Watching Peter speak with such effortless charisma, an incredibly strange thought flickered through Gwen's mind.
Why does it feel like... Peter is acting more like a "superpowered" person than I am?
The thought lasted less than a hundredth of a second before she firmly squashed it. But as she came back to reality, she had to admit: the current Peter was undeniably more magnetic than before.
What Gwen didn't know was that Peter wasn't exaggerating in the slightest. It wasn't until he had "awakened" his own genius that he truly understood the weight of the old saying: "No matter how slow a person is, by fourteen, how can they not learn calculus?"
To the old Peter, the university-level formulas and theories from his past life were cryptic puzzles to be memorized by rote.
To the current Peter, they were transparent—concepts he could understand at a glance and even apply in reverse.
Combined with the Horse Talisman's ability to wipe away the physical strain of long study sessions—no eye strain, no back aches—his learning efficiency was essentially a cheat code.
Under such monstrous efficiency, earning dual doctorates was, to him, as simple as breathing.
Gwen looked at Peter's confident profile and, after a moment's hesitation, nodded. "Alright then. I'll take you to see Dr. Connors after school."
While the two were chatting, a tall, hulking figure swaggered onto the school bus. It was the Midtown High bully, "Flash" Thompson. He instinctively scanned the bus for his favorite target, "Puny Parker," looking for a bit of morning entertainment.
He locked onto his target quickly, but the cruel smirk on his face froze before it could fully form.
He saw Peter Parker sitting with Gwen Stacy. They were close—very close—laughing and talking with an intimacy that felt almost offensive to Flash's world order.
The moment he realized this, Flash's bravado evaporated.
Who was Gwen Stacy? The daughter of the Police Captain, his own father's boss. If he messed with her, her dad could make a call to the school board that would end Flash's football career before the next kickoff.
Flash immediately turned tail and slunk into a seat at the back of the bus. Fine, today isn't the day. I'll just wait until Gwen isn't around to give Parker a proper 'greeting.'
He comforted himself with the thought, unaware that he had just missed the only chance he would ever have to stand over Peter Parker. From this day forward, he would only ever be looking up at the "nerd" he once despised. Though, in a way, it wasn't a bad thing—at least the bully had successfully managed to keep himself alive.
After school, Gwen kept her promise and brought Peter to the Oscorp Tower. Using her intern ID, they bypassed security and made their way to the restricted genetics lab.
Before they even reached the door, the sound of a heated argument drifted through the cracked entrance.
"Dr. Connors, I need a definitive timeline! Not more of your vague promises!" A sharp female voice cut through the air, dripping with corporate arrogance. "This project has consumed too much funding and time. Mr. Osborn and the board are losing patience!"
"Give me more time!" Connor's voice sounded ragged and exhausted, yet remained stubborn.
"We are one step away! Just one formula away from successfully splicing lizard DNA into the human genome. This will be the greatest advancement in medical history! We will cure all diseases, regenerate limbs, maybe even conquer cancer!"
"Hah! The same old story!" The assistant let out a disdainful sneer. "The board has been hearing that for three years. Dr. Connors, I am officially delivering Norman Osborn's ultimatum. One month. If there's no progress in thirty days, start packing your bags."
Click-clack, click-clack.
The sound of high heels approached the door. Gwen quickly pulled Peter to the side, hiding in an alcove until the brunette assistant marched past with her chin held high. Once she was gone, Gwen led Peter into the lab.
The spacious laboratory was a disaster zone. Curt Connors was slumped in his chair, looking utterly defeated. The empty right sleeve of his lab coat hung limply, making him look even more pathetic.
Noticing Gwen and the boy behind her, Connors forced a weak, pained smile. "Sorry, kids. You had to see that mess."
Gwen opened her mouth to offer some comfort, but she didn't know where to start. Peter, however, seemed completely unaffected by the heavy atmosphere. He walked straight past them to the large whiteboard at the center of the room.
The board was covered in a dense thicket of complex biological formulas. One central area had clearly been erased and rewritten so many times that a grey, blurry smudge remained.
Peter's gaze locked onto that smudge. Looking at the surrounding derivations, he confirmed his theory: Connors was missing the Decay Rate Algorithm. He could solve this.
Without a word, Peter picked up a black marker from the tray. He didn't hesitate. He placed the tip against the board and began to write just below the blurred mess.
Squeak, squeak, squeak.
Beautiful, rigorous symbols and numbers flowed from his hand, weaving a brand-new path of calculation. Time seemed to slow down.
Gwen, who had been trying to find words of comfort for the doctor, looked up and froze. Peter... is deriving the algorithm?
Noticing Gwen's stunned silence, the despondent Dr. Connors followed her gaze. His expression shifted rapidly—from confusion to shock, and finally to pure, unadulterated horror—all within ten seconds.
He shot out of his chair as if it were electrified, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the new line of math appearing on the board. He almost forgot to breathe.
Impossible! That's absolutely impossible!
The problem that had haunted him and his team for years... the riddle that the world's top geneticists couldn't crack... was being solved by a high school kid with the casual ease of someone writing a grocery list?!!