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*****
Just asking for an apology—Mike felt he was already being more than polite.
If it hadn't been Gwen with him, if he weren't concerned that showing too much violence would set a bad example, and instead had brought along Clark and the other boys, he definitely would've gifted Norman Osborn a fashionable pair of sunglasses first—by force.
But Norman Osborn simply gave Mike a cold glance and said, "Useless…"
He hadn't even finished the word when his pupils suddenly contracted.
He felt that Mike had changed.
A chilling aura, sharp like an invisible blade, seemed to press against his throat.
It gave him the terrifying sense that if he dared to speak another word, that invisible blade would slice it clean.
Mike raised his hand and gently patted Norman Osborn's shoulder, as if brushing dust from it.
"Right now, the 'useless' thing you mentioned—could easily be used to kill you. Do you believe that?"
In the next moment, the terrifying aura vanished without a trace.
Norman Osborn took a deep breath and said, "So, is this what you do? Use these useless things to threaten others? To prove they have value?"
"No. I'm just telling you: in moments like this, only those so-called useless things can protect yourself—and the people you care about."
"With a laughable fist like that?"
"Laughable? Maybe. But when it hits your face, I guarantee you won't be laughing."
"You—"
"Save it!"
Mike waved a hand impatiently. "If you think meaningless words can move me, forget it. If you're not going to apologize, then the only thing that can protect you now is your fist!"
Norman Osborn's face turned dark as coal.
Mike smiled faintly. "Your reputation, your money, your status—none of that can protect you now, Mr. Osborn."
"You're in a hurry, right? Then be a man and raise your fist."
Just then, the coach who had come over to break up what looked like a verbal spat froze mid-step.
"Move."
Norman Osborn checked his watch and said coldly.
Every second spent here felt like a waste.
"Apologize."
"You—!"
Bang!
Mike suddenly threw a punch—but Norman Osborn managed to block it.
His expression darkened.
"Well, well. Looks like you've trained a bit yourself."
Mike's tone was calm, his face filled with mocking amusement—as if saying: Didn't you say this was useless? So why did you bother training, then?
Norman Osborn's face twitched. At this point, even his own temper was starting to boil. If he didn't do something now, he wouldn't be able to swallow this humiliation.
He stepped back and clenched his fists, then launched a punch at Mike's face.
Mike easily dodged it. Norman Osborn followed with another, then another—each one faster than the last, his face turning increasingly cold.
Off to the side, the coach stared in disbelief.
Norman's movements weren't at a professional level, but at the very least, he could be considered an amateur.
In contrast, Mike's effortless dodging marked him as someone far more advanced—possibly even professional.
Could Mike actually be a pro?
"I won't waste any more of your time, Mr. Osborn."
The moment Mike finished speaking—and before Norman could react—pain exploded around his eyes.
Twice.
"Argh!"
Norman let out a cry and staggered back two steps.
Visibly, both of his eye sockets quickly turned purple and swollen, making him look utterly ridiculous.
Pfft!
The coach couldn't hold it in and burst out laughing, quickly turning around to hide his shaking shoulders.
Norman Osborn glared at Mike, spitting out curses in rage. "Shit! Shit!"
The arrogance he once carried, shattered by two clean punches, was nowhere to be found. His usual indifference and disdain were tossed aside like trash.
"You lost. Now apologize."
Mike said it casually, watching Norman's furious, flustered state.
Norman looked like he'd just swallowed a fly.
He had not only been punched—but now was expected to apologize?
No way!
The throbbing pain in his eyes made him suck in a breath. In just that short span, his eyes were swollen like walnuts, and his vision began to narrow.
"If you won't apologize, then let's keep going."
With that, Mike smiled and raised his fists again.
Norman Osborn's face turned a sickly shade of green.
Just then, Harry Osborn suddenly stepped in front of him, fists clenched as if to shield his father from harm.
Norman blinked, startled, a strange expression flashing through his eyes—but then he barked, "Move aside!"
"No!"
For the first time, Harry Osborn defied his father.
Norman Osborn froze again. But then—his lips twitched ever so slightly.
A trace of… satisfaction welled up in his heart.
Not because his son had protected him.
But because—for the first time—his son had the guts to rebel.
He had always been a strong-willed man and thought his son's personality was far too soft.
Mike waved to Harry Osborn and said, "Come on, kid. Let me see that fist of yours!"
"Ah!"
Harry Osborn shouted as he charged at Mike. When his small fist landed on Mike, Mike staggered back a step and said, "Ouch! So strong—you win!"
Harry Osborn froze for a moment, then turned to glance at his father. Seeing his father's emotionless face, he hesitated, then said to Mike, "Uncle, I'm sorry. What my dad said just now was out of line. I apologize on his behalf."
Mike smiled and gently ruffled Harry's hair. "Apology accepted. And you're really something, you know."
Harry Osborn blinked in surprise, then broke into a brilliant smile. "Thank you, Uncle!"
Off to the side, Norman Osborn watched that smile—and suddenly felt a pang of bitterness in his chest.
His son had never smiled at him like that before.
"Let's go, Harry!"
Norman said coldly, his face still stiff.
"Oh…"
Harry's smile vanished, and his small face fell again.
Just then, Mike walked toward Norman Osborn. Under Norman's wary gaze, Mike simply turned and sat back down on a chair nearby.
Gwen, who had followed behind Mike, stopped in her tracks. She looked up at the much taller man and, with the seriousness of a little grown-up, said earnestly, "Uncle, our teacher says 'giving kids some affirmation and encouragement helps build their confidence and makes them better.'"
Norman glanced at Gwen, and a flicker of admiration passed through his nearly swollen-shut eyes.
This little girl had guts.
Without a word, he straightened his clothes, face expressionless, and walked out with two purple bruises around his eyes.
Harry hurried to catch up.
When the father and son got in the car, the driver opened the door and froze for a second upon seeing his boss's bruised eyes. He quickly lowered his head, trying hard to keep a straight face.
"Dad, um… Dad!" Harry mustered up some courage. "Can you not make trouble for Gwen's dad anymore?"
Norman Osborn gave a quiet grunt of acknowledgment.
Harry looked at him in astonishment.
This was the first time he'd ever gotten such a positive response from his father.
"Well done."
Huh?
Harry thought he'd misheard. But when he looked up and saw his father watching him, he broke into another brilliant smile.
Seeing that, the sour feeling that had been nagging Norman Osborn since earlier finally faded.
"Mr. Osborn, are we still heading to the office?" the driver asked.
"To the hospital."
Norman Osborn replied coldly.
Using your fists to protect yourself?
Hmph. Once the enhancement serum is perfected, that won't even be necessary.
Suddenly, he recalled what that little girl had said. After a moment's thought, he asked, "Harry, why did you want to learn this stuff anyway?"
Harry pursed his lips and hesitated before quietly replying, "Because at school, there are…"
As the father and son talked, the car slowly drove off into the distance.
(End of Chapter)