Osborn Manor.
A black Lincoln sedan slowly drove into this Gothic mansion located at the tip of Long Island.
Unlike Stark's tech-filled Malibu Villa, Osborn Manor was like an oppressive old castle, exuding a cold, hard air of old nobility.
"Don't be nervous, Alice."
Harry sat beside her, rubbing his hands somewhat sheepishly.
"My father is usually a bit serious, but he's in a really good mood today. I haven't seen him smile like this in a long time."
Alice looked out the window at the shrubs trimmed like geometric shapes, her heart completely untroubled.
She certainly wasn't nervous.
Because she knew very well that what awaited her wasn't the loving father Harry spoke of, but a supervillain struggling to suppress the mad persona within him, as well as a capitalist tycoon shrewd to his very bones.
The study door was pushed open.
Norman Osborn sat behind a massive mahogany desk.
He wore a deep green velvet dressing gown. Though his face was still somewhat pale, those terrifying green scales on his neck had receded, leaving only a layer of new pink skin.
"Harry, you go out first." Norman looked up, his sharp eyes bypassing his son to land directly on Alice. "I want to speak with Miss Mason alone."
"Okay, Father." Although Harry was a bit surprised, he obediently withdrew.
The heavy oak door closed behind him with a dull thud, as if sealing off the World of the living.
The lights weren't on in the study; only the flames in the fireplace danced wildly, stretching Norman Osborn's shadow long and distorted across the walls filled with African masks and medieval cold weapons, making it look hideous and terrifying.
Sitting in the high-backed leather chair, Norman Osborn toyed with a small silver bottle in his hand.
He didn't speak, merely staring at Alice standing before the desk with eyes whose pupils were slightly dilated.
That wasn't the gaze one gave a guest; it was more like looking at prey, or an experimental subject.
But beneath that seemingly mad facade, Norman's brain was operating at an almost paranoid high speed.
Too calm.
This wasn't normal.
Norman evaluated coldly in his mind.
Faced with this apex predator pressure he was deliberately releasing, even the CEO of a rival company would subconsciously adjust their posture or have shifting eyes.
But this girl—her heartbeat was steady, her breathing long, and with her hands in her pockets, she was far too relaxed.
This simply wasn't the aura an orphan from a bankrupt family should have.
The investigation report submitted by the private investigator yesterday surfaced in Norman's mind.
Alice Mason, 15 years old, a sophomore at Midtown High School.
Her parents died three months ago after going bankrupt. Previously, she had excellent grades but was introverted, even somewhat autistic.
No record of contact with top biological laboratories, no background of guidance from famous masters.
But suddenly, just two months ago, she returned from a shipwreck like a different person.
Not only did her personality change drastically, but she also suddenly produced a biological enzyme technology that even the top laboratories of the Osborn Group couldn't analyze.
A genuine awakening of a genius?
No, impossible.
I've seen plenty of geniuses—Peter Parker is a genius too, but he's still a timid child.
But this person before me... there's a kind of indifference and composure in her eyes that comes from having seen it all.
That's a gaze only someone who has held a high position for a long time or has experienced a sea of corpses and blood would have.
My investigation team is full of useless trash.
They must have missed some key piece of information.
Who is behind her?
Umbrella... the name sounds like a code name for some massive organization.
Is she a front for S.H.I.E.L.D.?
Or perhaps some ancient, secret cult I don't know about?
Right, why isn't she speaking? Is she evaluating my value, waiting for me to speak first?
"I saw some things under the microscope."
After long consideration, Norman finally took the initiative to speak.
"An extremely aggressive biological enzyme, fused with some unknown animal gene. It's devouring the necrotic cells in my body at a speed that doesn't seem like a product of Earth."
Crack.
Norman's fingers suddenly tightened, and that hard little silver bottle was actually crushed flat by him.
"Tell me, little girl."
Norman leaned forward, what little remained of his entrepreneurial elegance vanishing completely as a tide of violent aura belonging to a supervillain surged forth.
"Who sent you? S.H.I.E.L.D., or that arrogant Stark? Did you approach Harry to monitor me, or to steal my human enhancement technology?"
Simultaneously, the Green Goblin persona roared in Norman's mind: Kill her, tear her apart, dig out her brain and see what secrets are hidden inside!
Facing this head-on killing intent, Alice suddenly smiled with the pity of a Doctor looking at a terminally ill patient.
"Mr. Osborn, is your persecutory delusion one of the complications of injecting the Prometheus Serum?"
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