"All right then," Clark said, tilting his head toward Gwen, who had only just returned from whatever mental vacation she had taken. "Why don't we have Miss Gwen repeat what I just said?"
Gwen inhaled sharply.
Then the emergency brainstorming began.
Peter was the first to answer for himself. "Uh... Clark said I need to upgrade the web-shooters, and that mask was unbelievably stupid, so it has to go. And I need to make a real suit."
Clark nodded. Clearly Peter had not been daydreaming. He had actually been listening.
Cindy gave her own answer next. "Clark said I need to keep developing my powers, and also make web-shooters too, so I can hide what I can already do naturally and create an information gap against enemies later. And, obviously, a suit too."
Listening to both of them, Gwen had already worked out what she assumed Clark had been about to say to her.
So she answered with complete confidence.
"Of course I know. I also need web-shooters and a suit, right?"
Clark looked at Gwen in surprise, then raised both arms in an exaggerated X and shook his head.
"Nope. Wrong." He smiled innocently. "What I actually said was that you should let me copy your homework later. I hadn't even gotten to your part yet."
"What?!" Gwen stared at him in disbelief. She immediately looked to the other two for support, hoping they would back her up.
Unfortunately, they could not.
Because that really was the truth.
Clark had decided homework was pointless busywork and had simply chosen to copy Gwen's.
"But," Clark added, "you weren't far off. One more thing, Gwen: you're the most agile out of the group, but compared to the others, your durability is too low. Remember that."
Then he held out a hand.
"And yeah, let me copy the homework."
Gwen dug out the assignment and handed it over.
But then Peter asked the question everyone had been thinking.
"Clark, none of us actually have the materials to make suits. And our allowance definitely isn't enough to buy high-end equipment."
It was a very real problem.
And one that absolutely had to be solved.
The corner of Clark's mouth lifted. He had already thought of a solution. He even gave them a grin that looked just a little suspicious, complete with a raised brow.
"As far as materials go, we happen to be good friends with the Osborn heir." His smile deepened. "And let's be honest, after what happened, you think Oscorp had nothing to do with last night's attack? Norman Osborn can afford to donate just a tiny bit of funding to make up for what his lab caused."
"You could call it a contribution to your heroic careers."
"Or a guilt payment."
While Clark copied Gwen's homework and mentally planned how best to start quietly fleecing Oscorp for supplies...
In Manhattan, inside Oscorp Tower.
Norman stood in front of a projection screen, staring at the nonstop news coverage of the Daily Bugle attack, along with live reporting from the station itself. His expression had turned icy.
There were too many leads in all of this.
Too many paths that could lead back to Oscorp.
"Kingpin, that idiot sack of muscle, does he have muscle where his brain should be too?" Norman slammed a fist onto the desk and sent a file skidding to the floor. "He thinks blowing something up in the middle of Manhattan solves this? All he's done is drag S.H.I.E.L.D. and the police straight into our orbit!"
His personal assistant was terrified. He hurried over, trembling, picked up the file, and spoke in a near whisper.
"Mr. Osborn, the police task force has already identified our shell companies. If we don't cut ties immediately, Commissioner George Stacy will have search warrants for our offices and warehouses within three days. At most."
"He can try." Norman's voice stayed sharp and cold, even though he knew perfectly well that if he actually let the company get shut down, the old men on the board would probably have him killed. And that was not an exaggeration.
"Immediately compile all records for the security supervisors and outsourced managers who handled funds tied to Hell's Kitchen, package everything, and send it anonymously to the police."
Norman sounded fearless.
But inside, the calculation was simple.
If he went down, he would drag someone else under first.
"As for the people we're sacrificing," Norman continued, "leave them money for their families. And tell them this: if anyone says too much in police custody, their loved ones will end up like the Daily Bugle building."
Norman was ruthless.
If someone threatened his position or his profits, he would never hesitate.
The assistant still looked uneasy. "But... they're key people in the company..."
"Oscorp cannot be stained," Norman said flatly. "Not now. Not when the military's super-soldier alternative program is entering a critical stage."
His mind was made up.
"Do it now. And transfer authority over the surplus materials warehouses to Harry. Let him manage the scrap. It'll be good practice for him."
What Norman did not realize was that this decision played perfectly into Clark's hands.
The next day at lunch, everyone was sitting together.
Harry sat there stabbing pieces of broccoli with his fork over and over while complaining to the group about Norman's latest decision.
"Can you believe this? He put me in charge of three surplus storage warehouses. They're full of failed R&D junk, high-performance polymers, flame-resistant insulating fabric, deep-sea pressure micro-canisters, all kinds of trash. This is basically making me the world's fanciest scrap manager." Harry let out a sigh. He wanted his father's approval, but not like this.
At that moment, Peter and Cindy, who had been eating quietly, exchanged a look.
This was fantastic news.
"Harry," Peter said, trying very hard to sound casual, "those materials you mentioned... would any of them be resistant to punctures?"
"Of course," Harry said. "A lot of that stuff was originally designed as close-contact tactical material for special forces. But the breathability was mediocre, so the military rejected it and went elsewhere. Why? You want some to make clothes or something?"
Clark slipped smoothly out from between the two girls at the table and sat down next to Harry as if this had always been his seat.
"Actually, Peter does want to make some better clothes," Clark said, very naturally placing all the blame on Peter. "He's been talking about working out lately, so maybe we could use it for some kind of sweat suit or training gear. You know how useless the sewing club at school is. They've got absolutely nothing, and half their budget comes out of their own pockets. So I figured I'd try making something for him. If you could spare us a little material, that'd be amazing."
Clark said it so smoothly it sounded like Harry was practically offering them his own property.
At the nearby table, Felicia also happened to catch what Clark was saying and quietly filed the information away.
Harry did not even think twice. He waved it off immediately.
"What's the big deal? In a few years it'll all just be sitting there collecting dust anyway. After school, I'll give you the keys. Go pick whatever you want."
"Harry! You are a truly good person!" Peter was ecstatic. He had genuinely found a real friend.
This school thing had absolutely been worth it.
Over the next few days, Peter and the others collected the materials and brought them back to the factory, where they began working on proper hero suits for themselves.
Naturally, the first step was coming up with the perfect design.
Only after that came the cutting and assembly.
And of course, Clark had his own selfish reasons too.
He set aside quite a bit of fabric for himself.
Because deep down, he also wanted to make something.
A suit that could truly belong to Superman.
Because buried in his heart, there was still a part of him that wanted to become the real thing.