The Osborne Industrial Carnival was a vibrant scene, with colorful flags fluttering and a bustling crowd.
The main venue was decorated with a futuristic technology theme. Above the crowd, a holographic blue whale glided serenely through the air, occasionally drawing gasps of delight from children.
A 20-meter-tall inflatable Osborne sign swayed gently in the breeze, casting dappled shadows over the grounds.
Aromas from the food stalls mingled with electronic sound effects from the tech exhibition, creating a uniquely festive atmosphere.
In the VIP stands, Peter Parker arrived arm in arm with Gwen Stacy.
She was radiant—elegant and poised—and he, too, was dressed formally for the occasion.
"Peter! Gwen!"
At the sight of them, Harry Osborn strode over from beside the champagne tower. His silver-gray suit, impeccably tailored, lent him an air of maturity beyond his usual demeanor.
"You've finally arrived!"
The three exchanged warm embraces. Harry plucked a glass of juice from a passing waiter and handed it to Gwen with a smile.
"I thought you'd be here ages ago. Where's Z? I haven't seen him—didn't he come with you?"
Peter pursed his lips and groaned.
"Don't even get me started. Ever since I took that leave, he's ghosted me completely—except for one unhinged phone call at three in the morning."
Gwen's eyes narrowed instantly, her expression sharpening as a phrase flashed through her mind:
"Every boy, before meeting the boy he likes, thinks he likes a girl."
She'd once reassured herself that Peter—still so new to human social nuances—wouldn't be easily swayed by some opportunistic flirt.
Now… maybe she'd let her guard down too soon.
Harry blinked, then tilted his head. "Huh. He's vanished? Why not ask the mysterious Diluc?"
Peter shrugged. "We did. Boss Diluc said he didn't know—but also not to worry. In fact…" He cleared his throat, then lowered his voice into a chilling imitation:
"Him? He's like mold in a cheap wine barrel. Leave him in the sun for three days, and he'll still crawl back to life. Just ignore him."
"…You really do have a gift for describing people," Gwen muttered.
"Yeah," Harry added dryly. "That was… oddly poetic."
Just then, a uniformed waiter threaded through the crowd and approached them, holding a package about the size of a shoebox. The wrapping paper bore a starry-sky pattern, and a small sticky note was affixed to the top.
"Young Master Harry," the waiter said respectfully. "This was sent by a gentleman named 'Z.' Security has already X-rayed it—no dangerous items detected."
"Z sent it?" Harry nearly snatched the package from the waiter's hands. Peter and Gwen crowded around, eyes curious.
The box was heavier than it looked and gave a faint rattle when tilted.
As Harry reached for the tape, Gwen pointed quickly. "Wait—there's a note!"
They all leaned in to read:
To my son Harry:
I heard Osborne Industries was throwing a carnival, and I was hoping to swing by for some free food and drinks. But—as you know—I've always been humble, reserved, timid, and introverted.
Unfortunately, my crippling shyness got the better of me. I couldn't bring myself to pay the bill, so the unreasonable restaurant owner made me wash dishes instead. Hence, I won't be attending in person.
As a token of my apology, please accept this small gift.
—Your most handsome father, Damian
The three stood in stunned silence.
Absurd? Absolutely.
But knowing Damian's… unconventional nature, it wasn't entirely implausible.
Harry set the note aside and began unwrapping the package. The packaging was haphazard—more like something tossed together in five seconds than a gift meant for a corporate gala. Against the opulence of the event, it looked almost comically out of place.
Still, they leaned in with eager curiosity.
Inside, two glowing fruits rested at the bottom of the box. One was a crystal-clear bubble orange, liquid shimmering beneath its translucent peel. The other—a sunset fruit—looked like captured twilight, radiating a warm, sweet fragrance.
"Wow—sunset fruit! And bubble oranges too!" Gwen breathed, reaching out to gently brush her fingers over the orange's surface. "If it's paired with a sunset fruit… does it have some special effect?"
Peter shrugged. "Knowing him? Probably. But he'd never tell us straight out."
…
They lingered in their corner of the banquet hall long after their champagne had gone flat.
Peter noticed Harry checking his watch for the third time, his eyes darting across the crowd with growing unease.
"Harry, are you okay?" Gwen asked, resting a hand lightly on his arm. "You've been distracted ever since we got here. What's wrong?"
Harry blinked, snapping back to the present. "Sorry—yeah, I'm fine. I was just… looking for my father. His opening remarks were scheduled an hour ago."
Peter glanced toward the main stage. It stood empty, save for the pulsing Osborne Industries logo under the spotlights.
"Maybe the board called an emergency meeting?" he offered. "You know how these big companies are—always last-minute fires to put out."
Harry shook his head, fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass. "No. My father is never late—not for something like this."
He set his glass down abruptly on a passing tray. "Excuse me. I need to find him."
With that, he tucked the package under his arm and hurried off.
Peter watched him go, brow furrowed.
Across the hall, Harry spotted Director Fargas seated in a wheelchair, surrounded by a small cluster of Stark Industries guests. The former Osborne executive wore his usual practiced smile.
Harry approached, interrupting politely. He gave a brief bow. "Mr. Fargas—sorry to disturb you. Have you seen my father?"
Fargas turned his chair slowly to face Harry. After a pause, he said gently, "Ah, Harry. You mean Norman? I'm afraid… he probably won't be attending the carnival this year."
"What?" Harry's voice spiked with disbelief. "But this is Osborne's biggest event! He's never missed it!"
Fargas removed his glasses and began polishing them with deliberate calm. "Perhaps," he said, e
yes glinting behind the lenses, "your father is still… adjusting to certain recent changes within the company."
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