The talkative raven in the world of American comics

Chapter 48: Norman: You know what I'm going to say

A luxury estate located outside New York City.

A black, extended Lincoln limousine slowly drove across the road, then stopped in front of an iron gate. After a moment, the gate opened, and the luxury car drove inside.

inside the car.

The man in the suit sitting in the passenger seat turned around and glanced at the boy in the back seat.

"Welcome home, Harry."

Harry didn't reply to the man; he just looked out the window at everything that was both familiar and strange.

When he was eleven years old, he left this place, left this so-called home, and went to live alone at a boarding school in another city.

Now, five or six years later, when I come back, I find that the surrounding environment seems to have remained unchanged, just as I remember.

But the more he remembered it, the more unfamiliar it felt to him.

He knew it was strange, but it was true.

What happened next was exactly as Harry had expected. He got out of the car, was welcomed by the butler and servants, and they said some polite things, such as "Welcome home, young master."

Harry remained silent and did not respond.

Until his father's assistant led him to a door.

The doorway of a room where you could smell the medicine even through the door.

"It's a bit dark inside, and you might feel uncomfortable at first, but for your father's sake, I suggest you don't turn on the lights. He's lying in bed," the assistant said.

Harry nodded, pushed open the door, and went inside alone.

black.

It was pitch black, so dark you couldn't see your hand in front of your face.

This was Harry's first impression of the room, just as his father's assistant had described it.

He could only locate the hospital bed by the faint light emitted from the medical equipment and the barely audible breathing sounds that required holding his breath to hear.

"Father."

Harry walked over carefully and sat down on the chair next to the hospital bed.

Norman appeared to be turned to the side, making it difficult to discern his exact features.

"Look who's back."

The moment his father turned around, Harry stood up abruptly, instinctively taking two steps back, his face filled with terror.

"Dad, your face!?"

Norman's face was now contorted with grotesque features, and he was wearing a transparent breathing mask.

He looked like a wild beast, a beast with the appearance of a horror movie enthusiast, ferocious and terrifying.

"..."

Norman wanted to yell at his son for being a good-for-nothing, but he gave up the idea because of his health.

Then he remembered a certain boy.

There is no harm without comparison.

Norman sighed, "I never imagined I would die like this."

He turned his head and looked at Harry, "looking at my son like he was a stranger."

Harry frowned, sat back down in front of Norman, and said, "Dad, why is your face like that?"

Norman, however, did not reply, but said to himself, "You have great potential, Harry."

"Exceptionally intelligent, yet failing to appreciate what they have..."

Harry was annoyed by his father's supposed praise, unable to tell whether it was genuine praise or sarcasm.

For so many years, my father has always spoken in this tone, never directly addressing me.

Once it's a direct conversation, and he gets a barrage of insults directed at him, he can't retaliate.

How could there be such a father-son relationship in the world?!

Harry leaned forward slightly, his voice tinged with anger.

"It's because you don't know how to cherish me!"

He said, "Like now, when I ask you what's wrong, you never answer me!"

Norman simply turned his head to look at him.

"I just care about you! That's all! I had no other intentions!"

"You sent me to boarding school when I was eleven, and I'm only now coming back, and then last month was my birthday."

"You, or rather your assistant—I'm guessing your assistant—sent me a birthday present: a bottle of whiskey and a card."

The card read: "Please accept this with a smile – Norman Osborne"

"I am your own flesh and blood, I am your own son!!!"

Harry clenched his fist and pressed it firmly against his knee.

"So tell me, who doesn't cherish whom?!"

"hehe......"

Norman listened quietly to his son's complaints, and then chuckled a few times.

It started out very softly, then grew louder and louder, until it stopped when it made people cough.

Seeing this, Harry wanted to get up and pour a glass of water from the bedside table to hand to his father.

But Norman grabbed his wrist.

In an instant, I felt the sharp sensation of something pricking my skin.

Harry looked down at his father's hands.

Her sharp, oily green fingernails scratched her fair arms, leaving numerous marks.

Norman gripped his son's arm tightly, then struggled to get out of bed and moved closer to his son.

"This is how Osborne should be; keep it up from now on."

He said, "Besides, I don't expect your forgiveness."

Harry looked at him in silence.

At this moment, their relationship seemed to be that of strangers, not father and son.

"I have long been a person who does not believe in miracles, until I saw a real miracle on my deathbed."

Norman held his son's wrist tightly, not letting go, and wasn't angry at his son's reaction of turning his head away from him.

He said, "Everything I've done so far has been for the Osborn family, but even more so for you."

"Watch-me!!!" Norman suddenly roared.

Harry was startled by the roar and his gaze returned to his father.

"..."

Norman raised the arm he was holding and asked, "In those countless nights, was there ever one when your hand started to tremble and twitch?"

"When you can't fall asleep, do you feel it whispering?"

"It lies hidden within us, waiting for the right moment to tear open our hearts and reveal our true nature, our real face!"

Harry couldn't understand what his father was saying, but the fact that his hands would tremble and twitch was real.

At first he thought it was...

Never mind, that's not important.

"..."

Norman seemed to have exhausted himself after saying too much in one breath.

He lay in the hospital bed, his gaze no longer fixed on his son, but instead turned to the dark ceiling.

Pitch black as ink.

Just like the crow I saw back then.

He said, "Reverse cell hyperplasia."

"This is a hereditary disease that has always existed in our family. I didn't feel the need to tell you before because I thought I could handle it myself."

"But it doesn't work now; I've found that it's simply unsolvable."

"Fortunately, you can solve it."

Norman turned to Harry and said, "Connors and Peter, your good friend Peter Parker, are developing a new type of lizard-modified serum."

"I don't have time to wait any longer."

"But you have time, you have plenty of time to wait. Even if they can't conquer it, a miracle awaits you."

"Go find Peter Parker."

"Go find him."

"Then become the person you've always wanted to be, and continue the Osborne family legacy in another way."

"I am like a candle flickering in the wind, with little time left."

"As for now..."

Norman said, enunciating each word clearly: "Get out of my room! You're pressing on my breathing tube!"

Harry: ......