The explosive success of Spider-Man didn't just ignite the North American box office—it sent shockwaves through the entire global entertainment industry. What initially appeared to be a massive victory for Columbia Pictures and Sony quickly evolved into something far more complicated, far more unsettling for those sitting at the top of the traditional power structure.
Because beneath the dazzling numbers and celebratory headlines, a subtle but undeniable truth began to surface.
Marvel had returned.
And not quietly.
In this world, unlike what most casual observers believed, Marvel still retained a 5% share of Spider-Man's box office revenue. On paper, that percentage looked insignificant—almost negligible compared to the overwhelming investment poured in by Sony. But in reality, it changed everything.
That 5% wasn't just money.
It was leverage.
It was influence.
It was a declaration to the industry that Sony did not fully control Spider-Man.
And that realization sparked something far bigger—the faint but unmistakable beginning of the superhero era.
While the general public marveled at Spider-Man swinging across skyscrapers and shattering records, industry insiders weren't looking at Sony at all. Their attention had already shifted elsewhere.
To Marvel.
To the company that had nearly collapsed not long ago.
To the mysterious young man standing behind it.
Within days, major publications began publishing increasingly bold headlines.
The Hollywood Reporter wrote:
"Who exactly did the superhero save? The hundred-million-dollar Spider-Man may be Marvel's lifeline, with its mysterious Chinese chairman emerging as the biggest winner."
Variety followed closely:
"Spider-Man breaks records with a $114 million opening; Marvel enters profit mode through strategic revenue sharing."
Vanity Fair went even further:
"A fortune created overnight—every ticket sold celebrates the rebirth of Marvel's cinematic future."
Some of these articles were fueled by Marvel's own strategic public relations efforts. But most weren't. Most were simply the media reacting to what they could clearly see.
Marvel wasn't just surviving anymore.
It was rising.
And rising fast.
The result?
Marvel's stock price surged dramatically, climbing with a momentum that caught even seasoned investors off guard.
—
Meanwhile, at Sony headquarters, the atmosphere was the exact opposite.
Inside a large, high-level meeting room, tension hung heavy in the air.
"What kind of nonsense is this report?!" shouted Burns, slamming his hand against the table. "We invested everything into Spider-Man, and now the spotlight is on Marvel?!"
His anger wasn't subtle.
It wasn't controlled.
It was raw.
"We need a press conference immediately!" he continued. "Redirect the narrative. Make it clear who's responsible for this success!"
Before anyone could respond, a man seated further down the table slowly raised his hand.
It was Sidney.
Burns frowned. "What is it?"
Sidney hesitated.
For a brief moment, it looked like he might stay silent.
But he couldn't.
"Mr. Burns," he said carefully, standing up, "we have a bigger problem."
The room fell silent.
Burns narrowed his eyes. "Bigger than this?"
Sidney took a breath.
"Marvel has initiated legal proceedings to buy back the Spider-Man rights."
The words landed like a bomb.
For a second, no one reacted.
Then—
"What did you just say?!" Burns roared.
"Marvel has filed the request with the federal court," Sidney repeated, his voice steady but strained. "And… they've already proven they have 500 million dollars in assets."
That was the moment everything shifted.
Burns laughed.
But there was no humor in it.
"Five hundred million?" he said sharply. "Where would a company like Marvel get that kind of money?"
No one answered.
Because they all knew the answer.
Sidney said it anyway.
"Roy Disney."
The room froze.
"He publicly stated he's willing to fund Marvel's buyback," Sidney added quietly.
Burns' expression twisted instantly.
"Funding?" he snapped. "That's not funding—that's collusion!"
His anger boiled over completely now.
"They're trying to take everything we built!"
But this time, someone else intervened.
A senior director slammed his hand on the table.
"Enough."
The room fell silent again.
"What we need," the director said calmly, "is not anger. It's strategy."
He looked directly at Burns.
"If we want to keep Spider-Man, we need to repair our relationship with Marvel. Immediately."
This time, no one argued.
Because everyone understood.
The situation had changed.
Sony wasn't negotiating from a position of absolute power anymore.
Burns took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.
Then he turned toward Sidney.
"You've met Marvel's chairman before," he said. "You'll handle this."
Sidney nodded.
But inside, he felt nothing but bitterness.
Because he understood something very clearly.
Luo Zheng wasn't someone who could be persuaded easily.
Everything had a price.
And this time—
The price would be enormous.
—
Back in China, the storm finally arrived.
When the news of Spider-Man's record-breaking success reached domestic media, the reaction was explosive.
Editorial offices lit up overnight.
Journalists were called back.
Printing presses ran late into the night.
China Film News reported:
"Spider-Man breaks opening weekend records; Marvel gains unexpected profits through revenue sharing."
Southern City Daily wrote:
"$114 million in three days—Marvel profits massively from derivatives and shared rights."
In Hong Kong, Apple Daily and others pushed even more dramatic headlines.
The entertainment industry was in chaos.
Everyone wanted answers.
Everyone wanted confirmation.
Everyone wanted Luo Zheng.
But Luo Zheng?
He had already disappeared.
The moment the news broke, he turned off his phone and quietly retreated into the safety of China Film Group's building.
Outside, reporters had completely surrounded his company.
Front gate.
Back entrance.
Even nearby streets.
There was no escape.
Inside a quiet office, Han Sanping looked at him with wide eyes.
"Did it really make that much?" he asked.
Luo Zheng nodded calmly.
"Only more."
Han Sanping let out a long breath.
"It's a pity Marvel only gets five percent…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
But Luo Zheng understood.
Forty million dollars or more.
For the old Marvel, that would have been unimaginable.
But for the current Marvel?
It wasn't enough.
Not even close.
Luo Zheng stood by the window, watching the distant skyline.
His expression was calm.
But his thoughts were anything but.
Because in his mind, one idea had already taken root.
Five percent wasn't the goal.
It was just the beginning.
If Spider-Man could create this kind of impact—
Then why not take everything?
The box office.
The rights.
The future.
This wasn't greed.
This was inevitability.
And somewhere across the ocean, Sony had already realized it.
The battle had begun.
And this time—
There would be no easy resolution.