The car radio broadcasted a news report.

"At the time of the fire at Midtown High School, a regional football championship was underway. The cause of the fire has been reported as an accidental electrical circuit malfunction. Witnesses mentioned a short circuit on the stage where the band was playing."

The old Toyota turned a corner, heading toward the church near Midtown High School.

Uncle Ben, who was driving, sighed as he listened to the broadcast.

"What a tragedy. I hope those who died rest in peace."

Peter, sitting in the passenger seat, stared out the window at the passing scenery and shook his head. "This wasn't just some accident, Uncle Ben."

Three days had passed since the tragedy at the football game.

Predictably, the event had become a hot topic in the media, with most outlets describing it as a fire caused by a short circuit.

The radio host continued his report.

"Four fire trucks from Brooklyn were dispatched to Midtown High School, but damaged fire hydrants hindered efforts to control the blaze in time."

"Five bodies have been recovered, including one teacher and four participants in the football game. All four students were members of the 'White Shark' football team, none older than 18."

"Additionally, two firefighters were hospitalized due to smoke inhalation."

Uncle Ben's frown deepened as he listened.

"I made a mistake. I shouldn't have let you go to that game," he said, blaming himself for Peter being there that night.

"I didn't get hurt, so there's no need to blame yourself, Uncle Ben. Besides, some things are just beyond our control," Peter reassured him.

"Yeah, some things we can't control," Uncle Ben agreed, pressing the brake as they reached a red light.

"Life throws both good and bad things our way. When the bad comes, we just have to endure it, especially when there's nothing we can do to change it."

Peter nodded. "But what if we *can* change it?"

"Then we should do everything in our power to make that change," Uncle Ben said, turning to look at Peter. "I believe in you, Peter. When bad things happen, I know you've done everything you can."

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Peter shook his head. "No, I haven't. I've only been careless."

Uncle Ben chuckled as the light turned green and the car moved forward. "You're not a careless person, Peter."

A few minutes later, they arrived at their destination and parked in front of a church.

The fire at Midtown High School's football game had claimed the lives of several students and a teacher. A memorial service was being held at a nearby Christian church.

Teachers, students, parents, and others from the school had gathered, all dressed in black, wearing white flowers on their chests. The atmosphere was heavy with grief and solemnity.

Uncle Ben and Peter, both in black suits and ties, blended into the somber crowd.

Peter hadn't wanted to attend the funeral, but Uncle Ben had insisted, and Peter eventually agreed to accompany him.

"Hey, Peter."

As Peter found a seat, he heard a familiar voice behind him. Turning around, he saw a familiar face.

"Harry Osborn?"

Peter quickly recognized him from his past memories—Harry Osborn, son of Norman Osborn, the Green Goblin, and one of Peter Parker's closest friends.

"I haven't seen you in weeks, Peter. Are we strangers now?" Harry teased, smiling. He was dressed in a sharp black suit and tie.

"Even calling me 'Little Norman' would feel more familiar than that."

Peter remembered and asked, "Weren't you participating in some international event?"

"Yeah, it was a United Nations charity event, something my father signed me up for to boost my credits and network for college. Though honestly, his goal wasn't to get me into a good school—it's all about grooming me for something bigger."

Harry shrugged, his tone casual. "He's always like that. Majestic and full of plans. Meanwhile, I'm the one with no say in any of it."

Realizing the timing wasn't right to talk about his father, Harry quickly changed the subject. "I heard Gwen was hospitalized?"

"Yeah."

"That's awful, and everything that happened at the game..." His face darkened. "I never imagined something like that could happen at our school."

Peter nodded politely, distancing himself from the innocent but detached teenager. He moved to sit down.

Harry didn't seem to notice Peter's attempt at creating space. Instead, he slid into the seat next to him.

"Peter, was it really just a fire? I heard rumors about some kind of spider monster."

A nearby mourner turned to glare at Harry, prompting him to lower his voice.

"You were there that night, Peter. Was the spider monster real?"

Peter ignored the question, staring straight ahead as the priest's prayers echoed through the church. "Maybe you should ask your father," Peter said flatly. "Isn't he the big shot? He probably knows more than you."

"He's not omnipotent, Peter," Harry replied, a little exasperated. "He doesn't know everything."

Seeing Peter had no intention of continuing the conversation, Harry dropped the subject.

The priest at the front of the church began the eulogy.

"We fear death. We reject it. Yet death comes for us all. We are not immortal, but our spirits live on. Don Rhodes, Taylor Brandon, Jim Nantz, Bill Chancellor—our friends—have died young, but they live on in our memories."

"They weren't perfect, but they were close. On the field, they were skilled players, defenders of dignity and courage. The 'Hand of Death' cannot so easily erase them from our hearts."

Peter, sitting in the pews, listened to the priest's words with a blank expression.

The phrase "Hand of Death" struck him—he had been called that by Ms. Weber before. Hearing it again at this funeral was almost too much.

Shaking his head, Peter shut out the rest of the meaningless eulogy.

As he considered stepping outside for some fresh air, his heart suddenly clenched painfully. His pupils dilated, and he gripped the handrail beside him.

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