coffee.
That was proving considerably harder to throw away.
A police siren passed outside.
His head turned automatically.
Peter watched the patrol car disappear.
His body almost moved.
Almost.
Then he forced himself back into his seat.
Not anymore.
He looked at the book.
Another siren echoed somewhere farther away.
Peter closed his eyes.
He hated how quickly he recognized the direction.
He hated that part of himself was already calculating the fastest route there.
Most of all, he hated the tiny voice asking:
What if someone needs you?
Peter rubbed his forehead.
"Bad day?"
Peter looked up.
The stranger from the nearby table was looking at him.
The same man who had somehow managed to argue with a waitress over the existence of tea five minutes earlier.
Peter blinked.
"Sorry?"
The stranger gestured toward him.
"You look like someone who's been arguing with himself for several hours."
Peter gave a tired laugh.
"More like several years."
The stranger nodded solemnly.
"Ah."
He lifted his cup.
"Chronic."
Peter stared.
Then, despite himself, smiled.
It had been a while since a complete stranger had made him smile.
"Something like that."
Peter returned to his textbook.
At least he tried to.
His eyes drifted toward the stranger again.
And this time Peter properly looked at him.
He was—
Peter struggled to find a less ridiculous word.
Handsome.
No.
That didn't quite describe it.
Peter had seen handsome people before.
This was different.
The stranger possessed the kind of appearance that naturally drew attention without seeming to demand it. His features were unusually refined, his expression relaxed, his dark hair slightly disturbed as though the rain outside had caught him before he entered.
But it wasn't merely appearance.
There was something about him Peter couldn't explain.
Something almost—
gentle.
The stranger sat casually with one hand around his cup, looking perfectly ordinary.
Yet Peter felt something strange whenever he looked toward him.
Calm.
His shoulders had relaxed.
Peter hadn't even realized they had been tense.
The constant noise in his head seemed quieter.
The guilt was still there.
MJ.
Aunt May.
Uncle Ben.
Spider-Man.
Everything remained.
But somehow, sitting several feet away from this stranger, those thoughts didn't feel like they were strangling him.
Peter frowned.
That made absolutely no sense.
He looked back toward his book.
Maybe I really do need sleep.
"You're staring."
Peter nearly dropped his coffee.
"What?"
The stranger hadn't even looked at him.
Peter's face reddened.
"I wasn't staring."
"Of course."
"I wasn't."
The stranger finally looked up.
There was amusement in his eyes.
Peter immediately looked down.
"Okay, maybe a little."
The stranger smiled.
Peter felt strangely embarrassed.
"Have we met?"
"No."
"Then..."
Peter hesitated.
"Who are you?"
The stranger extended his hand.
"KB."
Peter shook it.
"Peter."
The moment their hands touched, Peter felt something he couldn't describe.
Warmth.
Not physical warmth exactly.
Something deeper.
For a fraction of a second, Peter remembered Aunt May's house.
Uncle Ben laughing.
MJ smiling.
Home.
Then it disappeared.
Peter released his hand.
He stared at KB.
KB simply drank his tea.
Peter looked at his own palm.
What was that?
"Everything okay?"
Peter quickly nodded.
"Yeah."
A pause.
"You're sure?"
"Yeah."
KB smiled.
Peter somehow felt that the man knew he was lying.
Yet he didn't push.
That made Peter relax more.
Most people wanted something from him.
Professors wanted assignments.
His landlord wanted rent.
Jameson wanted photographs.
MJ wanted honesty Peter couldn't give her.
Harry wanted friendship while Peter carried secrets involving his father.
Aunt May needed help Peter couldn't always provide.
New York had wanted Spider-Man.
This stranger...
wanted nothing.
That shouldn't have mattered.
It did.
KB watched Peter carefully.
He had deliberately suppressed almost everything about himself before entering this universe.
His divine aura.
His power.
His presence.
Even the natural pressure his existence could exert upon reality had been sealed away.
Yet some things could not be completely hidden.
His nature had changed too much.
The peace Peter felt wasn't manipulation.
KB wasn't influencing his mind.
He would never do that merely to make someone trust him.
It was simply what remained when KB stripped everything else away.
A fragment of harmony.
A quiet presence.
Peter was more sensitive to it than an ordinary person.
Perhaps because of his powers.
Perhaps because he desperately needed somewhere to feel safe.
KB didn't know.
So he waited.
Peter eventually asked,
"Do you do this often?"
KB raised an eyebrow.
"Drink tea?"
"Talk to random strangers."
"Only the interesting ones."
Peter laughed awkwardly.
"I'm not very interesting."
KB stared at him.
Peter immediately felt as though he had said something incredibly stupid.
"What?"
"Nothing."
KB took another sip.
"You simply said it with remarkable confidence."
Peter looked down.
"I guess I've had practice."
"At underestimating yourself?"
Peter's smile weakened.
There it was.
That strange feeling again.
This man wasn't interrogating him.
But every casual sentence seemed to land somewhere uncomfortable.
Peter looked toward the window.
"You ever..."
He stopped.
KB waited.
Peter glanced back.
"You ever feel like your life belongs to everyone except you?"
KB's expression didn't change.
Peter immediately regretted asking.
"Never mind."
"Yes."
Peter looked back.
KB's eyes were calm.
"Yes?"
"Yes."
That was all.
No lecture.
No attempt to make Peter's problem seem insignificant.
Peter leaned back.
"What did you do?"
"Badly?"
Peter smiled faintly.
"Sure."
"For a while, I tried carrying everything."
Peter's smile vanished.
KB continued.
"Other people's expectations. Their safety. Their happiness. Their mistakes."
His fingers moved slowly around the cup.
"Eventually you begin believing that if something goes wrong while you possess the ability to prevent it..."
Peter became completely still.
"...then somehow it becomes your fault."
Peter's heartbeat changed.
KB heard it.
He pretended not to.
Peter swallowed.
"What if it is?"
KB looked directly at him.
Peter suddenly found it difficult to look away.
"What if what's your fault?"
Peter hesitated.
"If you could've stopped something."
The diner seemed quieter.
"And you didn't."
KB waited.
Peter's eyes lowered.
"And someone got hurt."
Uncle Ben.
The name wasn't spoken.
It didn't need to be.
Peter's fingers tightened.
"Then you learn from it."
Peter looked up.
KB continued gently.
"You accept your responsibility."
Peter's expression became pained.
"And then?"
"You continue living."
Peter stared at him.
"That's it?"
"No."
KB smiled faintly.
"You'll probably spend years making it unnecessarily complicated first."
Peter almost laughed.
Almost.
"But yes."
KB leaned slightly forward.
"You continue living."
Peter shook his head.
"What if you can't?"
"Then perhaps you've confused responsibility with punishment."
That silenced Peter.
KB could practically see the words entering every wall Peter had built around Uncle Ben's death.
Peter whispered,
"What's the difference?"
"Responsibility says..."
KB placed his cup down.
"'I made a mistake. I will become better because of it.'"
Then his expression became serious.
"Punishment says..."
"'I made a mistake. Therefore I no longer deserve happiness.'"
Peter stopped breathing for a moment.
MJ flashed through his mind.
Every time he had pushed her away.
Every opportunity he had sacrificed.
Every night he had gone hungry.
Every class he had missed.
Every wound hidden beneath ordinary clothes.
Every time Peter Parker wanted something and Spider-Man answered:
You don't deserve to choose yourself.
Peter looked away.
"Sometimes people don't get both."
"Both what?"
"What they want..."
Peter swallowed.
"...and what they're responsible for."
"True."
Peter looked surprised.
He had expected disagreement.
KB continued.
"Sometimes doing the right thing costs you something."
"Sometimes responsibility hurts."
"Sometimes you'll make the correct choice and hate every second of it."
Peter watched him.
"But sacrifice is supposed to have meaning."
KB's voice softened.
"It isn't supposed to become an addiction."
Peter frowned.
"An addiction?"
"Some good people become so accustomed to sacrificing themselves that eventually they stop asking whether the sacrifice is necessary."
KB looked directly into his eyes.
"They begin measuring their goodness by how much they suffer."
Peter felt something twist inside his chest.
KB continued.
"And eventually..."
"...they don't know who they are without suffering."
Peter looked away immediately.
Too close.
This conversation was becoming far too close.
He didn't know this man.
KB didn't know him.
He couldn't.
Peter tried changing the subject.
"So what, people should just stop helping?"
KB smiled.
"I didn't say that."
"Sounds like it."
"No."
KB leaned backward.
"I said helping people and destroying yourself aren't synonymous."
Peter's jaw tightened.
"Easy to say."
"Very."
"Harder when someone actually needs you."
"Also true."
Peter stared at him.
KB wasn't giving him anything to fight against.
Every time Peter expected some easy philosophy, KB acknowledged the problem instead.
That was irritating.
And strangely comforting.
Peter looked outside.
"What if people need someone?"
KB followed his gaze.
"What if they need a hero?"
KB became quiet.
Peter immediately realized how strange that sounded.
He tried recovering.
"I mean... hypothetically."
"Naturally."
Peter narrowed his eyes.
KB's mouth twitched.
Peter looked away.
"What if someone can do things other people can't?"
KB didn't answer.
"And because they can..."
Peter's voice grew quieter.
"...doesn't that mean they should?"
KB studied him.
"Sometimes."
Peter turned.
"Sometimes?"
"Ability creates responsibility."
Peter's heart skipped.
KB continued.
"But responsibility has limits."
"No, it doesn't."
The answer came too quickly.
KB noticed.
Peter did too.
Peter lowered his voice.
"I mean... if you can save someone, you should."
"Yes."
"And if you don't—"
"Then circumstances matter."
Peter frowned.
"They're still hurt."
"Yes."
"Maybe dead."
"Yes."
"And you could've stopped it."
"Perhaps."
"Then it's your fault."
"No."
Peter stared.
KB's answer had been immediate.
Absolute.
Peter's expression hardened.
"You don't know that."
"Neither do you."
Peter fell silent.
KB's eyes became extraordinarily gentle.
"Peter..."
Something about the way he said his name made Peter listen.
"You are responsible for your choices."
"Not every consequence in the universe that happens because you weren't there to prevent it."
Peter looked down.
"If a doctor saves ten patients but cannot reach the eleventh in time, is he a murderer?"
"No."
"If a firefighter rescues three children but another person dies in the building, did he kill them?"
"No."
"If someone spends years helping strangers but takes one evening for himself..."
KB paused.
"...does every crime committed that evening become his?"
Peter's eyes snapped toward him.
For several seconds neither moved.
KB had crossed a line.
Peter knew it.
Maybe KB knew it too.
Peter's heartbeat accelerated.
"Why did you say that?"
KB calmly lifted his cup.
"Say what?"
"That last part."
"A hypothetical example."
"No."
Peter stared.
"That was very specific."
KB took a sip.
Peter suddenly remembered his first sentence.
You look like someone who's been arguing with himself for several hours.
Then everything after it.
Responsibility.
Guilt.
Sacrifice.
Saving people.
Peter's eyes narrowed.
"Who are you?"
"I told you."
"KB."
"Correct."
"KB what?"
KB smiled.
"Today? Just KB."
Peter stared.
"That's not an answer."
"It's technically an answer."
Peter almost heard Harry complaining about him being evasive.
"Do you know me?"
"Yes."
Peter froze.
KB had said it without hesitation.
"From where?"
KB didn't answer.
Peter's body instinctively became alert.
His powers might have been failing, but years of danger didn't simply disappear.
"Did Harry send you?"
"No."
"Jameson?"
KB actually looked offended.
"I have standards."
Despite himself, Peter nearly laughed.
He resisted.
"How do you know me?"
KB looked at him.
"You're Peter Parker."
Peter's expression flattened.
"I told you my name."
"Peter Benjamin Parker."
Everything stopped.
Peter slowly stood.
KB remained seated.
"Who are you?"
Several customers glanced toward them.
Peter lowered his voice.
"How do you know that?"
KB placed his cup down.
"Sit."
"No."
"Peter."
"Don't."
Peter's voice trembled slightly.
"Don't say my name like you know me."
KB became silent.
The anger wasn't really directed at him.
Beneath it was fear.
Peter had spent years protecting secrets.
One secret in particular.
If this stranger knew—
MJ.
Aunt May.
Harry.
Everyone could be in danger.
KB's expression softened.
"I won't hurt them."
Peter went completely still.
"What?"
"The people you're thinking about."
Peter's face lost color.
KB immediately added,
"I cannot read your thoughts."
Peter stared.
"I didn't ask that."
"No. Your expression did."
"Who are you?"
KB considered him.
Then sighed.
"Someone who wanted to meet Peter Parker."
"Why?"
"Because everyone else seems terribly interested in someone you used to know."
Peter's eyes narrowed.
"Who?"
KB looked toward the window.
A newspaper vending machine stood outside.
On its front page—
WHERE IS SPIDER-MAN?
Peter followed his gaze.
His blood ran cold.
He slowly turned back.
KB was drinking his tea.
Peter whispered,
"You..."
KB looked at him.
Peter couldn't finish.
Fear surged through him.
Yet something contradicted it.
His instincts should have been screaming.
Run.
Fight.
Protect your identity.
But that inexplicable feeling remained.
Safe.
Peter hated that he couldn't explain it.
This man knew.
He definitely knew.
And yet Peter somehow felt safer beside him than he had felt in months.
That frightened him almost as much as KB's knowledge.
KB gestured toward the chair.
"Sit."
This time Peter did.
For several seconds neither spoke.
Finally Peter whispered,
"You know."
KB didn't insult him by pretending otherwise.
"Yes."
"How?"
"That answer would create approximately seventeen more questions."
"Try me."
KB smiled.
"Later."
Peter glared.
KB became serious again.
"I didn't come here because of Spider-Man."
Peter looked confused.
"Then why?"
"You."
"Me?"
"Peter Parker."
Peter stared.
KB leaned slightly forward.
"I've seen people admire heroes while forgetting there is a person underneath."
Peter's expression slowly changed.
"Sometimes the person underneath forgets too."
That struck harder.
KB continued.
"Have you ever carried something so long that you forgot you were allowed to put it down?"
Peter looked toward the rain.
"Maybe."
"And when you finally put it down..."
KB's voice became quieter.
"...did you feel guilty?"
Peter didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
KB looked outside.
"Because everyone needs it?"
Peter swallowed.
"Something like that."
"And without it?"
Peter's fingers tightened.
"I don't know who I'm supposed to be."
There.
The truth.
Peter seemed surprised that he'd said it aloud.
KB smiled gently.
"Good."
Peter stared.
"What?"
"That's a much better question."
"How?"
"Because until now you've been asking the wrong one."
Peter frowned.
"What question?"
KB looked directly into his eyes.
"How much does Spider-Man owe the world?"
Peter became silent.
"The better question is..."
KB tapped the table lightly.
"Who is Peter Parker when nobody needs Spider-Man?"
Peter couldn't answer.
KB stood.
Peter immediately looked up.
"You're leaving?"
The disappointment in his voice surprised even him.
KB noticed.
But didn't tease.
"For now."
Peter stood as well.
"Wait."
KB stopped.
Peter hesitated.
There were hundreds of questions.
Who was KB?
How did he know?
Where did he come from?
Why did being near him feel so strangely peaceful?
Was he enhanced?
Was he dangerous?
But another question escaped instead.
"What if I find out Peter Parker isn't enough?"
KB turned.
For the first time, his expression contained no amusement.
He walked back.
Then placed a hand gently on Peter's shoulder.
Peter felt that warmth again.
That impossible sense of safety.
KB spoke quietly.
"Peter..."
"You were Peter Parker before you ever became Spider-Man."
Peter's eyes widened.
"And everything good about Spider-Man came from the man beneath the mask."
Peter couldn't move.
KB removed his hand.
"So perhaps..."
A gentle smile returned.
"...you should stop treating Peter Parker like the part that doesn't matter."
Peter's throat tightened.
KB turned away.
"Wait!"
KB stopped again.
Peter's voice became quieter.
"My uncle once told me something."
KB already knew.
But he let Peter say it.
"About power."
KB waited.
"And responsibility."
Peter looked down.
"He believed if you could do something good..."
His voice weakened.
"...you had a responsibility to do it."
KB nodded.
"He sounds like a wise man."
"He was."
Peter swallowed.
"And I failed him."
KB looked at Peter for several seconds.
Then asked:
"Did your uncle tell you responsibility meant you were never allowed to be happy?"
Peter froze.
"No."
"Did he tell you every person you couldn't save became your crime?"
Peter's breathing became uneven.
"No."
"Did he tell you that Peter Parker had to disappear so everyone else could have Spider-Man?"
Peter's eyes became wet.
"No."
KB's expression softened.
"Then why..."
His voice became almost a whisper.
"...have you turned his final lesson into your sentence?"
Peter couldn't answer.
Uncle Ben's face appeared in his mind.
Not dying.
Smiling.
Laughing.
Loving him.
For years Peter had heard only the final lesson.
With great power comes great responsibility.
Perhaps somewhere along the way—
Peter had forgotten the man who said it.
Uncle Ben hadn't wanted Peter punished.
He had wanted him to become good.
Peter looked up.
KB was already walking toward the door.
"KB!"
The door opened.
Rain and city noise entered.
KB looked over his shoulder.
Peter asked the question that had been bothering him since the moment they met.
"Why do I feel like I can trust you?"
KB seemed genuinely surprised.
Then his expression became gentle.
"Maybe because you needed to trust someone."
Peter frowned.
"That's not really an answer."
KB smiled.
"I'm told I do that often."
Then he stepped outside.
Peter immediately followed.
"Wait!"
He pushed through the door.
Rain fell across the sidewalk.
People moved past.
Cars filled the street.
Peter looked left.
Nothing.
Right.
Nothing.
KB was gone.
Peter stared.
"How...?"
There had been nowhere for him to disappear.
Peter moved farther onto the sidewalk.
His eyes searched the crowd.
Nothing.
Then—
something landed on his shoulder.
Peter reached for it.
A tiny golden feather rested between his fingers.
Not quite a real feather.
Light seemed to move through it.
Peter stared.
"What the..."
The feather dissolved.
Golden particles rose from his palm.
Then disappeared.
Peter stood motionless beneath the rain.
For several seconds he wondered whether the entire conversation had happened at all.
But the words remained.
You were Peter Parker before you ever became Spider-Man.
Peter looked down at his hands.
No webs.
No impossible strength.
No mask.
Just Peter Parker.
And for the first time since losing his powers...
that didn't sound completely worthless.
Far above the city—
KB stood upon the edge of a skyscraper.
Rain passed through the subtle field surrounding him without touching his clothes.
He watched Peter below.
No Aureon armor.
No crown.
No divine manifestation.
Just KB.
He could have restored Peter's powers with less effort than it took to lift his cup of tea.
He could have removed Peter's guilt.
Could have altered his memories.
Could have changed Uncle Ben's fate.
Could have rearranged the timeline until Peter received everything he wanted.
KB did none of those things.
Because then Peter's answer would belong to KB.
Not Peter.
A faint thread appeared.
Weak.
Almost invisible.
KB watched it emerge from Peter.
Not faith in KB.
Something much more interesting.
The beginning of faith in Peter Parker.
KB smiled.
"So that's your regret."
He understood Future KB a little better now.
Some heroes regretted people they couldn't save.
Some regretted choices.
Some regretted lost possibilities.
Peter Parker's tragedy was different.
He had spent so long trying to become worthy of Uncle Ben's lesson...
that somewhere along the way, he had begun believing Peter Parker himself was unworthy of happiness.
KB turned toward the skyline.
"But we're not finished."
Because Peter had heard KB's words.
He had not yet accepted them.
And KB knew something important.
Advice given during peace was easy to believe.
Truth revealed under pressure was different.
Peter would soon be tested.
Not as Spider-Man.
As Peter Parker.
And when that moment came—
KB wanted to know which man would run toward danger.
The superhero who possessed extraordinary powers?
Or the ordinary young man who no longer had them?
KB's eyes shimmered gold.
"Show me, Peter."
A small smile appeared.
"Who is the hero..."
His gaze returned to the young man standing in the rain far below.
"...the spider?"
The golden light faded.
"Or the man?"
And somewhere in New York, unaware that he was being watched by someone from beyond his universe, Peter Parker slowly began walking home.
For the first time in years—
he wasn't asking what Spider-Man needed to do.
He was thinking about what Peter Parker wanted to become.