When Loren heard the name Kurt Connors, he was startled—the image of the Lizard instantly flashed in his mind.
In most of Marvel's parallel universes, Kurt Connors is the Lizard: one of Spider-Man's classic foes.
Peter Parker and Kurt Connors are usually colleagues—both scientists, both teachers, and often friends.
But in many of those same universes, Peter becomes Spider-Man, while Connors transforms into the Lizard.
As a result, their paths diverge completely, and they eventually become bitter rivals.
Yet the Marvel universe Loren now finds himself in is unlike any he's ever known.
Even as a time traveler, he can't predict how this timeline will unfold.
"Peter, you've only just graduated from high school—and you're already working with genetics?"
Loren studied Peter with a hint of doubt, still unsettled by how different this version of him seemed.
Peter pushed his glasses up and replied calmly, "Well, I've been interested in biology since I was a kid, so I picked up a bit of background knowledge. I never expected Professor Connors to take an interest in me. It's an honor to be his assistant."
"Peter, you're so modest," Loren said with a smile. "If a professor like Connors recognizes your talent, then your knowledge is clearly more than just 'a bit.' You're the top student in our class—I'm genuinely happy for you. Come on, let's toast to your bright future!"
Peter was genuinely happy about his current achievements.
As a time traveler, he knew that in some parallel universes, Peter Parker never became Spider-Man—and his life turned out bleak, even tragic.
In those timelines, Peter eventually spiraled down a dark, twisted path.
That was exactly why Loren had been worried: what if this Peter followed the same fate?
As his classmate, Loren didn't want to see him fall into despair—or worse, become an enemy.
He had no desire to fight someone he once called a friend.
Hearing Loren's kind words, a rare smile finally appeared on Peter's earnest face—perhaps the first since they'd met.
"Thank you, Loren. You're so kind!" Peter said warmly.
"But honestly… no matter how hard I try, I'll never measure up to you. I'm just scraping by. I don't really have much of a future."
His smile faded as quickly as it came. His voice grew quiet, his expression dim—dejected, almost hopeless.
It was a stark contrast to the confident, heroic Peter Parker Loren remembered.
Is this guy really Spider-Man? Loren wondered.
If the Peter sitting in front of him wasn't the Spider-Man who'd been trending in the news lately…
…then who was?
The thought struck him like lightning. His eyes darted across the table—to Gwen Stacy.
Oh my god… no way.
Spider-Man?
If that's true… this is going to get interesting.
Gwen and the others had no idea what was racing through Loren's mind.
Noticing Peter's sudden gloom, Gwen reached over and patted his shoulder reassuringly.
"Peter, don't be so down on yourself! You can't compare yourself to them—they're both trust-fund kids with endless resources. Compare yourself to me. Next to me, you're absolutely amazing. You're basically my idol!"
"Really?" Peter's eyes lit up. He looked at Gwen with unmistakable warmth and admiration.
"Of course!" Gwen grinned. "You're the ultimate brainiac in my book."
"Thank you, Gwen," Peter said softly. "You mean the world to me too…"
BOOM!!
Before Peter could finish his sentence, a loud burst of music suddenly rang out, drowning out his voice.
No one heard what he said next.
At that moment, the skylight of the banquet hall slowly opened—and then a golden-red figure plummeted from the sky, landing with dramatic flair. It was Tony Stark in his Iron Man armor.
"Wow, that's so cool!"
"Iron Man! Iron Man! I love you!"
"Wa—"
With Iron Man's arrival, everyone in the hall—except Loren and Tifa—gaped in stunned amazement.
The socialites who mingled among business elites shrieked in excitement, their voices dripping with exaggerated charm, as if trying to lure the armored hero's attention.
Gwen and Tifa exchanged glances, frowned in unison, and spat out together: "Bitch!"
They hadn't expected the other to share their exact sentiment—but the instant they realized it, they broke into matching smiles. Their mutual favorability spiked on the spot.
"Boss," Tifa asked, watching Iron Man strike a pose on stage, "has this guy always been this pretentious?"
"Yep," Loren replied. "Otherwise, why do they call him the Iron King?"
"Force Wang Xia?" Tifa deadpanned.
"Hahaha!" Loren laughed. "Tifa, are you trying to kill me with laughter? If Mr. Stark heard that, he'd probably strangle you himself!"
"I know," Tifa grinned, completely unfazed. "But he wouldn't dare."
Just then, Gwen suddenly grabbed Tifa's hand and said sweetly, like a devoted younger sister: "Sister Tifa, I need to use the restroom. Will you come with me?"
Tifa hesitated, glancing at Loren. As an android, she didn't need to pee—but she couldn't very well say that out loud.
"Go ahead," Loren said smoothly. "Just wait for her outside the door."
"Understood, boss," Tifa replied, and walked off hand-in-hand with Gwen.
Moments later, Peter shot to his feet. "I really need to pee too!" he announced, hurrying toward the restroom.
"..."
With the three of them gone, only Loren and Harry remained.
Harry suddenly leaned closer, a sly smile curling his lips. "Now that they're away," he whispered, "tell me—why did you suddenly buy up so many military factories? Is another war about to break out? Where's it going to happen?"
He lowered his voice further. "If there really is a war coming, give me a heads-up. I'll buy stocks in advance and make a killing."
Loren simply smiled, saying nothing—his expression clearly implying: Some things are better left unknown.
Harry caught the hint and immediately backed off, tactfully dropping the subject.
The truth was, Loren had acquired those military factories for two reasons.
The first was straightforward: profit.
Tony Stark had shut down Stark Industries' weapons division, haunted by guilt over his past. That left a massive void in the global arms market—and Loren was perfectly positioned to fill it, expand it, and dominate it.
Besides, he had no moral qualms about it. If he didn't seize the opportunity to make money, he'd be a fool.
Blaming war on weapons manufacturers was as absurd as blaming a murder on the kitchen knife that did the stabbing.
The second reason was more strategic: he needed to mass-produce general-purpose combat robots and anti-gravity drone squadrons. With rising global instability, building a rapid-response mechanized force was essential.
But his small lab couldn't handle large-scale manufacturing. To produce at the scale he needed, he required full industrial infrastructure—which meant acquiring military factories wasn't just smart… it was necessary.
Of course, none of this could be shared with Harry.
"Hey, Master Loren! I'm here!"
A sultry voice cut through the air. A striking reporter with emerald-green hair and a daring low-cut gown sashayed toward him, hips swaying with every step.
"Master Loren," she purred, "do you have a moment? I'm dying to discuss photography techniques with you."
"Haha, of course!" Loren flashed a playful grin at the green-haired beauty.
He turned to Harry with a wink. "I'm going to splash some water on my face too!"
Without waiting for a response, he took the reporter's hand and strolled toward the VIP lounge on the second floor—leaving a dumbfounded Harry behind.