Norman Osborn tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and downed the potion in one gulp. Then, with a sharp flick of his wrist, he smashed the exquisite glass bottle against the floor—shards scattering like fallen stars.
"Get out…"
His fingernails dug deep into his palms. Eyes still clenched shut, he muttered under his breath:
"Never come back—!!"
But after a long moment… nothing happened. His body remained unchanged. The Green Goblin's manic cackling still echoed in his skull, and the family tree—somehow—was still only halfway transcribed.
Slowly, Norman opened his eyes—and found Xingqiu standing there, blue hair tousled, gaze guiltily averted, stammering:
"Well… how should I put this? What you just drank was mint water with a bit of edible blue coloring…"
He offered a sheepish smile. "Refreshing, wasn't it?"
"You're kidding me!?"
Norman's face darkened. He took a threatening step forward—only to freeze at the sight of the Green Goblin's hang glider jammed halfway into the lab wall, glass tubes shattered, equipment sparking.
He paused. Xingqiu's just a kid, he reminded himself. A teenager. Impulsive, playful… hardly the first person to prank a supervillain mid-breakdown.
And here he was, losing his temper over flavored water. For a man who prided himself on composure—the calm, calculating face of Osborn Industries—that was… unbecoming.
Across the room, Xingqiu, still unrepentant, folded his arms and declared, chin lifted:
"Hah! One should always be wary of others. If you'd truly chosen to side with the Green Goblin, wouldn't that have wasted a precious potion?"
He added, with a self-satisfied nod: "But you didn't. And that puts my mind at ease."
Norman's lips twitched. He wanted to rage—but couldn't deny it: in Xingqiu's place, he might've done the same.
After a long, defeated sigh, he muttered, "Fine. The real potion… hand it over."
Xingqiu smiled faintly—then, with a graceful flourish, plucked a bottle from thin air. It materialized in his slender palm as if conjured by poetry itself.
Inside was a translucent blue liquid, faint specks of starlight swirling within. But unlike the previous ornate vial, this one was… unimpressive. A plain plastic bottle, the kind you'd find in a convenience store.
Norman stared at it, skepticism written across his face.
"This time…" he began, voice low, "it's not just peppermint water, is it?"
Xingqiu placed his hands behind his back, robes fluttering as though stirred by an unseen breeze, and laughed lightly.
"Don't worry! I promise—it's the real thing."
Norman took a deep breath, unscrewed the cap, and drank.
The liquid was cool at first—then surged into a warm, golden current that flooded his veins. Memories surfaced: the board's betrayal, Harry's illness, the screams from the lab… all the guilt, rage, and despair he'd buried for years—dissolved like mist beneath morning sun.
He exhaled. For the first time in decades… he felt clear. Light. Free.
"How are you feeling?" Xingqiu asked, watching him with cautious curiosity.
Norman opened his eyes—wide, bright, almost feverish with revelation.
"I see it now!" he cried. "The Great Leader was right! Capitalists are the exploiting class—profiting off the surplus labor of the working masses, deepening inequality through private ownership of the means of production!"
He slammed a fist on the workbench. "I used to think the Green Goblin was my darkest self. But I was wrong! I am the true villain—Norman Osborn, reactionary capitalist, oppressor in a tailored suit!"
"…Ah?!!"
Xingqiu stumbled back, eyes wide. "Wait—wait! Hold on! Is the potion even working yet!?"
But Norman was already pacing, energized.
"I must reform Osborn Industries!" he proclaimed. "Even in the heart of American capitalism, we can build a red enterprise! One that champions public welfare, charity, poverty alleviation, disaster relief, environmental protection—prioritizing social benefit alongside profit!"
He scribbled furiously on a scrap of paper:
"Some Preliminary Thoughts on Transforming Osborn Industries into a Model of Common Prosperity."
"Employee stock ownership! Thirty percent of profits to a global equity fund! Open-sourcing all patents to the Global South—"
"Etcetera!" Xingqiu yelped, lunging to grab Norman's arm. "My potion was only supposed to purify evil spirits, not—"
But Norman seized his hands instead, eyes brimming with tears.
"Thank you, Comrade Xingqiu! You've awakened me to the Great Leader's wisdom! In this belly of imperialism, I've finally glimpsed true justice!"
Moonlight poured through the broken window, illuminating Xingqiu's utterly bewildered face.
Norman, meanwhile, was already outlining his next project:
"Now, about the Green Goblin…"
"Rest assured, Comrade Xingqiu!" Norman said earnestly. "We misunderstood him. He wasn't evil—just alienated! A victim of capitalist decadence and imperialist ideology!"
Xingqiu's brain short-circuited. "…What?"
"To make amends," Norman declared, pulling out a fresh sheet, "I'll design a full ideological re-education program!"
He wrote boldly at the top:
"The Implementation Plan for the Ideological Transformation of Comrade Green Goblin."
"Start with Capital, then dialectical materialism, followed by weekly study reflections—three per week! Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays reserved for mutual criticism and self-criticism sessions…"
Xingqiu opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"Aba… aba… aba…"
Norman, oblivious, pointed excitedly at Section 3. "Comrade Xingqiu, look—this part integrates Maoist mass-line theory with corporate ESG metrics…"
Xingqiu exhaled slowly, shoulders slumping.
Somewhere in the wreckage of the lab, a single shard of glass glinted und
er the moon—silent witness to the birth of the world's first Marxist supervillain rehabilitation program.
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