A Small Goal

"Frank, I swear I wasn't lying! That bastard came out of nowhere, took down all my men in one go, and then took the payment for the deal!"

Inside a construction materials warehouse on the West Coast, a man in a red shirt desperately tried to explain himself. He was surrounded by a group of people, one of his fingers clamped in a pair of metal pliers. If they were displeased in the slightest, what followed would likely be very bloody.

"You're saying he was alone? That he took down more than twenty armed thugs under your command in a few minutes? Tell me, was he Captain America stepping out of a comic book?!"

Frank D'Amico, the Drug Lord dressed in a sharp suit, sneered. "Compared to that explanation, Terl, I'm more inclined to believe that you pocketed the money yourself, then called the police and had them confiscate the drugs."

"Frank, you have to believe me! That guy even said that before long, he'd come pay you a personal visit!"

The red-shirted man named Terl screamed, his voice thick with terror. Having followed Frank for many years, he knew all too well how cruelly the West Coast Drug Lord dealt with traitors.

"Enough. My son is still waiting for me to take him to the movies. I don't want to disappoint him." Frank shook his head and turned to leave. "Joe, I'll leave it to you."

Ignoring the miserable screams behind him, Frank slowly climbed into his car. To be honest, business had not been going well for him lately. A week ago, more than a dozen of his men had been killed in an abandoned factory in New York, forcing him to spend a considerable sum to smooth things over. These past few days, it was as though someone had deliberately been working against him. Several payments from deals on his New York turf had been stolen, and the police had been tipped off to seize a large amount of drugs, costing the West Coast kingpin dearly.

"Who have I offended lately?"

Frank could not make sense of it. He had started out in smuggling. Publicly, he was the owner of a foreign trade company; secretly, he ran the highly profitable business of smuggling contraband and selling drugs. As his empire grew, Frank gradually became the number one Drug Lord on the West Coast, beyond even the police's ability to touch.

While the gangland Drug Lord fretted over his business troubles, in a neighborhood in Queens, New York, a young man who had briefly played the role of a Superhero was happily lying on his bed, counting money. He tossed Franklin after Franklin across the floor.

"Sure enough, fighting criminals is the fastest way to make a fortune."

Sean abruptly sat up from the bed. Several suitcases were piled in the room, filled with neatly stacked bundles of U.S. dollars. They were all generous gifts from Boss Frank, and they would soon be turned into expensive training equipment.

After shoving the suitcases beneath his bed, Sean pulled on a compression vest. The formerly frail youth had grown strong. Every day, he sweated through brutal, limit-pushing training, steadily accumulating strength until one day he would break through the shackles of the human body.

Before long, Sean would personally pay a visit to the West Coast Drug Lord. To solve a problem, one had to start at its source. He had killed Frank D'Amico's men, and if the other side discovered his identity, endless trouble would follow. Rather than wait for them to come knocking, he might as well eliminate every hidden danger completely. Besides, that gangland Drug Lord was no good person anyway.

More than a month after arriving in this world, Sean had been living a very fulfilling life. Every day, he attended school on schedule and rushed between different classrooms, appearing no different from any ordinary student. After school, he went home and underwent inhuman physical training. Fortunately, this body had not left behind many social ties; otherwise, it would not have been easy for Sean to begin a completely new life.

"Ring-ring—"

The telephone interrupted Sean's training. He picked it up, and a familiar voice came from the other end—

"Hey, Sean, it's Harry... New York's carnival festival is two weeks from now. I booked a private room at a nearby hotel, and the viewing deck there is great. Want to come?... Peter and Mary Jane will both be there..."

Hearing the joy, tinged with a hint of pride, in Young Master Osborn's voice, Sean could not help but smile. Since he had helped the other man once at Columbia University's research center, he had been fortunate enough to become Harry Osborn's second friend at Midtown High School. Compared with Sean's dull life lately, Young Master Osborn had been having a much better time. With graduation approaching, the rich young man had finally launched a fierce offensive against the girl he loved and successfully won the heart of the red-haired Mary Jane.

This outcome left Peter Parker, who had become Spider-Man, deeply saddened. His best friend and the girl he secretly loved were both people he could not hurt, so poor Peter could only suppress his feelings and silently offer the two of them his blessing.

"Okay, I'll come if I have time... Mm, thanks for the invitation."

Sean answered crisply. After chatting for a few more moments, he hung up.

He did not have much contact with Harry Osborn, limited to the occasional meeting and conversation at school. Apart from his mediocre abilities, the young master of the Osborn family was actually a good person to befriend. Though born into wealth, he had never picked up the bad habits of a spoiled rich kid. He was sincere toward his friends and possessed the same innocence and enthusiasm as most young people. If his best friend had not been Spider-Man, and if his father had not become the Green Goblin, there would not have been such a tragic ending later on.

"Maybe I can change all of this."

Sean thought for a moment. Could Osborn Corporation become his first stepping stone?

After all, simply robbing some money from Frank D'Amico could never satisfy Sean's appetite. At the end of the day, the man was only a gangland Drug Lord on the West Coast, able to hide in the shadows and earn obscene profits that could not stand the light. Compared to Osborn Corporation, which was involved in multiple scientific fields and even had ties to the Department of Defense, the difference was like that between an ant and an elephant.

If he wanted to establish himself in this world, great power was indispensable. But wealth and status far beyond that of ordinary people were also among Sean's goals. In a country driven and controlled by capital and profit, attaining authority above the common man required the support of a sufficiently vast power base.

"Let's set a small goal first. Superheroes, Infinity Stones, and all that are still too far away from me."

Sean considered it, and the path in his mind gradually became clear. Even the grandest goals had to be achieved step by step. Rome was not built in a day. Frank D'Amico's gang, Osborn Corporation... all of them would become stepping stones and springboards on his path forward, helping him grow stronger more quickly.

Uh, I got contracted... so, Esteemed Readers, how about giving me some bookmarks and recommendation votes?