Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The numbers had not changed since the last time Peter checked them, but that did not stop him from opening the report again. He sat hunched over his desk with his laptop casting a pale glow across the darkened bedroom, one knee pulled up beneath the oversized sweatshirt he had stolen from the lab a few nights ago. The apartment had been quiet for hours. May had gone to bed sometime before midnight after reminding him twice that he had school in the morning, and even the traffic outside had faded to the occasional rush of tires against wet pavement. Peter should have been asleep with the rest of Queens, but the New York Student Innovation Challenge was two days away, and every time he tried to close his laptop, his mind found another thing he might have forgotten to check.

The competition had started four months earlier with more than a hundred public and private high schools from across the city submitting proposals for the next innovation in science and technology. Each school could only submit one invention, and at Midtown they decided to let all grade levels in each science class come up with an invention. The Science Department and Principal Mortia would then decide what device would best represent the school in the competition. At first, Peter was excited to be able to come up with a design that could maybe represent the school. That was until he learnt that he was going to be stuck with Flash in his science class. 

It seemed like everything had to revolve around Flash at school. It had been that way ever since Peter could remember, but it seemed to be getting worse. They were in their sophomore year, two more years to go after this, and Peter honestly didn't know if he was going to make it. When Flash had suggested that he be in charge of the classroom design, Peter was genuinely worried that Mr. Harrington was going to agree. Thankfully, he was able to dance his way out of it by suggesting that everyone come up with a design and they would do a secret vote as a class on which design was the best. The rules were simple: no names on the design concepts, no telling anyone what you were working on. That way, when the vote happened, the best design would win based on concept alone. It honestly made Peter feel better, because then it wouldn't be a popularity contest. 

Peter was genuinely shocked when his portable medical assessment device was picked. And it wasn't just picked; he had ninety-five percent of the votes. The class loved it and even Mr. Harrington couldn't help but compliment the inventor. The thing was, no one knew who had actually invented it. Peter kept waiting for Mr. Harrington to ask, but he never did. Peter couldn’t help but feel like he didn’t ask on purpose. Like if no one knew for certain who designed it, then Flash could brag about how it was his design and no one could question it. The only people that knew it was Peter’s design were Ned and MJ and that was just because they could spot one of his ideas a mile away. Peter did his best to not let it change how he felt about the win. Even if no one knew it was his design, that was ok, they were still going to be able to build it. Mr. Harrington had gone about getting everyone put up in a job for the contest. Peter was in charge of building the device, which annoyed Flash and he instantly argued that it was too much of an important job for Peter to handle. Mr. Harrington expertly sidestepped around it and told Flash that he had a far more important job. He needed to create the presentation so he could present the device to Principal Morita and then the judges should they be picked. Others were set up to different tasks, Ned would help with coding, MJ would start to build the humanitarian side of the presentation. In the end, everyone had a task and it seemed like Peter and Ned were stuck with the bulk of the work. 

Peter didn't mind and he knew Ned didn’t either. Afterall, this was a design that Peter had and Ned was always happy to help him with coding or being a sounding board when he needed it. The concept that Peter had come up with was an Advanced Rapid Evaluation System, or ARES as they liked to call it. It was the size of a standard smartphone but it utilized the camera as a scanner. It could scan your body to check for broken bones, internal bleeding, early signs of an infection, parasites, blood pressure, oxygen levels, sugar levels, concussions, blood clots, aneurysms, and even masses. It was one of a kind and had taken months of coding and programming to even get it to work, but they had finally managed it. Peter had even built a program within the scanner so it could show you all available health care clinics, urgent cares, emergency rooms, all within your area and their current wait time. You could fill in your registration right from your home before you even got there with all of your vital stats and insurance. The devices could be used by the military out on missions, first responders, PSW workers and there was even a chance that Peter could tweak it so it worked on animals. It would be huge for the medical field and Peter was really proud of it. 

He wasn’t the only one. All of the teachers and Principal Morita were amazed by it and it was selected without any hesitation to represent Midtown at the competition. The judges would choose one winning school. That school would receive updated equipment for its science department, funding for its student programs, and a private educational visit to Stark Industries. One student from the winning team would also be named the project’s most valuable contributor, earning a university scholarship and the opportunity to assist with the laboratory demonstrations during the Stark visit. Peter had tried not to think about that part. He had designed the device because it seemed wrong that someone could spend ten hours in an emergency room and walk out thousands of dollars poorer just to learn that their wrist was sprained instead of broken. He remembered sitting beside May in a crowded waiting room when he was younger, his arm aching against his chest while she stared at the insurance paperwork with a look she had tried to hide from him. He remembered Ben insisting they could manage the bill, even though Peter had heard the two of them talking quietly in the kitchen after they thought he had gone to sleep.

There had to be a better way to tell whether someone needed an emergency room, an urgent care clinic, a family doctor, or nothing more complicated than rest and ice. It was just an idea at first, one of many that Peter had with the hopes of one day creating to make people’s lives easier. The device was not meant to replace doctors by any means. It was designed to help people know what type of doctor or health facility they needed to get the best care for what was wrong. So they didn’t waste their time or money going to a place that couldn’t help them. 

Peter scrolled through the most recent testing report and checked the comparison data against the equipment on the Stark Industries medical floor. The results were all within the accepted range. The fracture detection program had identified every break correctly. The internal imaging had matched the hospital scans. The wireless connection remained stable, the battery had lasted almost three hours longer than required, and the newest casing had survived being dropped down two flights of stairs after Dum-E knocked it off a workbench.

Everything was working perfectly. That should have been enough, but Peter had spent too many months watching one small problem turn into six more to trust the word perfect. Version three had overheated after twenty minutes. Version four had confused scar tissue with internal bleeding. Version five had produced so many false warnings for collapsed lungs that Dr. Cho had threatened to ban it from the medical floor until Peter fixed the calibration software. Version six had worked, but the casing had been too expensive for the device to meet the price limit Peter had set for himself. The current version was the seventh complete redesign and probably the thirty-second version if he counted every smaller adjustment made between them.

His phone started vibrating against the desk just as he opened the thermal stability report again. The sound seemed louder than it should have in the quiet room, and Peter caught it before the movement could send it sliding into the collection of loose wires beside his laptop. Tony Stark’s name filled the screen. Peter glanced at the time in the corner of the laptop and winced when he saw that it was after two in the morning. He considered ignoring the call for half a second, mostly because he already knew what Tony was going to say, but ignoring Tony usually resulted in FRIDAY appearing through every available speaker until Peter answered. He swiped across the screen and kept his voice low so it would not carry through the apartment.

“Hey, Mr. Stark.”

“Why are you awake?” Tony asked without bothering with a greeting.

Peter looked at the open report in front of him as though there might be an answer there that sounded more reasonable than the truth. “I was just making sure everything was ready for the competition.”

“The competition that is two days away, meaning there will still be an entire day tomorrow for you to stare at the same reports.”

“I’m not staring at them.” Peter scrolled down several lines, even though he had already read them. “I’m checking them.”

“You checked them before you left the lab.”

“I know.”

“You checked them after you got home.”

Peter hesitated. “Maybe.”

“You sent three updated files to the server between eleven and midnight, so I’m going to assume that means yes.”

Peter leaned back in his chair and rubbed one hand over his face. His eyes burned from the screen, and the headache beginning behind them was probably proof that Tony had a point, but knowing that did not make it any easier to close the report. “I just want to make sure there isn’t anything wrong with it.”

“There isn’t.” Tony said with a great deal of patience. 

“You don’t know what I’m looking at.”

“I know exactly what you’re looking at because FRIDAY told me you opened the same diagnostic report four times in the last hour. The device is finished, Pete. It works.”

Peter looked across the desk at the prototype resting in its padded case. The device was not much larger than a phone, although it was thicker to accommodate the imaging sensors and replaceable battery. Months of work were packed inside that casing, along with more of Peter’s hopes than he wanted to admit. Winning was supposed to be about the school and the funding Midtown could receive, but the idea of standing in front of the judges and having something fail made his stomach twist.

“What if there’s something we didn’t catch?” He asked. “The school only gets one chance to present it. If it glitches or the connection drops, then everyone loses because of me.”

“The connection isn’t going to drop.”

“But it could.”

“It survived a simultaneous load test across twelve separate devices this afternoon.”

“That was in the Tower. The competition is being held at the convention centre, and there are going to be hundreds of people there using the network.”

“Which is why you built an independent encrypted connection into it after I pointed out that public Wi-Fi has the structural integrity of wet cardboard.”

Peter ran his thumb along the edge of the laptop. Tony had an answer for everything because Peter had already worried about everything. Every possible failure he could think of had been tested, rebuilt, and tested again until the device worked under conditions far worse than anything it was likely to face during a high school competition. Peter had to give it to Tony, he was saint for having to deal with him over the past four months. Peter had gone to the lab to work on his project, mostly focusing on it and not what him and Tony were supposed to be working on. That first day Tony had slid on up to Peter to see what was taking all of his attention. Peter explained the competition and his device idea. Tony asked him hundreds of questions, some caused Peter to think and tweak some things. What he loved though, Tony never took over. He allowed Peter to go through the whole process, even when he knew that Peter was making a mistake, he let him so he would learn. So the design and prototype would be his and his alone. No one could say ‘you made it because Tony Stark told you what to do.’ this was all his hard work and Peter loved the man for that. 

Even though Peter had tested the hell out of it and got a Tony Stark seal of approval; that did not mean another school could not arrive with something better. “What if we don’t win?” Peter asked quietly.

Tony did not answer immediately, and Peter could hear faint movement through the phone, followed by the sound of something being set down on a hard surface. When Tony spoke again, the humor had faded from his voice. “Is that what this is really about?”

Peter stared at the dark reflection of himself in the window. He looked exhausted, his hair sticking up in several directions from the number of times he had pushed his hands through it. “I don’t know. Maybe. Everyone at school is acting like we’ve already won because we made it to the finals, but there are a hundred other schools. And sure some of them won’t be good, but other schools could have something amazing. Or something really flashy that catches the judges’ attention.”

“You’re right, they probably have great inventions, some might even be very flashy.”

Peter’s stomach sank a little at the answer, even though it was what he had expected Tony to say. Tony had never been the kind of person who reassured him by pretending everyone else was incompetent.

“They’re not going to beat you.” Tony continued.

“You can’t know that.”

“I can, actually. I have eyes, several advanced degrees, and an unhealthy amount of confidence in my own judgment. Your school is going to win.”

Peter let out a tired breath and looked back toward the prototype. “You’re just saying that because you know I’m nervous.”

“No, I’m saying it because your device is so far beyond what anyone expects from a high school competition that the judges are going to spend half the presentation wondering whether they walked into the wrong building.”

Peter wanted to believe him, but Tony had been helping him with the device for months. He had given Peter access to the laboratory equipment, arranged medical testing, and made sure Dr. Cho and the staff on the medical floor reviewed every major change. Tony knew how hard Peter had worked, which made it possible that he was no longer looking at the invention objectively.

Tony seemed to hear the doubt in his silence. “Have I ever lied to you about your work?”

Peter thought about the new web-fluid formula he wanted to try out that Tony had called unstable before it melted through the container. He thought about the drone program Tony had made him rewrite almost entirely because the targeting system lagged by less than a second. There had been nights when Peter left the lab frustrated enough to mutter under his breath the entire way home, but he had always returned the next day knowing Tony had been right.

“No.” Peter admitted.

“If I thought the device wasn’t ready, I would tell you. If I thought you had a chance of losing, I would tell you that too, because letting you walk into the competition expecting to win when I knew you wouldn’t would be cruel. I don’t do fake encouragement, especially when it comes to engineering.”

Peter smiled faintly. “You encouraged me when the fourth version failed.”

“I told you the basic concept was sound and the execution was trying to kill people. That isn’t the same thing.”

“It wasn’t trying to kill people.” Peter weakly argued. 

“It informed three perfectly healthy nurses that they were bleeding internally.” Tony countered with a lightness to his voice.

“That was a calibration problem, and I fixed it.”

“You did, which is why the device is now being used on the medical floor and at the hospital where Dr. Cho is working.”

Peter stopped moving. He had known Dr. Cho had kept one of the prototypes after the last testing session, but he had assumed she wanted to continue reviewing the results. “They’re actually using it?”

“They have been for the last week. Every medic and doctor who has tried it wants one of their own, and Cho threatened to start hiding the prototype because people keep taking it from her lab.”

Peter looked at the device differently after that, as though it had become something new while sitting untouched inside its case. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Because you would have asked for every report, found one reading you didn’t like, and spent another week rebuilding something that is already working.”

Peter could not argue with that because it was exactly what he would have done. “What are they using it for?”

“Initial assessments, mostly. It gives them vitals and imaging before the patient reaches the main examination room. One of the emergency response teams took it on a call yesterday and sent the patient’s information back to the medical floor while they were still in transit. Cho knew what she was dealing with before they came through the doors.”

“Was the patient okay?”

“They were because the doctors knew there was internal bleeding and had everything ready before the ambulance arrived.”

The tightness in Peter’s chest eased. That was what he had wanted when he started designing it. Not a trophy, a scholarship, or even a trip to Stark Industries. He had wanted someone to avoid sitting in a waiting room for hours while something serious went unnoticed. He had wanted doctors to have answers sooner and patients to know where they needed to go before they spent money they did not have.

Tony allowed the silence to last for a moment before speaking again. “You tested the device on fractures, internal bleeding, concussions, dehydration, cardiac issues, and more volunteer injuries than Happy was comfortable allowing in one building. Every time there was a problem, you fixed it. Every time a doctor gave you feedback, you listened and improved the design. You have worked on this for four months non-stop practically, and it is ready.”

Peter lowered the laptop screen a few inches, no longer interested in the report. “You really think none of the other schools will come close?”

“I think there will be some impressive projects, and I think the students who made them should be proud. I also think your school is about to show up with a medical device that hospitals, military field units, emergency responders, rural clinics, and humanitarian organizations could use tomorrow. It isn’t even close, Bambino.”

Hearing Tony say it that plainly made the idea of winning feel real for the first time. Peter had spent so long focused on whether the device worked that he had not let himself think about what would happen if it did. Midtown could receive enough money to replace laboratory equipment and the robotic’s lab. The science clubs would not have to spend another year selling chocolate bars and asking local businesses to cover competition fees. The school could win because of something Peter had created to help people. He still felt nervous, but it no longer seemed like the nervousness was warning him of an approaching disaster.

“I’m still worried something will go wrong.” Peter admitted.

“Something always goes wrong. A projector fails, somebody forgets part of a speech, or one of your classmates tries to improvise and discovers they shouldn’t. None of that changes what you built.”

Peter thought of Flash volunteering to handle most of the public presentation because he had more followers than everyone else on the team combined. Mr. Harrington had agreed that Flash was better at attracting attention, while Peter had been assigned the technical explanation and demonstration. It was probably the right decision. Peter knew he had a habit of speaking too quickly when he became excited, and Flash could smile at a camera without looking like he wanted to escape through the nearest wall.

“I guess.” Peter said, although some of the worry returned at the thought of the presentation.

“You don’t have to guess. You have this in the bag.” Tony’s tone softened before he added. “Now close the laptop.”

Peter glanced at the report one last time. “I should probably make another backup first.”

“There are eleven backups.”

“Twelve would be safer.”

“FRIDAY made the twelfth while we were talking because she knows you’re impossible. Close it.”

Peter smiled as he saved the file and shut the laptop. The room darkened immediately, leaving only the small charging light on the prototype and the glow of his phone against his hand. “Closed.”

“Good. You have to be awake for school in four hours, and no invention has ever been improved by its creator passing out face-first during the presentation.”

“The presentation isn’t until Friday.”

“Which means you have two school days to survive before then. Get some sleep.”

Peter stood and carried the phone with him as he crossed the room, checking the lock on the prototype case before setting it farther back on the desk. “Thanks for calling.”

“I called because FRIDAY informed me my intern was attempting to merge with his laptop.”

“I wasn’t that close.”

“You left a forehead print on the screen last week.” Tony teased.

Peter pulled back his blankets and sat on the edge of the bed. He was too tired to argue properly, and the weight that had been pressing against his chest all night had finally loosened enough for him to breathe without thinking about it. “Goodnight, Mr. Stark.”

“Goodnight, kid. Stop worrying. Your school is going to win.”

The call ended before Peter could second-guess the certainty in Tony’s voice. He plugged his phone into the charger, turned off the desk lamp he had forgotten was still on, and settled beneath the blankets. The prototype remained visible across the room, the small green light steady in the darkness. Peter knew there were still things that could go wrong. There always were. The judges might ask a question he had not prepared for, someone could damage the prototype during transport, or the demonstration could fail in a way none of their testing had predicted. His mind offered each possibility out of habit, but for once he managed to let them pass without reaching for the laptop again. Tony had never lied to him about his work. If the device had not been ready, Tony would have said so, no matter how much it hurt. Instead, doctors were already using it. It had already helped someone before Peter had even stood in front of the judges and that mattered more than winning. Peter closed his eyes with that thought and listened to the faint hum of the apartment around him. Exhaustion settled over him quickly now that he had stopped fighting it, and within a few minutes the competition, the reports, and everything that might happen in two days finally slipped far enough away for him to sleep. 

XXX

Peter knew the headache was coming before he had even finished getting dressed. It had been waiting behind his eyes when his alarm went off, a dull pressure that sharpened each time he moved too quickly or looked toward the window. Four hours of sleep had not been nearly enough, but that was not the only problem. He had been working too much for weeks, spending every spare hour on ARES while trying to keep up with school, patrol, and the projects Tony had already assigned him before the competition began. Meals had become things he remembered halfway through the day, usually when May texted to ask whether he had eaten, and sleep was something Peter kept promising himself he would catch up on once the prototype was finished. The prototype had been finished for nearly a week. Peter had simply found new things to worry about instead.

He sat on the edge of his bed for a moment after pulling on his shoes, waiting for the room to stop shifting beneath him. The traffic outside sounded too close, every engine and car horn pushing through the walls of the apartment as clearly as though the street ran beneath his bedroom window. Someone upstairs dragged a chair across the floor. Water rattled through the pipes behind the wall. The refrigerator compressor kicked on in the kitchen, and Peter could hear the change in its pitch from where he sat. None of those sounds were unusual. Most mornings he could push them into the background and forget they were there. Today, his brain seemed determined to hold onto every one of them.

Peter opened the top drawer of his desk and took out the glasses Tony had made for him several months earlier. They looked ordinary enough, with dark frames and clear lenses so they looked like normal glasses. The technology built into them filtered light, softened rapid movement, and helped dull the constant flood of visual information his enhanced senses tried to process. Tony had described them as noise-canceling headphones for Peter’s eyes, which was not technically accurate but Peter had been so overwhelmed by the gift and the peace they brought he didn’t care.

He slid them on and felt some of the pressure ease almost immediately. The morning light coming through the curtains lost its sharp edge, and the small movements beyond the window became easier to ignore. It did nothing for the sound, but the glasses usually made the rest manageable enough for him to get through the day. Peter stood carefully and reached for his backpack. He should have stayed home. May would have understood, especially if she saw the glasses, but she had already left for an early shift at the hospital, and Peter did not want to call her back when the competition was only two days away. Mr. Harrington had scheduled a full presentation rehearsal during science class. Peter was responsible for explaining how ARES worked and demonstrating the scanner for the class, and he was worried about Flash changing something on him again. It was a constant battle between them, because Flash didn’t seem all that interested in learning exactly how the device worked. He kept trying to make it sound more flashy than it was. If Peter missed today, there would be no telling what Flash would try and change.

He grabbed a cereal bar from the cupboard on his way out and slipped it into the front pocket of his backpack, telling himself he would eat it on the subway. By the time he reached Midtown, it was still unopened. The front hall was louder than usual, or perhaps Peter was simply less capable of ignoring it. Lockers slammed along both sides of the corridor while students talked over one another, their voices blending into a wall of sound that pressed against him from every direction. Shoes squeaked across the polished floor. Someone laughed near the stairwell, the sound sharp enough to make Peter’s temples throb. He kept his eyes lowered and focused on reaching his locker without walking into anyone.

Ned was waiting for him, leaning against the locker beside Peter’s with his backpack hanging from one shoulder. His smile disappeared as soon as Peter came closer. “You look terrible.” Ned said, lowering his voice when Peter winced at the volume around them. “Not regular tired terrible either. You look like you fought an alien last night and forgot to mention it.”

“I didn’t fight an alien.” Peter turned the dial on his lock and had to start again when he lost track of the numbers. “I was working on the reports.”

“At two in the morning?”

Peter glanced at him. “How do you know that?”

“You sent me an updated copy of the presentation notes at one forty-seven.”

“I didn’t realize it was that late.” Peter said with a small apologetic smile.

Ned stared at him for a moment, clearly deciding whether to believe that. “Did you sleep at all?”

“A little.”

“That means no.”

“It means four hours.” Peter opened his locker and exchanged the books in his bag, moving slowly because every scrape of paper against the metal shelf felt louder than it should have. “Mr. Stark called and made me go to bed.”

Ned’s eyes moved to the glasses. He had seen Peter wear them before and knew enough not to ask too many questions in the middle of a crowded hallway. “Is today bad?”

“It’s not great, but I’ll be fine once everything settles down.”

The words had barely left his mouth when Flash’s voice rose over the noise behind them. “Well, look at this. Penis Parker finally realized nobody wants to see his face.”

Peter closed his eyes for half a second before turning around. Flash stood several feet away with two of his friends beside him, all three wearing the same amused expression. He had his phone in one hand and the expensive leather bag his father had given him hanging from his shoulder. The hallway shifted subtly around him as students noticed what was happening. No one stopped to watch openly, but conversations quieted and faces turned in their direction.

Flash pointed toward Peter’s glasses. “What happened? Did your aunt lose her job and could no longer afford contacts?”

“They’re just glasses, Flash.” Peter kept his voice level and turned back toward his locker, hoping that refusing to react would make Flash lose interest. It never did. 

Flash stepped closer and leaned around him, trying to catch Peter’s reflection in the small mirror attached to the inside of the locker door. “Are they fake too? That would make sense. Fake internship, fake glasses, fake personality.”

Ned moved away from the locker beside them. “He said to leave him alone.”

“No one was talking to you, Leeds.” Flash dismissed him without looking away from Peter. “Come on, Penis, let me see them.”

Peter felt the first real stab of alarm beneath his exhaustion. “Don’t.”

Flash’s smile widened at the response. Peter rarely gave him anything more than silence, and the single word was enough to tell him the glasses mattered.

“They’re probably Stark knockoffs.” Flash reached out before Peter could step back and caught the frame near Peter’s temple. “Did you buy them from some guy on the subway?”

Peter could have stopped him. Even exhausted, he was faster and stronger than Flash could ever hope to be, but using that strength in the middle of a crowded hallway was not an option. He tried to pull away without making the movement look unnatural, but Flash had already lifted the glasses from his face. The hallway hit Peter all at once. Light flashed off the polished locker doors and the screens of dozens of phones. Every face in front of him became too clear, every blink and twitch of expression demanding his attention. The movement of students passing behind Flash tangled with the reflections in the windows and the bright posters covering the walls. Peter’s eyes watered as his brain attempted to process all of it at once.

“Give them back.” He said, reaching out with more care than he felt.

Flash held them above his head, laughing when Peter stopped rather than risk grabbing too hard. “What’s wrong, four-eyes? Can’t see without them?”

“They’re not yours.” Ned tried to move around Flash, but one of his friends stepped into the space between them. “Stop being an ass and give them back.”

Flash turned the glasses over in his hands, inspecting the frames. “They don’t even have real lenses. I knew it. Parker’s wearing fake glasses because he thinks they make him look smart.”

“I don’t need glasses to look smarter than you.” Peter muttered before he could stop himself.

A few students nearby laughed. It was not loud, but Flash heard it. His expression changed, embarrassment tightening his mouth as he looked from Peter to the students who had reacted. Peter knew immediately that he had made a mistake.

Flash gripped one side of the frame in each hand. “Then I guess you don’t need them.”

The snap was quieter than Peter expected. One lens cracked as the frame broke across the bridge, and the two halves fell from Flash’s hands onto the floor. For a second, Peter could only stare at them. Tony had designed the frame to survive impacts, but he had not built it to withstand someone deliberately bending it backward. A faint spark flickered from one of the exposed connections before disappearing. The laughter around them faded.

Ned pushed past Flash’s friend and crouched to pick up the broken pieces. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Flash’s confidence wavered for only a moment before he covered it with a shrug. “They were fake.”

“That doesn’t mean you get to break them.”

“They probably cost ten dollars.”

Peter took the pieces from Ned and carefully folded them together, even though there was no longer any reason to. Without the filter, the overhead lights seemed painfully bright. He could see the rapid pulse beating beneath Flash’s jaw, the dust floating through the air above them, and the tiny color changes in the digital display at the end of the hallway. His headache had already begun spreading from behind his eyes toward the base of his skull.

A classroom door opened several feet away, and Mr. Dell stepped into the corridor. He looked at the gathered students, then at Peter holding the broken glasses. “What’s going on out here?”

No one answered immediately. Peter looked toward Flash, but Flash merely adjusted the strap of his bag and waited. Ned did not. “Flash took Peter’s glasses and broke them.”

Mr. Dell’s eyes moved to Flash. His expression tightened with tired annoyance rather than surprise. “Flash, knock it off. You’re going to be late for class.”

Flash gave Peter a satisfied look before stepping away. “Whatever. I was already going.”

His friends followed him down the corridor, and the students who had slowed to watch began moving again. Within seconds, the noise returned to its earlier level as though nothing had happened.

Ned stared after Mr. Dell as the teacher disappeared back into his classroom. “That’s it?”

Peter closed his locker carefully. The sound still made him flinch. “It always is.”

“He broke your glasses.”

“They weren’t prescription.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

Peter slipped the broken pieces into the padded pocket inside his backpack. Tony could repair them. He would not be happy about it, but the technology itself was probably fine. The frame had broken, not the filtering system, and Peter could already imagine Tony redesigning the entire thing out of spite so it could survive being run over by a truck. The thought should have made him smile. Instead, nausea rolled through his stomach as someone nearby sprayed perfume into the air.

“Maybe you should go to the nurse.” Ned said. “Or call May.”

“I can’t miss the rehearsal.”

“Peter, you look like you’re about to throw up.”

“I just need it to settle down.” Peter pulled his books against his chest and started toward class before Ned could argue again. “It’ll be quieter once everyone is out of the halls.”

It was quieter, but it was not quiet enough. By the end of first period, the dull headache had become a steady ache that pulsed behind Peter’s left eye. By second period, the fluorescent lights seemed to vibrate above him, their faint electrical hum cutting through every word the teacher said. He tried to take notes but kept losing his place because he could see the movement of every pencil and tapping foot in the room. During math, he stared at the same equation for nearly five minutes without understanding what it was asking, even though he knew he could normally solve it in seconds. He did not eat the cereal bar. The thought of food made his stomach tighten, and the cafeteria was loud enough on a good day. He spent lunch in an empty stairwell with Ned and MJ, sitting on the step with his elbows resting against his knees while he kept his eyes closed.

MJ had taken one look at him and stopped making sarcastic comments, which Peter found more alarming than anything else that had happened all morning. “You need to go home.” She said.

“I have science next.” Peter whispered.

“That wasn’t an argument against going home.”

“We have the final rehearsal.”

MJ sat two steps above him, one boot braced against the railing. “We can rehearse without you.”

“No, you can’t.” Peter pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes until colored spots appeared behind his lids. “Flash keeps changing the technical information because he thinks the real numbers don’t sound impressive enough.”

Ned sat beside him with the untouched cereal bar Peter had finally removed from his backpack. “Can you at least eat this?” Peter shook his head. “You haven’t eaten all day.”

“I’ll eat when I get home.”

Ned looked like he wanted to push, but the bell rang before he could. The sound echoed through the stairwell with enough force that Peter’s entire body tightened. He waited until the worst of it passed before standing, holding onto the railing when the movement sent a wave of dizziness through him. Ned placed his hands gently on Peter’s back to help steady him before Peter was finally able to walk to class, but Ned stayed as close to him as possible just in case Peter fainted.  Mr. Harrington’s classroom was already crowded when they arrived. The prototype, which Peter dropped off earlier, had been placed on the demonstration table at the front of the room, surrounded by the presentation boards and medical diagrams the class had prepared. Flash stood beside the laptop, going through the slides with the confidence of someone who had spent most of his time practicing how he would look while delivering the speech instead of learning what he was talking about.

Mr. Harrington clapped his hands once the last students took their seats. “Alright, everyone. This is our final full rehearsal before the competition, so I need everyone focused. Tomorrow we’ll make any last adjustments, but there won’t be time to completely rewrite anything.”

Peter took his usual seat beside Ned and opened the folder containing his technical notes. The words blurred slightly when he looked down, and he blinked several times until they settled. He knew the information without needing the pages. He had designed every part of ARES, written most of its code, and spent months learning enough about medical imaging to make the scanner accurate. He simply needed to get through the explanation without the room tilting again.

Flash began the presentation with an introduction about Midtown and the importance of preparing the next generation to solve modern problems. It was polished and confident, full of phrases that sounded good without meaning much. Peter listened for mistakes, correcting two numbers in the margins of his notes and circling a claim about ARES being able to diagnose disease without physician review. They had told Flash repeatedly not to say that.

When the presentation reached the technical section, Flash stepped aside with visible reluctance. “Now Peter’s going to explain some of the engineering behind our invention before he demonstrates how it works.”

Our invention. Peter knew it was a team project, a team effort, but he found himself just disgusted at the fact that Flash would have any part of this. Peter pushed himself out of his chair and walked toward the front of the room. The lights seemed brighter near the display screen, and the image changed each time he moved, forcing his eyes to adjust. He placed his notes on the table and rested one hand beside them so no one would notice the slight tremor in his fingers.

“ARES uses a combination of optical imaging, low-frequency ultrasound, infrared sensors, and biometric monitoring to perform an initial physical assessment.” Peter began. His voice sounded distant to his own ears, but the words came easily enough because he had repeated them dozens of times. “The device compares the scan against a diagnostic database, then separates the results into three categories. The first identifies readings that require emergency treatment, the second identifies problems that should be assessed by a medical professional but are not immediately life-threatening, and the third…”

“What happens if someone has metal implants?” Flash asked from beside the projector.

Peter stopped. The question was not in the rehearsal notes, but he knew the answer. “The scanner identifies the material density and accounts for it when processing the imaging results. It would mark the implant on the report so the medical professional reviewing it knows…”

“What if the implant is made from a material the system hasn’t seen before?”

Peter tried to adjust his thoughts, but the sudden change made them feel slow and disconnected. “Then it would be flagged as an unknown object and excluded from the automatic assessment until someone could review it.”

Flash nodded as though judging the answer. “What about someone who has two problems at the same time? Like a blood clot and a broken bone?”

“It can detect both. They use different scanning systems.”

“What if the person is moving?”

“We have motion correction built into the software.”

“How much movement?”

Peter looked down at his notes, although the answer was not written there. He knew it. He had tested it personally by scanning Happy while he walked across the lab, then again while Dum-E rolled unevenly over one of the cables. The memory was present, but the number attached to it would not come forward.

“It depends on the type of scan.” Peter said after a moment. “For the internal imaging, the person needs to remain mostly still for several seconds.”

“How many seconds?”

The room had gone quiet. Peter could feel everyone watching him, their faces too clear beneath the fluorescent lights. Flash’s questions were not difficult, but they were arriving without any order, forcing Peter to jump between separate parts of the design while his head pounded hard enough to make him nauseous.

“Between five and twelve.” He answered. “Depending on which area is being scanned.”

Flash glanced toward Mr. Harrington. “That’s a pretty big difference.”

“It isn’t when different scans require different processing times.”

“So how is someone supposed to know whether it’s five seconds or twelve?”

“The device tells them.”

“What happens if they move before it’s done?” Flash fired off. 

“It repeats that section.”

“How many times can it repeat before the battery starts losing power?”

Peter closed his eyes for a second, trying to hold onto the question. He knew the tests. He had read them again only hours earlier, but the numbers tangled together with the buzz of the screen and the scratch of someone’s pencil against paper.

“Peter?” Mr. Harrington prompted.

“I’m thinking.”

Flash laughed lightly. “You’re going to have to answer faster than that in front of the judges.”

Ned shifted in his seat. “Maybe stop throwing random questions at him that aren’t part of the presentation.”

“They’re going to ask questions at the competition.” Flash said. “We need to know if he can handle them.”

“I can handle them.” Peter said, although his voice lacked the certainty he wanted.

Flash folded his arms. “Okay, then what percentage of battery life is lost if the device has to repeat the same internal scan four times?”

Peter stared at him. “Why would it need to repeat it four times?”

“Because the patient keeps moving.”

“Then the person operating it would tell them to stop moving.”

“What if they can’t? What if they’re having a seizure or they’re trapped somewhere?”

“That isn’t what the device is designed for.”

“So it doesn’t work on anyone who can’t stay still?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It kind of sounds like it.”

Peter gripped the edge of the table. The room seemed to tilt slightly to the left before righting itself, and the pressure behind his eye spread across his forehead. He could hear several students whispering near the back, although he could not separate the words from the other sounds pressing against him.

“Flash, that’s enough.” Mr. Harrington said, but his tone was mild, more concerned with keeping the rehearsal moving than stopping what Flash was doing. He looked toward Peter with a small frown. “Are you alright?”

Peter nodded even as the movement worsened the pain. “I’m fine. I just have a migraine.”

“You seem distracted.” Mr. Harrington said, not all that concerned with the possibility of Peter’s head exploding.

“I know how the device works.”

“I’m not saying you don’t.” Mr. Harrington glanced toward the clock and then at the notes spread across the demonstration table. “But the judges are going to ask questions, and there will be hundreds of people at the convention centre. If you freeze during the presentation, it could affect the entire team.”

Peter felt something inside him sink. “I’m not going to freeze.”

Flash leaned against the desk beside the projector. “He just did.”

“I have a migraine.” Peter said, hating that he had to explain it at all. “Flash broke my glasses this morning, and they help to prevent a migraine. I’ll be fine by Friday.”

Mr. Harrington looked surprised. “Flash broke your glasses?”

“He grabbed them off Peter’s face and snapped them.” Ned said before Peter could answer.

Flash rolled his eyes. “They weren’t even real glasses. They were just some fake Stark tech thing.”

Mr. Harrington sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Flash, you need to stop touching other people’s property. We have spoken about this before.”

“Yeah, okay.”

That was the end of it. Mr. Harrington turned back toward Peter as though the matter had been handled. “I understand you’re not feeling well today, but Flash does have a point about the pressure of the presentation. The judges won’t know that you have a headache, and they won’t slow down because you need time to organize your thoughts.”

Peter looked at the prototype sitting between them. He had spent four months designing it, building it, testing it, and correcting every problem that appeared. No one in the room understood ARES better than he did. Flash could not explain why Peter had chosen one sensor over another or how the software distinguished between a harmless mass and something that required further investigation. He barely understood the parts of the presentation that had been written for him.

“I can do the technical section.” Peter said. “Today is just a bad day.”

Mr. Harrington hesitated. Peter could see that he was not trying to be cruel. He was looking at the competition, the funding Midtown could receive, and all the ways one nervous student might damage their chances. The problem was that Mr. Harrington saw Peter sitting beneath the bright lights, slow to answer questions he normally would not have needed to think about. He did not see the months Peter had spent building the thing on the table.

“I think we should simplify everyone’s roles.” Mr. Harrington decided. “Flash is already presenting the introduction and the practical applications, so it would be smoother if he handled the technical explanation as well. Peter, you can focus on demonstrating the device. That’s an important part of the presentation, and you’ll still be available if there’s a question Flash can’t answer.”

Flash tried to hide his satisfaction and failed. “That makes sense. It’ll flow better if there aren’t people switching in and out all the time.”

Ned stared at Mr. Harrington. “But Peter built it. He should be the one explaining how it works.”

“This is a team project.” Mr. Harrington reminded him. “It isn’t about any one person getting credit. We need to make decisions based on what gives Midtown the best chance of winning.”

Peter waited for the anger he knew he should feel. It was there somewhere, buried beneath the migraine and exhaustion, but he could not reach it. Arguing would mean standing beneath the lights longer while everyone watched him struggle to form sentences. It would mean explaining the glasses, the overstimulation, and why today was different from every other day. Even if Mr. Harrington believed him, Peter doubted it would change the decision once it had been framed as protecting the team.

“Okay.” He said quietly.

Ned turned toward him. “Peter.”

“It’s fine.” Peter picked up the prototype and moved it into position for the demonstration. “I’ll do the scan.”

The rehearsal continued. Flash delivered Peter’s technical explanation by reading from the notes Peter had written, stumbling over several terms and mispronouncing aneurysm twice before Mr. Harrington corrected him. No one suggested giving the section back. When it came time for the demonstration, Peter activated ARES and scanned one of the student volunteers, keeping his movements steady despite the dizziness that came each time he looked up. The device worked perfectly. By the final bell, Peter’s headache had settled into a full migraine. The movement of students flooding into the hallway made his stomach roll, and he kept one hand against the wall as he walked toward the exit because the floor no longer felt entirely stable beneath him. Ned offered to come home with him, but Peter knew May would be there by now, and he did not want Ned to miss whatever plans he had after school.

“I’ll text you.” Peter promised.

“You better.” Ned looked as though he was considering ignoring Peter and following him anyway. “And tell May what Flash did.”

Peter did not answer that part. The trip home felt longer than usual. He kept his eyes closed for most of the subway ride, but that only made the sounds more noticeable. Every conversation in the car reached him clearly. The wheels screamed against the track whenever the train rounded a corner, and each announcement from the speaker drove another sharp pulse through his skull. By the time Peter climbed the stairs to the apartment, his hands were shaking and the cereal bar remained untouched in his bag.

He opened the door as quietly as he could, hoping to make it to his bedroom before May saw him. It was not that he wanted to hide what had happened from her. He simply did not have the energy to explain any of it while standing beneath the kitchen lights. May looked up from the table before Peter had taken two steps inside. She had changed out of her work clothes and was sitting with a mug of coffee beside a pile of mail. Her expression shifted the moment she saw him, the tiredness leaving her face as she pushed back from the table.

“Peter?”

“I’m okay.” He said automatically.

May crossed the room without responding to the words. She took one look at his narrowed eyes and the way he was holding himself before reaching past him to turn off the kitchen light. The sudden darkness eased some of the pressure, but not enough.

“Where are your glasses?” She asked.

Peter slipped his backpack from his shoulder and let it rest against the wall. “They broke.”

May’s hand paused near his arm. “They broke, or someone broke them?”

Peter could not make himself answer immediately, which was answer enough. “Flash took them.” He admitted. “He didn’t know what they were. He thought they were fake.”

“That doesn’t make it acceptable.”

“I know.”

May’s mouth tightened, but she did not start asking questions. She had seen him like this before and knew that a conversation was the last thing he needed. She touched the back of her fingers to his forehead, then gently guided him toward the hallway.

“Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

Peter followed without arguing. By the time they reached his room, keeping his eyes open required more effort than he had left. May pulled the regular curtains closed first, then reached for the heavier blackout panels Tony had installed in front of them. They were thicker than anything sold in a normal store, layered with material designed to block every trace of outside light. The room fell into near darkness once she sealed them across the window. Peter sat on the edge of the bed and bent forward, pressing both hands against his face. He heard May move toward the small control panel beside his desk. A moment later, the sound-dampening system Tony had built activated with a faint hum that quickly disappeared. The traffic outside faded. The voices from neighboring apartments vanished. Even the pipes in the walls became distant enough that Peter no longer had to fight to ignore them. The silence settled around him like something physical.

May helped him remove his shoes and eased him back against the pillows. “Have you eaten today?”

Peter thought about lying, but he did not have the energy to make it believable. “Not really.”

“Peter.”

“I forgot breakfast, and then my head started hurting.”

May took a slow breath through her nose. “I’m going to bring you some water and something plain. You don’t have to eat much, but you need something in your stomach before you take anything for the pain.”

He nodded carefully. Even that small movement hurt. She pulled the blankets over him and rested her hand against his hair for a moment. “Did you tell a teacher what happened to the glasses?”

“Mr. Dell saw after. He told Flash to knock it off and go to class.”

May’s fingers stilled. “That was all?”

Peter kept his eyes closed. “Mr. Harrington talked to him later. He said he shouldn’t touch other people’s stuff.”

“That is not dealing with it.”

“I know.”

May was quiet long enough that Peter could tell she was angry, but when she spoke, her voice remained gentle. “We’ll talk about it when you’re feeling better. You don’t have to deal with any of that tonight.”

Peter swallowed against the tightness in his throat. The exhaustion and pain had stripped away most of his ability to pretend he did not care about the glasses or the rehearsal. “Mr. Harrington took me off the presentation.”

May sat down beside him. “What?”

“Flash kept asking questions that weren’t planned, and I couldn’t answer fast enough. Mr. Harrington thinks I might freeze in front of the judges, so Flash gets to do all the talking. I just demonstrate the device.”

For a moment, May said nothing. Peter knew exactly what she wanted to say. She knew how much of the device was his, even if she did not understand every technical part of it. She had watched him work at the kitchen table, listened to him talk through problems over dinner, and woken more than once to find him asleep with a notebook open beside him.

“Do you want me to call the school?” She asked.

Peter opened his eyes a fraction, though the room was dark enough that it did not hurt. “Not tonight.”

“Okay.” May did not promise she would leave it alone forever, and Peter did not expect her to. She brushed his hair back from his forehead before standing. “Tonight you sleep. Tomorrow we’ll figure out everything else.”

Peter listened as she crossed the room, her steps softened by the dampening system. At the door, she paused and looked back at him. “Tony can fix the glasses?”

“Probably.”

“That means yes.”

Despite everything, the corner of Peter’s mouth lifted. “Yeah. He can fix them.”

May left the door open just wide enough for her to check on him without letting in much light. Peter heard almost nothing once she stepped into the hall. The sound-dampening system swallowed the apartment around him, and the blackout curtains kept the sun from flooding the room. For the first time since Flash had pulled the glasses from his face, Peter’s senses had nothing left to fight. The migraine remained, heavy and painful behind his eyes, but the room was quiet enough that he could finally stop holding himself together. He curled onto his side beneath the blankets and let his head sink deeper into the pillow. He would have to tell Tony about the glasses. He would have to correct the technical section Flash was now presenting and make sure the demonstration could carry the parts Mr. Harrington had taken away from him. The competition was less than two days away, and Peter could already feel everything beginning to shift beyond his control. None of that could be fixed while his head felt as though it might split open.

May returned with water, special medication, and a few crackers. She stayed until he managed to eat enough to satisfy her, then set the glass within reach and checked the curtains one more time before leaving him to rest. Peter closed his eyes and allowed the silence to pull him under, too tired to keep worrying about the competition or the presentation. For now, all he wanted was for the world to stop hurting.

XXX

By the time competition day arrived, Peter’s migraine was gone, but the worry it had left behind had settled somewhere lower in his chest. He had spent most of Thursday evening repairing the technical notes Flash would be using, correcting the changes Flash had made and adding phonetic spellings beside several of the medical terms he kept mispronouncing. Peter had also rewritten the transitions between each section so Flash would know when to pause, when to direct attention toward the display boards, and when to step aside so Peter could demonstrate ARES. He had made the instructions as clear as possible, partly because he wanted Midtown to win and partly because he no longer trusted Flash to follow anything that required him to share attention.

Peter had tried to tell himself that the demonstration was still important. Flash could talk about the device all he wanted, but Peter would be the one showing the judges how it worked. He would explain the scan results, guide the volunteer through the process, and answer any technical questions that came up afterward. It was not the presentation he had spent months imagining, but it was still something. Once the judges saw ARES in operation, Peter knew the device would speak for itself. That thought had carried him through breakfast, although May had needed to remind him twice to finish eating before he left. She had tried to trade shifts after hearing what happened at school, but the hospital was already short-staffed and no one had been willing to take the hours. Peter had told her it was fine, and part of him had even meant it. May had spent the entire week worrying about him, and he did not want her feeling guilty for having to work.

Peter had thought about asking Mr. Stark, but Tony had actually come out and told him he wouldn't be there. Peter couldn’t help the wave of disappointment, but he understood when Tony explained that if he came, then everyone would be more focused on the great Tony Stark than any of the projects. Tony told him that this was his time to shine and he didn’t want to overshadow any of the recognition that Peter deserved. Peter didn’t like it, but he understood where he was coming from. He also didn’t want to take the experience away from the other students at any of the schools. This was supposed to be about them and unfortunately, if Tony was there it would all be about him and what he thought. His opinion could influence the judges and then it just wouldn’t be fair. Peter did promise to tell him everything about it and about the other inventions and Tony said he was looking forward to it. Peter could tell he was a bit disappointed that he couldn’t go, but it was enough for Peter to know that he wanted to. 

Peter arrived at Midtown before seven with the prototype secured inside its padded case and the backup device packed beneath it. Two school buses waited along the curb, their engines rumbling while students moved between them carrying presentation boards, storage containers, and pieces of projects too large to fit inside ordinary backpacks. Mr. Harrington stood near the first bus with a clipboard, checking names as students arrived, while Principal Morita spoke with two members of the science department beside the luggage compartment. The competition team had been told to wear business clothes, which meant Peter had spent nearly ten minutes trying to decide whether his only tie looked too formal before May fixed it for him and told him to stop worrying. He had chosen a dark blue sweater over a white shirt instead, hoping it would make him look put together without drawing attention. Ned was wearing a jacket that was slightly too large for him, and MJ had ignored the suggested dress code entirely except for replacing her usual boots with another pair that appeared marginally newer.

“You brought both prototypes?” Ned asked as soon as Peter joined them.

Peter lifted the case slightly. “And three battery packs, two replacement sensor arrays, the offline server, and paper copies of every report.”

MJ looked down at the case. “Did you bring an actual hospital too?”

“I considered it.”

Ned leaned closer to Peter and lowered his voice. “Flash has been practicing his speech in the reflection of the bus window for the last five minutes.”

Peter followed his glance. Flash stood near the front doors with his father and several men Peter did not recognize. Mr. Thompson wore an expensive charcoal suit and spoke with one hand resting on Flash’s shoulder, smiling broadly as he introduced his son to the people around him. Peter knew enough from Flash’s constant bragging to recognize at least one of them as an investment manager and another as someone who worked in city politics. They had no reason to be at a student science competition other than Mr. Thompson deciding they should see his son perform. Flash noticed Peter looking and raised his chin, the confident smile on his face making it clear he had no doubts about how the day would go. Peter looked away before Flash could turn it into something. They all got onto their respected school bus, with them bringing so many things just one bus wasn’t enough. Some parents decided to ride along, others opting to take their cars, not wanting to be on a school bus.

The ride to the convention centre took nearly an hour through morning traffic. Mr. Harrington spent most of it reminding them about the schedule and the importance of representing Midtown properly, while Flash sat several rows ahead practicing sections of the presentation in a voice loud enough for half the bus to hear. Each time he reached a technical term, he paused before saying it, obviously checking the phonetic notes Peter had added. That should have reassured Peter. Instead, it made him think about every line Flash might decide to change once they were standing in front of the judges. The convention centre occupied nearly an entire city block, and the entrance was already crowded when the buses arrived. Students in matching school shirts carried models and display boards through the wide glass doors while teachers tried to keep groups together. Parents clustered near registration tables with coffee cups and cameras, calling after their children or stopping them for pictures beneath a large banner announcing the New York Student Innovation Challenge.

Inside, the main exhibition hall had been divided into long rows of booths. Each school had been assigned a space with a table, electrical access, a standing display wall, and enough room for visitors to gather without blocking the aisles. There was no set flow and no formal order for presentations. Students were free to explore the other exhibits throughout the day, while the judging panels moved from school to school according to a schedule only they seemed to understand. The atmosphere felt less like a competition and more like a professional science expo. There were robotic arms sorting recyclable materials, small drones designed to monitor air pollution, water filtration systems, agricultural sensors, low-cost prosthetics, and more software projects than Peter could count while walking toward Midtown’s assigned booth. Several schools had brought large teams in coordinated uniforms. Others had only two or three students standing behind handmade display boards.

Peter felt some of his anxiety loosen as he took everything in. Tony had been right. There were impressive inventions everywhere. A group from Brooklyn had designed a portable shelter that could unfold itself using solar-powered motors. Another team had created a program capable of translating emergency broadcasts into multiple languages in real time. Peter wanted to stop at every booth, ask questions, and learn how each project worked. Instead, he helped unload Midtown’s equipment. Their booth was positioned near the centre of the hall, close enough to one of the main aisles that they would receive steady traffic throughout the day. Mr. Harrington immediately seemed pleased with the location. Flash was even more pleased when he realized people would see him no matter which direction they approached from.

Peter and Ned set up the devices while MJ arranged the humanitarian research along one side of the display. The main presentation board showed ARES against a blue background with the Midtown logo above it. Flash’s promotional video ran on a continuous loop across a monitor, combining footage of the device with statistics about emergency-room wait times, healthcare costs, battlefield medicine, and rural access to doctors. The video was good. Peter had never denied that. Flash understood how to hold attention, and the final product made ARES look like something that already belonged in an advertisement. The problem was that Flash had placed his name across the closing screen in letters nearly as large as the school’s. Peter had pointed it out when the video was first submitted. Mr. Harrington had said it was only because Flash created the promotional material, Peter had let it go.

By nine, the exhibition hall was fully open. Students and families began moving through the aisles while the first judging teams started their rounds. Peter spent the early part of the morning answering questions from other students who stopped at the booth, although Flash usually stepped in after the first few sentences and redirected the conversation toward himself. He spoke about ARES as though he had always known exactly what it could become. When a parent asked where the idea came from, Flash explained that he had wanted to make healthcare more efficient. When a university student asked how long the design process took, Flash said the team had spent months developing his original concept. He never directly said Peter had done nothing. He simply told the story in a way that placed himself at the centre of every decision. Peter corrected him once when he claimed the device used artificial intelligence to diagnose patients without physician oversight.

Flash waited until the visitor moved away before leaning closer. “You need to stop interrupting me.”

“You said it replaces doctors.”

“I said it helps diagnose people.”

“That isn’t the same thing, and the judges could disqualify us if they think we’re making false medical claims.”

Flash gave him a look filled with exaggerated patience. “This is why I’m doing the talking. You get too caught up in details and forget we’re supposed to make people interested.”

“The details are what make it true.”

“The details are boring.”

Peter stared at him for a moment before turning back toward the prototype. There was no point arguing when Flash had already decided being corrected was the same thing as being undermined. Mr. Thompson arrived at the booth a few minutes later with the same group of men from outside Midtown, along with two women Peter recognized from local news interviews. One worked for a medical investment firm, while the other was connected to a foundation that funded technology programs across the city. Mr. Thompson introduced Flash to each of them as though they had not already met, speaking loudly enough for nearby visitors to hear that his son had led Midtown’s winning team into the final stage of the competition.

“We haven’t won yet.” Ned muttered beside Peter.

Peter kept his eyes on the device. “Don’t.”

Mr. Thompson asked Flash to explain the project, and Flash launched into his speech without needing to be prompted. His father listened with obvious pride, occasionally glancing toward the people he had brought to make sure they were impressed. When Flash finished, one of the men asked whether they had considered commercial applications.

Flash smiled. “That’s definitely where I see it going. Hospitals, military contracts, maybe private home use. The possibilities are basically unlimited.”

Peter looked up. “The main goal is to keep it affordable.”

Mr. Thompson turned toward him as though noticing him for the first time. “And you are?”

“Peter Parker. I worked on the design and built the prototype.”

Flash laughed before his father could respond. “Peter handled some of the assembly. He gets very protective of the technical side.”

Mr. Thompson’s attention had already shifted back toward his son. “Every great idea needs people willing to do the less glamorous work.”

Peter felt Ned stiffen beside him, but he shook his head before Ned could say anything. Starting an argument in front of potential judges or investors would only make Peter look jealous, especially when Flash had spent the entire morning presenting himself as the leader of the team. Mr. Thompson led his guests away after promising Flash they would return for the official judging. Peter watched them stop at another booth, where Mr. Thompson greeted one of the judges by name and pulled him into a conversation that ended with both men laughing.

“Is that allowed?” Ned asked.

Mr. Harrington overheard and followed his gaze. “Parents are allowed to speak with the judges as long as they aren’t interfering with the evaluation.”

“He’s telling them Flash invented ARES.” Ned said.

Mr. Harrington gave him a warning look. “We are not going to create problems today. Everyone contributed, and the judges will assess the project based on its quality.”

Peter wanted to ask whether it mattered who they believed had created that quality, but the next group of visitors arrived before he could. The official judging panel reached Midtown shortly after lunch. There were five judges, including a university engineering dean, a trauma surgeon, a technology executive, and two representatives from the competition committee. They wore identical badges clipped to their jackets and carried tablets for recording scores. Several parents and visitors noticed them approaching and gathered near the booth, creating a loose semicircle around the display.

Mr. Harrington straightened his tie and motioned for everyone to take their places. Flash moved to the front without hesitation. Peter stood beside the demonstration table with ARES prepared, while Ned remained near the laptop in case anything went wrong with the software. MJ positioned herself beside the humanitarian research, although she looked less interested in impressing the judges than in watching Flash closely enough to catch whatever he tried. Mr. Thompson and his friends arrived just before the presentation began. They remained near the front of the crowd, close enough that Flash could see them whenever he looked up. One of the committee representatives introduced the panel and asked the team to begin whenever they were ready. Flash smiled as though he had been waiting his entire life for that sentence.

“Good afternoon, my name is Eugene Thompson, and on behalf of Midtown School of Science and Technology, I’d like to introduce ARES, the Advanced Rapid Evaluation System.”

He spoke smoothly, following the opening almost exactly as Peter had written it. He explained the problems caused by long wait times, expensive emergency care, and limited access to medical services. He discussed battlefield medicine, disaster response, rural communities, and the number of patients who delayed treatment because they did not know whether their symptoms were serious enough to justify the cost. Peter listened for mistakes and found fewer than expected. Flash had practiced. He still mispronounced thromboembolism, but he recovered quickly enough that no one seemed to notice.

The judges were engaged. The trauma surgeon leaned forward when Flash explained the device’s ability to send scans and vital signs to doctors before a patient arrived. The engineering dean asked one brief question about the size of the scanner, and Flash answered using the notes Peter had prepared. Peter started to relax. The introduction reached the point where Flash was supposed to turn the presentation over to him. Peter adjusted the prototype and took a small step forward, ready to begin the demonstration. Flash did not move aside.

“ARES is designed to be simple enough for anyone to operate, even without advanced medical training.” Flash continued. He reached across the table and picked up the device. “The user begins by selecting the type of assessment they need or choosing a full-body evaluation.” Peter’s hand froze beside the open case, that was his section.

Flash activated the device and turned the screen toward the judges. “For today’s demonstration, we’ll be using a general scan on one of our team members.”

He looked toward Ned and motioned for him to step forward. Ned stared at him. Peter had been the one scheduled to operate the scanner, and the volunteer was supposed to be Mr. Harrington because Peter already had his baseline results saved in the system. Flash either had forgotten or did not care.

Peter moved closer and kept his voice low. “You need to use the saved profile. The comparison data is already loaded.”

Flash ignored him. Ned reluctantly stepped around the table while Flash raised ARES toward him. Peter watched the way Flash held the device and immediately saw that the primary sensor was angled too far to the left.

“Keep it level.” Peter whispered.

Flash corrected the angle without acknowledging him. “The scanner uses a combination of optical imaging, infrared measurement, low-frequency ultrasound, and biometric monitoring.” Flash explained as the progress bar moved across the screen. “Within seconds, it can identify injuries and medical concerns that would normally require several separate tests.”

Peter stood less than two feet away with nothing to do. This was supposed to be the part where he explained how the imaging systems worked together. He was supposed to show the judges the scan as it developed, point out the different readings, and explain how ARES determined which symptoms required emergency treatment. He had practiced the demonstration until every movement felt natural. Instead, he watched Flash repeat his words while holding Peter’s invention. The scan finished and displayed Ned’s results. Flash turned the screen toward the judges, but his thumb covered the lower corner where the routing options appeared.

Peter reached over and adjusted his hand before he could stop himself. “You’re blocking the recommendations.”

Flash’s smile tightened, but he shifted his grip. “As you can see, the device identified normal vital signs and found no immediate medical concerns.”

The trauma surgeon stepped closer to inspect the results. “It completed all of that from one scan?”

“Yes.” Flash said.

Peter waited for him to explain the verification process. Flash moved on. “The software can then connect the patient with local medical facilities, show current wait times, and send their registration and results ahead so the care team is prepared before they arrive.”

He tapped through the screens too quickly, skipping the physician-review notice and nearly closing the demonstration report. Peter caught the movement and stopped himself from reaching over again. If he kept correcting Flash in front of the judges, it would look as though the team had not prepared. One of the judges asked how the device handled uncertain results. Flash hesitated, Peter knew the answer immediately, but before he could speak, Flash glanced at the technical notes placed beside the display.

“It flags anything uncertain for manual review.” He said after finding the right section. “ARES doesn’t replace a doctor. It gives doctors better information and helps patients reach the right care faster.” That was Peter’s line. Flash said it with enough confidence that the judges nodded.

The rest of the demonstration continued the same way. Flash answered the simpler questions from the notes and redirected the more complicated ones toward Peter only when he had no other choice. Each time Peter explained something, Flash stepped back into the conversation as soon as the answer was finished, making it seem as though Peter was there to provide occasional technical support rather than because he had created the entire system. Peter remained beside the table throughout it all. He smiled when someone looked at him, adjusted the device when Flash handled it incorrectly, and tried not to think about how foolish he must appear standing silently beside his own invention.

The presentation ended to enthusiastic applause. The judges thanked them and moved closer to inspect the prototype. The trauma surgeon asked Peter several detailed questions about the imaging accuracy, and for a few minutes Peter was able to talk about the work without Flash interrupting. He explained the testing process, the comparison results from Stark’s medical floor, and the need for physician verification. The surgeon seemed impressed and asked whether Peter had written the diagnostic software.

Before Peter could answer, Flash stepped beside him. “We developed it as a team.” Flash said.

Peter looked at him. The judges recorded their final notes and moved on to the next booth. As soon as they were out of hearing range, Peter turned toward Flash. “What was that?”

Flash set ARES down on the table. “What was what?”

“You did the demonstration.”

“It made more sense to explain it while showing it.”

“That was my part.”

Flash glanced toward the visitors still gathered nearby, then lowered his voice. “You were standing right there.”

“That doesn’t mean anything when you took the device and did everything yourself.”

“I wasn’t going to stop the whole presentation and hand it over in the middle. It would have looked awkward.”

“We practiced the transition.”

“And I changed it because this flowed better.”

Peter felt the hurt sharpening beneath his anger. “You could have told me.”

Flash gave him a look that made it clear he thought Peter was being unreasonable. “You froze just the other day because I asked a few questions. I wasn’t risking that happening in front of the judges.”

“I had a migraine because you broke my glasses.”

“And they didn’t know that. They would have seen you standing there unable to answer.”

“I know every part of that device better than you do.”

“Then you should be happy it went well.”

Peter stared at him, unable to understand how Flash could say it as though Peter had no right to be upset. “You didn’t even know how to hold it properly.”

“But I figured it out.” Flash adjusted the front of his jacket and looked toward his father, who was speaking with another member of the competition committee. “That’s what leadership is.”

Ned stepped forward. “No, leadership would’ve been letting the person who actually built it do his part.”

Flash rolled his eyes. “Nobody asked you.”

Mr. Harrington moved between them before Ned could answer. “What is going on?”

“Peter’s upset because I adjusted the presentation.” Flash said. “But the judges liked it.”

“I’m upset because he took my entire part without telling me.” Peter corrected.

Mr. Harrington looked toward the judging panel, who had stopped several booths away. “The presentation went extremely well. They were clearly impressed.”

“That isn’t the point.” Peter argued. 

“I understand you were expecting to demonstrate the device.” Mr. Harrington said, keeping his voice calm. “But Flash is right that the transition worked smoothly. Sometimes adjustments have to be made in the moment.”

“He planned it.” Peter said. “That wasn’t an adjustment.”

Flash crossed his arms. “You don’t know that.”

Peter could see the lie in the small shift of his expression, but proving Flash planned it would not change what had already happened. The judges had seen the presentation. They had heard Flash explain ARES and watched him operate it. Peter could not ask them to come back so the team could do it again properly.

Mr. Harrington rested one hand against the edge of the display table. “This is a team competition. If Midtown wins, every one of you wins together. The important thing is that the judges saw the quality of the work, not which person handled each individual section.”

Peter looked down at ARES. He wondered whether Mr. Harrington truly believed that. It was easy to say individual credit did not matter when Peter was always the person expected to give his up.

“Can we please focus on finishing the day?” Mr. Harrington continued. “There are still people visiting the booths, and we need to represent Midtown professionally until the results are announced.”

Peter nodded because arguing any longer would only make him look difficult. He returned the prototype to its stand and spent the next several hours answering questions whenever Flash allowed him to. More parents arrived as the afternoon continued, filling the exhibition hall with cameras and excited conversation. Students from other schools stopped to compare projects, while teachers exchanged contact information and discussed how long their teams had worked. Peter tried to visit some of the other booths during a quiet period, but he could not enjoy it the way he had earlier. Each time he looked back toward Midtown, Flash was surrounded by visitors, speaking confidently about ARES while his father stood nearby looking proud. No one asked Peter where his parents were. He was grateful for that. May texted twice to ask how the judging went, and Peter told her the device worked perfectly. He did not mention that Flash had taken the demonstration. Tony sent a message a few minutes later asking whether the competition had surrendered yet. Peter smiled despite himself and replied that the results would be announced at five.

By late afternoon, the judges had finished their rounds and the students were directed toward a large open area at the far end of the exhibition hall. There was a small raised stage positioned in front of the competition banner and several rows left open for the winning teams to come forward. Families gathered behind the students while teachers tried to keep each school grouped together. Peter stood between Ned and MJ near the back of Midtown’s team. Flash was closer to the front with Mr. Harrington and Principal Morita. Mr. Thompson had positioned himself just beyond the barrier with his friends, phone already raised to record. The director of the competition stepped to the podium and thanked the schools for participating. He spoke about innovation, teamwork, and the importance of encouraging young people to solve problems in their communities. Peter listened only partly. His stomach had tightened again, and he could hear his heartbeat beneath the applause that followed each announcement. Third place went to the school that had designed the solar-powered emergency shelter. Second place went to the real-time translation system. Peter felt his hands grow cold. The director paused before opening the final envelope.

“First place in this year’s New York Student Innovation Challenge goes to Midtown School of Science and Technology for the Advanced Rapid Evaluation System.”

The sound around Peter exploded. Ned grabbed his arm while students shouted and pushed forward. Mr. Harrington turned with both hands raised, directing the team toward the front. Principal Morita was smiling more broadly than Peter had ever seen, and several teachers hugged one another as the crowd applauded. Peter could barely move. They had won. Tony had been right. ARES had stood above everything else in the hall, not because the other projects were bad, but because Peter had built something people could use now. The school would receive the funding it needed. The robotics lab could be repaired. Students would have equipment that worked. A device Peter had created in his bedroom and refined in Tony’s lab had carried Midtown past more than a hundred other schools. For one brief moment, pride pushed everything else aside. Then Flash reached the front before anyone else.

The competition director held out the trophy, and Flash accepted it with both hands as though it had always been meant for him. Cameras flashed, Mr. Thompson shouted something from behind the barrier, and Flash turned slightly so his father could get a better picture. The rest of the team crowded around him. Peter remained several steps back, partially hidden behind taller students. The director offered the microphone to Mr. Harrington, but Flash stepped toward it first. Mr. Harrington hesitated, then allowed him through.

“I just want to say how proud I am of everyone at Midtown.” Flash began, holding the trophy against his chest. His voice carried easily through the exhibition hall. “This project started as an idea for helping people get better medical care, and I was honored when my class chose my design to represent our school.” Peter stopped breathing. Beside him, Ned went completely still. Flash continued before anyone could react. “ARES took months of work, and I couldn’t have done it without the team helping bring my idea to life. Everyone played a part, from coding and construction to research and promotion, and this proves what can happen when people believe in a vision.”

The applause began again. Peter heard someone in the crowd say that sixteen was incredibly young to create something so advanced. Another person asked whether Flash already had interest from medical companies. Mr. Thompson stood with one arm around the investment manager beside him, smiling as though his son’s future had just unfolded exactly as planned. Peter looked toward Mr. Harrington. The teacher’s smile had faded slightly, and for a moment Peter thought he might step forward and correct Flash. Mr. Harrington knew the original concepts had been anonymous. He knew Peter had built the prototype and written the software. He knew Flash had handled the presentation and promotion. Mr. Harrington said nothing. Principal Morita continued applauding. The competition director shook Flash’s hand and congratulated him on an extraordinary achievement. Flash thanked him with practiced humility, then lifted the trophy higher while cameras captured the moment. Peter felt something inside his chest crack open. It was not loud or dramatic. No one around him noticed. His face remained still, and he kept his hands at his sides even when his fingers began trembling.

That was his idea. He had created ARES because he remembered May worrying over hospital bills and Ben pretending everything was fine. He had spent months building it, testing it, failing, and starting again. He had gone without sleep, forgotten meals, and pushed himself until his body forced him to stop. Tony had let him make every mistake because he wanted the invention to belong entirely to Peter. Now hundreds of people were applauding Flash for creating it. Peter blinked quickly when his eyes started burning. He refused to cry there. Flash would see; the teachers would tell him not to spoil the moment. Someone would remind him that it was a team effort and Midtown had won, as though that should make it hurt less to hear someone else claim the most important thing Peter had ever built. MJ stepped closer until her shoulder pressed against his. She did not say anything, but Peter knew she had heard every word. Ned looked furious enough to walk straight to the microphone and take it from Flash. Peter caught his wrist before he could move.

“Don’t.” Peter whispered.

“That was your design.”

“I know.”

“He just told everyone it was his.”

Peter swallowed against the tightness in his throat and looked toward the trophy in Flash’s hands. “I know.”

The winning team was called forward for photographs. Peter moved when everyone else did, allowing himself to be placed along the back row while Flash stood in the centre with the trophy. Mr. Harrington smiled for the cameras. Principal Morita rested a hand on Flash’s shoulder. Mr. Thompson joined them for several pictures even though he was not part of the school team. Peter stared toward the cluster of phones and tried to hold his expression together. He had wanted this to be his day. Not because he needed everyone to know he worked with Tony Stark or because he wanted to be treated like the smartest person in the room. He had only wanted to stand beside something he had created and know, for once, that the work mattered. ARES had won. Midtown had won. Everyone around him was celebrating. Peter had never felt less like any of it belonged to him.

XXX

The bus ride back to Midtown was louder than the trip to the convention centre had been. The trophy moved from hand to hand through the front half of the bus while students took pictures with it, posted videos, and replayed the announcement as though there were any chance they might forget the moment Midtown’s name had been called. Flash sat near the front beside Mr. Harrington, answering messages and showing everyone the photographs his father had already uploaded. Each new notification made him smile wider.

Peter stayed near the back with Ned and MJ. The padded case containing ARES rested across his knees. He kept one hand on top of it whenever the bus turned, more out of habit than concern. The device had survived the day perfectly. There had been no software failure, no dropped connection, and no issue with the imaging sensors. The judges had been impressed enough to award Midtown first place over every other school in the competition. Peter should have felt proud. He did feel proud, somewhere beneath everything else. ARES had done exactly what he designed it to do. The trauma surgeon on the judging panel had understood its potential almost immediately, and several other students had stopped Peter after the results to ask technical questions about the scanner. One of the judges had even told Mr. Harrington that the project was operating years beyond the expected level for a student competition.

None of that changed the speech. Peter could still hear Flash saying that the class had selected his design. He could still see the competition director shaking Flash’s hand and congratulating him on creating something extraordinary. The moment kept replaying in Peter’s mind no matter how many times he tried to push it away. Ned had barely spoken since they left the convention centre. His anger had not faded, but it had become quieter, settling into the tight line of his mouth and the way he kept looking toward Flash as though he might change his mind about starting an argument at any moment. MJ sat by the window with her arms folded. She had not said much either, although Peter knew silence from MJ did not mean she had stopped thinking about it. It usually meant she was paying closer attention.

A cheer rose from the front of the bus when someone found a local news clip about the competition. The video played loudly through a phone speaker, beginning with the announcement of Midtown’s victory before cutting to Flash holding the trophy beneath the competition banner.

“Sixteen-year-old Eugene Thompson led Midtown School of Science and Technology to first place today with an advanced portable medical scanner designed to change how patients access emergency care.”

Peter looked down at the case across his knees. Ned reached over and turned up the music playing through his own phone until the news report became harder to hear. Peter knew what he was doing and appreciated the effort, but the words had already settled inside him.

“You should tell May what happened.” Ned said quietly.

Peter kept his gaze on the case. “She’s going to be happy we won.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“I know.”

“She should know Flash told everyone it was his.”

Peter traced one thumb along the edge of the case. “What is she supposed to do about it?”

“Call the school. Call Harrington. Call Morita. Call everybody until someone admits what happened.”

“And then what?” Peter asked, keeping his voice low enough that the students ahead of them would not hear. “They’ll say it was a team competition. They’ll say Flash was excited and used the wrong words. Mr. Harrington was standing right there. He already decided not to correct him.” Ned looked away, but not because he disagreed.

MJ turned from the window. “He knew exactly what he was saying.”

“I know.”

“And so did the teachers.”

Peter felt his chest tighten again. “I know.”

MJ studied him for several seconds. Her expression did not soften, but her voice did. “Pretending you don’t care isn’t going to make it true.”

Peter did not have an answer for that. The buses returned to Midtown after sunset. Principal Morita was waiting on the front steps with several teachers who had not attended the competition. He had come in his own car and beat them back to the school. Someone had made a quick banner congratulating the science team, and another round of photographs followed before anyone was allowed to leave. Flash stood in the centre again. Peter remained near the edge of the group with ARES in his hands.

Principal Morita announced that there would be a full school celebration once the competition committee delivered the official award package and funding information. Mr. Harrington thanked everyone for their work and reminded them that the victory belonged to the entire school. Flash held the trophy while people applauded. Peter smiled when someone pointed a camera toward him. By the time they were dismissed, he felt as though the expression had become fixed to his face. Ned offered to walk him home, but Peter declined. He wanted the trip back to Queens to be quiet, or as quiet as public transportation could be. He needed enough time to put everything away before he saw May. He spent most of the subway ride staring at his reflection in the darkened window. The boy looking back at him appeared tired but otherwise normal. No one would know that he had spent the afternoon fighting the urge to cry in front of hundreds of people. No one would know that the case resting against his leg contained the invention everyone believed belonged to someone else.

His phone buzzed several times in his pocket. The class group chat was filled with photographs. Flash had posted a picture of himself holding the trophy with the caption, Hard work pays off. Proud to see my vision become reality.

Peter locked the screen without opening the comments. By the time he reached the apartment, he had decided what he was going to say. That they had won and the device worked. All of which was true. He knew eventually he might have to tell May about Flash, but for right now he just needed to get through this so he could be alone. May was in the kitchen when Peter opened the door. She turned at the sound, still wearing her hospital scrubs beneath an old cardigan. The tiredness on her face disappeared when she saw the case in his hand.

“Well?” She asked, trying to sound calm and failing completely. “How did it go?”

Peter forced the smile back into place. “We won.”

May’s entire face lit up. “You won?”

“First place.”

She crossed the kitchen before he had time to set the case down and wrapped both arms around him. Peter held himself still for half a second before returning the hug. May smelled like hospital soap, coffee, and the hand cream she kept in her purse. The familiarity of it made the tightness in his chest worse.

“I knew it.” She said against his shoulder. “I knew you were going to win.”

Peter closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

May pulled back and held him by the arms, looking him over as though she expected the competition to have left visible damage. “Tell me everything. Did the demonstration work? What did the judges say? Were there reporters? I saw something online about the results, but I didn’t want to watch until you told me.”

“The device worked perfectly.” That part was easy to say because it was the truth Peter cared about most. “The judges asked a lot of questions. One of them was a trauma surgeon, and she really liked the medical routing system.”

“I bet she did.” May’s pride was so open that Peter had to look away under the excuse of setting the case on the table. “Did you get to do your demonstration?”

The question landed harder than it should have. Peter kept his hands busy with the clasps on the case. “The presentation changed a little, but everything went well.”

May’s smile faltered slightly. “Changed how?”

“Flash demonstrated it while he was explaining it.” Peter opened the case long enough to check that ARES was still secure. “It flowed better that way.”

He hated how easily the words came. They sounded exactly like Mr. Harrington. May watched him for a moment. Peter could feel her trying to decide whether there was more he was not saying, but the victory made the explanation plausible. Flash had done the speaking. Peter had helped with the technical questions, Midtown had won. It could all be presented as a successful team effort if no one looked too closely.

“Were you okay with that?” She asked.

Peter shrugged and kept his attention on the device. “We won. That’s what matters.”

May did not answer immediately. Peter could tell she did not fully believe him, but she also knew how hard he had worked and how much he had worried. She probably thought he was exhausted and overwhelmed after the competition, which was true enough that it covered everything else.

She reached over and squeezed the back of his neck gently. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”

“You had work.”

“I know, but I still wanted to see it.”

“It’s okay.” Peter closed the case. “There were cameras everywhere. I’m sure the school will have a thousand videos by tomorrow.”

May smiled again, though some concern remained in her eyes. “I am so proud of you.”

Peter looked at her and managed to keep his expression steady. “Thanks.”

She ordered takeout because she said no one who had just won a citywide science competition should have to eat leftover soup. Peter let her choose the restaurant and sat at the kitchen table while she told him about the messages she had already received from two coworkers who had seen the results online. He answered questions when she asked them. He told her about the solar shelter that placed third and the emergency translation system that came second. He described the size of the exhibition hall, the different booths, and the judges walking around with tablets. He told her that Ned nearly knocked over one of the display boards while setting up and that MJ had frightened a group of middle-school students by staring at their robot until they moved away. He did not tell her about Flash’s speech. He did not tell her about Mr. Thompson introducing Flash to investors or the reporter calling him a sixteen-year-old science prodigy. He did not tell her that Mr. Harrington had stood beside Flash and allowed him to claim Peter’s design in front of the entire convention centre.

May laughed at the right places and insisted on taking a picture of Peter with the small participation medal every student on the winning team had received. Peter smiled for the camera and held the medal against his chest. She posted the picture with a caption about how proud she was of her brilliant nephew. Peter helped clean up after dinner even though May told him not to. Keeping his hands occupied made it easier to maintain the act. By the time he went to his room, he had almost convinced himself that the evening had gone normally. His phone rang before he could change out of his clothes. Tony’s name appeared across the screen. Peter sat on the edge of his bed and took a breath before answering. Tony would hear it if something was wrong. He always did. Peter needed to sound tired, not devastated.

“Hey, Mr. Stark.”

“So?” Tony asked, excitement already clear in his voice. “Did the other schools survive, or do we need to send condolence baskets?”

Peter smiled despite himself. “We won.”

There was a brief burst of sound through the phone, followed by Tony saying something Peter could not make out to someone else in the room. When he came back, his voice was louder.

“You won.”

“First place.”

“I told you.” Tony sounded unbearably pleased with himself. “I specifically told you that no one was going to come close, and now I expect a formal acknowledgment that I was right.”

“You were right.”

“Say it with more enthusiasm.”

“You were very right.”

“That’ll do.” Peter could hear the smile in Tony’s voice. “How did the presentation go? Did the device behave? Did anyone faint? Please tell me someone fainted and you scanned them in front of the judges.”

“The device worked perfectly.”

“Of course it did.”

“The judges really liked it. One of them was a trauma surgeon, and she asked about the emergency routing and remote physician link.”

“That’s because she has functioning eyes and understands what she was looking at.” Tony paused, and when he continued, some of the teasing gave way to genuine pride. “You did it, kid.”

Peter looked across the room at the prototype case resting on his desk. “Yeah.”

“No, don’t give me that quiet little ‘yeah’ like you passed a math quiz. You built a working portable medical scanner, took it to a competition against more than a hundred schools, and won first place. That is a big deal.”

Peter swallowed. “It was a team project.”

“Sure, and I’m sure someone made an excellent poster, but you built the thing that won.”

The words struck too close to the truth. Peter lowered his head and rubbed one hand against his knee. “Everyone worked hard.”

Tony was quiet for a moment. “Everything okay?”

Peter’s chest tightened. He could tell him. Tony would believe him immediately. He would not ask whether Peter misunderstood or remind him that it was a team effort. Tony knew who had designed ARES. He knew exactly how much of the device belonged to Peter because he had watched him build it. Peter could tell him that Flash took the demonstration. He could tell him about the speech. He could say that the entire competition now believed Flash Thompson created ARES. Tony would fix it. That was the problem. Tony would fix it immediately, loudly, and without caring who he embarrassed in the process. He would call the school, the competition committee, and probably every reporter who had repeated Flash’s claim. He might appear at Midtown in person before Peter reached first period. Peter did not want that. At least, he told himself he did not. Today had already become too much. He could not handle the idea of Tony turning it into something larger before Peter had even worked out how he felt about it. Maybe Mr. Harrington would correct the record tomorrow. Maybe the school would list the whole team when they made the official announcement. Maybe Flash’s speech would fade once the excitement passed.

“I’m fine.” Peter said. “Just tired.”

Tony remained silent long enough that Peter knew he had not entirely accepted the answer. “You’ve been running yourself into the ground for weeks. You’re allowed to crash now that it’s over.”

“Yeah, I think I’m going to sleep early.”

“Good. We’re celebrating this weekend.”

Peter looked up. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Incorrect. We absolutely have to do that. Pizza, cake, lab access without any responsible adult supervision, and possibly an irresponsible amount of new equipment.”

“You are the responsible adult.”

“Which should concern everyone.” Tony’s voice softened again. “I’m proud of you, Bambino.”

Peter pressed his lips together before answering. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“You earned this. Don’t let yourself pretend you didn’t.”

The pressure behind Peter’s eyes returned, not from a migraine this time. He looked toward the door to make sure May had not followed him down the hallway.

“I won’t.”

“Get some sleep. I’ll call tomorrow after you’ve had time to enjoy being New York’s reigning teenage science champion.”

Peter almost laughed. “Goodnight, Mr. Stark.”

“Night, kid. Congratulations.”

The call ended. Peter remained seated on the edge of the bed with the phone still pressed against his ear. The silence in the room felt different once Tony’s voice disappeared. There was no one left to perform for. May believed he was tired but happy. Tony believed Peter had received the moment he deserved. Everyone who loved him was proud, and Peter had spent the entire evening making sure they stayed that way. He lowered the phone slowly and set it on the nightstand. The smile disappeared from his face. Peter changed out of his competition clothes without turning on the overhead light. He folded the sweater over the back of his chair and placed the medal beside the prototype case. The small piece of metal caught the light from his desk lamp, the competition logo stamped across the front and FIRST PLACE TEAM engraved beneath it. 

He climbed into bed and pulled the blankets over himself, curling onto his side with his back toward the room. He tried to focus on the good things. Midtown had won. The school would receive funding. The device had worked. Doctors had already used it to help people, which had always mattered more than a trophy. None of those thoughts stopped Flash’s voice from returning.

I was honored when my class chose my design.

Peter pressed his face into the pillow. He had created ARES because May and Ben once had to worry whether they could afford to find out if his arm was broken. He had spent four months making sure the scanner could help someone before they reached a hospital. He had built it from nothing more than an idea, failed over and over, and kept working until doctors trusted it with real patients. Flash had held it for less than ten minutes and walked away as the inventor. The first tear slipped free before Peter could stop it. He wiped it away angrily, though there was no one there to see. That only made the next one come faster. Peter curled tighter beneath the blankets and pressed one hand over his mouth so May would not hear anything from the hallway.

Once he started, he could not make himself stop. The tears came quietly, sinking into the pillow beneath his face while everything he had held back since the convention centre finally broke loose. He cried for the presentation Flash had taken, for the speech no one corrected, and for the photographs that would exist forever with Peter standing somewhere in the back while Flash held the trophy. He cried because Tony was proud of him and did not know that no one else believed Peter had done anything worth being proud of. He cried because May had looked so happy when he told her they won, and Peter had not been able to tell her that the victory felt like something stolen. Most of all, he cried because ARES was his, and saying that aloud now would only make him sound jealous of the person everyone had already decided deserved the credit. Peter stayed curled beneath the blankets until the tears finally slowed. His chest hurt and his breathing came unevenly, but the apartment remained quiet around him. May did not knock. His phone did not ring again. On the desk across the room, the prototype sat inside its case beside the first-place medal. Peter closed his eyes and tried not to look at either of them.

XXX

Monday morning arrived with Peter feeling as though the weekend had never happened. He had spent most of Saturday in his room with the curtains partially closed, telling May he was catching up on the sleep he had missed while preparing for the competition. That explanation had worked for the first few hours because it was not entirely a lie. Peter had slept late, woken long enough to eat something when May insisted, and then returned to bed with his laptop beside him. He had opened three homework assignments and finished none of them. Every time he tried to focus, another photograph from the competition appeared somewhere online. Flash holding the trophy. Flash standing beside Principal Morita. Flash speaking into the microphone beneath a headline calling him Midtown’s teenage medical innovator.

Peter had turned off his notifications after the fifth person tagged him in an article that barely mentioned the rest of the team. Most of the reports referred to Flash by name and described ARES as his invention, while Peter and the others were grouped together as classmates who helped him develop the prototype. Tony called Saturday afternoon to talk about celebrating, but Peter said he still had homework to finish and was too tired to go to the Tower. Tony had sounded disappointed, although he tried to hide it by threatening to send food and a laboratory-grade alarm clock to make sure Peter did not sleep through Monday. Peter promised they would celebrate later.

May asked twice whether something had happened at the competition. Peter gave her the same answer both times. He was tired; he had neglected schoolwork for weeks, he needed a quiet weekend to catch up. By Sunday evening, she had stopped asking directly, but Peter noticed the way she watched him whenever he pushed food around his plate or disappeared into his room earlier than usual. He knew she was worried. He simply did not know how to explain that Midtown had won everything he had wanted and somehow left him feeling as though he had lost.

The school looked different when Peter reached it Monday morning. A printed banner hung above the front entrance congratulating the science team on winning the New York Student Innovation Challenge. Blue and silver balloons had been tied to the railings, already beginning to sag in the cool morning air, and a large photograph of Flash holding the trophy had been taped inside the glass doors. The school’s social media accounts were displayed beneath it along with several newspaper headlines.

MIDTOWN STUDENT DESIGNS REVOLUTIONARY MEDICAL SCANNER.

LOCAL TEEN WINS CITYWIDE INNOVATION CHALLENGE.

EUGENE THOMPSON: THE FUTURE OF MEDICAL TECHNOLOGY.

Peter stopped long enough to read the final headline, even though he knew he shouldn’t. Students moved around him toward the entrance, talking more loudly than usual. Several wore Midtown science shirts left over from previous competitions. Someone had printed a photograph of Flash lifting the trophy and taped it to the front of their binder. Peter heard ARES mentioned three times before he reached the hallway, but his own name did not come up once. He tried to tell himself it did not matter. The invention had worked, the school had won, that was supposed to be enough. The hallway was crowded with students gathered in loose groups, most of them looking at their phones or passing around links to the coverage from the weekend. Peter kept his head down and adjusted the strap of his backpack, aiming for his locker before anyone noticed him. He almost made it.

“Well, look who finally showed up.”

Peter recognized Flash’s voice a second before a hand struck his shoulder. The shove sent him sideways into the lockers. His cheek missed the metal handle, but his mouth did not. Pain flashed across his lower lip as his teeth cut into the inside, and the impact made the locker doors rattle loudly enough for several nearby students to turn. Flash stood beside him with two of his usual friends, the first-place trophy photograph printed across the screen of his phone. He looked rested, pleased, and entirely comfortable with the attention following him through the school.

“Careful, Pensi.” Flash said. “You don’t want to damage the school’s property because you’re jealous.”

Peter touched his lip and pulled his fingers away with a thin streak of blood across them. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

“That’s kind of your specialty.” Flash leaned against the lockers beside him. “Standing around while other people do the work.”

A few students nearby laughed. Peter looked at them. None of them had pushed him. None of them had said anything cruel. They were only watching, relieved that Flash’s attention had settled on someone else.

Flash noticed the blood and smiled. “What happened? Did the lockers fight back?”

“Leave him alone.” Ned said, pushing through the students gathering near them.

Flash looked past Peter toward him. “Relax, we’re celebrating.”

“By shoving him into a locker?”

“He tripped.”

“I watched you do it.”

Flash shrugged. “Then you should get your eyes checked.”

Peter pressed the cuff of his sweatshirt against his lip. The cut was small and would probably heal before lunch, but the taste of blood had already filled his mouth. He wanted to leave. He wanted to turn around, walk out through the front doors, and return to the apartment before anyone could stop him. Instead, he reached for his locker.

Flash stepped into the space between Peter and the door. “You see the news?” Peter did not answer. “My dad says three medical companies have already reached out.” Flash lifted his phone and scrolled through the notifications as though Peter had asked to see them. “There’s a reporter who wants to do a profile, and Channel Four might come here this week. They want to talk about how I came up with ARES.”

Peter’s hand tightened around the strap of his backpack. “You didn’t.” The words came out before he could stop them.

Flash’s expression sharpened. “What?”

“You didn’t come up with it.”

The laughter around them disappeared. Students remained close enough to listen, but no one looked directly at Peter now.

Flash tilted his head. “Is that what you’re telling people?”

“I haven’t told anyone anything.”

“Good, because it would make you look pathetic.” Flash took another step closer, lowering his voice even though everyone nearby could still hear. “The whole class worked on it. You put some parts together because Mr. Harrington assigned you to construction. That doesn’t make it yours.”

“It was my design.”

Flash laughed as though Peter had made a joke. “Sure it was.”

“Ned and MJ know it was.”

“Your two friends saying something doesn’t make it true.” Flash glanced around the hallway and raised his voice slightly. “Peter’s having a hard time with the attention. He thinks because he worked on the prototype, he should get all the credit.”

Peter felt every face turn toward him. “That isn’t what I said.”

“You’re jealous.” Flash smiled again, but there was no humor in it now. “I get it. You thought working at some fake internship and being good at taking things apart made you special. Then the class picked my idea, I gave the presentation, and we won.”

Peter stared at him. The worst part was how easily Flash said it. There was no hesitation, no flicker of uncertainty. Somewhere between the anonymous class vote and the moment he accepted the trophy, Flash had decided the invention truly belonged to him.

“Come on.” One of Flash’s friends said. “We’re going to be late.”

Flash looked toward the classroom wing, then back at Peter. “Try not to embarrass yourself today. People are actually paying attention to this school now.”

He struck Peter’s shoulder again as he passed, not hard enough to knock him into the lockers a second time but with enough force to make the message clear. His friends followed him down the hallway while several students moved after them, eager to remain close to the person everyone had spent the weekend reading about. The crowd around Peter broke apart almost immediately. No teacher came out of a classroom. No one asked whether he was hurt.

Ned remained beside him, staring after Flash with open anger. “He shoved you hard enough to split your lip.”

Peter opened his locker. “It’ll heal.”

“That isn’t the point.”

“I know.”

Ned watched him exchange his books, his concern deepening when Peter dropped one and took too long to pick it up. “How was your weekend?”

“Fine.”

“That sounded believable.”

Peter pushed the book into his bag. “I slept.”

“I texted you.”

“I know. Sorry.”

“I thought we could hang out.” Ned lowered his voice. “You said we might after the competition.”

Peter closed his locker and rested his forehead against the cool metal for a moment before remembering they were in the middle of the hallway. “I had homework to catch up on.”

Ned looked at him carefully. Peter could see the disbelief forming before he said anything. “Did you actually do the homework?”

“Some of it.”

“How much is some?”

Peter started walking toward class. “Enough.”

Ned followed immediately. “You look worse than you did Friday.”

“I’m tired.”

“You slept all weekend.”

“I said I was catching up on sleep. I didn’t say I spent forty-eight hours unconscious.”

“Peter.”

The concern in Ned’s voice made Peter’s chest tighten. He did not want to lie to him. Ned had stood beside him through the competition, watched Flash take the demonstration, and heard the speech. There was no reason to pretend with him except that speaking about it would make everything real again.

“I’m okay.” Peter said.

Ned glanced at the blood still marking the edge of Peter’s lip. “You’re doing a really bad job proving that.”

Peter wiped his mouth again before they reached the classroom. “Can we not talk about it here?”

Ned looked around at the students moving past them and nodded reluctantly. “Later.”

“Sure.” Peter knew Ned heard the lack of promise in the answer, but the first bell rang before he could push.

XXX

While students settled into first period, Principal Morita stood at the head of the small conference table inside his office and looked over the competition paperwork spread before him. The official package had arrived early that morning. Midtown’s first-place certificate was already being framed, the funding documents had been forwarded to the district, and the trophy would remain in the display case outside the main office once the science department finished using it for photographs. There was only one decision left to make. The competition rules required the winning school to name a single most valuable participant from the team. That student would receive the university scholarship, recognition from the competition committee, and the position of laboratory assistant during Midtown’s private visit to Stark Industries.

Principal Morita had gathered the members of the science department who had supervised the project. Mr. Harrington sat closest to the end of the table with the team evaluation forms in front of him. Mr. Dell had brought a coffee and had not touched it since the meeting began. Ms. Warren sat beside him, scrolling through several pages of notes on her tablet.

Morita folded his hands. “We need a unanimous recommendation by the end of the day. The committee wants the student’s name before they issue the final announcement.”

Mr. Harrington looked down at his evaluation form. “Then I think it should be Peter Parker.” The answer came quickly enough that the others looked toward him.

Morita’s expression remained neutral. “Explain your reasoning.”

“Peter completed most of the physical construction.” Mr. Harrington said. “He also developed the diagnostic software and the patient interface. Ned assisted with coding, but Peter handled the majority of the technical work. Every time we ran into a problem with the prototype, he was the one who fixed it.”

Ms. Warren set her tablet down. “No one is disputing that Peter worked hard.”

“He did more than work hard.” Mr. Harrington glanced toward the testing reports. “Without him, there would not have been a functional device to present. He understood every part of ARES and spent months perfecting it.”

Mr. Dell leaned back slightly. “He was the mechanic.”

Mr. Harrington frowned. “I wouldn’t describe him that way.”

“I don’t mean it as an insult.” Mr. Dell said. “A mechanic is essential. You can have the best design in the world, but if no one can build it or make it work, it remains a drawing on paper. Peter took the concept and turned it into a functioning product.”

“The concept was the important part.” Morita said.

Mr. Harrington looked toward him. “The concepts were submitted anonymously.”

“They were.” Morita agreed. “But Eugene has publicly identified the design as his, and no other student challenged that during the development process.”

Mr. Harrington shifted in his seat. “Peter never identified himself either.”

“That may be because he did not create it.” Ms. Warren said. Her tone was not accusatory, only practical. “Peter was assigned to construction because everyone knows he is technically gifted. It makes sense that he would become closely attached to the device after spending so much time building it.”

Mr. Harrington thought of Peter standing beside the prototype during rehearsals, correcting every inaccurate claim before Flash could add it to the presentation. He thought of the detailed notes Peter carried, the way he could explain each sensor and every line of the software without looking anything up.

“It always seemed like more than an assignment to him.” He said.

Mr. Dell picked up his coffee but did not drink from it. “That still doesn’t prove the original proposal was his.”

“Neither does Flash saying it was his.” Mr. Harrington replied.

A brief silence settled over the room. Morita looked toward the glass wall separating his office from the main administrative area. Through it, they could see the banner hanging across the hallway and the students stopping to take pictures with the newspaper articles posted beneath it.

“We have to consider more than who assembled the device.” He said. “The MVP award is based on overall contribution, leadership, and the student’s ability to represent both the project and the school.”

“Peter contributed more hours than anyone.” Mr. Harrington said.

“And Eugene created the public interest that made those hours matter.” Ms. Warren countered. “The presentation was exceptionally well done. His video brought people to the booth all day, and he held the judges’ attention through the entire evaluation.”

“He took Peter’s demonstration without warning.” Mr. Harrington said, though his voice had lost some of its certainty.

Mr. Dell looked surprised. “He did?”

“They rehearsed it separately. Peter was supposed to demonstrate while Eugene presented. During judging, Eugene changed the format and handled both.”

“Did it hurt their score?” Mr. Morita asked.

“No.”

“Did the demonstration fail?” He continued.

“No.”

“Then he made an effective decision under pressure.”

Mr. Harrington thought of Peter’s face after the judges walked away. He had been upset, though he tried to hide it. At the time, Mr. Harrington had been too relieved by how well the presentation went to consider what Flash had taken from him.

“It wasn’t his decision to make alone.” Mr. Harrington said.

“Leadership often means adapting.” Morita replied. “The judges were impressed. The presentation received almost perfect scores.”

Mr. Harrington looked at the score sheets. Flash’s name appeared throughout the comments. Confident speaker, strong leadership, clear vision, excellent understanding of market need. Peter’s name appeared only twice, both times beside technical expertise.

Morita continued. “Since the announcement, Midtown has received calls from local media, two private foundations, and several prospective donors. They are interested because Eugene gave the project a face people can understand.”

“Because he told everyone the invention was his.” Mr. Harrington said.

“And, as far as the public record currently shows, it was his concept.” Morita replied.

Mr. Harrington felt the discomfort settle deeper in his stomach. “We don’t know that.”

“Then we have to base our decision on documented contributions.” Ms. Warren said. “Eugene created the promotional campaign, organized the presentation, handled the media material, and represented the team during judging. Those are not minor tasks.”

“Peter built ARES.”

“Yes.” She said patiently. “But the person who constructs a car is not necessarily the person who designed it. The mechanic is important, but the designer creates the vision that makes the car possible.”

Mr. Harrington almost pointed out that Peter had written the software and changed the design repeatedly throughout construction, which was far beyond the work of a mechanic. He stopped because he could see how the argument would be received. Peter had never claimed the original proposal. Flash had. Whatever doubts Mr. Harrington had were based on impressions rather than documentation.

Mr. Dell glanced toward the funding papers. “There is also the school to consider.”

Mr. Harrington looked at him. “What does that mean?”

“It means Flash is already attracting attention. His father knows people in finance, city government, and several foundations. If Flash receives the scholarship and recognition, this story continues. There could be more donations, more equipment, maybe even funding for programs outside the science department.”

Morita nodded. “Mr. Thompson has already expressed interest in supporting an expansion of the innovation lab.”

There it was. No one said the scholarship should go to Flash because his father had money. They did not have to. The thought settled across the table on its own. Mr. Harrington looked back at Peter’s evaluation. Technical skill: exceptional. Work ethic: exceptional. Public speaking: inconsistent. Leadership: limited. Team cooperation: good, though occasionally resistant to presentation changes.

He remembered Peter standing beneath the classroom lights with a migraine, struggling to answer questions Flash fired without warning. He remembered deciding that Peter might freeze before the judges. Flash had stepped in and the presentation had gone well. Perhaps this was simply another version of the same decision. Peter was brilliant. No one doubted that. But brilliance was not the only thing that carried an idea into the world. Someone had to explain it, promote it, secure interest, and convince others that it mattered. Flash had done those things exceptionally well.

Mr. Harrington still did not like it. “What about the amount of work?” He asked. “The MVP is supposed to recognize the student who contributed the most.”

“Contribution is not measured only in hours spent building.” Morita said. “Eugene gave the project direction and visibility. Without that, ARES might have been technically impressive but overlooked.”

Mr. Harrington knew that was not true. ARES had been so far beyond the other entries that the judges would have noticed it if the team had presented it on a folding table with handwritten notes. He also knew Flash’s presentation had made it look polished and professional. Both things could be true.

Ms. Warren folded her hands over her tablet. “Peter will still be recognized as part of the winning team. He will go on the Stark Industries visit, and his technical contribution will be included in the school’s report. Choosing Eugene does not erase what Peter did.”

Mr. Harrington thought of Peter’s quiet expression after Flash claimed the invention during his speech. He had seen the hurt and allowed himself to believe it would pass once the excitement settled.

“He may not see it that way.” He said.

Morita’s expression softened slightly. “Then we explain that this was a team effort and the MVP decision considered multiple forms of contribution. Peter is intelligent enough to understand that.” The words sounded reasonable. That made them easier to accept.

Mr. Dell nodded first. “My vote is Eugene.”

“Mine as well.” Ms. Warren said. “The technical work was excellent, but the presentation and public response were what separated Midtown from the other finalists.”

Morita looked toward Mr. Harrington. For several seconds, he did not answer. He could insist on Peter. He could ask to interview the students or investigate who submitted the anonymous design. He could delay the recommendation until they had more certainty. Doing so would create conflict around a victory the school had spent the entire weekend celebrating. It might force them to publicly question Flash’s claims after the press had already repeated them. Mr. Thompson would be furious. The attention and donations gathering around Midtown could disappear before anyone had the chance to benefit from them. Peter would still be part of the team. Peter would still receive recognition. Peter was only a sophomore. There would be other scholarships, other competitions, and other chances for someone as intelligent as him to stand out. Flash had turned this win into something larger than a science trophy. He had made people notice Midtown. Mr. Harrington looked down at the recommendation form and tried to ignore the unease that remained.

“I still believe Peter completed the most substantial technical work.” He said carefully. “But I understand the argument that Flash contributed more broadly to the team’s success.” Morita waited. Mr. Harrington picked up his pen. “I’ll support Eugene as the MVP.”

Morita nodded and drew the form toward him. The decision was recorded in less than a minute. Eugene Thompson would receive the university scholarship, be named Midtown’s most valuable participant, and serve as the student laboratory assistant during the private Stark Industries visit. Across the building, Peter sat beneath the fluorescent lights in second-period English and tried to concentrate on a discussion he had not prepared for. His lip had already stopped bleeding, leaving only a faint ache whenever he moved his mouth. Around him, students continued whispering about Flash, the competition, and the interviews everyone expected him to receive. Peter stared down at the unfinished notes in front of him and counted the minutes until lunch. He did not know that, only a few hallways away, the adults responsible for recognizing his work had just decided it belonged to someone else.

XXX

By the time Peter reached Mr. Harrington’s classroom, the cut on his lip had already stopped hurting. That was one of the few advantages of everything that had happened to him. Injuries that would have bothered someone else for days disappeared quickly enough that no one had time to ask too many questions. By the end of the day, there would probably be nothing left except a faint line along the inside of his mouth and the memory of Flash shoving him into the lockers while half the hallway watched.

Peter took his usual seat beside Ned and pulled his notebook from his backpack. The classroom was louder than it normally was before the bell, with students gathered between the desks instead of settling into their seats. Almost every conversation circled back to the competition. Some were talking about the news coverage from the weekend, while others were asking Flash about the interviews his father had apparently arranged. A few students had already begun guessing which universities might contact him once the full story spread beyond New York.

Flash stood near the front of the room with one hip resting against Mr. Harrington’s desk, surrounded by several students who wanted to hear what it felt like to become famous overnight. He had changed his social media profile picture to the photograph of himself holding the trophy, and he kept checking his phone between questions as though another important message might arrive at any second.

“My dad thinks the military will want a contract.” Flash said, speaking loudly enough that Peter could hear him from the back of the room. “They could use ARES in the field before soldiers even get back to a base hospital. There are already people interested in setting up meetings.”

One of the students beside him looked impressed. “Are you going to sell it?”

Flash shrugged in a way that suggested he had spent the weekend practicing how to look casual about the idea of becoming rich. “Maybe. It depends what the offers look like. Something like this could be worth hundreds of millions if it’s handled right.”

Peter opened his notebook and stared at the empty page. ARES had never been about charging hospitals as much as possible or seeing which government agency offered the largest contract. Peter had designed it to cost around a hundred dollars because anything more would place it out of reach for the people most likely to need it. He wanted ambulances to carry several of them, rural clinics to order them without cutting other services, and families to have access to one without deciding between medical care and rent. Flash had been publicly connected to the invention for three days and was already discussing how much money could be made from it.

Ned dropped into the seat beside him and placed his backpack on the floor with more force than necessary. He had remained angry since the hallway, and the expression had only deepened when he heard Flash talking about military contracts.

“He doesn’t even know how the remote connection works.” Ned muttered. “He thought the base doctor was stored inside the device.”

Peter looked at him. “He didn’t think that.”

“He asked me if we had to download a doctor.”

“That was during the first week.”

“It was during the third week.”

Peter turned back toward his notebook before Ned could see the small smile that almost appeared. It did not last. Across the room, Flash laughed at something one of the students said and lifted his phone to show them another article. MJ arrived just before the bell and sat behind Peter without greeting either of them. She had been quiet since finding him in the hallway after Flash shoved him. Peter knew she had noticed the split lip, but unlike Ned, she had not asked whether he was okay. MJ tended to skip questions when she already knew the answer.

She leaned forward far enough to look past Peter toward Flash. “He’s going to start signing autographs by fourth period.”

“He might already be doing it.” Ned said.

Peter lowered his voice. “Can we not?”

MJ’s eyes moved to him. “Not what?”

“Talk about him.”

“Sure.” She leaned back in her chair. “We can pretend none of this is happening. That seems to be working really well.”

Peter looked down at the page again. He did not have the energy to argue with her, especially when she was not wrong. Pretending had carried him through the weekend, but it had not made the articles disappear or stopped Flash from claiming ARES in every interview. It had only kept May and Tony from realizing something was wrong. The bell rang before anyone could say more. Mr. Harrington entered from the storage room at the side of the class carrying a stack of manila envelopes and several sheets of paper. The conversations continued for a few seconds until he placed everything on his desk and stood facing the room.

“Alright, everyone, find your seats.”

Flash moved away from the desk and took his place near the centre of the room. The students around him followed, although their attention remained on him rather than Mr. Harrington. Peter noticed that Flash was smiling before anything had been announced. It was not the broad, performative smile he used for cameras. It was smaller and more private, the expression of someone waiting for everyone else to hear news he already knew. Peter felt the first quiet drop of dread settle in his stomach.

Mr. Harrington waited until the room had mostly settled before speaking. “Before we get back to our regular work, I want to take a few minutes to talk about Friday.”

Several students immediately began clapping. The sound grew as others joined in, and Mr. Harrington smiled despite the tiredness on his face. Peter clapped with everyone else because Midtown had won and because, underneath everything that happened afterward, he was still proud of that.

“What this class accomplished was extraordinary.” Mr. Harrington said once the applause faded. “More than a hundred schools entered the Innovation Challenge, and many of the projects we saw at the convention centre were excellent. The fact that Midtown received first place is something every person in this room should be proud of.”

Peter looked around at the students who had worked on the project. Not everyone had contributed equally, but almost everyone had contributed something. MJ had researched how ARES could be used by humanitarian organizations and in communities with limited medical care. Ned had helped Peter work through several sections of the code when the user interface refused to cooperate. Other students had created diagrams, reviewed medical research, organized testing data, and helped assemble the display. Even Flash’s promotional video had been good. Peter could admit that. It had brought people to the booth and helped explain the purpose of ARES in a way that was easier for ordinary visitors to understand. None of that gave Flash the right to call the invention his, but Peter did not want to erase the parts other students genuinely completed merely because Flash had erased his.

“The judges were particularly impressed with how complete the project was.” Mr. Harrington continued. “ARES was not only an ambitious concept. It was a functioning device supported by extensive testing, research, and a clear plan for real-world use. Every part of the presentation supported the others, and that is why we stood out.”

Peter felt some of the tension inside him ease despite himself. Hearing Mr. Harrington describe ARES as something complete, rather than as Flash’s invention, reminded Peter that the people in this room had seen the work. They had watched it develop from a proposal into a real device. Whatever the public believed, the class knew Peter had spent months building it.

Mr. Harrington looked toward the paperwork on his desk. His expression changed slightly, and Peter knew the easier part of the conversation was over. “There is another part of the competition results that we need to discuss.” The room quieted again. “As the winning school, Midtown is required to select one student from the competition team as its Most Valuable Participant.”

Peter heard several students whisper the words to one another. The MVP prize had been included in the original competition information, but most people had forgotten it beneath the larger promise of school funding and the Stark Industries visit. Peter had not forgotten. The full scholarship alone made that impossible.

Mr. Harrington picked up one of the sheets from his desk. “The student selected as MVP will receive a university scholarship funded by the Innovation Committee. Their name will also be included in the official press announcement, and they will serve as the student laboratory assistant during our private visit to Stark Industries this Friday.”

That got everyone’s attention. Questions moved through the room before Mr. Harrington could continue.

“How much is the scholarship?”

“Do they get to choose the university?”

“What kind of experiments?”

“Do they actually get to work in one of the labs?”

Mr. Harrington raised both hands. “The scholarship covers tuition up to the amount listed in the official package. The exact laboratory work will be determined by Stark Industries, and no, I don’t know whether the student will meet Tony Stark.”

Several students laughed, while others turned toward Flash as though he already had the answer. The discussion in Principal Morita’s office had happened that morning, but no one had told the class the result. Still, Peter knew. He had known since Flash stepped to the microphone on Friday and called ARES his invention while every adult around him remained silent. The school was not going to correct the story now.

Mr. Harrington waited for the room to settle again. “The science department and Principal Morita reviewed each student’s work. The decision was based on several categories, including technical contribution, research, teamwork, leadership, public presentation, promotion, and overall representation of Midtown.”

Peter kept his eyes on the front of the room. He could feel Ned becoming tense beside him, though neither of them had spoken.

“This was not an easy decision.” Mr. Harrington continued. “Every member of the team made an important contribution, and winning would not have been possible without the work done across this class.” He glanced down at the paper again. “I want to take a moment to recognize Peter Parker specifically.”

The room shifted around Peter as several students turned to look at him. His stomach tightened even though he told himself not to hope. Mr. Harrington had already made the decision. Peter knew where this was going.

“Peter put an extraordinary amount of time into building and perfecting the prototype.” Mr. Harrington said. “He developed most of the operating software, refined the diagnostic systems, completed extensive testing, and corrected every major technical problem that arose during development. His hard work ensured that ARES performed perfectly when it mattered.”

A few students nodded. One of the girls across the aisle gave Peter a small smile. Someone near the front whispered that Peter practically lived in the science room during the project, and another student quietly agreed. For a few seconds, the acknowledgment felt good. Mr. Harrington had seen the work. He understood that Peter was responsible for making ARES function. Peter did not need the scholarship to prove that he had built it, but hearing the truth spoken aloud in front of the class loosened something inside him.

Then Mr. Harrington continued. “However, the MVP decision was based on overall contribution across every category, not technical work alone. After reviewing those contributions, the faculty voted to award the Most Valuable Participant recognition to Eugene Thompson.”

There was a brief silence before the reaction began. It was not the loud applause that followed Midtown’s victory. A handful of students clapped immediately, mostly the ones who spent the most time around Flash. Others joined more slowly, but several did not clap at all. Peter noticed the confusion first. Students looked from Flash to him, then toward Mr. Harrington as though they were waiting for an explanation that would make the decision feel obvious. Everyone knew Flash had handled the presentation and promotional work. They also knew Peter had spent months bent over the prototype, arriving early and staying late whenever Mr. Harrington allowed him access to the classroom.

“Flash?” Someone asked from near the windows.

Another student frowned. “I thought Peter did most of the building.”

“He did.” Someone else whispered. “But Flash presented it.”

“So what? We could have presented it on cocktail napkins written in crayon and still won because of the device.” Another had commented.

Flash stood before Mr. Harrington called him forward. He smoothed one hand over the front of his shirt and walked toward the desk with the same satisfied expression Peter had noticed before the announcement. There was no surprise in it, he had known. Peter wondered when he had been told. Maybe his father had called Principal Morita over the weekend, or perhaps Flash had simply assumed the prize would follow the trophy and attention already surrounding him. Either way, he accepted the folder Mr. Harrington handed him as though it was the final part of something that had always belonged to him.

“Congratulations, Flash.” Mr. Harrington said. “Your presentation, promotional material, leadership, and public engagement were significant factors in Midtown’s success.”

“Thank you.” Flash turned slightly so the class could see him. “I’m honored.”

The words sounded almost identical to the beginning of his speech at the convention centre. Peter stared at his notebook. Ned’s hand went up before Mr. Harrington finished returning to the front of the room.

“Mr. Harrington?”

Mr. Harrington paused. “Yes, Ned?”

“How is Flash the MVP if Peter built the device?”

The room went quiet again. Peter closed his eyes for a second. He had known Ned would say something. There had been no realistic chance of him sitting through the announcement without arguing, especially after what happened at the competition.

Mr. Harrington looked uncomfortable, but his voice remained patient. “As I explained, the award was based on multiple categories.”

“I heard the categories.” Ned said. “But Peter built ARES. He made the scanner work, wrote the software, and fixed everything when it broke. Flash didn’t even understand half the technical section until Peter wrote notes for him.”

Flash’s smile disappeared. “I understood it.”

“You asked if the remote doctor was downloaded into the scanner.”

“That was a joke.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Several students laughed quietly. Flash glared at them until the sound faded.

Mr. Harrington stepped in before the argument could continue. “No one is denying that Peter’s technical contribution was substantial. I just spent several minutes recognizing it.”

“Then why isn’t he the most valuable participant?” Ned asked.

“Because building the device was one part of the project. A successful competition entry also requires research, organization, presentation, leadership, and the ability to generate interest in the work. Flash performed exceptionally well in those areas.”

Ned shook his head. “Peter did research too. He came up with most of the medical applications, and he wrote the whole demonstration before Flash took it.”

“Ned.” Peter said quietly.

Ned glanced toward him but did not stop. “Anyone in here could have created the presentation, only Peter could have built the device.”

“That is enough.” Mr. Harrington said, firmer now. “This decision was made by the faculty after reviewing everyone’s work. It was not based on one person’s opinion.”

MJ leaned forward behind Peter. “That makes it worse.”

Mr. Harrington looked toward her. “Excuse me?”

“If one teacher missed the obvious choice, that would be an accident.” Her voice remained flat, but every person in the room was listening. “Apparently the entire science department managed it together.”

A few students lowered their heads to hide their reactions.

Mr. Harrington’s expression tightened. “Michelle, this is not an appropriate way to discuss a faculty decision.”

“Then what is the appropriate way?”

“MJ.” Peter said.

She looked at him, one eyebrow lifting as though she expected him to defend himself instead of stopping her. Peter wished he could. He wanted to say that Ned was right and the award should have been his. He wanted to ask Mr. Harrington why Flash’s video and public speaking mattered more than four months spent creating the invention they had presented. He wanted to tell the class that ARES had been his original proposal, that the anonymous vote had selected his idea, and that Flash had spent the entire project claiming ownership because no adult ever bothered to ask who submitted it. Instead, he looked at the rows of students watching him and felt the weight of the weekend settle back into his chest. If he argued now, Flash would say he was jealous. The teachers would remind him that it was a team effort. The class might believe Peter did the technical work, but most of them already accepted that the idea itself belonged to Flash. Peter had no proof in the room beyond Ned and MJ knowing how he thought.

There were files at home, early sketches, notes, time stamps, there were copies on Stark servers and months of laboratory footage showing Peter developing every version, but bringing any of that forward meant turning the competition into a fight. It meant admitting to May and Tony that Peter had allowed this to happen without telling them. He did not have the strength for it today.

“Let it go.” Peter said.

Ned stared at him. “Peter…”

“Please.” The word came out quieter than he intended.

Ned’s anger did not disappear, but it shifted when he looked at Peter properly. He noticed the exhaustion Peter had tried to hide all morning, the healing cut on his lip, and the way Peter kept one hand clenched beneath the desk so no one would see it trembling.

“This isn’t fair.” Ned said.

“I know.”

That answer seemed to affect the room more than any argument would have. Peter had not defended the faculty’s decision. He had not agreed that Flash deserved the award or repeated that everyone contributed. He had only admitted that it was unfair and asked his friends to stop fighting a battle he no longer believed could be won. Ned lowered his hand. MJ leaned back in her chair, though her expression made it clear the discussion was over only because Peter wanted it to be. Mr. Harrington stood at the front of the room with the MVP paperwork still in his hand. His eyes remained on Peter for a moment longer than necessary. Peter could see the discomfort there, along with the urge to explain the decision again in a way that might make it hurt less. There was no version of the explanation that would.

Mr. Harrington placed the paperwork on his desk and reached for the stack of manila envelopes. “The other part of Friday’s results is the private visit to Stark Industries.”

The change in subject worked immediately. Students straightened in their seats, and the tension in the room loosened beneath a new wave of excitement.

“These are your permission forms.” Mr. Harrington continued as he began passing the envelopes down each row. “They must be signed by a parent or legal guardian and returned no later than Wednesday morning. We leave Midtown at eight on Friday, which means everyone needs to be here by seven-thirty. Anyone who misses the bus will not be permitted to travel separately.”

Peter accepted the envelope when it reached him and rested it on top of his notebook. The Stark Industries logo was printed across the upper corner. He had seen it on hundreds of documents, access forms, laboratory reports, and the equipment scattered across Tony’s workspaces. It looked different on a school permission slip. More official somehow, as though Peter needed May’s signature to enter a building where FRIDAY already tracked his preferred elevator temperature.

Mr. Harrington returned to the front. “We will be touring several of the public research floors, along with selected laboratories that are not normally included in standard visits. Stark Industries has arranged demonstrations in robotics, sustainable energy, materials engineering, and medical technology. The MVP will also assist the laboratory staff during several experiments.”

Flash looked down at the folder he had received and smiled. Peter wondered what experiments the Tower staff had planned. He had likely seen half of them already, and if the medical demonstration involved ARES, there was a good chance he had helped design it. None of that would matter on Friday. Flash would wear the MVP badge and stand beside the Stark scientists. Peter would follow with the rest of the class, another student on a tour of the place where he spent most of his free time.

“This is an incredible opportunity.” Mr. Harrington said. “Stark Industries rarely provides this level of access to school groups, and I expect everyone to behave professionally. We are representing Midtown and the Innovation Challenge. There will be no wandering away from the group, touching equipment without permission, or attempting to access restricted areas.”

Flash turned in his seat before Mr. Harrington had finished speaking. “You hear that, Parker?” Peter kept his eyes on the permission form. “No trying to sneak off and pretend you work there.”

Several students laughed. The laughter was not particularly cruel. Most of them had heard the fake-internship joke so many times that they reacted automatically, the same way they did whenever Flash called Peter by the nickname he had used since middle school. That almost made it worse.

Flash continued when Peter did not respond. “You should probably leave your homemade badge at home. FRIDAY might call security if you try to convince her you’re an employee.” More students laughed.

Ned twisted around in his chair. “He does work there.”

“Sure he does.” Flash said. “Maybe he can refill the coffee machines while I’m in the lab.”

Peter folded the permission slip in half. He took care to line up the edges before pressing the crease flat with his thumb. It gave him something to concentrate on besides the laughter and the pressure building behind his ribs.

Mr. Harrington sighed. “Flash, knock it off.”

Flash held up his hands. “I’m joking.”

“You have your MVP paperwork. Read through it quietly.”

The correction carried no threat of punishment, and Flash knew it. He turned back around with a smirk while the room settled. Peter slipped the folded permission form into the front pocket of his backpack. He had spent months wanting ARES to win. The private Stark visit had barely mattered to him when compared with the funding and the possibility of seeing the device help people, but he had imagined the day differently. He thought the class might finally understand that his internship was real once they saw him inside the Tower, even if Tony and the others kept their interactions restrained.

Now Flash was entering as the celebrated inventor of Peter’s device. Peter would be expected to remain quiet so he did not take attention away from him. Mr. Harrington began the regular lesson, writing equations across the board while students opened their textbooks. Peter copied the notes without needing to think about them. He answered when called on and completed the first set of problems before Mr. Harrington finished explaining the second. From the outside, nothing had changed. Peter remained the student everyone knew was smart enough to finish early but unimportant enough to ignore once the work was done. Flash remained the person the room revolved around. He had the scholarship, the official recognition, the laboratory position, and the attention of every student who wanted to hear what he planned to do with the invention. Peter had a folded permission slip in his backpack and a prototype at home with his fingerprints inside every layer.

The bell rang at the end of the period, and the room immediately filled with movement. Students crowded around Flash before he had finished packing, asking about the scholarship and whether he thought Tony Stark might personally watch him assist in the lab. Flash answered as though all of it was likely, promising to get photographs if security allowed it. Peter waited until the aisle cleared before standing. Ned remained beside him, moving more slowly than usual as though he did not trust Peter to leave alone. MJ waited near the door with her arms folded. Peter slid his notebook into his bag and checked that the permission form had not been bent. May would sign it. She would probably be excited about the trip, even though Peter went to the Tower several times a week. He would have to smile and let her believe he was looking forward to visiting with his class.

He had almost reached the door when Mr. Harrington called his name. “Peter, can you wait a second?”

Ned stopped beside him.

“It’s okay.” Peter said. “I’ll catch up.”

Ned looked reluctant, but MJ caught the sleeve of his jacket and pulled him into the hallway. Peter waited until the last few students left before turning toward Mr. Harrington. The teacher stood behind his desk, gathering the remaining envelopes into a neat stack. He seemed uncertain about what he wanted to say now that they were alone.

“I meant what I said about your work.” Mr. Harrington began. “ARES would not have performed as well without the time you put into it.”

Peter adjusted the strap of his backpack. “Okay.”

“I know you’re disappointed.”

Peter looked at him. For a moment, he considered pretending he was not. That would make the conversation easier for both of them, and Peter had become very good at saying things were fine when they were not.

Instead, he gave a small nod. “Yeah.”

Mr. Harrington glanced toward the hallway before continuing. “The decision wasn’t meant to diminish your contribution. Flash handled several parts of the project that the faculty believed were equally important. He gave the presentation, created the promotional campaign, and brought a great deal of attention to the school.”

“I know.”

“The scholarship criteria required us to consider the whole project.”

Peter thought about Flash taking his demonstration and using Peter’s notes to explain a device he did not understand. He thought about the speech, the articles, and the photograph taped to the front doors that morning.

“Would I have won if I was better at talking to people?” Peter asked.

Mr. Harrington seemed caught off guard. “That isn’t what I’m saying.”

“But it was part of the decision.”

“Public presentation was one category.”

“And leadership.”

“Yes.”

“And promotion.”

Mr. Harrington rested one hand against the desk. “Peter, technical ability is extremely important, but it isn’t the only thing that determines whether an invention succeeds. Flash helped people understand the project and generated interest in it.”

Peter nodded slowly. “So I made it work, and he made people care.”

Mr. Harrington hesitated. “That is an oversimplification.”

It did not feel like one. Peter looked toward the empty demonstration table near the side of the classroom. Faint scratches remained on the surface from the weeks he spent assembling ARES there. He had soldered the first working sensor array in that room while everyone else went home. He had rewritten parts of the program during lunch and carried failed versions back and forth to the Tower until the weight of them left marks inside his backpack. Mr. Harrington had seen all of it.

“I should get to class.” Peter said.

Mr. Harrington’s expression softened. “You should be proud of what you accomplished.”

Peter managed a small smile because Mr. Harrington looked as though he needed one. “Thanks.”

He left before the teacher could say anything else. Ned and MJ were waiting near the end of the hallway. Ned pushed away from the wall as Peter approached, clearly prepared to ask what happened, but Peter shook his head before he could.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Ned’s mouth closed.

MJ studied Peter’s face before turning toward their next class. “Then we won’t.”

They started down the hallway together. Behind them, the science classroom door closed, and Mr. Harrington began preparing for his next class. Ahead, students continued talking about Flash, the scholarship, and the upcoming visit to Stark Industries. Peter kept his head down and walked between the only two people at Midtown who seemed to notice he was disappearing from his own work.

XXX

Peter had been sitting on the rooftop for almost forty minutes before Karen finally asked whether he planned to move again. He was perched near the edge of an apartment building in Queens with his knees pulled toward his chest and one arm resting across them. The city stretched below him in uneven layers of brick, glass, fire escapes, and glowing windows. Traffic moved steadily through the streets, horns and engines blending with the distant rumble of the subway. Somewhere several blocks away, a dog barked from an open window while two people argued loudly enough on the sidewalk that Peter could hear every word.

Nothing required Spider-Man. There were no alarms, no police sirens moving toward something urgent, and no familiar pressure at the base of his skull warning him that someone nearby was in danger. Peter had completed one circuit through his usual patrol area, stopped a man from breaking into a parked car, helped an older woman carry groceries up three flights of stairs, and returned a little girl’s balloon after it slipped from her hand and became caught on a streetlight. After that, he had landed on the roof intending to rest for a few minutes. That was an hour ago and he had not found a reason to leave.

“Peter?” Karen asked through the suit’s internal speakers. Her voice remained gentle, although this was the third time she had tried to get his attention. “You have been stationary for thirty-nine minutes and twenty-two seconds.”

Peter looked down at the street without really seeing it. “I know.”

“Your current patrol route is only forty-one percent complete.”

“I know.”

“Would you like me to generate a revised route?”

“No.”

Karen was quiet for several seconds. Peter knew she was reviewing his vital signs because the mask had been monitoring them since he left the apartment. His heart rate was normal. His breathing was normal. There was nothing physically wrong with him except the exhaustion he had been carrying for days and the faint ache in his shoulders from holding himself too tightly.

“Your responses suggest you are upset.” Karen said.

Peter rested his forehead against his knees. “I’m fine.”

“You have previously requested that I remind you the phrase ‘I’m fine’ is unreliable when used by you.”

He closed his eyes behind the mask. He had made that request after Tony complained that Peter kept lying to everyone, including an artificial intelligence that could monitor his pulse while he did it. At the time, it had seemed funny. Tonight, it felt like a betrayal.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Understood.”

The quiet returned. Peter expected Karen to leave the conversation there, but he also knew she would continue monitoring him. She had learned enough about him to recognize that silence was not always what he needed, even when it was what he asked for. A police cruiser moved through an intersection below and continued without activating its lights. Peter watched it disappear between two buildings.

“Mr. Stark has attempted to contact you twice today.” Karen said after several minutes.

Peter’s head lifted slightly. “You weren’t supposed to tell me that.”

“You received both notifications.”

“I ignored both notifications.”

“That does not mean you were unaware of them.”

Peter let out a tired breath and leaned back on his hands. “He wants to talk about the field trip.”

“Mr. Stark’s first message asked whether you wanted to assist with the new drone stabilizer. His second asked whether you had remembered to eat lunch.”

“That’s him trying not to ask about the competition.”

“Would you prefer that he ask directly?”

“No.”

“Then I am uncertain what response would satisfy you.”

Peter almost laughed, but the sound never made it out. “Yeah. Me too.”

He shifted closer to the edge and let his legs hang over the side of the building. The drop beneath him was high enough to make an ordinary person dizzy, but Peter barely noticed it anymore. Heights had become one of the few places where the world felt less crowded. From a rooftop, the sounds remained clear, but they spread out instead of pressing against him from every direction.

Peter pulled at a loose thread on one glove. “Midtown won the competition.”

“I am aware. Congratulations.”

“Flash got named MVP.”

“I am also aware of that result.”

Peter frowned behind the mask. “How?”

“The school posted the announcement publicly this afternoon. Eugene Thompson was identified as the project leader and original designer of ARES.” The words hurt more when Karen repeated them without emotion.

Peter looked away from the street. “He wasn’t.”

“I know.” The simple answer loosened something inside him.

Karen knew because she had been present during several of the late nights when Peter tested ARES in the Tower. She had monitored the suit while he ran simulations, recorded conversations between Peter and Tony, and watched every version of the device change. There was no need to convince her or explain why Flash’s story did not make sense.

“He told everyone it was his idea.” Peter said. “At the competition, he gave this whole speech about how honored he was when the class picked his design. Then today Mr. Harrington announced that Flash got the scholarship and gets to be the lab assistant on the Stark trip.” Karen did not interrupt. Peter looked down at his hands. “Mr. Harrington said the teachers voted. They said Flash contributed more overall because he did the presentation and the promotional video and talked to people. Mr. Harrington gave me credit for building it and making it work, but that was it. Like I was just the person who put the parts together.”

His throat tightened, and he stopped speaking for a moment. The mask made it easier to admit things. No one could see his face or the way his mouth trembled when he tried to force the words out. “Ned and MJ got upset.” Peter continued. “They tried to argue, but I told them to stop. It wasn’t going to change anything. The decision was already made.”

“Why did you ask them to stop?”

“Because everyone was staring at me.” Peter swallowed. “And if I kept arguing, I would have looked jealous. Flash already told people I’m trying to take credit because I’m upset about how much attention he’s getting.”

“Are you jealous of the attention?”

“No.” The answer came immediately. “I don’t want reporters following me around. I don’t care about being popular, and I don’t need everyone at school thinking I’m some kind of genius. They already know I’m smart, and it doesn’t change how they treat me.”

“Then what do you want?”

Peter stared out across the rooftops. That should have been an easy question. He wanted ARES to help people. He wanted the school to receive the funding it needed. He wanted the device to become affordable enough that families like his could use it without worrying about the cost. All of those things could still happen even if Flash received the credit. Peter had repeated that to himself all weekend. It had not helped.

“I don’t know.” He admitted. “That’s why I don’t understand why I can’t just let it go.” Karen remained silent, allowing him to continue at his own pace. “I shouldn’t care this much.” Peter said. “It’s not like I’ve ever needed people to know what I do. Nobody knows I’m Spider-Man, and I’m okay with that. I help people every day and they thank the suit, not me. I don’t need my name on everything.”

“ARES is different from Spider-Man.”

“Why?” Peter asked, genuinely confused and in desperate need of an answer.

“Spider-Man is an identity you chose to keep separate from Peter Parker. You made that decision to protect yourself and the people you love. No one took Spider-Man away from you and claimed they created him.” Peter’s fingers stopped pulling at the thread. Karen continued in the same calm tone. “ARES was not something you intended to surrender. It was your idea, created from your experiences and developed through months of your work. You chose its purpose, designed its systems, built its hardware, wrote its software, and corrected every failure. You entered the competition expecting to share the project with your classmates, not to have your connection to it erased.”

Peter looked toward the roof beneath his feet. “It was a team project.”

“That does not change who created the original design.”

“The class helped.”

“Yes.”

“Flash made the presentation.”

“Yes.”

“He made people interested in it.”

“Yes.” Karen paused before adding, “None of those facts make his claim true.”

Peter’s chest tightened. He pressed one hand against the spider emblem as though he could ease the pain there by holding it in place.

“I know it isn’t true.” He said quietly. “But maybe it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Why would it not matter?”

“Because everyone believes him.” Peter stood and walked several steps away from the ledge, unable to remain still now that he had started talking. He moved toward the centre of the rooftop, then turned back before reaching the access door. “He’s all over the news. The school put his picture up. Mr. Harrington and Principal Morita were standing beside him when he said it was his invention, and no one corrected him. Now he has the scholarship and the official MVP award. If I say something, everyone is going to think I’m lying because I’m jealous.”

“You possess documentation showing the development of ARES.”

“I know.”

“Your design files contain creation dates from before the competition began.”

“I know.”

“Stark Industries has laboratory records, test results, security footage, and server logs documenting your work.”

Peter pulled off one glove and pushed his fingers through the material covering his hair, frustrated even though none of the frustration belonged to Karen. “That doesn’t mean they’ll believe it.”

“The evidence appears substantial.”

“They’ll say Tony made it for me.” The words came out sharper than he intended. Peter lowered his hand and stared at the glove he was holding. “Or they’ll say he changed the dates because I work for him. Flash already says my internship is fake, but if Tony suddenly steps in with a bunch of proof, then everyone will say he did it because he feels sorry for me.”

“Would that make the evidence false?”

“No, but people don’t care about that once they decide what happened.” Peter paced toward the ledge again. “Flash has articles and videos and the school backing him. His dad has connections. People already see him as the inventor. Anything I show now will look like I created it after the fact to steal his attention.”

“You believe they would accuse you of falsifying the records.”

“They accuse me of lying about everything else.” Peter sat down again, harder this time. “Why would this be different?”

Karen was quiet. Peter put the glove back on and pulled it into place with more force than necessary. He could feel the emotion pressing harder against his ribs now that he had allowed himself to speak. It was not only sadness. There was anger beneath it, mixed with embarrassment and something that felt too much like grief.

“I don’t want to sound ungrateful.” He said. “Midtown won. They get the funding, and everyone in the class gets the field trip. The device is going to get attention, which means maybe someone will actually make it available to people. That was the point.”

“Those outcomes do not require you to accept theft.”

Peter flinched at the word. “I don’t know if it’s theft.”

“Eugene Thompson claimed ownership of an idea and product he did not create.”

“He helped.”

“Assisting with a project does not transfer authorship.”

Peter pulled his knees back toward his chest. “I should have said something sooner.”

“You did not know he intended to claim sole ownership.”

“I knew he was taking credit. He did it before the competition. I just thought it was bragging.”

“You believed the adults supervising the project understood the truth.”

Peter thought about Mr. Harrington praising the unknown student who created the design but never asking who that student was. He thought about the teacher watching Flash take the demonstration and then calling it an effective change. He thought about the MVP announcement and Mr. Harrington explaining that Peter’s technical skill was only one part of making an invention matter.

“I guess I was wrong.”

“That does not make you responsible for their decisions.”

Peter rested his forehead against his knees again. The mask trapped the warmth of his breath against his face, making the suit feel tighter than usual.

“It feels like someone ripped something out of me.” He admitted. “That sounds stupid.”

“It does not.”

“It’s a machine.”

“It is something you created.”

“I make things all the time.” Peter countered.

“ARES was created for a specific purpose connected to your family, your experiences with medical care, and your desire to prevent other people from facing the same fear and expense. It is not interchangeable with another project.”

Peter closed his eyes. Karen’s explanation made sense in a way Peter had been avoiding. ARES had never been a random school assignment. It had started with memories of May staring at hospital paperwork and Ben insisting they could afford a bill Peter knew had frightened them. It had grown from every time Peter saw someone avoid an emergency room because they were afraid of the cost and every injured person Spider-Man found who did not know whether they could risk waiting for help. Peter had put those memories into the design. Flash had reduced it to market potential and military contracts.

“I don’t need the credit.” Peter repeated, although the words sounded weaker now.

“You may not need public attention.” Karen said. “That does not mean you do not deserve acknowledgement or ownership. Credit is not always vanity. Sometimes it is the accurate record of who completed the work.”

Peter stared across the city. A light flickered in an apartment window several blocks away. Someone closed their curtains. A delivery truck stopped at the corner, and the driver climbed out with a stack of boxes balanced against his chest. Life continued beneath him as though Peter’s problem had no weight at all.

“Mr. Stark should know.” Karen said.

Peter shook his head immediately. “No.”

“He would understand the legal and technical implications.”

“He’ll think I’m upset because Flash got the scholarship.”

“Are you upset about the scholarship?”

Peter hesitated. “A little. I mean, it’s no secret how much it would help. Without a scholarship I’ll have to take out a serious amount of student loans to cover University. And I don't want to sound petty, but it’s not like Flash needs it with all of the money his father makes.”

“I don’t think that sounds petty; and that does not invalidate the rest of your concern.”

“It’ll sound like I waited until I lost something before saying the invention was mine.”

“Mr. Stark knows it is yours.”

“Tony knows, but everyone else doesn’t.” Peter looked down at the white eyes of the mask reflected faintly in a nearby window. “And if he gets involved, it’ll become this huge thing. He’ll call Pepper and Legal, and then the school will say I overreacted because I couldn’t handle losing.”

“Would Mr. Stark agree that you lost fairly?”

“No.”

“Would Ms. Potts?”

“No.”

“Would Dr. Cho?”

Peter did not answer. Every person who had watched him build ARES would know what happened the moment they heard Flash’s claim. None of them would believe Peter was jealous or confused. They would see the test logs, early designs, and repeated failures as the proof they were. That should have comforted him. Instead, it made the silence he had maintained feel heavier.

“The longer I wait, the worse it looks.” Peter said. “If I tell them now, they’ll ask why I didn’t say anything on Friday. If I tell them after the field trip, they’ll ask why I let Flash be the MVP and assist in the labs. Every day I don’t say anything makes his version more real.”

“Then delaying further may not improve the situation.”

“I know.”

“Would you like me to contact Mr. Stark?”

“No.” Peter’s answer came too quickly, and he softened his voice before continuing. “Please don’t.”

“I will not contact him without your permission unless your safety requires it.”

Peter nodded even though Karen did not need the gesture. “Thanks.”

He sat quietly for several minutes. Karen did not try to fill the silence this time. The city remained calm beneath him, and Peter knew he should return to patrol. There were still several hours before May expected him home, and Queens would eventually provide someone who needed Spider-Man more than Peter needed to sit on a rooftop feeling sorry for himself.

He could not make himself move yet. “What happens if I don’t tell anyone?” He asked.

“Eugene Thompson will likely continue to receive public credit for ARES.”

“I know.”

“The school will continue presenting him as the project’s creator.”

“I know.”

“His father or another party may attempt to claim legal ownership, seek investment, or negotiate commercial agreements.”

Peter’s stomach twisted. “He said companies are already interested.”

“That increases the urgency.”

Peter wrapped both arms around his knees. “But if I tell Tony, then everything blows up.”

“Yes.” The direct answer made him lift his head. Karen continued, “Avoiding conflict does not prevent consequences. It determines who is allowed to control them.”

Peter looked down at the streets again. He understood what she meant. Flash and his father were already controlling the story. The school had reinforced it. Reporters had repeated it, and companies were beginning to treat it as fact. Peter’s silence was not keeping the situation calm. It was simply making it easier for everyone else to move forward without him. Still, knowing that did not make the next step feel possible.

“I think I lost it.” Peter said. “The device, I mean. I think I waited too long and now it belongs to him in everyone’s mind.”

“That is not the same as legal or factual ownership.”

“It feels the same.”

“I understand.”

Peter gave a tired laugh that held no humor. “You’re an AI. You don’t have to say that.”

“I am designed to learn from you. I understand that the emotional effect of an event may remain even when the facts are clear.”

Peter looked toward the skyline. “So what am I supposed to do?”

“I cannot make the decision for you. I can tell you that you are not jealous for objecting to someone claiming your work. You are not ungrateful for wanting the purpose of ARES protected. You are not selfish for feeling hurt when adults who knew how much you contributed chose not to recognize it.” His throat tightened again. Karen’s voice remained steady. “You are allowed to feel betrayed.”

Peter lowered his head until his forehead rested against his arms. For the first time since the competition, he let himself accept the word. Betrayed. Not overlooked, not disappointed, not jealous; betrayed by Flash, who had taken every opening offered to him. Betrayed by Mr. Harrington, who had seen Peter’s work and still reduced him to the person who made someone else’s idea function. Betrayed by a school that knew Peter was brilliant but had already decided brilliance without money or influence was not worth protecting. He sat with that understanding until the pain in his chest changed. It did not disappear, but it became easier to name.

Karen spoke again after several minutes. “Peter, there is an active police alert three blocks east. Possible armed robbery at a convenience store.”

Peter drew in a slow breath and lifted his head. The city had finally given him something he knew how to handle. He stood, rolling his shoulders as he moved toward the edge of the building. The sadness remained beneath the suit, along with the fear that he had already allowed Flash to take ARES too far for anyone to give it back. None of it would be solved tonight.

“Send me the location.” Peter said. A marker appeared across the suit’s display. Peter crouched at the ledge, readying himself to jump.

“Peter?” Karen asked.

“Yeah?”

“My recommendation to tell Mr. Stark remains unchanged.”

Peter looked toward the glowing marker in the distance. “I know.”

He jumped before she could say anything else. The web caught against the building across the street and pulled him into the air. Wind rushed around him as he swung between the rooftops, the city opening beneath his feet. For the next several minutes, Peter allowed himself to focus on the police alert and the people who might need his help. It was easier to save something when everyone agreed it belonged to someone.

XXX

By Friday morning, Peter had stopped pretending the field trip might be fun. A week earlier, the idea of bringing his class to Stark Industries had seemed awkward more than anything else. He had worried someone might recognize him, that FRIDAY would say the wrong thing, or that Tony would decide it was funny to appear in the middle of the tour and make Peter’s life more difficult on purpose. Those possibilities had felt manageable then. Embarrassing, maybe, but not unbearable. Now the Tower felt like the last place Peter wanted to be.

He stood in front of the bathroom mirror before sunrise, turning slightly so he could see the dark bruise beneath his ribs. It was already fading around the edges, the deep purple softening to yellow where his healing had begun repairing the damage. Another bruise marked his upper arm, shaped like the fingers Flash had dug into it when he pinned Peter against a locker on Wednesday and told him to stop acting like the competition belonged to him. There was a scrape along Peter’s shoulder from being shoved into the wall outside the cafeteria, and the skin over two knuckles had split when he caught himself against the concrete rather than risk putting his hand through it. None of the injuries were serious. That had become part of the problem. Peter healed too quickly for anyone to see how often it happened. By the time May came home from work, most of the swelling had disappeared. By the time Tony saw him in the lab, there was usually nothing left except tenderness Peter could hide beneath a sweatshirt. Flash and his friends never hit hard enough to create an emergency, and Peter could never react with enough strength to make them stop without exposing what he was. 

The week had been worse than usual because Flash had spent every day surrounded by attention. Reporters had called the school. Local news stations had requested interviews. Medical companies and investment groups had contacted Mr. Thompson, who had apparently decided the best way to celebrate his son’s success was to arrange meetings with anyone willing to discuss money. Flash repeated the details loudly enough for Peter to hear them in every hallway and classroom. One company had mentioned a military contract. Another wanted exclusive distribution rights. Mr. Thompson believed each device could sell for tens of thousands of dollars, more if they created separate versions for hospitals, emergency services, and private consumers.

Peter had designed ARES to remain near a hundred dollars. That target had shaped nearly every decision he made. He had rebuilt the casing because the first durable material cost too much. He had rewritten the software so the device could use less expensive sensors without sacrificing accuracy. He had rejected components Tony offered because they belonged in Stark laboratories, not something a family in Queens could afford. Flash spoke about the price as though making ARES inaccessible was proof of its value. Peter had tried once to say that the device was supposed to be affordable. Flash laughed and told him he did not understand business. Mr. Thompson had called the original hundred-dollar price point naive during an interview that half the school watched during lunch.

After that, Peter stopped trying. He pulled his shirt back into place and reached for the dark sweatshirt lying across the bathroom counter. It was loose enough to hide the marks on his arms without making him look as though he was deliberately covering something. He had chosen a short-sleeved shirt at first because the weather was warm, but May would notice the bruises if she saw them. She had already been watching him too closely whenever their schedules overlapped. That didn’t happen often. The hospital remained short-staffed, and May had picked up several extra shifts to help cover rent after the building increased their fees again. She left before Peter woke on some mornings and returned after he had gone to bed. When they did speak, Peter told her school was fine, the field trip would be easy, and he was only tired because he had fallen behind on homework during the competition.

Tony had been equally distracted. Something at Stark Industries had consumed most of his attention all week. Peter did not know whether it involved the Avengers, a government contract, or one of the projects Tony refused to describe until he was certain it would not explode. Their conversations had been brief, usually limited to Tony checking whether Peter had eaten and reminding him to come to the lab after the field trip. Peter had almost told him twice. The first time, Tony had answered while speaking to three other people and trying to solve a problem Peter could hear alarms reacting to in the background. The second time, Peter heard the exhaustion in Tony’s voice and decided it could wait. That was how the entire week had gone. Every moment when Peter might have said something passed before he could force the words out, and each day made the truth harder to explain. He finished dressing and stepped into the kitchen. May had left a note beside a covered plate on the counter.

Eat breakfast. I mean it. Have fun today. I love you.

Peter stared at the last sentence longer than the others before pulling the foil away. She had made eggs and toast sometime before leaving for her shift, even though she had likely been running late. Peter sat at the table and ate most of it, not because he was hungry but because lying to May was already becoming too easy. He did not want to add throwing away the breakfast she made to the list. His permission slip had been signed days earlier and placed inside the front pocket of his backpack. May had smiled when he gave it to her, teasing him about needing her approval to visit the building where he already spent half his life. Peter smiled with her and said the school required the form. She had no idea the school barely considered him part of Stark Industries at all. Peter left the apartment shortly after seven. The morning air was cool enough that the sweatshirt did not feel uncomfortable, and the subway was quieter than it would be an hour later. He kept his headphones in without playing music, using them as an excuse not to respond if anyone from school tried speaking to him before he reached Midtown.

The bus was already waiting when he arrived. Students crowded the sidewalk with backpacks, phones, and drinks from the coffee shop around the corner. The science team had been invited first, but the school used the remaining spaces to include the entire sophomore science class, which meant nearly everyone Peter spent his days avoiding would be trapped on the same bus for the trip into Manhattan. A banner remained stretched above the front doors congratulating Flash on the competition win. Someone had added a printed notice advertising an upcoming school celebration in his honor. Peter caught the words Innovation Dance and Celebrating Eugene Thompson and ARES before looking away.

Ned stood near the bus with MJ beside him. He lifted one hand when he saw Peter, but his expression changed as Peter approached. “You’re wearing a sweatshirt.” Ned said.

Peter looked down at himself. “Good observation.”

“It’s supposed to be warm today.”

“I was cold.”

Ned did not believe him. His eyes moved toward Peter’s arm, where the sleeve had pulled back enough to reveal the edge of the bruise near his wrist. Peter tugged the fabric lower before Ned could get a better look.

“What happened?” Ned asked quietly.

“Nothing.”

“That looks like something.”

“I bumped into a desk.”

MJ gave him a flat look. “Did the desk have fingers?”

Peter adjusted his backpack strap. “Can we not do this right now?”

Ned opened his mouth, but Mr. Harrington called for everyone to gather near the bus before he could continue. Teachers moved through the crowd with clipboards, checking permission forms and assigning students to groups for the day. Flash arrived several minutes late in a car Peter recognized from photographs on his father’s social media. Mr. Thompson stepped out with him and spent several minutes speaking to Principal Morita before allowing Flash to join the class. He wore new clothes, carried a leather bag with his initials stamped across the side, and already had his phone raised to record the crowd waiting near the bus.

“Big day.” Flash announced into the camera. “Heading to Stark Industries as Midtown’s Innovation Challenge MVP. We’ll be touring the labs and meeting some of the people interested in bringing ARES to the market.”

Peter looked toward Ned. Ned’s mouth had tightened, but he remained silent. Flash turned the phone until Peter appeared in the background. “Even the support staff gets to come.”

Several students laughed. Peter looked away. Mr. Harrington heard the comment; Peter knew he did because the teacher’s eyes moved from Flash to him before returning to the attendance list.

“Flash, put the phone away until we’re on the bus.” He said.

Flash lowered it without ending the recording. “I’m documenting the trip.”

“You can document it after everyone is accounted for.”

That was the full correction. Peter had stopped expecting more. Students began boarding once the teachers completed the first head count. Peter moved toward the bus with Ned and MJ, but Mr. Harrington caught his arm before he reached the steps.

“Peter, can I speak with you for a moment?”

Ned stopped. Peter gave him a small nod. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

MJ pulled Ned toward the bus when he looked ready to argue. Peter remained on the sidewalk while students moved around them, trying not to notice the pressure of Mr. Harrington’s fingers against the bruise hidden beneath his sleeve. The teacher released him once the crowd thinned.

“I wanted to go over something before we arrived at Stark Industries.” Mr. Harrington said. Mr. Harrington glanced toward the bus, where Flash had taken a seat near the front and was already surrounded by students. “Today is an important opportunity for the school. There will be Stark employees, competition representatives, and possibly members of the press present during parts of the visit.”

“Okay.”

“I need everyone to remain focused on the purpose of the trip.”

Peter did not understand why the conversation required pulling him aside. “I will.”

“I know the Tower is familiar to you because of your internship.”

Peter looked at him more closely. Mr. Harrington knew the internship was real. Peter had submitted the paperwork months ago. The school used it to approve occasional absences and gave him academic credit for the hours. Whatever the teachers assumed Peter did inside Stark Industries, none of them actually believed he had invented the entire thing.

“I’m not going to cause any problems.” Peter said, not really sure where this was going.

“I’m not accusing you of anything.” Mr. Harrington softened his tone, as though Peter had misunderstood a reasonable concern. “I’m asking you to be mindful of how your comments might come across today.”

“What comments?”

“Bringing up the internship. Suggesting you know employees or have access outside the tour. Things like that.”

Peter stared at him. “I wasn’t planning to.”

“Good.” Mr. Harrington nodded, then hesitated before continuing. “A high-school internship is an impressive opportunity, Peter. You should be proud of it. But the reality is that most students your age are given introductory responsibilities. Filing, delivering reports, organizing materials, getting coffee. There’s nothing wrong with starting at the bottom.”

The words sounded almost kind. That made them worse. Peter thought about the medical floor using ARES. He thought about Tony making him rewrite unstable code until it met Stark standards, Dr. Cho asking for his input on scanning protocols, and engineers twice his age passing him tools while he worked beside them. He thought about every hour spent inside labs Mr. Harrington had never seen.

“I know.”

“Today is about Flash’s achievement and what Midtown accomplished at the competition.” Mr. Harrington said. “He’ll be assisting in the laboratory as the MVP, and there may be people interested in discussing the future of ARES with him. I don’t want that overshadowed because other students become distracted by your connection to Stark Industries.”

Peter felt something inside him go very still. “My connection?”

“You know how students are. The moment someone thinks you can introduce them to Tony Stark, the entire day becomes about that. I’m trying to avoid unnecessary confusion.”

There would not be confusion. Half the class believed Peter invented the internship because Flash said he did. The other half assumed Peter carried boxes and made coffee for people important enough to work there properly. No one was waiting for Peter to introduce them to Tony. Mr. Harrington was not protecting the trip from distraction. He was protecting Flash from Peter being recognized. Peter no longer cared enough to argue.

“All right.” He said.

Mr. Harrington studied him, perhaps expecting more resistance. “This isn’t meant to take anything away from you.”

Peter nearly laughed. Everything Mr. Harrington did came with that explanation. Taking him off the presentation had not been meant to diminish him. Giving Flash the MVP had not been meant to erase his work. Asking Peter to hide his real connection to Stark Industries was not meant to take anything away from him.

Somehow, Peter always ended the conversation with less. “I understand.” He said.

Mr. Harrington’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you. I know the last week has been difficult with all the attention around the competition, but today should be enjoyable. Try to make the most of it.”

Peter looked toward the Tower’s direction beyond the buildings. “I just want to get through it.”

Mr. Harrington seemed disappointed by the answer. “It’s a rare opportunity.”

“Not for me.” The words escaped before Peter could stop them. Mr. Harrington frowned slightly. Peter lowered his eyes. “I mean, because of the internship. I’ve been there before.”

“Yes, of course.” Mr. Harrington’s expression shifted into something Peter could not quite identify. Pity, perhaps, or the patience adults used when they believed a student was trying to make something sound more important than it was. “Even so, this will be a different experience.”

Peter did not doubt that. Mr. Harrington directed him toward the bus before returning to Principal Morita. Peter climbed the steps and found Ned had saved the seat beside him. MJ occupied the row behind them, already wearing headphones even though nothing was playing through them.

“What did he want?” Ned asked as Peter sat down.

“He told me to behave.”

Ned stared at him. “Why?”

Peter placed his backpack between his feet. “He doesn’t want me bringing up the internship because today is Flash’s day.”

MJ removed one side of her headphones. “He said that?”

“Pretty much.”

“That’s insane.” Ned said. “You actually work there.”

“I know.”

“You built the device they’re celebrating.”

“I know.”

“And you’re supposed to pretend you don’t know anyone so Flash doesn’t feel less special?”

Peter leaned his head against the window. “Can we please not talk about it?”

Ned looked ready to continue, but MJ touched the back of his seat. It was enough to stop him. The bus filled around them. Flash chose a seat near the front, where he could speak loudly enough for everyone to hear without needing to turn around. Mr. Harrington and Ms. Warren took the first row while Mr. Dell completed the final count from the aisle. Once the bus pulled away from Midtown, the noise increased immediately.

Flash began explaining what he expected from the visit as though he had received a personal itinerary no one else had seen. He claimed the laboratory assistant role would include working directly with senior Stark scientists and suggested Tony might join them once he heard about ARES. He talked about possible investors, patent licensing, and how much the device could sell for once medical companies competed for exclusive rights.

“My dad says twenty thousand per unit is the starting point.” Flash told the students around him. “Hospitals can afford it, and the military would pay more.”

Peter stared out the window. Twenty thousand dollars would make ARES inaccessible to nearly everyone he designed it for. Small clinics would struggle to purchase one. Families would never own them. Emergency services in poorer areas would continue working without the technology because the price had been deliberately increased to make investors richer.

“It’s supposed to cost around a hundred.” Ned said beneath his breath. Peter glanced at him. Ned looked furious. “That’s what we designed it for.”

“I know.”

“You need to tell someone.”

Peter returned his attention to the window. “It’s too late.”

“It isn’t.”

“It feels like it is.”

The city passed outside in grey and glass, familiar streets slowly giving way to taller buildings as they moved farther into Manhattan. Peter recognized the route, every turn bringing them closer to the Tower. Normally, the sight of Stark Industries rising above the surrounding buildings eased something in him. It was one of the few places besides the apartment where Peter never had to make himself smaller. Inside the labs, his questions were not irritating, his intelligence was not something teachers accepted before choosing someone else, and the work mattered more than who his parents knew. Today, he was going there to watch Flash be celebrated for something Peter created. His phone buzzed inside his pocket.

TONY: Heard the invasion force is en route. Should I alert security or evacuate the building?

Peter read the message twice. Tony did not know. He had no idea that the student arriving as Midtown’s MVP was claiming ARES, or that Peter had spent the week being shoved into lockers because he dared to say the invention was his. To Tony, this was still a strange but harmless school trip. Peter would come through the public entrance, endure the tour, and probably sneak away to the lab afterward so they could laugh about it. Peter typed a response.

PETER: Probably evacuate. Flash is bringing his ego.

Tony answered almost immediately.

TONY: Tower’s rated for Avengers. We can risk it. See you later, kid.

Peter stared at the words until the screen dimmed. He could tell Tony now. One message would be enough. Flash says he invented ARES. Tony would understand everything else without needing Peter to explain. The field trip would stop before it began. Pepper would call the school, Legal would contact the competition, and Happy would be waiting at the entrance with enough security staff to make sure no one said Peter’s name incorrectly. Peter put the phone away. The bus hit a pothole, jarring his bruised ribs against the edge of the seat. He held his breath until the pain passed and shifted farther from the window.

From the front, Flash’s voice carried over the conversations. “Penis probably thinks he’s going to get employee access when we arrive.” Several students laughed. Flash twisted around in his seat until he could see Peter. “You bring your fake badge, Penis?” Peter did not answer. “You should show it to security. Maybe they’ll give you a tour of the holding room.” More laughter moved through the bus.

Mr. Harrington looked back. “Flash, enough.”

Flash turned around again, completely unbothered. “Just making sure he knows the rules.”

Ned gripped the edge of his seat. “I hate him.”

Peter looked toward the passing buildings. “You’ve mentioned that.”

“He’s going to keep doing it because nobody stops him.”

“I know.”

“You could stop him.”

The words were not an accusation. Ned knew why Peter could not fight back physically, and he knew how badly every attempt to defend himself had gone. Still, the thought sat between them. Peter could stop all of this. He had proof. He had Tony. He had access to every record needed to expose Flash before they reached the Tower. He could not make himself do it.

“I don’t want a scene.” Peter said.

Ned glanced toward the front of the bus. “There’s already a scene. You’re just the only one being hurt by it.”

Peter closed his eyes. He did not argue because Ned was right. The rest of the ride continued with Flash talking and everyone else listening. Students passed around articles about ARES and speculated about whether they might see an Avenger. Mr. Harrington repeated the rules twice, emphasizing that no one was to leave the group or touch anything without permission. Ms. Warren reminded them that photographs would be restricted in some areas. Mr. Dell warned them not to embarrass Midtown after the attention the school had received. Peter let the noise wash around him. By the time the bus slowed near the Tower, he felt hollow enough that even dread required too much energy. Students pressed toward the windows as Stark Industries came into view. The glass and steel tower rose above the street, sunlight reflecting from its upper levels while the Stark logo stretched across the entrance. Drones moved near the higher floors, and security barriers had already been positioned along the curb for the arriving bus.

Excitement spread through the bus in a wave. Phones appeared despite the teachers telling everyone to wait. Students pointed toward the building, talking over one another as though they had not known where they were going all week. Flash stood in the aisle before the bus had fully stopped.

“There it is.” He announced, raising his phone to record the Tower through the windshield. “The future home of ARES.”

Peter opened his eyes. For everyone else, Stark Industries was something impressive and unfamiliar, a place associated with genius, wealth, and heroes they saw on television. For Peter, it was one of the only places in the city that felt safe. The bus pulled toward the curb. Peter watched the Tower grow larger through the window and wondered how long that feeling would survive once he stepped inside.

XXX

Pepper found Tony in the lab exactly where she expected him to be, standing over the central workbench with three holographic screens open around him and a half-disassembled gauntlet resting beneath his hands. He had been there since before sunrise, although whether he had slept at all was impossible to tell. A mug of coffee sat untouched near the edge of the table, cold enough that even the steam had given up hours ago, while FRIDAY quietly ran another diagnostic across the damaged repulsor housing.

“The department heads are ready.” Pepper said as she stepped into the room. “Security just confirmed Midtown’s bus is less than ten minutes away.”

Tony glanced toward the time displayed in the corner of one screen and dismissed the diagnostic with a quick movement of his hand. “Early, that’s unsettling, high school students aren’t supposed to arrive anywhere on time.”

“They haven’t arrived yet. There is still plenty of opportunity for disaster.” Pepper said with an easy smile.

“That’s better.”

He set the tool in his hand beside the gauntlet and reached for the jacket hanging across the back of a chair. Pepper waited while he pulled it on, watching him straighten the cuffs with more attention than he normally gave anything that was not made of metal. He had spent most of the morning pretending this was an ordinary tour, but Pepper knew him well enough to recognize the tension beneath the performance. The meeting with the department heads had not been part of the original schedule. Neither had the instructions sent to Security, Legal, and Public Relations. Tony might have been allowing the visit to continue, but there was nothing ordinary about the preparation behind it.

Pepper turned toward the door with him. “Has Peter told you yet?”

Tony’s expression changed almost too quickly to catch. The humor faded from his eyes before he covered it with a shrug and started walking. “No.”

“Nothing?”

“Not one word about the competition, the scholarship, the interviews, or the teenage business mogul currently trying to sell Peter’s medical scanner to anyone with a checkbook.”

Pepper shook her head as they left the lab. “He should know better.”

“He does know better.” Tony pressed his palm to the elevator panel, and the doors opened immediately. “Knowing better and doing better are two completely different skill sets. The kid’s capable of hanging off the side of my jet, but ask him to tell an adult someone hurt his feelings and suddenly we’re dealing with a communication breakdown.”

Pepper stepped into the elevator beside him. “This is more than hurt feelings.”

“I know.”

The doors closed, shutting away the hum and familiar noise of the lab. Tony leaned against the wall as the elevator began descending, his hands slipping into the pockets of his jacket. He had learned about the situation five days earlier, when one of the medical-floor administrators forwarded Pepper an article praising Eugene Thompson as the young inventor behind ARES. At first, Tony assumed the reporter had confused the names of two students. Then Pepper found the video from the competition. They watched Flash accept the trophy, listened to him describe ARES as his design, and saw Peter standing in the back of the team photo with an expression Tony recognized far too well. Peter had been trying not to show how much something hurt him. Tony had seen the same careful stillness after a bad patrol, arguments, and every school day Peter claimed had been fine when it clearly had not.

Once they started looking, the rest had not been difficult to find. The interviews, the school announcements, the MVP scholarship, the articles describing Peter as a member of the construction team. The meetings Mr. Thompson had arranged with potential investors. There had even been a recorded statement suggesting the first commercial units could be priced above twenty thousand dollars. Tony had stopped the video at that point and asked FRIDAY to bring up the original project notes. Peter’s target cost was written across the first page in bold letters.

Affordable for ordinary families. Target retail price: $100 or less.

Tony had never questioned who created ARES. He had watched Peter sketch the first version across half a lab table while explaining emergency-room bills and the hours May once spent waiting for someone to tell her whether his arm was broken. Every department head involved in testing knew the same thing. Peter was the only person who apparently believed he had to endure the theft quietly.

“He doesn’t want to stir up trouble.” Tony said as the elevator continued down. “That’s who he is. He’ll throw himself through a window to stop a robbery, but if the robbery is happening to him, suddenly he’s worried about inconveniencing everybody.”

Pepper folded her arms. “You could have confronted him.”

“I almost did.”

“What stopped you?”

Tony looked toward the changing floor numbers. “He had four chances to tell me this week. Every time, he smiled, changed the subject, and asked what I was working on. If I pushed before he was ready, he would’ve spent the whole conversation apologizing for making me worry.”

“That sounds like Peter.”

“Exactly.”

The elevator slowed as it approached the conference level. Pepper studied him for a moment before asking, “And your solution is to let the person stealing from him walk into the building and continue doing it?”

Tony’s mouth curved without any real amusement. “My solution is to let him do it in a building that records everything.”

Pepper sighed. “Tony.”

“What? I’m not setting a trap. The trap already exists. It’s called telling lies in front of witnesses while attempting to profit from someone else’s intellectual property.”

“You are enjoying this far too much.” Pepper said, but she couldn’t blame him. She was pissed too. Peter was the sweetest kid she had ever met. He didn’t deserve any of this. 

“He tried to steal from my kid.” The words came out flat enough to strip the last of the humor from the conversation.

Tony did not correct himself. Peter had never called him a father. Tony had never asked him to. Their relationship existed in a complicated space built from laboratory hours, bad takeout, arguments about patrol, and the constant fear that one day Peter would not come home. Tony knew May was Peter’s parent and had never wanted to replace her. That did not make Peter any less his. That didn’t make the love he felt for him any less real.

Pepper’s expression softened, though only slightly. “You’re really going to let this play out.”

“I’m going to let Thompson show us exactly how far he’s willing to go. If Peter isn’t ready to stand up for himself, then I’ll do it for him. But when this ends, nobody is going to be able to call it a misunderstanding.” The doors opened onto the conference floor.

Pepper walked beside him through the corridor, heels clicking softly against the polished surface. “You could correct the record the moment they arrive.”

“I could.”

“You could walk into the lobby, greet Peter, and tell the entire class he invented ARES.”

“I could also put on the armor and hover above the bus with a banner. It would be faster.”

“Please don’t.”

“I wasn’t going to. The banner wouldn’t fit through the doors.” Pepper gave him a look, but Tony continued before she could remind him that this was serious. “If I expose him now, the school will call it a big misunderstanding. Flash will say he misspoke. His father will claim they were acting on the information the teachers gave them. Everyone will apologize, adjust their story, and pretend there was never any intent behind it.”

“And if he repeats the claims here?”

“Then he does it knowingly in front of Stark employees who understand the technology, on camera, while discussing patents, investment, and commercial ownership.” Tony pushed open the conference-room door. “That makes it a much harder story to rewrite later.”

The room beyond it was already full. Dr. Helen Cho sat near one end of the table with her arms folded tightly across her chest. Beside her were the directors of Medical Research, Applied Engineering, Emergency Response Systems, Robotics, Legal Director, and Software Development. Several members of the tour staff had taken the remaining seats, including the coordinator assigned to guide Midtown through the building. Happy stood near the wall with a tablet in one hand, looking as though he would rather personally escort every student back onto the bus. The conversation stopped when Tony and Pepper entered. The department heads looked angry, not mildly irritated or professionally concerned, angry.

Most of them had worked with Peter at some point during the development of ARES. They had watched him test the imaging sensors throughout the building, collecting anonymized medical data from volunteers and comparing results against Stark equipment. Emergency Response had allowed him to ride along during several controlled exercises. Software Development had reviewed the security architecture. Dr. Cho had spent weeks correcting Peter whenever his understanding of medicine failed to match his understanding of engineering. They had all been proud of him. Tony took the empty chair at the head of the table but did not sit. Pepper remained beside him, setting her tablet down as the room waited.

Dr. Cho spoke first. “Tell me we are not actually expected to entertain this.”

“That depends on your definition of entertain.” Tony said.

“The boy is claiming he created Peter’s device. He is also claiming it can diagnose patients without physician oversight.”

“I know.”

The director of Medical Research slid a printed article across the table. “His father has already spoken publicly about exclusive hospital licensing. They are presenting themselves as the legal owners.”

Tony looked down at the article without touching it. “Yes they are.”

“And you still allowed the tour to proceed?” The Engineering director asked.

“Encouraged it, actually.” Several people began speaking at once.

Pepper raised a hand before the frustration could turn into an argument. “Tony has a plan.”

“That sentence has never made me feel better.” Happy muttered from the wall.

Tony pointed toward him. “You’re part of the plan.”

“That makes it worse.”

Tony looked back toward the department heads. “Here’s how today is going to work. The Midtown group receives the tour exactly as scheduled. Their MVP gets the special access promised by the competition. If Flash wants to explain ARES, you let him explain it. If he wants to demonstrate it, you let him demonstrate it. If he wants to tell you about his design process, his patents, his investors, or the fortune he plans to make, you listen.”

Dr. Cho stared at him. “You want us to play along.”

“I want to bury him. I want to make sure that when the truth comes out, and believe me it will, that he will not be able to say it was a miscommunication error. I don’t want the school to say that they utilized Flash as the face of the invention because his face was the one everyone recognized.”

“Peter is going to be there. How is he going to feel if we all praise Flash for something we all know he designed and built?” The Engineering Director asked, clearly feeling uncomfortable. 

That was the part Tony hated the most. Peter would be here for it. He would see how everyone acted around Flash and he would know that they all knew the truth but no one was standing up for him. Tony hated that he would have to go through it, but maybe it was what he needed to finally admit that something was wrong, so he could help him. 

“No one is going to say Flash created it. In fact, everyone do their best to try and keep focus on the demonstrations that you are putting on. Let Flash bury himself by talking about how you could be in on the investment opportunity. Flash is going to brag all day long, you won’t need to encourage him to do it.” Tony answered.

“This will hurt Peter, either way.” Dr. Cho said. 

“I know it will and I will explain later to him why it had to be this way and he will understand. He’s already hurt by all of this. This does not mean you ignore him or pretend like you don’t know who he is. Say hello, talk to him about the projects you need his help on. Treat him like you always do. Don’t let anyone try to minimize who he is and what he does here. Happy will be watching him the whole time from his office. FRIDAY will be recording everything.” 

Happy lifted the tablet slightly. “I’ve got the feeds and two plainclothes officers near every tour stop. Peter won’t know they’re there.”

“Does he need protection from the other students?” The Software director asked.

Happy’s expression hardened. “We reviewed the school footage Tony obtained. Flash has been putting hands on him all week. Shoving, grabbing, pinning him against lockers. The teachers either didn’t see it or didn’t do anything worth mentioning.”

Dr. Cho’s face changed. “Peter is injured?”

“Nothing serious.” Tony said, though the words tasted bitter. “Bruises, healing cuts, he’s been hiding them and I suspect it’s been going on a lot longer than a week.”

“And we’re allowing the boy responsible into this building.” Dr. Cho asked, shocked that Tony would even allow this kid to step one foot inside Stark Industries. 

“We’re allowing him into monitored public areas.” Pepper corrected. “He will never be unsupervised, and he will not have access to anything outside the tour permissions.”

Tony looked around the table. “I know this is not what any of you wanted to hear. But we need to let this kid hang himself and I need to know how far he is going with it. I filed patents on ARES eight months ago when Pete first started to design it. He might not have seen how much money it could make, but I could. It would only be a matter of time before someone tried to copy or steal it. I wanted him protected. No one knows those patents exist.” 

“Why didn’t you tell Peter?” The Software Director asked. 

“Because he would have felt uncomfortable with me putting the money up for the patents. He also never would have used the idea for the competition. This isn’t the first time I’ve put a patent down on one of Peter’s ideas. He has a lot of great ones and I’ve had to protect those ideas from time to time until he was ready to build it.” 

Tony knew that Peter often wanted to make his own devices with his own materials that he got himself. He didn’t like using any Stark materials because they were expensive and Peter felt bad for using them when he didn’t pay for them. It didn’t matter how many times Tony told him he was allowed, Peter still kept sticking with dumpster diving. The only reason he did use some of the Stark materials this time around was because it was a competition for the school to earn money. Peter wanted to win to help the school out and to help people. 

“We understand that this is going to be difficult. You all care about Peter and you all believe in ARES. The problem isn’t proving ownership, it’s the intent behind Flash’s actions. According to our projections, selling this product at the price point that Peter is hoping to sell, its estimated market value in the first year is five billion dollars, half of that is complete profit. We need to know if Flash’s actions are that of a sixteen year old boy or have malicious intent.” Pepper said, it was important that everyone knew just what the stakes were. This wasn't some small time device, it held the power to revolutionize the medical industry. It would be huge globally. 

“And what grounds do we have if they are malicious?” The Robotics Director asked, turning towards the head of the legal department. 

“Flash is a minor so it’s a bit more complicated than normal. If he is just stating he has ownership of ARES for popularity and doesn’t act on anything, it becomes a civil matter. Peter is well within his right to file a lawsuit, but nothing criminal can happen. Criminal charges can only be placed if he receives money under false pretense. If he knowingly signs a contract with an investor and receives funding from them, then he is looking at wire fraud. It becomes more serious if he is signing a military contract. However, with him being a minor, his father will need to sign in his place, resulting in the bulk of the charges hitting Mr. Thompson over Flash.” 

“I understand he’s a minor, but if he’s the driving force behind all of it, why wouldn’t he have to face some consequences?” Dr. Cho asked, because it didn’t seem right nor fair that his father would be punished for his son’s actions. 

“He wouldn’t escape charges, but his would be handled in juvenile court, which will carry a lesser and easier sentence. He could get probation and have to pay restitution. Now, the main deciding factor is intent and past history. If there were other crimes that Mr. Thompson used his money and connections to get Flash out of, that would go against Flash’s character. If there is proof of violent behavior, that could make the prosecutor wish to try Flash as an adult, where he would be facing the same amount of prison time as his father. He would stay in a Juvenile Detection Facility until he turned twenty-one before then being transferred over to a federal prison. Again though, it is all about intent and what we can prove.”

“Which is why when the tour goes through the legal department you are going to explain what happens when someone tries to steal Stark Tech. Don’t make it obvious that you are speaking to Flash. Make it seem like it is a part of your job that you are sharing with the students. This way Flash can’t argue that he didn’t know what he was doing was illegal.” Pepper said, wanting to cover all of their bases. 

“Absoltuely.” Legal easily agreed. 

Happy glanced at the time on his tablet. “The bus just turned onto the block.”

“Alright, everyone get back to work and remember the plan. If it were up to Peter, he would let this slide and just eat it. It’s on us to make sure that doesn’t happen.” Tony said, and he could see that each and every one of them agreed. They weren’t going to let ARES be stolen from Peter, no matter what. 

The department heads gathered their notes and began leaving for their assigned tour stops. Happy crossed toward the door but stopped beside Tony. “I’ll keep the kid on camera.”

“If he slips away from the group, let him.”

“Within reason.” Happy said, not wanting to draw too much attention towards Peter when his teacher inevitably notices he’s missing. 

“Happy.” Tony warned. 

“I have him. I promise.” Happy said, because there really wasn’t anything else he could tell Tony that would make him feel any better before he headed out. 

Pepper picked up her tablet and stood beside Tony in the now-empty room. Through the glass wall, they could see staff moving into position along the corridor. Everything appeared calm, organized, and ordinary. No one arriving from Midtown would know that Legal was already waiting.

Pepper looked toward him. “You realize Peter might not be too pleased to discover that you knew about all of this and didn't tell him.”

“I know, but this kid needs someone that will fight back for him. One day he will have the confidence to do it himself, but until then it’s on me and May to make sure he’s protected.”

“And have you told May about this plan of yours?”

“Yes, though she wanted to skin him alive instead. I promised her this would be more satisfying in the end. She just wishes she could be here today to keep an eye on things.”

“She works hard. I know it can’t be easy on her.” Pepper said sympathetically. 

“I’ve offered to help. She won’t take my money.” Tony said, sounding frustrated at not being able to help in the area that he’s best at really. 

“She’s a strong and independent woman. She’s used to handling things on her own. Her and Peter will never take money from you.”

“Why is it that the few people I want to ask me for money refuse to do it? All day long people want to take my money and yet they refuse to take anything from me?” 

“Because they care about you and they are good people.” Pepper answered with a warm smile. “And you do help. You think it’s not a huge relief to May when she knows you constantly feed Peter when he’s here? You think Peter doesn’t know that the twenty dollars you get Happy to slip into his backpack a couple of times a week for food doesn’t come from you? They know you care and they care about you. It’s clear Peter loves you. They’re just not used to having help is all. Give them time.” 

Pepper knew it was hard on Tony, because he was the type of man that wanted to help. He was used to doing things for people, taking care of them, but May and Peter were so used to surviving on their own that having Tony help them felt uncomfortable. They never wanted to feel like a charity case or that they were taking advantage. That was something that would only come with time. 

“I know. I just hate that they are struggling when they don’t need to.” And ultimately that was what it came down to. Peter didn’t have to struggle like this. May didn’t have to work extra hours just to make sure everything was covered. He didn’t mind helping them out. He wanted to help them, but he just couldn’t seem to break through that wall yet. 

“Give them time. They will come around. And with ARES, Peter will be able to make plenty of money to help support him and May. We need to protect ARES from getting into the wrong hands and having it stolen from Peter. That is the priority and then everything else can be worked out.”

Tony knew she was right. They had to make sure that ARES was protected. He was not going to let anyone take ARES away from Peter. A notification appeared across the conference-room display.

MIDTOWN BUS ARRIVING AT EAST ENTRANCE.

Tony watched the exterior security feed appear beneath it. A school bus pulled toward the curb while students crowded against the windows. Even through the camera, Flash was easy to identify near the front, phone raised as he recorded the building. Peter sat farther back beside Ned, his head against the glass and his expression tired enough to make Tony’s anger sharpen all over again. Flash Thompson had walked into the Tower believing he was about to be celebrated as a genius. Tony was going to make sure he regretted ever laying claim to ARES. He was going to let Flash feel like a King before he took everything away from him. 

XXX

“Everyone stay seated until I call your group.” Mr. Harrington said from the front of the bus. “We are not crowding the entrance, and we are not blocking the sidewalk while people take pictures.” Several students lowered their phones only until he looked away.

Flash stood in the aisle with his own camera turned toward his face, speaking quietly enough that Mr. Harrington could pretend not to hear him. “We just arrived at Stark Industries. I’ll be assisting in one of the labs later today as the Innovation Challenge MVP, and there may be some discussions about the future of ARES while we’re here.”

Peter rested his head against the glass and watched two security officers exchange a look through the doors. They had probably heard him. The exterior microphones were strong enough to pick up conversations from the curb. Peter had helped Tony test them after someone tried to plant a listening device inside a delivery van. The realization that FRIDAY and Security had likely heard half the things Flash said on the bus should have been reassuring, but all Peter felt was tired. Mr. Dell began calling rows to exit. Students collected their bags and moved toward the front, excitement returning as they stepped down onto the pavement. Peter waited with Ned and MJ until the aisle cleared around them. The bruise along his ribs pulled when he stood, and he adjusted the strap of his backpack to keep it from pressing against his shoulder. Ned noticed, he had been noticing everything all morning. Peter gave him a warning look before he could ask if he was all right again. Ned closed his mouth, though the concern remained.

The air outside smelled like car exhaust, hot pavement, and the faint clean-metal scent that always seemed to surround Stark technology. Peter followed the class toward the entrance while the teachers counted heads and reminded everyone to keep moving. Flash remained near the front, making sure he would be the first student the employees inside saw. The main doors slid open before the group reached them. Cool air spilled into the covered drive, carrying the quiet hum of machinery from somewhere beneath the lobby floor. The sound was familiar enough that Peter felt some of the tension ease despite himself. Stark Industries had never been truly quiet. Even in the public spaces, there was always something running behind the walls, processors, climate systems, elevators, laboratory equipment, and the arc-powered network that kept the building alive.

The lobby was brighter than Peter remembered it being that early in the day. Sunlight moved through the glass frontage and reflected across the polished floors, while large digital displays showed Stark relief projects, medical technology, clean-energy systems, and several products Peter had seen in various stages of development. Employees passed through separate security lanes farther inside, barely glancing toward the group of students gathering near the reception area. A woman in a dark blue Stark Industries blazer waited beside a temporary check-in desk. She had a tablet tucked beneath one arm and an easy professional smile that did not falter when the students began bunching together instead of forming the lines Mr. Harrington requested.

“Good morning.” She said once everyone had made it inside. “Welcome to Stark Industries. My name is Melissa Grant, and I’ll be coordinating your visit today.”

Mr. Harrington stepped forward to introduce himself and the other teachers, but Flash moved with him as though the introduction included the student representative.

“I’m Eugene Thompson.” Flash said before anyone asked. “The Innovation Challenge MVP.”

Melissa’s eyes flicked briefly toward the special folder he carried. “Of course. Congratulations. We have a separate access credential prepared for you because of the laboratory portion of today’s schedule.”

Flash glanced back toward the class, pleased that the distinction had been made before they even reached security. Peter saw several students look at him with renewed interest, as if the badge had already made Flash part of Stark Industries instead of a visitor who would be allowed to stand closer to a demonstration.

Melissa directed everyone’s attention toward the security checkpoint. “Before we begin, every visitor will need to receive a badge and pass through our scanners. The badge only grants access to the areas included in today’s tour, and it must remain visible at all times. Please don’t exchange badges or attempt to use someone else’s. FRIDAY will know.”

That earned a nervous laugh from several students. Peter knew she was not joking. Footsteps approached from the corridor behind the checkpoint, and Happy emerged carrying a tablet. He wore a dark security jacket over a button-down shirt, his expression set in the familiar combination of impatience and distrust he reserved for large groups of unsupervised teenagers.

“Morning.” Happy said to the teachers. He gave Mr. Harrington and the others a brief nod before facing the students. His eyes moved across the group, pausing on Peter for less than a second. Anyone watching would have seen nothing more than a security chief checking faces against a list. Peter recognized the tension around his mouth. Happy had seen the bruises. The realization made Peter tug the sleeves of his sweatshirt lower.

“My name is Happy Hogan. I’m head of security.” Happy continued. “That means if your guide tells you not to touch something, you don’t touch it. If a door is closed, you don’t open it. If FRIDAY tells you to stop moving, you stop moving. You stay with the group, you follow the marked routes, and you do not attempt to access any restricted area because you think it would make a good video.” His gaze landed on Flash’s phone. Flash lowered it slightly. “Photography is permitted in approved public areas.” Happy said. “You will be told when it isn’t. If you ignore that instruction, Security will remove the device until the end of the tour. If you ignore it again, you will be removed from the building.”

Mr. Harrington nodded firmly as though the warning were directed equally toward every student. “You all heard him.”

Happy looked at the class for another moment, apparently deciding whether any of them required further explanation. “Good. Badges first.”

Melissa and two security employees began distributing visitor credentials according to the class list. Each badge was printed on a slim white card with the student’s name, photo, school, and the word VISITOR across the bottom. Most of the students inspected theirs immediately, comparing photos and holding them up for pictures before Mr. Dell reminded them that the badges were security credentials, not souvenirs. Peter remained near the back with Ned and MJ. The badge Happy had created for him rested inside the small front pocket of his backpack. Peter had picked it up several days earlier after explaining that he could not use his normal Stark credential around his class. His real badge contained a security designation that would raise far too many questions, especially when combined with his frequent disappearances and Spider-Man’s connection to Tony.

Happy had complained the entire time he made the replacement. The new badge was a real employee credential, but it had been stripped down to the most basic internship classification. It would open the public employee areas included in the tour and little else. Happy had chosen grey because it was the lowest security color assigned to active Stark personnel, and Peter had asked for Level One so no one would wonder why a fifteen-year-old intern had access comparable to senior engineers. It had seemed like a good idea when they planned it. Now Peter wondered whether he had simply given the school another reason to believe they had always understood his place inside the company.

Melissa reached Flash first. Instead of the standard visitor card, she handed him a badge with a dark blue stripe across the bottom and the words GUEST LAB ASSISTANT beneath his name. It was still a temporary credential, but the distinction was obvious enough that students leaned closer to see it.

“This badge allows escorted access to the laboratory demonstrations included in your MVP schedule.” Melissa explained. “It does not permit independent movement through the building, so you’ll still need to remain with the assigned department representative.”

Flash clipped it to the front of his jacket with obvious satisfaction. “Understood.”

Peter saw Mr. Thompson’s influence in the way Flash said it, already speaking as though temporary escorted access placed him among the employees. When Melissa came to Peter, she checked the tablet and reached toward the remaining visitor badges.

Peter opened his backpack first. “I have mine.”

He took out the grey employee card and clipped it onto the front pocket of his sweatshirt without looking at it. The movement was automatic after months of entering the building several times a week. Melissa paused, her expression did not change, but Peter saw the quick recognition in her eyes before she looked toward Happy.

Happy glanced at the badge. “He’s good.” That was all he said. Ned watched the exchange with interest, though he already knew Peter’s internship was real. Several students nearby noticed too.

Flash turned halfway around. “You actually brought that thing?” Peter did not answer. Flash looked toward Happy. “Are you sure it’s real? He tells everyone he works here.”

Happy’s eyes shifted to him. For half a second, Peter thought Happy might out him before the tour even began. “He’s wearing an active Stark credential.” Happy said. His voice remained calm, which was always more dangerous than when he sounded angry. “And that is your only warning. We have a strict no bullying policy. You say something disrespectful again to anyone, and you will be thrown out.”

A few students whispered. Flash’s mouth tightened, but he recovered quickly. “I’m the MVP.”

“And that means nothing in this building.” Happy said, and it was clear Flash’s status was not going to work in his favor if he crossed the line. 

Melissa stepped in before the issue could be escalated. “Once everyone has a badge, we’ll go through the scanners one at a time. Place bags and loose electronics on the belt beside you, then walk through when FRIDAY calls your name.”

The security checkpoint consisted of several wide lanes separated by glass partitions. Each had a narrow conveyor for bags and a freestanding scanner that looked less threatening than the technology hidden inside it. Peter knew it checked identity, credentials, concealed weapons, unusual energy signatures, and several other things Happy refused to explain in detail. The first students moved through with a mixture of nervousness and excitement.

“Michelle Jones.” FRIDAY announced when MJ stepped beneath the arch. A soft blue light travelled from her shoes to the top of her head. “Visitor identity confirmed. Temporary clearance active. Welcome to Stark Industries.”

MJ collected her bag on the other side. “She sounds disappointed.”

“She always sounds like that in the common areas.” Peter said quietly.

Ned went next. “Ned Leeds. Visitor identity confirmed. Temporary clearance active. Welcome to Stark Industries.”

Ned grinned as he retrieved his backpack. “She knows my name.”

“It was printed on the badge.”

“Still counts.” Ned said with a massive smile. 

The line continued steadily. Each student received the same greeting, with FRIDAY confirming the temporary visitor clearance and directing them toward the waiting area beyond the checkpoint. Flash approached his lane with his shoulders squared and his phone safely stored inside his bag after Happy’s warning. The scanner light moved over him.

“Eugene Thompson.” FRIDAY said. “Guest laboratory-assistant credential confirmed. Escorted research access active for the duration of today’s visit. Welcome to Stark Industries.”

Flash stepped through to immediate attention from his classmates. The special announcement sounded impressive even though Peter knew it only meant FRIDAY would allow him through a few doors while an authorized employee remained within range. Flash clearly heard something more. He collected his bag and adjusted the badge as though making sure everyone could see it. Peter’s turn came near the end of the line. He placed his backpack on the conveyor and stepped forward. The grey badge rested against his sweatshirt, light enough that he barely noticed it. Peter knew the scanner would identify his biometrics regardless of what the badge said. FRIDAY knew his real clearance, suit authorization, medical profile, and probably the exact number of hours he had slept the night before. The replacement badge only controlled what she would announce. At least, that had been the plan.

“Identity confirmed.” FRIDAY said. “Welcome back, Peter. Stark Industries intern, Level One Grey. Have a pleasant day.” Peter stepped through. For several seconds, the lobby was quiet, then the whispers started.

“She said welcome back.”

“So he actually does work here?”

“I thought Flash said it was fake.”

“It says intern.”

“What does Level One mean?”

Peter collected his backpack and avoided looking toward Mr. Harrington. He could feel the teacher watching him, likely relieved that the badge matched exactly what he already believed about Peter’s position.

Flash laughed from beside the waiting area. “Level One Grey. I told you.” The whispering changed almost immediately.

“Oh.”

“So that’s the lowest one?”

“Probably.”

“He probably does deliveries or something.”

Ned gave Peter an apologetic look. Peter shrugged as though none of it mattered. He had chosen the badge. He had wanted the classification to sound harmless. The plan was working exactly as intended. That did not stop it from hurting. Once the final student cleared security, Melissa gathered everyone near a large digital map of the Tower. Happy remained close to the checkpoint, speaking quietly to one of the guards while keeping Peter within his line of sight. Peter pretended not to notice.

Melissa gestured toward the badges visible across the group. “I heard a few questions about our credential system, so I’ll explain it before we continue. Stark Industries uses a combination of access levels and color classifications. The level indicates how much independent access a person has within their assigned area, while the color shows the general category of that access.” Several students looked toward Peter’s grey badge and Flash’s temporary blue one. “White badges are standard visitors.” Melissa continued. “They only permit access to areas specifically opened for the tour or events. Temporary badges with colored markings may allow escorted access to specialized spaces, like Eugene’s laboratory-assistant credential.” Flash glanced down at his badge again. “Grey is typically used for interns, trainees, and short-term junior placements.” Melissa said. “A Level One Grey credential provides very limited access and generally requires supervision in laboratories or operational areas.”

Flash smiled toward Peter. One of the students near him whispered. “So he really is a coffee intern.” Peter heard it clearly.

Melissa continued without realizing how the explanation was being received. “Blue credentials are used by general employees and technical staff. Silver is commonly assigned to senior researchers and project leads. Gold identifies department heads and personnel with broad operational authority. Red is reserved for executive-level access, while black credentials belong to specialized security and Avengers operations.”

Students murmured at the mention of the Avengers. Peter knew the system was more complicated than that. Access changed by project, department, and individual authorization. Someone could hold a basic employment level and still be cleared for a specific restricted laboratory. His normal badge technically carried a customized designation that did not fit neatly into any of the public categories Melissa listed. His was black with a gold strip, indicating that he could go anywhere at any time unescorted within the entire building. Only himself, Pepper, Tony and Happy had one. Peter was the only one that needed to wear his because everyone knew who the other three were on sight. 

Flash raised his hand. “So Level One Grey is basically the bottom.”

Melissa considered the wording. “It’s the introductory level for active Stark personnel. Interns at that level usually perform supervised tasks while learning company procedures.”

“What kind of tasks?” Another student asked.

“That depends on the department. It could include organizing reports, assisting staff, preparing materials, delivering equipment, observing demonstrations, or completing basic assigned work.”

Flash looked around at the class as though the answer had confirmed every joke he ever made. “Coffee and copies.” A few students laughed.

Melissa gave him a polite smile. “Stark Industries has automated coffee systems and digital records, so not generally.” That drew a larger laugh, this time at Flash. “Your badge might look more impressive right now, but it is temporary. The second the tour is over your badge will no longer work. Peter’s on the other hand will. He can access the building whenever he’d like. Level One Grey badges are generally given to Freshmen in University Science Programs. They are here to learn so they can grow their understanding of science and move up within the company. The fact that Peter has it as a Sophomore in High School shows the level of his intelligence and worth to Stark Industries to scoop him up at a young age.”

A series of whispers quickly spread through the students at Melissa’s words and Peter could tell that Flash was not impressed that she had basically said his badge was worthless compared to Peter’s.

“Alright, everyone settle down.” Mr. Harrington said with a pointed look at Peter. Peter couldn’t help but look down and adjust the strap of his backpack. Today was supposed to be about Flash and it seemed like Mr. Harrington was going to blame him for what Melissa said. “Mr. Hogan.” Mr. Harrington continued. “Will you be joining the tour?”

“No, Melissa has the route and security will be monitoring closely.” His attention moved toward Peter one more time. “Stay with the group and remember the Indigo Lab is there if you need it.” To everyone else it sounded like a security guard reminding an intern of some small internal matter, but to Peter it was everything. 

Indigo was the safe word Tony had programmed FRIDAY into recognizing that Peter was overwhelmed and needed to be removed from a situation. Whenever Peter said it, Happy, Pepper and Tony were all alerted so they could make sure he was taken to the penthouse so he could lay down in his room in the dark and quiet. Peter had only had to use it once since he had been in Tony’s life when his senses went into overdrive out of nowhere. This was Happy’s way of reminding Peter that if he needed to get away from Flash or the rest of the kids, for whatever reason, he would gladly swoop in and rescue him. 

“I will.” Peter said. Happy did not look convinced, but he nodded and returned to the checkpoint. 

“What is the Indigo Lab?” One of the students asked. 

“Oh, it’s just an overflow lab that we use to store various items from time to time.” Melissa answered with a dismissive wave. 

Everyone knew about Code Indigo, but only a few people actually knew that it pertains to Peter. Most just knew that it meant a high ranking employee needed some assistance and unless you knew who it was specifically, you were to not get involved. It had only happened one time as far as Melissa knew and the only reason she knew it was in regards to Peter was because she happened to be in the hallway closest to him when his episode hit him. Melissa didn't know what else to call it, because it wasn’t an anxiety attack or a panic attack. Peter was just overstimulated and needed to be in a dark and quiet place. She didn’t know why, but it wasn’t any of her business either. Plus, working at Stark Industries you got used to people having different quirks. It just became normal to everyone. 

“Alright.” Melissa said with a small clap. “Let’s get this tour started, shall we?” 

Melissa directed the class toward the central elevators. Students moved in a cluster, still examining their badges and whispering about the different security levels. Flash stayed near the front beside Mr. Harrington, making sure his blue laboratory credential remained visible. They reached the elevators, where Melissa divided the class between two cars. Flash positioned himself in the first with the teachers. Peter would have preferred the second, but Mr. Harrington counted him into Flash’s group before he could step back. The doors closed around them, sealing the students inside a wide glass elevator that rose through the centre of the Tower. Manhattan appeared beneath them almost immediately, streets and buildings shrinking as the elevator climbed. Students crowded toward the windows, Peter remained near the back.

FRIDAY’s voice sounded through the elevator speakers. “Tour route active. First destination: Public Research and Development, Level Forty-Two.”

Flash glanced toward Peter’s badge. “You ever been that high, Level One?” Several students laughed.

Peter looked through the glass at the familiar city below. “A few times.”

Flash smirked. “Delivering lunch?”

Mr. Harrington sighed from the front. “Flash.”

“What? I’m asking about his internship.”

Peter said nothing. The elevator continued upward, the numbers changing above the door. Floor after floor passed beneath them, many of them more familiar to Peter than his own school. He had worked late in laboratories above and below their destination, slept on a couch three levels from where they were headed, and once spent an entire weekend helping Tony repair a system running through half the building. None of the students around him knew that. They saw the grey badge and heard that it was the introductory level. They believed that meant he was a kid who fetched materials and watched others do the important work. On any other day Peter would have been fine with it. Today it was just a bit harder to swallow. 

The elevator slowed as it reached the forty-second floor. Melissa turned toward the group. “Our first stop is Applied Engineering, where you’ll see several prototypes currently being developed for civilian and emergency-response use. Please remember not to touch anything unless one of the engineers invites you to.”

The doors opened onto a bright corridor lined with glass walls and active displays. Several Stark employees waited beyond them; Peter recognized every single one. The lead engineer near the first demonstration station looked directly at him, and warmth entered her expression before she carefully redirected her attention toward the class.

“Welcome to Applied Engineering.” She said. “We’ve been looking forward to meeting Midtown’s winning team.”

Flash stepped out of the elevator first. Peter followed with everyone else, his grey badge resting against his chest while the people inside the laboratory quietly pretended not to know exactly who he was. Applied Engineering had always been one of Peter’s favorite floors in the Tower. It lacked the clean stillness of Medical Research and the carefully controlled order of the software departments. Almost every surface showed some sign that people actually worked there. Tools sat in charging stations along the walls, storage carts had been pushed into whatever open space they could find, and half-completed machines rested behind glass partitions with handwritten notes attached to their casings. Robotic arms moved between workbenches farther inside, sorting components into metal trays while engineers crossed from one project to another carrying tablets, cables, and cups of coffee that had probably gone cold hours ago.

The air smelled faintly of warm metal and machine oil beneath the filtered ventilation. Peter knew that smell. He knew the hum of the equipment behind the walls and the soft warning chime the autonomous carts made whenever someone stepped too close to their path. He knew which workbench had a drawer that refused to close properly, which fabrication unit overheated if anyone ran it above eighty percent for more than an hour, and which corner of the break room always had the good granola bars because the Applied Engineering team kept hiding them from Robotics.

For a few seconds, the familiarity of the floor settled around him and eased some of the tension he had carried since leaving Queens. Then Flash moved to the front of the group, and Peter remembered why they were there. The woman waiting beside the first demonstration area was Dr. Rina Patel, the Director of Applied Engineering. Peter had worked with her several times over the past year, although worked with might have been generous when most of those visits began with Peter wandering into the department, because he heard about an interesting prototype and ended with him staying until long after dinner because he could not make himself leave while there was still a problem to solve. She had been there when he tested the first imaging sensors for ARES against a handheld structural scanner her department created. She had found him asleep over his laptop twice during the final month of development and threatened to call May both times. The second threat had worked because Peter knew she actually had May’s number.

That morning, Dr. Patel looked at him for only a moment before returning her attention to the class. The warmth Peter saw in her expression disappeared so quickly that he wondered whether he imagined it. “Welcome to Applied Engineering.” She said, her voice carrying easily through the open laboratory. “We’ve been looking forward to meeting Midtown’s winning team. My name is Dr. Rina Patel, and I oversee the department responsible for adapting Stark technology for civilian, industrial, and emergency-response use.”

Mr. Harrington stepped closer with the proud smile he had worn through most of the morning. “Thank you for having us. The students have been looking forward to this since the competition.”

“I’m sure they have.” Dr. Patel looked over the badges visible across the group before her attention settled on Flash’s blue guest-laboratory credential. “Eugene Thompson?”

Flash stepped forward before she finished saying his last name. “That’s me, please call me Flash.”

“Congratulations on being selected as Midtown’s Most Valuable Participant. Your schedule notes that you’ll be assisting with the demonstrations throughout the tour.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Flash straightened his shoulders and glanced back toward the class. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Peter could hear the difference in the way Flash spoke inside the Tower. At school, he bragged without attempting to hide it. Here, he shaped the same confidence into something he thought sounded professional. He smiled when he was supposed to smile, called everyone sir or ma’am, and stood with the relaxed posture of someone convinced the adults around him were already impressed. Dr. Patel did not question the confidence or ask him anything about ARES. She simply gestured toward the demonstration area behind her.

A compact black drone rested on a circular charging platform built into the centre of the floor. It was larger than the recreational models sold in stores but small enough to fit through a standard doorway, with four enclosed rotors positioned around a reinforced central body. Multiple camera lenses and sensor arrays were built into the front, while a small compartment beneath the casing could carry emergency supplies or communication equipment. Behind it, a wide screen displayed a three-dimensional model of a partially collapsed apartment building. Peter recognized the drone immediately. It was the newest version of the Atlas emergency-response unit, although enough had changed since the last time he saw it that he needed several seconds to understand what the engineering team had done. The outer casing was lighter. The secondary sensors had been moved closer to the centre to protect them from impact, and the rotors were now surrounded by flexible guards designed to bend rather than break if the drone struck a wall. The stabilization housing looked different too. Peter leaned slightly to the side, trying to see the underside of the unit without drawing attention. Dr. Patel noticed, her eyes met his briefly before she looked back toward the class.

“This is Atlas Seven.” She explained. “It was designed for urban search-and-rescue operations in structures that may be too unstable for firefighters or emergency personnel to enter safely. Atlas can map damaged buildings, locate trapped victims, identify gas leaks or electrical hazards, and establish a communication link before a human rescue team goes inside.”

The screen changed as she spoke, showing the drone moving through the simulated structure. Walls became transparent beneath the mapping system, revealing damaged support beams and unstable floors. Red markers appeared over heat signatures while yellow lines traced possible entry routes through the debris. Several students moved closer. Even MJ seemed interested, although she kept enough distance between herself and the nearest display to avoid being accused of touching something.

Ned leaned toward Peter. “Have you seen this before?”

“An older version.” Peter whispered.

“How old?”

“Maybe two months.”

Ned looked toward the drone again. “They made all of that in two months?”

“They probably started the new housing before I saw the last one.”

Flash glanced back at them. “Some of us are trying to listen.”

Ned opened his mouth, but Peter shook his head before he could respond. Dr. Patel had already moved to the control station, and Peter did not want the first laboratory stop to become another argument.

“The course we’re using today is based on a real residential collapse.” Dr. Patel continued. “It has been simplified for demonstration purposes, but the obstacles and environmental hazards are realistic. Flash will control Atlas through the structure while the system gathers data automatically.”

There was no invitation or unnecessary question about whether Flash wanted to participate. The role belonged to him because he was the MVP, and everyone in the room understood that. Dr. Patel unlocked the control panel with her badge and stepped aside, giving Flash space at the station. His smile widened as he moved into position. A small crowd formed around him almost immediately. Mr. Harrington and the other teachers stayed close enough to watch the screen, while the students spread into a loose semicircle behind the marked safety line. Peter remained near the back with Ned and MJ, though he could see everything clearly over the heads in front of him.

Dr. Patel explained the controls, showing Flash how to adjust the speed, rotate the camera, and select different mapping overlays. The interface had been designed for first responders wearing gloves, which meant the controls were large and responsive enough that Flash should have no difficulty using them. He listened closely and asked two reasonable questions about altitude and obstacle detection. Peter watched Dr. Patel answer without changing her tone. She treated Flash exactly as she would have treated any student selected to help with the demonstration. There was no hint in her expression that she knew he had claimed ARES or that she had sat in a conference room earlier that morning discussing what his family was trying to do with it. Peter did not know about that meeting. All he saw was a woman who had watched him build ARES speaking warmly to the person who had taken it. The thought left an ache beneath his ribs that had nothing to do with the fading bruises.

“Whenever you’re ready.” Dr. Patel said.

Flash placed both hands on the controls. “I’m ready.”

The charging platform opened with a soft mechanical sound, releasing the locks around the drone. Atlas rose smoothly until it hovered at shoulder height, the movement so steady that only the faint vibration of the air beneath the enclosed rotors showed how much power the machine was using. A section of the far wall slid apart, revealing the entrance to the demonstration course. Flash guided Atlas forward. He was careful at first, keeping the drone near the centre of the opening and moving slowly enough for the automatic systems to adjust. The screen followed the drone into darkness before switching to low-light imaging. A rough hallway appeared around it, half blocked by fallen plaster and a section of collapsed ceiling. The students watched in complete silence. Flash moved the drone around the first obstruction without striking anything. The navigation system did most of the work, correcting his angle and preventing the rotors from drifting too close to the wall, but there was still enough control involved that he deserved credit for not rushing.

“Good.” Dr. Patel said. “Keep your speed there until the map finishes generating.”

Flash nodded and waited. Blue lines spread across the display as Atlas scanned the hallway and created a three-dimensional layout. A warning appeared near the right side of the screen, identifying exposed electrical wiring inside the wall.

“There’s the first hazard.” Dr. Patel explained to the class. “Atlas sends the information back to the incident commander, who can isolate the electrical system before sending a rescue team into that section.”

Flash guided the drone deeper into the structure. The first simulated victim appeared behind a fallen support beam. Atlas detected the heat signature before the camera showed the mannequin, placing a red marker across the map and opening the communication controls automatically. A small round of applause came from the students. Flash glanced back long enough to see everyone watching him before returning his attention to the controls. His shoulders lifted slightly, and some of the caution left his movements. He took the next turn faster, Atlas corrected before hitting the corner, Dr. Patel said nothing about it.

“The drone could carry ARES.” Flash said as he moved through the next section.

The comment had nothing to do with the instructions, but it was exactly the kind of connection Peter knew Flash had been waiting to make.

Dr. Patel kept her attention on the screen. “The supply compartment can transport small medical or communication devices.”

“ARES would fit easily.” Flash adjusted the camera until it centred on another heat signature. “You could send the drone into a collapsed building, find someone, and scan them before the rescue team even gets there.”

Peter’s fingers curled around the strap of his backpack. That was one of the future applications he had discussed with Emergency Response several weeks earlier. He had not shared the idea with the class because the drone integration was not finished and had never been part of the competition presentation. Flash could have reached the same conclusion on his own. It was not difficult to imagine putting a portable scanner inside a rescue drone after seeing the supply compartment. Peter still hated hearing him say it as though the entire concept belonged to him.

“That would require some form of remote operation.” Dr. Patel said.

Flash nodded. “I’ve been working on it.”

Peter looked up sharply. Dr. Patel’s hands remained relaxed at her sides. “Would the scanner be operated by the drone or by someone outside the structure?”

“Both, probably.” Flash continued guiding Atlas as he spoke, becoming more comfortable now that the course had opened into a wider room. “ARES is designed to be simple, so the drone could position it and complete the scan automatically. Then a doctor could receive the results before anyone reaches the victim.”

It was not impossible. Peter had considered something similar, though the current version of ARES required a user to select the scan and position the device correctly. Full drone integration would need different software, a mounting system, and a way to account for movement and debris between the scanner and patient. Flash made it sound as though the work already existed.

Dr. Patel did not correct him. “Emergency-response agencies would likely find that useful.” She said.

Flash smiled at the screen. “My father’s already speaking with people who could help get ARES into that market. We’re looking at hospitals, military units, police departments, and private emergency companies. Something like Atlas could be included in a larger package.”

Peter felt as though every word scraped against him. Flash spoke about ARES as a product to be bundled with other expensive technology and sold through contracts his father arranged. There was no mention of affordable clinics or ordinary families. Nothing about the people Peter created it to help. Inside Flash’s version, ARES had become a way to place his name beside Stark Industries and make enough money that people would never question whether he belonged among them.

Dr. Patel nodded once. “There are certainly many organizations interested in improving emergency medicine.”

That was all she said. She did not praise the business plan or agree that Flash owned the device. She did not mention Peter either. From where Peter stood, the silence felt like an agreement. He had spent months working beside people on this floor. Some of them had volunteered for ARES scans. Others had helped him compare sensor readings or find cheaper components when he rejected the materials Tony originally offered. They knew what the device meant to him, and they knew he wanted it kept affordable. Yet they were allowing Flash to speak about selling it for tens of thousands of dollars as though none of that mattered.

Maybe they had seen the articles and they believed Flash’s version. Maybe they thought Peter had only handled the construction because that was the role the school gave him. Dr. Patel had seen him working on ARES, but she had not been present for every stage. It was possible she believed Flash created the concept and Peter simply brought it into the lab because he was the one with access. That explanation would fit everything Mr. Harrington had said. Peter told himself there was nothing insulting about being the person who made something work. Applied Engineering existed because ideas required people capable of turning them into real machines. Dr. Patel would never dismiss the importance of construction, testing, or programming. None of that changed the fact that ARES had been Peter’s idea too.

The screen flashed another warning as Atlas entered the final section of the course. The drone had detected a simulated gas leak near the ceiling and adjusted its route automatically. Flash followed the suggested path, guiding it beneath a damaged support and into the room containing the final victim. The class applauded again when the third marker appeared. Flash looked completely at ease now. The uncertainty he showed at the beginning had disappeared, replaced by the same confidence he carried through Midtown. The difference was that people here listened when he spoke. A department head stood beside him, teachers watched with open pride, and every student in the class saw him controlling a Stark prototype as though he belonged at the station.

Peter could almost understand why Flash wanted this so badly. Being taken seriously felt good. Peter knew because Stark Industries was one of the only places he had ever experienced it. Inside the Tower, adults usually listened when he noticed a problem. They did not tell him being smart was not enough or remind him that someone else had better connections. If Peter offered an idea, engineers evaluated the idea rather than the clothes he wore or how much money May could donate. Tony argued with him constantly, but he never treated Peter’s age as proof that he had nothing worth saying. Watching Flash stand in that same space made Peter feel as though another piece of it had been taken.

“Bring Atlas back through the marked return route.” Dr. Patel instructed.

Flash selected the path on the screen. The drone turned and began following the mapped hallway toward the exit, moving mostly under automatic control now that the structure had been scanned. Peter watched the telemetry scrolling along the side of the display. The numbers were familiar enough that he noticed the variation before the warning system did. The rear-left stabilizer drifted by less than one degree, corrected, then drifted again. Peter narrowed his eyes. He had seen the same pattern in Atlas Five after a long flight test. The rotor assembly had been fine, but vibrations from the supply compartment caused the motion sensor to overcorrect whenever the drone changed altitude. Peter spent most of a Saturday helping the engineering team isolate the problem, and they eventually solved it by adjusting the mounting brackets around the sensor housing. The new Atlas should not have been doing it. The drift appeared again when Flash guided it over the collapsed beam.

Peter stepped forward without thinking. “The rear stabilizer is compensating late.” Several students turned toward him.

Flash glanced away from the controls. “What?”

Peter looked toward Dr. Patel instead. “Rear-left, it drifts before the correction.”

Dr. Patel checked the telemetry. For the first time since the demonstration began, something unguarded crossed her face. It was not surprise that Peter understood the system. It was the familiar focus she always showed when he noticed something worth investigating.

She enlarged the data across one side of the screen and watched the next correction. “You’re right.”

The room became quieter. Peter forgot the class for a moment as he studied the numbers. “It only happens when the supply compartment shifts. Did you change the lower housing?”

“We moved the sensors inward after the impact tests.”

“That might be transferring more vibration into the mount.”

Dr. Patel nodded slowly. “We changed the dampening material too.”

“What did you use?”

“A flexible polymer blend.”

Peter frowned. “The older brackets were rigid.”

“They were also heavier.”

“Yeah, but the weight might have stopped the housing from flexing when it changed direction.” Peter pointed out.

Dr. Patel looked toward one of the engineers standing near the course. “Pull the vibration records from this flight and compare them against Atlas Six.”

The engineer nodded and moved toward a workstation. Only then did Peter remember where he was. He looked around at the class. Ned was staring at him with a mixture of pride and concern. MJ watched Dr. Patel instead, her expression sharpening as she noticed how quickly the department responded to Peter’s observation. Several other students seemed confused. Flash looked annoyed.

Dr. Patel returned her attention to the course as Atlas cleared the final obstruction. “Good catch, Peter.”

Peter shifted back toward Ned and MJ. “It was on the screen.”

“Yes.” She said, though something in her tone suggested she understood that most people in the room would not have known what they were seeing. “It was.”

Flash guided the drone through the opening and returned it to the charging platform. The locks closed around the base once the rotors stopped, and the demonstration screen displayed a successful completion message. The students applauded loudly.

Mr. Harrington stepped forward first. “That was excellent, Flash.”

Flash smiled as though the interruption near the end had not bothered him. “It was easier than I expected.”

“The navigation assistance handles much of the finer corrections.” Dr. Patel explained. “That allows a first responder to focus on the information coming back rather than needing years of flight training.”

Flash released the controls and looked toward the class. “I could probably learn the advanced version pretty quickly.”

Peter knew Flash had done well. He had followed the instructions and completed the course without damaging anything. There was no reason to pretend otherwise simply because Peter disliked him.

Dr. Patel seemed to agree. “You maintained control and followed the route. That is exactly what we needed for the demonstration.”

The praise made Flash’s chest lift again. Mr. Harrington looked delighted. “I’m sure the Innovation Committee will be pleased to hear how well the MVP portion of the visit went.”

“This is only the first department.” Melissa reminded him with a smile. “Eugene will have several more opportunities to assist throughout the day.”

Flash handed the control station back to Dr. Patel. “I’m looking forward to all of them.”

One of the students near Peter leaned closer to another and whispered. “How did Parker know something was wrong?”

The second student shrugged. “He said he’d seen an older version.”

“Seeing it and reading that screen aren’t the same thing.”

Peter pretended not to hear them.

Flash chose the other path. “He probably helped carry equipment while they tested it.” He said, loud enough for the group. “You stare at enough screens while the actual engineers work, you’re bound to pick something up.”

A few students laughed, but the reaction was weaker than it would have been at school. Dr. Patel’s expression changed. Peter saw the anger before she controlled it, the slight tightening around her eyes and the way her hand closed against the edge of the control station. For one hopeful second, he thought she might correct Flash. She knew Peter had done more than carry equipment. She knew exactly how many hours he spent working on the earlier drone and how much of the stabilization adjustment came from his observations.

Then her expression settled, Tony’s instructions, though Peter had no way of knowing they existed, kept her silent. “Observing experienced engineers is a valuable part of any internship.” She said instead.

The answer sounded professional and completely true; it also did nothing to challenge what Flash said. Mr. Harrington nodded as though Dr. Patel had confirmed his own understanding of Peter’s position. “That’s what I’ve been trying to explain to the students. Even introductory work offers valuable experience.”

Peter felt the brief pride from catching the drift disappear. Dr. Patel looked at him; there was an apology in her eyes that Peter did not understand. Maybe she felt bad because he wanted his internship to sound more important. Maybe everyone in the Tower had always seen him as a bright kid they allowed to observe while the adults completed the real work, and Peter had mistaken their patience for respect. The thought hurt enough that he looked away. Melissa began moving the class toward the next section of the floor, where several material samples and emergency-support structures had been arranged behind glass. Students clustered around Flash as they walked, asking how the controls felt and whether he thought the drone could really carry ARES.

Flash answered every question confidently. He explained that the scanner was light enough to integrate with almost any drone and that future versions would probably include automatic operation. He spoke about meetings with investors and suggested Stark Industries might be interested in partnering once the patents were finalized. No one from Applied Engineering challenged him. Peter fell toward the back of the group.

Dr. Patel caught up before he reached the next display. She kept her voice low enough that the students ahead would not hear. “Peter.” He stopped. “I meant what I said. That was a good catch.”

Peter forced a small smile. “Thanks.”

“The earlier mounting changes were based on your work. We wouldn’t have known where to start today without it.”

He glanced toward Flash, who stood near the front with Mr. Harrington and Melissa. “I just noticed the numbers.”

“You noticed them because you understand the system.”

Peter wanted the words to help. Normally, they would have. On any other day, knowing Dr. Patel valued his work would have been enough to make him forget every joke Flash made about his internship. Today, all Peter could think about was the fact that she had listened to Flash talk about owning ARES and said nothing. He could not ask her why. Doing so would mean admitting that he expected her to defend him, and Peter was no longer sure he had the right to expect that from anyone.

“I should stay with the group.” He said.

Dr. Patel looked as though she wanted to say more, but Peter had already started walking. He caught up with Ned and MJ near the next display. Ned immediately moved closer, lowering his voice. “You did more than watch people test that drone.”

Peter kept his attention on Melissa as she explained the transition to the next department. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Flash lied about it.”

“He didn’t lie. He said I watched the engineers work.”

“You helped fix it.” Ned argued.

Peter adjusted his grey badge when it caught against the strap of his backpack. “It was one afternoon.”

“Dr. Patel said the old mounting changes were based on what you did.”

Peter looked at him sharply. “You heard that?”

“So did I.” MJ said from his other side. “She waited until Flash couldn’t hear before saying it, which is interesting.”

Peter’s chest tightened again. “She was just being nice.”

MJ looked back toward Dr. Patel. “I don’t think she likes Flash.”

“She congratulated him.”

“He won the competition.”

“She let him talk about ARES like it belonged to him.”

MJ turned her attention to Peter. “That doesn’t mean she believes him.”

Peter wished he could believe that. He had spent all week telling himself the adults around him might understand more than they said. Mr. Harrington knew Peter built the device but still voted for Flash. Principal Morita knew the original proposals were anonymous but allowed Flash to claim the design. The reporters had accepted the school’s version because no one important gave them a reason to question it. Now the people at Stark Industries were doing the same thing. They knew Peter had worked on ARES. They knew how much of himself he put into it. Maybe they believed Flash had created the original idea and Peter had simply done what Tony always taught him to do, take another person’s concept and make it functional.

Peter had argued with Karen that credit did not matter. Standing inside Applied Engineering while Flash spoke about partnerships and future versions, Peter finally understood that it mattered because ownership shaped what happened next. Flash was not only taking Peter’s name away from ARES. He was taking control of what the device would become. And everyone around Peter seemed willing to let him. Melissa called for the group to gather before moving to the next floor. The students left Applied Engineering talking excitedly about Atlas and everything Flash had done. Mr. Harrington walked beside him, praising the way he remained calm during the demonstration and suggesting the skill would impress future investors. Peter stepped into the elevator with Ned and MJ. As the doors began closing, he looked back through the glass. Dr. Patel stood near the drone with two engineers already examining the telemetry Peter had noticed. She met his eyes across the room and offered a small smile. Peter tried to return it, but the doors closed before he could manage it.

The elevator carried them toward Sustainable Energy while the students continued talking about Atlas. Flash remained near the front with Mr. Harrington and Melissa, answering questions about the controls as though he had been operating Stark technology for years instead of less than twenty minutes. He explained that the drone had been easier to manage than he expected and suggested he would probably be able to use the advanced system with a little practice. Several students nodded along, impressed by the confidence with which he spoke. Mr. Harrington looked proud every time Flash described the demonstration, as though completing a course specifically simplified for visitors had confirmed everything the science department believed when they selected him as MVP.

Peter stood near the back between Ned and MJ, trying not to listen. His thoughts remained on the floor beneath them, where Dr. Patel and her team were probably already taking the stabilizer apart. Under normal circumstances, Peter would have stayed to help. He would have pulled up the telemetry, compared the current housing against the older brackets, and worked through every possible source of vibration until they understood exactly why Atlas Seven was drifting. It was the kind of problem that could hold his attention for hours without him noticing the time passing. Dr. Patel would have let him. She would have ordered food when it became clear Peter was not leaving, complained when he forgot to eat it, and eventually threatened to call May if he tried staying overnight. That was how things had always worked between them. Peter wandered into a department because something interested him, and the people there found space for him because they understood that telling him to leave before a problem was solved rarely worked.

For the first time, Peter wondered whether he had misunderstood those moments too. Maybe Dr. Patel had always seen him as an intern who needed supervision and something useful to do. Maybe allowing him to assist with prototypes had been part of the mentorship program instead of proof that she respected his work. Her private comments about the stabilizer could have been encouragement, the kind adults gave younger students to keep them interested even when their contribution was small. Peter knew that did not fit what had happened. He had seen the department use his calculations. He had watched engineers alter the housing because of the vibration pattern he found. Dr. Patel had never praised him without reason, and Tony would have corrected her if she treated Peter’s work as better than it was. The facts should have been enough, but they were no longer enough to quiet the doubt.

The elevator slowed, and FRIDAY announced their arrival before the doors opened onto the next floor. Sustainable Energy looked nothing like Applied Engineering. Where the previous department had been crowded with tools and half-built machines, this floor felt wider and brighter, with open spaces designed around the equipment rather than workstations pushed wherever they could fit. Sunlight moved through the windows lining the outside wall and spread across polished floors broken by thin illuminated lines that traced power routes beneath the glass. Large transparent panels separated the public demonstration areas from active laboratories. Behind them, engineers worked around battery systems, power converters, and containment units Peter could identify only because Tony had explained some of them during earlier visits. One section held rows of compact solar cells under artificial lights calibrated to reproduce different weather conditions. Another contained several vertical wind turbines no taller than Peter’s chest, their blades turning inside a controlled-air chamber while streams of data moved across the wall beside them.

The centre of the floor was occupied by a detailed model of a small town. It covered an area nearly as large as Mr. Harrington’s classroom, complete with houses, apartment buildings, streetlights, a fire station, an emergency shelter, and a small hospital built around the edge of a raised platform. Thin power lines connected each section to four metal units positioned at the corners. None of the buildings were lit yet, leaving the town strangely lifeless beneath the bright laboratory lights. A man waited beside the main control station with three members of his department. He was tall, with grey beginning at his temples and a pair of safety glasses tucked into the pocket of his lab coat. Peter recognized Dr. Michael Reynolds immediately, though he had only worked with him a few times. Most of Peter’s visits to Sustainable Energy involved Tony dragging him through the department while explaining something Peter had asked about and Dr. Reynolds appearing halfway through to correct whatever detail Tony deliberately oversimplified.

The last time Peter came to the floor, he had spent nearly four hours asking about emergency storage systems. Dr. Reynolds had eventually given him access to a simulation and told him to find out for himself why Peter’s proposed design would fail during a sudden load transfer. It had failed in less than twelve seconds. Peter fixed it in three hours. Dr. Reynolds looked toward him as the class stepped out of the elevator. His expression warmed with recognition before his gaze moved away, following the same careful pattern Dr. Patel had used downstairs. Peter’s stomach tightened.

“Welcome to Sustainable Energy.” Dr. Reynolds said once the entire group had gathered around the model town. “My name is Doctor Michael Reynolds, and I oversee the teams responsible for developing the power systems Stark Industries uses outside this building.”

One of the students near the front raised his hand before Dr. Reynolds continued. “You mean Arc Reactors?”

Dr. Reynolds smiled. “Sometimes. The Arc Reactor is certainly our most recognizable technology, but it is not the answer to every power problem. Most communities do not need an unlimited source of clean energy installed beneath the ground. They need systems that are affordable, transportable, repairable, and able to work with the infrastructure they already have.”

Peter looked down at the model town. That answer was exactly why he liked Dr. Reynolds. Tony could solve a problem by building technology no one else in the world fully understood, but the departments beneath him had to make those solutions useful outside of the Tower. Sustainable Energy did not work only on what was theoretically possible. They thought about whether something could survive a hurricane, whether a rural town could repair it without a Stark engineer present, and whether a hospital could afford enough units to keep operating after the power grid failed. ARES had been built around the same kind of thinking. A device that could identify internal bleeding was impressive. A device that cost too much for the people who needed it was useless.

Dr. Reynolds gestured toward the darkened buildings. “The system you’ll be seeing today was designed for emergency deployment following large-scale infrastructure failures. Hurricanes, earthquakes, wildfires, severe winter storms, or any event capable of leaving a community without stable electricity for days or weeks.”

The four metal units surrounding the town rose slightly from the platform as hidden supports lifted them into view. Each one was roughly the size of a large suitcase, with reinforced handles, connection ports, and a narrow display built into the top.

“These are modular emergency power units.” Dr. Reynolds explained. “Each can operate independently, but they are most effective when connected into a temporary grid. They automatically share the electrical demand, isolate damaged sections, and redirect power toward essential services when available energy becomes limited.”

The screen behind him changed to show the units being unloaded from trucks after a storm. In one image, several had been placed outside a damaged hospital. Another showed them powering a temporary shelter while utility workers repaired lines in the background.

Peter saw Flash straighten when Melissa moved closer to the control station. “As the Innovation Challenge MVP, Eugene will help us activate and manage the demonstration grid.” She said.

Flash stepped forward without needing his name repeated. He adjusted the blue badge on his jacket before taking his place beside Dr. Reynolds, carrying himself with more ease than he had at the beginning of the drone demonstration.

Dr. Reynolds showed him the main display. “The controls are designed for emergency personnel who may receive only a few hours of training before deployment. You will bring each unit online, establish the grid, and then respond to several simulated failures.”

Flash studied the screen. “What happens if I activate them in the wrong order?”

“The system will prevent an unsafe connection and tell you what needs to be corrected.”

“That makes sense.”

“It has to. The people using these systems may be exhausted, working in difficult conditions, or trying to restore power while other emergencies are happening around them. Good engineering accounts for the fact that human beings are not always operating under ideal circumstances.”

Peter remembered Tony telling him something similar after the fourth ARES prototype produced false readings because Peter assumed every user would hold the scanner at exactly the correct angle. Tony had made him repeat the test while wearing thick gloves, walking, and responding to questions from three different people until Peter finally understood that a medical device designed only for calm laboratories would fail the moment someone needed it during a real emergency. Flash placed his hand over the first control.

“Begin with Unit One.” Dr. Reynolds instructed. “Wait for the system check to complete before connecting the second.”

Flash activated it. A low hum moved through the platform, quiet enough that most of the class probably felt it before they heard it. One section of the miniature town came to life as streetlights illuminated around the fire station and several houses. A blue line appeared beneath the glass, tracing the power connection from the first unit into the grid. The students moved closer. Flash waited until the display changed from yellow to green before activating Unit Two. More lights came on, spreading through the residential streets toward the emergency shelter. Unit Three brought the hospital online, its windows glowing brighter than the surrounding buildings while several status screens appeared beside it. When Flash connected the fourth unit, the entire town lit at once. The reaction from the class was immediate. Students applauded, several phones rose to take pictures, and Mr. Harrington leaned toward Ms. Warren to say something Peter could not hear. Flash looked over his shoulder at the attention, the smile on his face widening when he saw everyone watching. He had not done anything particularly difficult. The system told him which control to use and prevented mistakes before they happened. That did not mean the moment was meaningless.

Peter remembered the first time Tony allowed him to activate a Stark system without standing close enough to take over. It had only been a laboratory power transfer, something the building completed automatically dozens of times each day, but Peter had still felt the weight of being trusted with it. He understood the pride in Flash’s expression because he knew what it felt like to place a hand on technology built by people you admired and have them tell you that you were capable of using it. The difference was that Peter had spent months earning that trust. Flash had received it with a badge. Dr. Reynolds allowed the class to look at the fully powered model before touching several controls on his tablet. A warning appeared across the main screen, and the lines beneath the western side of the town changed from blue to red.

“We’ve now simulated damage to one section of the grid.” He explained. “A fallen transmission line has created a fault near the residential area. Eugene, isolate the affected connection.”

Flash scanned the control panel. “This one?”

“The system is showing you the damaged route.” Dr. Reynolds said with a nod.

Flash selected it, and the power line disappeared. Several houses went dark, but the emergency shelter and hospital remained lit.

“The grid has isolated the failure.” Dr. Reynolds said. “Now transfer the available power toward essential services.”

Flash chose the hospital and shelter icons. The system redistributed the remaining energy, dimming streetlights and shutting off several nonessential buildings while the important facilities remained at full power. Another round of applause followed. Flash smiled toward Mr. Harrington, who looked as though he wanted to frame the entire moment and hang it beside the competition trophy.

“Very good.” Dr. Reynolds said. “You identified the fault and prioritized the correct areas.”

“It was pretty clear on the screen.”

“That is intentional. A successful emergency system should not require someone to fight the interface while a community is waiting for power.”

Flash nodded thoughtfully, as though the design principle was something he had already considered. “ARES works the same way. I made the interface simple because people might be using it while they’re hurt or panicking.”

Peter went still. I made the interface. Ned glanced toward him, but Peter kept his eyes on the model. The statement was not entirely false if someone stretched the meaning far enough. The class had provided feedback. Ned had helped with parts of the code, and several students tested early versions to see whether the instructions made sense. Flash had complained that one screen contained too much medical language, and Peter changed it after Dr. Cho agreed. Flash had not designed the interface. He had not spent nights moving every control, rewriting the instructions, and testing them on people who had never seen the device. He had not argued with Tony over the emergency warnings or worked with Dr. Cho until the medical language was accurate without frightening users.

Dr. Reynolds looked toward Flash with the same neutral interest the department heads had maintained throughout the tour. “Clear design is especially important in medicine.”

“My father says that is one of the things investors like most.” Flash continued. “It means ARES could be marketed to regular people instead of only trained professionals.” Peter felt a brief spark of hope. Regular people had always been the point. Then Flash added, “The home version would probably be priced lower, but hospitals and government agencies could pay a premium for professional models.” The hope disappeared.

Dr. Reynolds did not react beyond a slight nod. “Different industries often require different certifications and support systems.”

“Exactly.” Flash rested one hand against the control station, looking increasingly comfortable beside it. “My father has people working out the market plans now. The competition proved there’s interest, so the next step is making sure we don’t undervalue it.”

Peter stared at the miniature hospital. He remembered the original budget spreadsheet open across his laptop, every component listed beside the lowest reliable price they could find. He had spent nearly two weeks replacing a sensor because it pushed the total production cost above his target. Tony offered to cover the difference, and Peter refused because the point was not to build one affordable unit with a billionaire subsidizing it. The point was to create something that could remain affordable when thousands or millions were produced. Flash had been present when Peter explained all of that to the class. He had listened and remembered only enough to decide the device was worth more. Dr. Reynolds initiated the final part of the demonstration before Flash could continue discussing investors. A second fault appeared near the hospital, followed by a warning that the remaining power would not support every essential service at full capacity.

“This time, there is not enough energy to maintain everything.” He said. “You need to reduce demand without shutting down the hospital’s emergency department or the shelter’s heating system.”

Flash examined the screen carefully. Several options appeared beside each building, allowing him to reduce lighting, administrative systems, ventilation in unoccupied areas, and nonessential equipment. He selected the hospital first, lowering power to offices and public spaces while preserving the emergency department. At the shelter, he shut down the kitchen equipment and reduced lighting instead of touching the heating controls. The remaining load settled within the available range.

Dr. Reynolds smiled. “Correct.”

The entire class applauded again, louder than before. Flash stepped away from the controls looking genuinely pleased with himself. He had completed both demonstrations without making a serious mistake, and every successful moment seemed to add another layer to his certainty that the attention surrounding him was deserved. Peter watched him accept Mr. Harrington’s praise and realized Flash no longer looked like a student visiting Stark Industries. He looked like someone auditioning for a place he believed was already waiting for him. Melissa gave the students several minutes to examine the model and ask Dr. Reynolds questions before beginning the walking portion of the tour. Unlike Applied Engineering, where most of the active work had been separated from the visitors, Sustainable Energy included a wide route through the department with marked observation areas beside each laboratory. The class followed the illuminated path while engineers continued working behind the glass.

Peter stayed near the back. He had hoped moving away from the demonstration would make it easier to breathe, but the tension remained beneath his chest. Every time someone congratulated Flash or asked another question about ARES, Peter felt himself moving farther from the version of the Tower he remembered. They stopped first beside the artificial weather chamber, where solar cells were tested under conditions ranging from desert heat to heavy cloud cover. A young engineer explained how different materials responded to temperature changes and why a panel that performed perfectly in California might fail during a winter in northern Canada. Several students asked questions about efficiency and cost. Peter knew the answers to most of them, but he remained silent. The engineers had not asked him, and Mr. Harrington’s warning from the sidewalk still sat heavily in his thoughts. Today was Flash’s day. Peter was not supposed to overshadow it by acting as though his low-level internship made him important.

The next section focused on wind generation. Small vertical turbines turned behind reinforced glass while technicians monitored the amount of energy produced at different wind speeds. Peter had seen the system once before, though it had been mostly empty then. Now three interns worked beside the main engineer, adjusting the angle of the internal blades and recording the results. The students immediately noticed them. They were younger than most of the employees they had met, though still several years older than Peter. Two wore college sweatshirts beneath their Stark lab coats, while the third had an intern badge clipped to her pocket and safety glasses pushed into her dark hair.

Melissa paused near the observation line. “This is a good opportunity to speak with some of our interns. Stark Industries hosts students from universities across the country, along with several international placements. They work inside active departments under the supervision of our engineering teams.”

The class shifted with renewed interest. Most of the people they had met so far were department heads or experienced engineers whose careers felt impossibly far away. The interns were easier to imagine becoming. They were young enough that the students could picture themselves standing in the same place after a few years of university. The intern nearest the glass looked up from her tablet as the door opened and Dr. Reynolds called the three of them over. Peter recognized her as Lena Morales, a third-year engineering student who had helped him test a portable solar charger several months earlier. She spotted him almost immediately.

Her smile appeared before Peter could look away. “Peter.”

Every student near him turned. Peter lifted one hand awkwardly. “Hey, Lena.”

“I haven’t seen you in forever.” She stepped into the visitor area with the other interns.

“Ya, I’ve just been busy with the competition and everything.” Peter could feel Mr. Harrington looking at him. He wished Lena would stop talking, not because he disliked her, but because every casual reference to work he had done inside the building threatened the small, careful story everyone had accepted about his internship.

Flash recovered first. “I guess all the interns know each other.”

Lena looked toward him. Melissa made the introduction before the moment became awkward. “This is Eugene Thompson, Midtown’s Innovation Challenge MVP. Eugene has been assisting with today’s demonstrations.”

“Congratulations.” Lena said politely.

“Thanks.” Flash glanced toward Peter’s grey badge before adding, “Parker’s internship is a little more introductory than yours.”

Peter felt his face warm. Lena looked at the badge too; for one dangerous second, her eyebrows rose as though she understood exactly what Happy had done. Then she smiled and said nothing about it.

“I started with introductory work.” She said. “Everyone does.”

Mr. Harrington nodded, apparently pleased by the confirmation. “That’s what we’ve been explaining. An internship is about observing professionals and building foundational skills.”

Lena’s attention returned to Peter. There was a question in her expression, but she did not ask it. Peter wondered what Tony had told everyone before the tour. Dr. Patel’s silence had felt strange enough to be deliberate, and now Lena was looking at his grey badge as though she knew it did not belong to him. The idea should have comforted Peter. Instead, it made the entire day feel more confusing. Dr. Reynolds invited the students to ask the interns about their work and how they received their placements. Hands rose across the group immediately.

“How hard is it to get accepted?” One student asked.

The second intern, a young man named Daniel Cho, laughed. “Very.”

“How many people apply?” Another student asked.

“It changes every year, but thousands apply across the different departments. Each team only takes the number of interns they can actually supervise.”

“Did you have perfect grades?” Another student asked.

“No.” Daniel smiled. “Good grades help, but they are not everything. Stark looks at projects, recommendations, problem-solving, and whether you can explain why you want to work here beyond thinking Iron Man is cool.”

Several students laughed. “What do you actually do?” Another asked.

Lena gestured toward the turbine chamber. “A little of everything, depending on the project. We run simulations, prepare tests, record data, and help build prototypes. We also spend a lot of time correcting mistakes we made, but that is all part of learning.”

“You get to build things?” Ned asked.

“Under supervision. We’re not handed a billion-dollar project and told to do whatever we want, but we contribute.”

Peter heard the way several students shifted at the answer. Build prototypes, run simulations, contribute, those responsibilities sounded more important than the coffee and copies Flash had spent months assigning to Peter. The class had already learned Peter’s internship was real, but the grey badge and Melissa’s explanation allowed them to preserve the belief that his work remained small. Now they were hearing that Stark interns did real engineering.

A girl near the front looked toward Peter. “Is that what you do too?”

Peter opened his mouth, but Mr. Harrington answered first. “Peter’s placement may have different responsibilities. Internship roles depend on age, education, and experience.”

The answer was reasonable. It also reduced Peter before he had the chance to speak. Lena’s mouth tightened slightly. “Peter works on projects.”

Mr. Harrington smiled. “I’m sure he does, at an appropriate level.”

Peter wanted the floor to open beneath him. Lena looked ready to argue, but Peter shook his head as subtly as he could. She saw the movement and stopped.

Flash gave a quiet laugh. “He probably means school projects.”

No teacher corrected him. The students’ attention returned to the interns as another question was asked about university programs. Peter moved closer to the glass wall, pretending to examine the turbine data so he would not have to see the sympathy on Ned’s face or the anger on MJ’s. He could hear every answer clearly. Daniel explained that he spent most of his first month learning safety systems before anyone allowed him near active equipment. The third intern, Priya Shah, spoke about working on battery chemistry and how often her calculations failed when tested outside a computer model. Lena described the solar charger project and the process of making it durable enough for disaster-relief teams. They sounded intelligent and accomplished.

Peter felt proud of them. He knew how hard Lena worked and remembered Daniel staying late for three nights because a storage unit kept losing power under high demand. They had earned their positions. He also felt strangely separate from them. His internship had never looked like theirs. Tony did not give Peter a formal application or assign him to one department. Peter moved through the Tower wherever his work took him. Some days he assisted Tony in the lab. Others he worked with Dr. Cho, Software, Robotics, or Emergency Response. He had access to projects most interns would not see until years into their careers because Tony trusted him and because Spider-Man made ordinary placement rules impossible. Peter had always known his situation was unusual. Until that morning, he had believed unusual meant valuable. Now he wondered whether it simply meant unofficial.

Maybe he had no real place among the interns because he had never earned the position through the process they described. Tony brought him into the Tower because of the suit and then found ways to keep him occupied. The engineers treated him kindly because Tony cared about him, not because Peter belonged beside them. The thought was unfair to everyone who had spent hours teaching him, but Peter could not stop it once it took shape. Flash had a scholarship, an official MVP designation, and a schedule that placed him beside department heads. The interns had applications, university programs, and clear responsibilities. Peter had a grey badge Happy made three days earlier to hide everything he actually did.

Lena came to stand beside him once the questions slowed. She kept her voice low, though Ned and MJ were close enough to hear.

“Are you okay?”

Peter looked at the turbine chamber. “Yeah.”

“You look exhausted.”

“It’s been a long week.”

“I saw the competition articles.” His shoulders tightened. Lena glanced toward Flash, who was explaining something about ARES to Priya while Mr. Harrington listened. “Is there something I’m missing?”

Peter wanted to tell her. The words rose so quickly that for a moment he thought they might escape before he could stop them. Lena knew him. She had watched him carry ARES through the floor while collecting data and had volunteered for three scans because Peter needed different readings. She would believe him if he said the invention was his. Then he looked at the students gathered around Flash. Telling one person would not fix anything. It would only create the scene Mr. Harrington warned him against. Lena might confront Flash, security might become involved, and Tony would hear about it before Peter was ready to explain why he had hidden the truth for an entire week.

“Nothing.” Peter said. “It’s fine.”

Lena did not believe him, neither did Ned or MJ. Peter kept his eyes on the data until she finally nodded. “Alright.”

Dr. Reynolds called the interns back toward the wind chamber, and the class continued through the department. Their final stop before lunch was a battery-testing area where thick transparent walls separated the visitors from rows of power cells undergoing heat, impact, and endurance trials. Melissa explained that some of the units had been running continuously for months. Flash remained near the front, his confidence now fully restored after two successful demonstrations. He asked Dr. Reynolds about careers in Sustainable Energy and whether the department worked directly with outside companies. When the answer was yes, Flash mentioned his father’s contacts and said ARES could create opportunities for joint emergency packages. Peter stopped listening. The morning had taken more out of him than he expected. His bruises ached beneath his sweatshirt, his shoulders were tight from carrying his backpack, and the breakfast May left for him felt too far in the past. More than anything, he was tired of hearing his invention described by someone who cared about everything except why it existed.

Melissa checked the time once the battery-testing explanation ended. “That brings us to the end of the morning laboratory schedule. We’ll break for lunch before continuing with the remaining departments.”

The students reacted with immediate relief and excitement. Conversations shifted toward food, the view from the Stark cafeteria, and whether the employees ate anything different from ordinary people. Peter felt only tired. Dr. Reynolds thanked the class for visiting and congratulated Flash once more on completing the power-grid demonstration. Flash accepted the praise with the ease of someone who had begun expecting it. As the group moved toward the elevators, Lena called Peter’s name from behind the glass, he turned. 

She lifted one hand in a small wave. “Come by when you’re done with the tour. We still need someone reckless enough to test the new charger.”

Peter managed a faint smile. “Sure.”

It was a normal invitation, the same kind she had given him before everything changed. For a moment, he wanted to believe it meant the Tower still saw him the way it always had. Then Flash laughed beside Mr. Harrington and told the students that even low-level interns eventually found something useful to do. Peter’s smile disappeared before he stepped into the elevator. The doors closed on Sustainable Energy, leaving Lena and the other interns behind while the class began talking about lunch. Peter stood near the back with Ned and MJ, his grey badge resting against his chest and the weight of the morning settling heavier around him. He had once believed Stark Industries was the one place where no one could make him feel small. By the time the elevator began descending toward the cafeteria, Peter was no longer certain that had ever been true.

The cafeteria occupied an entire floor near the middle of the Tower, although calling it a cafeteria made Peter think of plastic trays, lukewarm pizza, and the permanent smell of cleaning chemicals that hung over Midtown’s lunchroom. Stark Industries had built something closer to a food hall, with different counters spread around a wide open space overlooking Manhattan. Digital menus changed above each station, offering everything from sandwiches and burgers to pasta, sushi, salads, soup, and food from several places Peter had never tried because he did not recognize half the names. The central seating area had been divided into smaller sections by planters, low glass walls, and shelves filled with pieces of old Stark technology that had been repurposed into decorations. Employees sat at tables with their badges still clipped to lab coats and jackets, eating while they reviewed tablets or carried on conversations that probably involved work even when they were supposed to be taking a break. The noise was steady without being overwhelming, softened by acoustic panels hidden throughout the ceiling and the open design that prevented every conversation from collecting in one place.

Peter had eaten there dozens of times. He knew the burger station would make fries without seasoning if someone asked, that the pasta counter gave portions large enough for two meals, and that the small bakery near the windows stopped making cinnamon rolls after one because Tony usually sent someone down to take whatever remained. Peter also knew the staff. Most would recognize him even if they did not know exactly why he spent so much time in the building. That knowledge made him hesitate when the elevator doors opened. Melissa led the group into a waiting area beside the entrance, where two cafeteria employees stood behind a portable check-in desk. Each student received a meal ticket marked with a blue Stark logo and a list of the counters included in the tour package. Mr. Dell reminded them that the ticket covered one meal, one drink, and one dessert, which immediately caused several students to begin debating what qualified as a meal and whether they could convince the staff that three desserts counted if they skipped the drink.

“You have forty-five minutes.” Melissa said once the tickets had been distributed. “You may choose from any counter marked with the blue symbol. Stay on this floor, keep your badges visible, and be back near the elevators five minutes before the end of the break. Our next stop will be Stark Legal.”

That last announcement drew noticeably less enthusiasm than the promise of free food.

“Legal?” One student asked. “Like lawyers?”

Melissa smiled. “Exactly like lawyers.”

Flash looked interested, Peter was not surprised. After spending the entire morning talking about patents, investors, licensing, and contracts, Flash probably saw the Legal Department as another place filled with people waiting to discuss the future of ARES. The class spread out as soon as Mr. Harrington dismissed them. Students moved between the counters in groups, pointing at menus and trying to decide how much food they could get with the ticket. Flash remained surrounded before he had taken three steps. Mr. Harrington walked beside him while several students asked where he wanted to eat, apparently willing to follow whatever choice he made rather than risk missing part of his day. Peter stayed near the entrance with Ned and MJ.

“What do you want?” Ned asked.

Peter looked across the cafeteria without really seeing the menus. His stomach felt hollow, but the idea of eating made it tighten. He had finished breakfast because May left the plate waiting for him and he could not bring himself to waste it. Since arriving at the Tower, the anxiety and constant strain of pretending everything was fine had pushed hunger beneath everything else.

“I don’t care.”

MJ glanced toward him. “That means he’s going to pick nothing.”

“I’ll eat.”

“You said that at school when you had the migraine.” Ned countered.

“I ate when I got home.”

“Crackers while May watched you don’t count as a meal.” Ned said.

Peter looked at him. “How do you know what I ate?”

“You told me.”

“I don’t remember telling you.”

“You were barely conscious.”

MJ took the ticket from Peter’s hand before he could object and looked over the marked counters. “Burger.”

Peter reached for it. “I can pick my own food.”

“You weren’t picking.”

“I was thinking.”

“You were staring at a soup menu like it personally betrayed you.”

Peter took the ticket back but followed them toward the burger station. Arguing required more effort than letting MJ decide, and a burger was safe enough. He had eaten there before. He knew what it tasted like and how much he could manage without his stomach turning against him. The employee behind the counter recognized him the moment they joined the line.

“Hey, Peter.”

Peter managed a small smile. “Hi, Marco.”

“You want the usual?” Several students ahead of them looked back.

Peter felt the attention settle across his shoulders. “Just a regular burger today.”

Marco glanced at the blue meal ticket in his hand, then toward the class badges surrounding him. Understanding crossed his expression quickly. “Tour lunch?”

“Yeah.”

“Got it. Regular burger, fries, extra pickles.”

Peter had forgotten Marco knew that. Ned ordered the largest burger available, while MJ chose one without cheese and refused every additional topping Marco offered. They collected their trays and moved away before the rest of the class reached the counter.

“People know your food order.” Ned said quietly.

“I eat here sometimes.”

MJ looked across the room toward the employees who had greeted Peter while they passed. “You eat here enough that at least three people have said hello.”

Peter shifted his tray to one hand. “It’s a cafeteria. People work here.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

He did not have the energy to create a better one. They found a table near the windows, far enough from the rest of the class that Peter hoped they could eat without anyone bothering them. From there, Manhattan stretched below the glass in every direction. Traffic moved through the streets in thin lines, and the buildings that looked impossibly tall from the sidewalk seemed smaller from the Tower. Ned sat across from Peter while MJ chose the chair beside him, leaving Peter with his back partially toward the class. It was probably deliberate. If he could not see Flash, maybe he would stop listening. It did not work. Flash had chosen a long table near the centre of the seating area where nearly half the class could gather around him. Mr. Harrington and Ms. Warren sat nearby with several other students, while Mr. Dell had taken his lunch to a quieter table close enough to supervise without being included in every conversation.

Flash’s voice carried easily through the room. Peter did not know whether Flash was naturally loud or had spent so much time speaking for cameras that he had forgotten how to hold a private conversation. Either way, he was already explaining ARES before most people had opened their food.

“The biggest advantage is that it combines multiple forms of assessment into one device.” Flash said. “Normally, someone might need an X-ray, an ultrasound, blood work, and several other tests before the doctor knows what’s wrong. ARES can gather most of that information immediately.”

Peter unwrapped his burger. The bun was warm beneath his fingers, and the smell should have made him hungry. Instead, he looked at the food and felt as though swallowing even one bite would require more effort than he had left.

Ned followed his gaze. “Eat.”

“I’m going to.”

“You’ve been holding it for thirty seconds.”

Peter took a bite to prove he could. The food turned heavy in his mouth almost immediately. He forced himself to chew and swallow while Flash continued speaking behind him. Someone at Flash’s table asked about the scanner’s accuracy. Flash answered with the percentage from the final report, including the separate rates for fracture detection and internal imaging. He explained the verification system and repeated Peter’s line about ARES assisting doctors rather than replacing them. He sounded intelligent. That was the part Peter had not expected to hurt as much as it did. Flash was not stumbling through the answers or making obvious mistakes anymore. Over the past week, he had studied. He memorized the reports Peter prepared, learned the medical terms, and reviewed enough of the design to answer most general questions without needing notes. The work had not been done because he cared how ARES functioned. Flash had done it because the interviews were easier when he sounded like the person he claimed to be and it worked. Anyone listening would believe him.

Peter took another bite and tried to focus on the burger. A group of Stark employees at the next table had begun paying attention. They wore blue and silver badges, which meant they likely worked in technical departments but had not been involved while he was testing ARES. Peter recognized one of them from passing in the elevator but did not know his name. The man leaned toward his coworkers when Flash mentioned that Midtown won the Innovation Challenge. After a brief conversation, he stood and approached the student table.

“Excuse me.” He said. “Are you the student who created the medical scanner everyone has been talking about?”

The question carried across the cafeteria. Peter’s hand stopped halfway toward his tray. Flash smiled and stood, wiping his hand on a napkin before offering it to the employee. “Eugene Thompson.”

The man shook it. “Daniel Ross. I work in Systems Integration. We saw the news story about ARES.”

“I’ve gotten a lot of attention since the competition.”

“I imagine you have. A portable system capable of combining imaging and biometric assessment at that size is impressive.”

“Thank you.”

Peter stared at the uneaten half of his burger. No one corrected him. The employee had no reason to know the truth. He had seen the same articles everyone else saw and approached Flash because the school and news reports identified him as the inventor. Peter understood that. Being angry with him would be unfair. Understanding did nothing to make it easier to hear. Daniel asked how ARES handled multiple sensor inputs without draining the battery. Flash gave the explanation Peter wrote for the technical section, simplifying it enough that it sounded natural rather than memorized. He described the staggered scan cycles, the low-power standby state, and the software’s ability to activate only the sensors required for a selected assessment. He missed several details but said nothing clearly wrong. Another employee joined them after hearing the conversation. She asked about data privacy, and Flash explained that the medical reports were encrypted and could only be shared after the user authorized the connection. Peter had spent nearly three weeks working with Software Security on that system. Flash summarized it in less than a minute and received an approving nod.

“He really did study.” Ned murmured.

Peter pushed a fry through a spot of ketchup. “He’s been doing interviews all week.”

“That doesn’t make it his.”

“I know.” The words came out flat.

MJ watched him rather than Flash. “Do you?” Peter looked toward her. “You keep saying you know.” She continued quietly. “Then you act like all of this proves he deserves it.”

“I don’t think he deserves it.”

“You think everyone else believes he does, which apparently matters more.”

Peter lowered his voice. “What am I supposed to do in the middle of the cafeteria?”

“Nothing right now.”

“Then what are we talking about?”

“The fact that you’ve eaten two bites.”

Ned pushed Peter’s tray closer when he noticed it had drifted toward the centre of the table. “She’s right.”

Peter looked between them. “You two are terrible at subtlety.”

“We tried subtle.” Ned said. “You ignored it.”

Behind them, the group around Flash continued growing. Students from Midtown shifted to make room for the Stark employees, eager to hear professionals praise the invention. Mr. Harrington sat close enough to listen, his pride visible whenever Flash answered another question correctly. 

Flash spoke about testing ARES as though it were a list of achievements he had personally supervised. “We had a few problems with early versions.” He admitted with a modest smile. “That’s normal when you’re developing new technology. The important thing is that I kept improving it until the results were reliable.”

Peter placed the fry back on his tray. He could not make himself lift it again. Ned looked as though he might stand and cross the cafeteria. Peter caught his sleeve beneath the table. “Don’t.”

“He just said he fixed the early versions.”

“I heard him.”

“You fixed them.”

“I know.”

“He wasn’t even there.”

“Keep your voice down.”

“Why?” Several people at the nearest tables looked toward them.

Peter released Ned’s sleeve and lowered his eyes. “Because I don’t want this to turn into something.”

Ned stared at him with open disbelief. “It already is something.”

Peter knew that. It had been something from the moment Flash stood in front of the convention centre and claimed the design. It became something larger every time the school repeated the lie and every time a reporter printed it. By now, Flash’s version had spread far enough that strangers inside Stark Industries approached him to discuss Peter’s work. Peter had spent the week trying to avoid a scene. The scene had grown around him anyway. A second group of employees stopped near Flash’s table after hearing the discussion. One asked whether ARES would eventually integrate with wearable technology. Flash said future models would likely connect to smart watches and emergency alert systems, then suggested they were considering a subscription service that would store long-term health data. Peter’s head lifted, they were not considering that. Peter had explicitly rejected the idea when someone in the class suggested it because he did not want basic functions locked behind recurring payments. The device was supposed to work for anyone who bought it, regardless of whether they could afford a monthly fee.

Flash continued before Peter could decide whether to say something. “The subscription could include expanded monitoring, direct physician consultations, and priority access to partnered clinics. It creates a recurring revenue stream instead of relying only on hardware sales.”

The employee from Systems Integration nodded. “That would probably interest investors.”

“It already has.”

Peter’s stomach turned. The burger sat untouched in front of him, cooling beneath the cafeteria lights. He tried to imagine forcing down another bite and knew he could not.

MJ reached across the table and covered his hand before he could start tearing the napkin apart. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine.” Peter automatically said.

“No, you aren’t.”

Peter pulled his hand back and placed it beneath the table. “I’m just tired.”

“You looked tired this morning. This is different.”

He glanced toward the employees surrounding Flash. “Can we talk about something else?”

Ned pushed his fries toward Peter hoping maybe he would pick at them instead. “We could talk about how I’m stealing your dessert ticket if you don’t use it.”

“You can have it.”

“That was supposed to make you object.”

“I don’t want dessert.”

Ned’s face fell. Peter hated that expression. Ned looked frightened in a way he tried to hide beneath concern, as though Peter’s lack of appetite proved something much worse than being upset. Peter wanted to reassure him, but every version of the words sounded like another lie. He picked up the burger and forced himself to take another bite. Across the cafeteria, someone asked Flash why he created ARES. The question quieted Peter more effectively than anything else could have.

Flash paused before answering, the hesitation short enough that most people probably assumed he was gathering his thoughts. “I wanted to make medical care more efficient.” He said. “People waste hours waiting for tests that could be done immediately. Hospitals are overcrowded, and doctors don’t always have the information they need. I thought there had to be a better way.”

The answer was polished and it contained all the correct ideas. It did not contain May sitting beneath fluorescent lights with insurance forms trembling between her hands. It did not contain Ben promising that they could manage a bill while Peter listened from the hallway. It did not contain the fear of not knowing whether pain meant something serious or whether going to the hospital would cost more than a family could afford. Flash had taken the purpose too. Peter could handle someone else holding the trophy. He could tell himself the scholarship was only money and the attention would eventually fade. He could even accept that Flash understood enough technical information to sound convincing after studying Peter’s reports. Hearing him explain why ARES existed felt like watching someone take Peter’s memories and clean them until they became something marketable. The bite in Peter’s mouth became impossible to swallow. He set the burger down, grabbed his drink, and forced enough water past the tightness in his throat to clear it.

MJ watched him carefully. “We can leave.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere that isn’t here.”

“We have to stay on the floor.”

“There are other tables.”

“It won’t matter. I can hear him.”

Ned looked around the cafeteria, suddenly remembering that Peter’s hearing did not stop at the edge of their table. “Right.”

Peter wished he had worn the glasses Tony repaired. They would not have blocked sound, but the filter might have softened the movement around him and made it easier to separate Flash’s voice from everything else. Peter left them at home because wearing them in front of the class would invite more questions, and he had not wanted Flash to touch them again. Now every conversation in the cafeteria seemed to reach him. Employees discussed ARES at nearby tables. Students repeated facts Flash had given them. Mr. Harrington answered questions about Midtown’s victory and referred to Flash as the project leader. Peter pressed his palms against his thighs and concentrated on breathing normally. He had survived louder places. He had fought beneath collapsing buildings, stood in the middle of explosions, and listened to thousands of people scream during emergencies. This was only a cafeteria. Nothing here could physically hurt him and yet his chest did not seem to understand the difference.

Mr. Harrington appeared beside the table before Peter noticed him approaching. “Peter, can I speak with you for a moment?”

Ned immediately straightened. “Why?”

Mr. Harrington looked toward him. “I need to speak with Peter privately.”

Peter knew from the teacher’s expression that refusing would only draw more attention. He placed his napkin over the half-eaten burger and stood. “I’ll be back.”

MJ’s eyes followed Mr. Harrington as he led Peter away from the table. “We’re watching.”

Mr. Harrington either did not hear or chose to ignore her. He guided Peter toward a quieter section near the windows, far enough from the class that ordinary hearing would not catch the conversation. Peter could still hear Flash clearly from there, explaining the difference between local and cloud-based medical data storage.

Mr. Harrington folded his arms loosely. “How are you doing?”

The question surprised Peter. “Fine.”

Mr. Harrington looked toward the tray Peter left behind. “You don’t seem to be eating.”

“I’m not very hungry.”

“It has been a busy morning.” Peter waited for him to say whatever had actually brought them away from the table. Mr. Harrington glanced toward Flash and the employees gathered around him. “I wanted to discuss the rest of the tour.”

A familiar heaviness settled through Peter. “Okay.”

“You’ve done well following the security rules, and I appreciate that you haven’t tried to separate from the group. However, there have been a few moments where the attention shifted away from the purpose of the visit.”

Peter stared at him. “What moments?”

“In Applied Engineering, you interrupted the demonstration to comment on the drone.”

“It was malfunctioning.”

“It had a minor reading variation.”

“The stabilizer was correcting late.” Peter corrected.

“I understand that, and Dr. Patel appreciated you noticing it.” Mr. Harrington spoke with the careful patience of someone explaining a reasonable concern. “But Flash was the student assigned to the demonstration. When you stepped forward, the entire class stopped focusing on what he was doing.”

Peter felt as though he had missed part of the conversation. “I wasn’t trying to take attention from him.”

“I know you weren’t. Intent isn’t the issue.”

“What is?”

“Today is part of Flash’s MVP recognition. The laboratory demonstrations are his opportunity to be acknowledged for the work he contributed to the competition.”

Peter looked past Mr. Harrington toward the crowded table. Flash stood in the centre of Stark employees discussing Peter’s device. “He’s being acknowledged.”

“That doesn’t mean the rest of us should make his role more difficult.”

“I said one thing about the drone.”

“You also had several conversations with employees during the Sustainable Energy tour. Other students are becoming distracted by the fact that people here know you.”

Peter felt something cold move through his chest. “They spoke to me.”

“I understand.”

“Was I supposed to ignore them?”

“No, of course not.” Mr. Harrington sighed softly, as though Peter were turning a simple request into something more complicated. “I’m only asking you to be mindful of the effect it has on the group. Every time someone references a project you observed or helped with, students begin questioning your internship instead of paying attention to the tour.”

“My internship is part of why I know them.”

“And that’s a wonderful opportunity.” Mr. Harrington’s expression softened. “But this visit was awarded because Midtown won the competition, and Flash is the MVP. Today is supposed to celebrate that achievement.”

Peter looked at him for several seconds. He thought about the bruises hidden beneath his sweatshirt and the week spent listening to everyone celebrate Flash. He thought about being asked not to mention his internship before they entered the building and now being told that employees speaking to him was a distraction he needed to control.

“What do you want me to do?” Peter asked.

“For the remainder of the tour, stay toward the back with Ned and Michelle. Let Flash handle the demonstrations and answer questions. If one of the employees speaks to you, be polite, but try not to turn it into a longer discussion.”

Peter almost laughed. None of the conversations had been long. Dr. Patel spoke to him for less than a minute. Lena asked if he was all right and mentioned a previous project. Peter had spent most of the morning deliberately making himself smaller so no one could accuse him of taking anything from Flash. It still had not been enough.

Mr. Harrington continued, apparently mistaking Peter’s silence for uncertainty. “You’ll have other opportunities here because of your internship. Flash may never have another day like this. I think you can understand why it’s important that he be allowed to enjoy it without feeling as though he has to compete for attention.”

Peter looked toward the class again. Flash was laughing with three Stark employees while students watched him as though he had already become the person the newspapers described. Peter was the one who had designed ARES. Peter was the one losing every piece of it. Somehow, Mr. Harrington believed Flash was the person being forced to compete.

“I understand.” Peter said. The answer came automatically now. He had given it so many times that the words no longer required thought.

Mr. Harrington smiled with visible relief. “Thank you. I know this week has been difficult for everyone, and I want the rest of the day to go smoothly.”

Peter wondered what part had been difficult for Flash. Mr. Harrington touched his shoulder briefly before returning to the central tables. His hand landed close to one of the fading bruises, and Peter held himself still until the pressure disappeared. He remained near the window for several seconds after the teacher walked away. The city stretched below him, bright and distant beyond the glass. Somewhere beneath the Tower, people moved through ordinary Fridays that had nothing to do with ARES, Flash, or the competition. Peter wished he could join them. He wanted to put on the suit, leave through one of the upper exits, and spend the afternoon helping strangers who did not care who received credit as long as someone came when they needed him.

“Peter?” Ned stood several feet away with MJ beside him. They must have followed as soon as Mr. Harrington moved far enough from the table. “What did he say?” Ned asked.

Peter looked toward their unfinished food. “I need to keep to the back for the rest of the tour.”

MJ’s expression hardened. “Why?”

“I’ve been distracting everyone.”

Ned stared at him. “By doing what?”

“Talking to people.”

“People talked to you.”

“I know.”

“He’s blaming you because Stark employees know you?” Ned said, clearly confused. 

Peter’s chest tightened at the anger in Ned’s voice. “Can we not do this here?”

“No. He keeps telling you not to talk, not to answer, not to exist because Flash might feel less important.” Several employees at the nearby tables looked over.

Peter lowered his voice. “Ned.”

MJ touched Ned’s arm before the argument could grow. Her attention remained on Peter. “Do you want to leave?”

“We can’t.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

Peter looked across the cafeteria. The employees around Flash had started returning to their tables now that lunch was ending. Flash sat again, surrounded by classmates who continued asking about the conversations and whether Stark Industries might want to invest in ARES. Mr. Harrington had resumed his place nearby, apparently satisfied that the problem had been handled. Peter wanted to leave. He wanted May, his bedroom, and the sound-dampening system Tony built for him. He wanted to curl beneath the blankets and let the world disappear until he could think without hearing someone else speak through his memories. He also knew that walking away would create another problem. The school would call May. Tony would find out Peter left the Tower during a field trip. Everyone would ask why he could not handle a day that was supposed to be a celebration.

“I’m fine.” He said.

Ned looked toward MJ. “He’s doing the thing.”

“I know.”

Peter started back toward the table. “We have Legal next.”

“That doesn’t make you fine.” MJ said as she followed.

“No, but it means lunch is almost over.”

His burger remained where he left it. The fries had gone cold, and the ice in his drink had melted enough to water down everything beneath it. Peter sat and tried to take one more bite because Ned and MJ were watching. He managed half of it before his throat tightened again.

Ned quietly wrapped the rest of the burger and slipped it into a small paper bag from the counter. “You can eat it later.”

Peter knew he would not, but he nodded. Around them, the cafeteria began returning to its normal rhythm as students threw away trash and gathered near the elevators. Flash stood at the centre of the Midtown group, still answering questions while he adjusted his MVP badge.

Melissa arrived with her tablet and completed another head count. “I hope everyone enjoyed lunch. We’ll be heading downstairs to the Legal Department now. You’ll learn how Stark Industries handles intellectual property, contracts, corporate partnerships, and the legal protections surrounding new technology.”

Flash smiled at the mention of intellectual property. Peter felt the little food he had managed to eat turn heavy inside him. Mr. Harrington directed the students toward the elevators, reminding them to collect their bags and clean the tables. Peter moved to the back with Ned and MJ exactly as he had been instructed. As the doors opened, Flash stepped inside beside Melissa and began asking whether Stark Legal worked with patents filed by outside inventors. Peter followed the class into the elevator and kept his eyes lowered. The grey badge rested against his chest, light enough that he should barely have felt it. By the time the doors closed, it seemed heavier than everything else he carried.

The elevator ride to the Legal Department felt longer than it probably was. Peter stood near the back with Ned and MJ, exactly where Mr. Harrington had told him to remain. The paper bag containing the rest of his burger hung loosely from Ned’s hand, though Peter doubted he would ever eat it. His stomach had stopped being able to tolerate food somewhere between the first employee asking Flash about ARES and Mr. Harrington explaining that Peter’s presence had become a distraction.

At the front of the elevator, Flash was still speaking with Melissa. “Does Stark Legal handle outside patents too?” He asked. “Or only things invented inside the company?”

“It depends on the circumstances.” Melissa answered. “The department manages Stark Industries’ intellectual property, but it also reviews potential acquisitions, licensing agreements, outside partnerships, and investment opportunities involving technology developed elsewhere.”

Flash nodded as though the answer confirmed something he had already expected. “So if someone wanted Stark Industries to invest in a medical device, Legal would be involved.”

“Before any agreement was signed, yes. The department would review ownership, existing patents, development records, regulatory concerns, and any contracts connected to the technology.”

Peter watched the floor numbers change above the doors. Flash had spent the entire week talking about investors and patent filings, but Peter had never heard him ask about how ownership was verified. Maybe Mr. Thompson had already explained it. Maybe the attorneys working for his father had assured him that filing first was all that mattered. Karen’s warning from the rooftop returned to Peter with uncomfortable clarity. 

His father or another party may attempt to claim legal ownership, seek investment, or negotiate commercial agreements.

At the time, Peter had told himself that he had waited too long. Flash had the school behind him, reporters calling him a prodigy, and adults willing to repeat his version because it was easier than asking questions. Peter might have files and laboratory records, but Flash had become the inventor in everyone’s mind. The longer the lie existed, the harder it would be to remove.

The elevator doors opened onto one of the quietest floors in the Tower. There were no active machines, moving prototypes, or glass laboratories filled with engineers testing technology. The Legal Department looked more like a private office building, with dark wood, frosted glass walls, and wide corridors softened by thick carpeting. Employees moved between conference rooms carrying tablets and folders, their voices low enough that Peter would have needed to deliberately focus to understand what they were saying. Digital displays along the walls showed international patent maps, regulatory updates, court schedules, and lists of active filings identified only by project numbers. One screen displayed a world map covered with small points of light representing countries where Stark Industries held registered intellectual property.

Peter had only visited the department a handful of times. Pepper brought him there once to sign updated internship paperwork after Tony changed his access agreement. Another visit happened because Peter accidentally created something during a lab session that Tony insisted needed legal protection before Peter could upload the design to an engineering forum. Peter had signed several forms without reading them carefully enough, which resulted in Pepper making him start over after discovering he believed the section marked inventor assignment meant Stark Industries would own every idea he had for the rest of his life. She had explained the difference patiently. Tony had threatened to make Peter attend weekly legal seminars until he stopped signing documents without understanding them. At the time, Peter had thought they were both overreacting. Now he wished he had paid more attention.

A woman waited outside a large conference room with several members of her staff. She wore a dark suit and had a red executive badge clipped near the lapel. Peter recognized her as Evelyn Mercer, Stark Industries’ General Counsel and Director of Legal Affairs. They had only spoken a few times, but Peter remembered her because she possessed the rare ability to make Tony stop talking with one look. Her attention passed across the students before settling briefly on Peter. There was no obvious greeting or sign of recognition. Her gaze simply paused long enough to take in his grey badge, the exhaustion he could no longer hide, and the way Ned and MJ had positioned themselves close enough to block anyone from reaching him without passing them first. Then she looked toward the rest of the class.

“Welcome to Stark Legal.” Ms. Mercer said once everyone gathered outside the conference room. “This department exists because creating new technology is only the beginning of bringing it into the world. Every invention needs protection, regulation, contracts, and an accurate record of who owns what.” Flash moved closer to the front. Mr. Harrington noticed and made room for him beside Melissa. “We won’t have a hands-on demonstration during this part of the tour.” Ms. Mercer continued. “Legal work tends to be less exciting to watch than flying a rescue drone or managing an emergency power grid, but it is every bit as important. A brilliant invention can disappear very quickly if the person who created it does not understand how to protect it.”

The class followed her into the conference room. A long table occupied the centre, with enough seats for the teachers and most of the students. Additional chairs had been arranged along the walls, and a slim folder marked with the Stark Legal insignia waited at every place. Peter chose a seat near the back beside Ned and MJ. Flash sat closer to the front with Mr. Harrington and the science teachers. His blue guest-laboratory badge remained displayed against his jacket even though there would be no demonstration in this department. Once everyone settled, the main screen activated. A patent document appeared beside a technical drawing of an early Stark power system.

“Most people have heard the word patent.” Ms. Mercer began. “But many do not understand what one actually does. A patent does not prove that an invention works, that it is safe, or that the owner will ever successfully sell it. What it provides is a legal right to prevent others from making, using, or selling a protected invention for a limited period.” She moved to the next image, showing a timeline from an early design sketch to a completed patent application. “The process begins long before the documents reach a patent office. Our attorneys work with engineers to establish when an idea was created, how it developed, who contributed to it, and whether similar technology already exists. We examine notebooks, digital records, file metadata, test results, laboratory logs, emails, messages, and sometimes security footage.”

Peter’s fingers tightened against the folder in front of him. Those were the same records Karen mentioned on the rooftop. Stark Industries had months of footage showing Peter working on ARES. Every version was stored on the servers with creation dates and editing histories. There were test results bearing his name, messages between him and Tony, notes from Dr. Cho, and access records showing Peter carrying the prototypes from one department to another. The proof existed. Peter knew that. He had simply stopped believing it would matter against people who had already decided Flash belonged at the centre of the story.

Ms. Mercer opened the folder in front of her. “The materials at your seats contain a simplified example based on a fictional invention. It outlines how the concept was documented, how additional contributors were identified, and how ownership was established before a patent application was submitted.”

Students began opening the folders. Peter looked down at the example. The fictional invention was a low-cost water-purification sensor. The timeline began with a handwritten concept dated six months before the filing, followed by prototypes, coding changes, testing failures, and later contributions from two additional engineers. The original creator remained listed as the inventor. The other engineers were credited for improvements without being given ownership of the entire concept. One section explained that constructing a component from someone else’s instructions did not automatically make a person an inventor. Another stated that financing, promoting, or publicly presenting the finished product did not create ownership of the underlying idea. MJ stopped on the same page. She looked toward Peter without saying anything. He knew what she was thinking. Flash made the video, Flash presented ARES, Mr. Thompson had money and contacts, none of that made the invention theirs.

“What happens when several people worked on the same project?” A student near the centre asked. “Do they all get listed?”

“It depends on what each person contributed.” Ms. Mercer answered. “Someone is not legally considered an inventor merely because they followed instructions, assembled a component designed by another person, financed the work, promoted the product, or explained it to the public. They generally need to contribute to the conception of at least one part of the invention being claimed.”

Ned shifted beside Peter. Peter kept his attention on the folder. The explanation should have felt like validation. Instead, it reminded him how thoroughly everyone at Midtown had reversed the truth. They treated Peter as the person who assembled Flash’s idea, even though Flash’s contribution was limited to promotion and presentation. Ms. Mercer was moving toward the next section when Flash raised his hand.

She paused. “Yes, Eugene?”

Flash sat straighter. Several students turned toward him, already expecting whatever he asked to relate to ARES. “What happens if someone starts lying and telling people an invention belongs to them?” He asked. Peter felt his stomach drop. Ned turned slowly toward him. Flash continued before Ms. Mercer could answer. “Like if the inventor has proof that it was their design, but someone who helped on the project starts spreading rumors and saying they actually came up with it because they’re jealous of the attention.”

The room became noticeably quieter. Peter stared at the open folder in front of him. Flash had never publicly accused him this directly before. At school, he made jokes about Peter being jealous and told people Peter was trying to steal credit, but always in hallways or small groups where the story could shift depending on who heard it. This was different. He had raised the accusation inside Stark Legal, in front of the entire class, the teachers, and the lawyers responsible for protecting technology worth billions of dollars.

Ms. Mercer’s expression did not change. “There can be several kinds of legal consequences depending on what that person actually does.” She answered. “Merely stating that an invention belongs to them would not automatically result in criminal charges. Ownership disputes often begin as civil matters, where both sides present evidence and a court determines whose claim is supported.” Flash nodded, listening intently. “If the person knowingly creates false records, forges documents, files a fraudulent patent application, steals confidential material, or takes money from investors while misrepresenting ownership, the situation can become much more serious. Potential offenses could include fraud, forgery, theft of intellectual property or trade secrets, filing false statements, and conspiracy if more than one person is involved.”

Several students glanced toward Peter. His pulse began beating harder. Ms. Mercer continued in the same measured tone. “If false ownership claims are made online, through email, or across state lines as part of an attempt to obtain money, federal wire or mail fraud laws might also apply. The exact charges and penalties would depend on the person’s actions, age, intent, the amount of money involved, and the jurisdiction.”

“Could they go to prison?” Flash asked.

“For serious fraud or theft, yes. Some cases result in fines, probation, restitution, or civil damages. More serious cases can result in years of imprisonment. However, evidence matters. No responsible legal team would assume someone committed a crime merely because another person accused them.”

Flash appeared satisfied by the first half of the answer and ignored the qualification at the end. He turned in his chair, his eyes found Peter immediately. “See, Parker?” He said, loud enough that no one in the room could pretend not to hear. “That’s what will happen if you keep trying to claim ARES is your design.”

The silence afterward felt absolute. Peter stopped breathing for a second. He had known Flash was laying the groundwork all week. Every joke about jealousy and every comment about Peter wanting attention was meant to make people distrust him before he ever spoke. Peter understood that in the abstract. Hearing the accusation stated this plainly was different. Flash had taken the legal consequences Ms. Mercer described and aimed them directly at him. He was not only claiming ARES anymore. He was telling everyone Peter could be a criminal if he tried to prove the truth. Peter looked around the room. Shock appeared first. Several students stared at him with wide eyes, clearly unaware the disagreement had become this serious. Others looked between Peter and Flash as though waiting for one of them to laugh and admit it was a joke. Peter did not know what to say. He could tell them Flash was lying. He could explain the anonymous design, the early files, the prototypes, and every night he spent building ARES. He could point out that Ned and MJ knew the truth and that Stark Industries had the records. The words refused to come. Mr. Harrington had spent the morning telling him to remain quiet, keep to the back, and stop distracting everyone from Flash’s day. Any defense Peter offered would become proof that Flash’s accusation was true. The first student to speak was one of Flash’s friends.

“Wait, Parker’s been telling people he invented ARES?”

Flash leaned back in his chair. “He’s been trying to.”

“I haven’t.” Peter said. His voice came out quieter than he intended.

Flash laughed. “You told me in the hallway it was your design.”

“You shoved me into a locker and said it was yours.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

Peter stared at him. Several conversations broke out at once.

“That’s messed up.”

“Peter built it, but Flash came up with the idea.”

“He’s probably mad because Flash got the scholarship.”

“Everyone knows Peter wanted the MVP.”

“He didn’t even do the presentation.”

Ned pushed his chair back hard enough that the legs scraped across the carpet. “Peter designed the whole thing.”

Flash’s friends turned toward him.

“Of course you’d say that.”

“You’re his best friend.”

“You helped him build it.”

Ned’s face flushed with anger. “I helped with some of the coding. Peter did almost everything else.”

“Then why didn’t he say it before Flash won?” The question came from a girl Peter barely spoke to. It did not sound cruel and that made it worse. She looked genuinely confused, as though Peter’s silence was stronger evidence against him than months of work could ever be.

Peter had no answer that would make sense to them. Because Mr. Harrington never asked. Because Flash started claiming it before anyone knew who submitted the proposal. Because every time Peter tried speaking, someone reminded him it was a team effort. Because Peter thought the truth would be obvious to adults who had watched him work. Because he was scared. None of those explanations sounded strong enough now.

“He didn’t say anything because none of you would have believed him.” MJ said.

Flash looked toward her. “You mean because it wasn’t true.”

“I mean because the school decided you were more valuable before anyone bothered checking who submitted the design.”

Mr. Harrington stood. “That is enough.” His voice cut through the room, though several students continued talking beneath it. “Everyone needs to settle down. This is not the appropriate place for accusations or arguments.”

Flash gestured toward Peter. “He’s the one trying to steal my invention.”

“I said that is enough, Eugene.” The correction was firmer than usual, but Mr. Harrington still did not challenge the claim. He did not say Peter had never spread rumors. He did not remind Flash that the original concept was anonymous. He only wanted everyone to stop talking because the argument had become embarrassing in front of Stark Industries.

Ms. Warren rose beside him. “This tour is an educational opportunity. We are guests here, and all of you need to behave appropriately.”

A student near Flash muttered. “Tell Parker that.”

Peter looked down at his hands, they were trembling against the folder. He pressed them flat to the paper, hoping no one would notice. The voices around him continued even after the teachers asked for silence. They became quieter, turning into angry whispers that Peter’s hearing could still separate with painful clarity.

Peter was jealous.

Peter wanted the scholarship.

Peter thought working at Stark made him better than everyone else.

Peter built the prototype and decided that meant he deserved the whole invention.

Flash had done the design, presentation, leadership, and promotion.

Flash worked hard.

Flash had earned the attention.

The story formed around Peter before he could defend himself. Flash no longer needed to prove anything. He had given the class a reason to reinterpret every moment they witnessed. Peter correcting technical information became an attempt to take control. Peter noticing the problem with Atlas became a performance meant to steal attention. Stark employees knowing him became proof that he believed his internship made him more deserving. Even his silence looked guilty.

Ned reached under the table and gripped Peter’s wrist. “Say something.”

Peter swallowed. “What?”

“The truth.”

“They won’t believe me.”

“I do.”

“So do I.” MJ said from his other side.

Peter looked toward the students glaring at him. Two people believed him. Everyone else had spent a week watching Flash become the face of ARES. They had seen him on television, heard him answer questions, and watched their teachers award him the scholarship. Flash had learned the facts well enough to sound convincing. Peter could barely force himself to speak without feeling as though he might break apart. The truth did not look stronger from where he sat. Ms. Mercer remained standing near the front of the room. Peter could not read her expression. It was controlled in the way Pepper’s became during board meetings and Tony’s became when anger moved past shouting into something far more dangerous. She had not interrupted Flash, no one from Stark had. That silence hurt more than the students’ accusations. Ms. Mercer knew the legal records inside the Tower. She could access the development files and security footage. If anyone in the room could state that Peter was not lying, it was her. She said nothing. Peter did not know that Tony’s instructions required her to let Flash continue. He did not know that every accusation, threat, and false statement was being recorded. All Peter saw was another adult who knew enough to protect him choosing not to.

Mr. Dell moved between the rows, asking students to turn back toward the screen. “Come on, everyone. This discussion is over.”

“It isn’t over if Parker keeps lying.” Someone said.

“Enough.”

The room gradually settled, though the anger did not disappear. Students faced forward because the teachers demanded it, not because they had changed their minds. Flash turned around last. He met Peter’s eyes with a satisfied expression that contained no uncertainty. The message was clear, Peter had been warned. If he claimed ARES, Flash would not treat it as a disagreement between classmates. He would call Peter a thief, accuse him of fraud, and use the school’s support to make every attempt at proving the truth look like another crime. Peter understood what Flash had done. He had not asked the question because he needed legal advice. He asked it to establish the story in front of witnesses. If this ever became a public fight, everyone in that room could say Flash had warned them in advance that Peter planned to steal the invention. Peter felt something inside him sink deeper. He had believed the situation could not become worse after the competition, then after the MVP announcement, then after watching Stark employees surround Flash in the cafeteria. He had been wrong every time.

Ms. Mercer waited until the room became quiet before speaking again. “Before we continue, I want to clarify something important.” Several students looked toward her. “Legal consequences are determined by evidence, not by who makes the first accusation or who speaks the loudest. A person claiming ownership of an invention is not automatically guilty of theft merely because someone else disagrees. Every legitimate dispute requires a careful examination of the original concept, development history, digital records, witnesses, and any documents filed by the parties involved.”

Peter looked up. Ms. Mercer’s gaze passed across the students and settled briefly on Flash. “Making a false accusation can also have consequences, particularly if it is done to damage someone’s reputation or discourage them from asserting legitimate rights.”

Flash’s smile weakened slightly. The students around him became quieter. Ms. Mercer did not say he had lied. She did not tell the class Peter designed ARES. She simply returned the legal discussion to facts Flash could not control. Peter wanted that to help it did, a little, but the damage had already been done. The class heard Flash accuse him publicly, and most had chosen a side before Ms. Mercer finished correcting the premise. She returned to the patent presentation and explained how ownership was established through dated records, file metadata, laboratory logs, and documented contributions. Peter tried to follow, but the words moved around him without settling. He heard phrases about provisional applications and prior-art searches. He watched examples change across the screen. None of it seemed as important as the whispers that started whenever Ms. Mercer turned toward the display.

Peter could feel people watching him. Ned kept hold of his wrist beneath the table. MJ had stopped pretending to read the folder. She stared toward Flash with an expression that would have concerned anyone familiar with her. Mr. Harrington looked uncomfortable. Peter saw him glance back several times, as though trying to decide whether he should speak privately with Peter after the tour. Each time their eyes nearly met, Mr. Harrington looked away first. Peter wondered whether he believed Flash. The answer should have been obvious. Mr. Harrington watched Peter build ARES. He saw him bring in every prototype, fix every failure, and write most of the technical material. He knew Peter had completed more work than anyone else on the team. He had still voted for Flash. Knowing Peter worked hard had never been enough to make the adults protect him.

The presentation eventually moved to the dangers of failing to document an invention. Ms. Mercer explained that ideas could become difficult to defend when people relied only on memory or informal promises. Peter thought about the original proposal stored on his laptop. The files still existed, so did the submission record. Flash wanted everyone to believe Peter would create false evidence after the fact, but time stamps could show the design existed before the project began. At least Peter thought they could. The certainty he felt on the rooftop had weakened after a week of hearing everyone accept Flash’s story. Even real evidence could be challenged. Mr. Thompson could hire experts to say dates were altered. The school could insist the class developed the concept together. Flash could say Peter copied his anonymous submission before creating the files. There would always be another explanation for people who wanted Flash to be right.

Ms. Mercer concluded by reminding the students to document their work, read every agreement before signing it, and seek legal advice before discussing valuable inventions publicly.

“Never assume being young makes your ideas less worthy of protection.” She said. “And never allow another person’s confidence, money, or influence to replace evidence.”

The words should have been directed toward Peter. Flash sat straighter as though they were meant for him. Melissa opened the floor for final questions, but the class had become far less enthusiastic about asking them. Two students asked about legal careers. Someone wanted to know how many lawyers worked for Stark Industries. Another asked whether Iron Man had ever been sued. The questions slowly restored a surface-level normality to the room. Beneath it, Peter could feel everything that had changed. He was no longer only the student Flash bullied. He was now the person everyone believed might try to steal ARES.

When the presentation ended, students began closing their folders and standing. The conversations resumed immediately, though most remained quiet enough that the teachers could pretend the argument had passed.

Ned shoved Peter’s folder into his backpack before Peter could leave it behind. “You’re keeping that.”

Peter did not argue. MJ stood and moved into the aisle, deliberately blocking Flash’s path when he approached their side of the room.

Flash stopped several feet away. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Then move.”

MJ held his gaze for another second before stepping aside.

Flash looked toward Peter. “I meant what I said.”

Mr. Harrington appeared before Peter could respond. “Eugene, join the rest of the group.”

“I’m just making sure he understands.”

“He understands. Go.”

Flash walked away, but his expression remained satisfied. Peter watched the class gather near Melissa. Students shifted closer to Flash than they had before the presentation, offering the quiet support of people who believed he had been wronged. Several looked toward Peter and then whispered to one another.

Ned stepped between Peter and the room. “They’re idiots.”

“They saw what they saw.”

“They saw Flash accuse you without proof.”

“They believe him.”

“That doesn’t make it true.”

Peter looked down at his grey badge. “It makes it real enough.”

MJ moved beside him. “This was planned.” Peter glanced toward her. “Not the legal presentation.” She said. “Flash’s question. He wanted everyone to hear him accuse you before you said anything publicly.”

“I know.”

“He’s scared.”

Peter almost laughed. “He doesn’t look scared.”

“He doesn’t have to. People who are confident don’t spend this much time explaining why someone else is lying.”

Peter wished that interpretation felt stronger than the dozens of students who had immediately defended Flash. Melissa called for everyone to gather. Peter followed Ned and MJ toward the doors. Ms. Mercer stood beside the conference table as they passed. Her eyes settled on him again, and for a moment Peter thought she might stop him, she did not. Peter left the Legal Department with the rest of the class. The folder in his backpack explained how evidence could prove ownership, but Flash’s accusation followed him more closely than any legal fact. Before that morning, Peter had believed exposing the truth would make him look jealous. Now Flash had made sure it would make him look dangerous. Peter walked toward the elevators near the back of the group, exactly where Mr. Harrington told him to remain, and listened as students reassured Flash that no one believed Peter could take ARES away from him. The worst part was that Peter was beginning to believe them.