[Third Person's PoV]
"What—Why—How—Huh?" Peter whimpered, his voice cracking toward the end. His mouth opened and closed repeatedly, making him look like a fish out of water struggling to understand what was happening.
In front of him, Stan Lee stood with a nonchalant expression, holding out an ice cream cone in one hand. He gave Peter a small motion with his wrist.
"Well, are you just going to stand there and stare at me," he said, "or are you going to take the ice cream before it melts all over my hand?"
"Oh—oh! Sorry!" Peter blurted out, snapping out of his daze. He hurriedly reached out and took the cone from him, glancing down at the creamy treat with confusion still etched all over his face.
Stan didn't say anything further. He simply sat down next to Peter with a content sigh, licking his own cone as if this were the most normal thing in the world. The two of them sat there, side by side on the park bench in silence, while the warm breeze stirred around them.
Peter hesitated, then gave his ice cream a small, cautious lick. His mind, however, was anything but calm. It was a swirling storm of questions, his thoughts racing faster than he could process them.
After what felt like an eternity of silence, Peter finally found his voice. "Am I… am I in trouble?" he asked, his tone uncertain and wary, as though afraid of what the answer might be.
Stan turned to him with a grin that was equal parts mischievous and amused. "Why would you think you're in trouble?" he asked, chuckling lightly. "Have you done something that would get you in trouble with me?"
Peter glanced around the area. He subtly closed off every onnection to Aria, to anything that might be watching or listening. He wanted to be sure—absolutely certain—it was just the two of them. Then, quieter now, he said, "I mean… I don't really belong here, do I?"
Stan Lee burst into laughter, savoring his ice cream between chuckles. "Tell me something, Peter. Do you view this world—this life—as your home?"
"Of course I do," Peter answered instantly, without the slightest hesitation.
"Then what makes you think you don't belong here?" Stan asked, looking at him with kind eyes and a knowing smile. "Is it because of the life you had before this one? Do you think that somehow makes you alien to this world? Let me tell you something, kid—reincarnation into a world not your own isn't exactly some unheard-of phenomenon these days."
He leaned back on the bench with an air of ease. "In fact, I'd say it's becoming increasingly common. Did you know there's even a universe out there where someone reincarnated as Tony Stark in an anime world?"
Peter let out a short, surprised laugh at that mental image. "That… that sounds interesting. I guess hearing it from you makes me feel better—or should I be concerned instead?" he added, his face scrunching in uncertainty.
"Take it however you want," Stan replied, shrugging casually.
Another lull in the conversation passed, quiet but comfortable. Then Peter shifted slightly and gave Stan a more serious, almost nervous look.
"Can I ask… are you like, Stan Lee-Stan Lee? Or more like… The-One-Above-All-Stan Lee?"
Stan's expression didn't change, but his eyes flickered—just for a second—with a golden, divine glow that shimmered like sunlight on water.
Peter froze.
"Oh my God… oh my actual God…" he whispered, eyes wide. "J-Just… wow."
His hands trembled slightly as he focused hard on the melting ice cream in his grip, as though that might calm the whirlwind of panic rising in his chest. It wasn't working.
He tried to collect himself, taking in a deep breath. "Wait—is this about that one time I lied in church? I told Aunt May I didn't have any money on me when the collection basket came around. Is that what this is about?"
TOAA laughed, smearing a bit of ice cream around his lip as he did.
Peter reached into his pockets with a panicked flurry. "I don't usually carry cash, okay? But I've got this twenty—" He pulled out the bill like a peace offering. "I swear I'll donate more next time. I'll start tithing, I promise!"
Still grinning, TOAA wiped his mouth with a napkin and asked, "Are you finished?"
"…That's what she said," Peter muttered before his brain could stop his mouth. He immediately cringed, eyes closing in shame. "Oh no—I am so sorry. That was—That was automatic. I'm having a hard time processing the fact that I'm sitting next to… well… God."
"Yeah," TOAA said with a soft chuckle, "I tend to have that effect on people." He took a slow, thoughtful bite of his cone.
Peter forced himself to breathe, placing his forehead in his palm. "Okay. I think I'm good now. Mostly. Kind of. Not really"
He glanced over at TOAA and asked with a note of sincerity, "Can I ask one more thing?"
"Go ahead."
"Why did you drop by? I mean, I doubt I'm that interesting. It's not like I'm some pivotal multiversal anomaly or a cosmic threat or anything, right? I don't think you would need my help for some cosmic multiversal threat, right? After all I'm just… me. Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man."
TOAA stared straight ahead, ice cream in hand, before replying casually, "Well, first off—you're very weak. So no, I don't need your help with multiversal threats."
"…Thanks," Peter muttered with a dry glare. "Way to boost a guy's self-esteem."
"Believe it or not," TOAA said, brushing away the last bit of ice cream from his lips with the back of his hand, "being that strong… isn't all it's cracked up to be. As you've come to understand, with greater power comes even greater responsibilities. And with those responsibilities, the little things—the people, the moments, the details that make life meaningful—tend to slip through your fingers if you're not careful."
Peter's eyes dropped to his hands as he quietly nodded. There was a quiet weight behind those words, something that resonated deeply with him.
"Well," TOAA continued, a slight smile tugging at his lips, "to actually answer your question… you fascinate me."
Peter blinked. "Wait, me? Really?"
"Indeed," TOAA said, gesturing loosely with his empty cone. "Out of all the reincarnators I've seen pop up throughout the multiverse, you're one of the more... interesting cases."
Peter tilted his head. "How so?"
"You possess metaknowledge. You were granted the kind of insight most people would kill for. With your knowledge, by now, you could've risen to impossible heights. You could be exploring alien worlds, fighting cosmic entities, collecting all six Infinity Stones and rewriting reality in your image. But instead… the most you've done is grow from a street-level vigilante to someone operating at a large city—maybe low country—level. Modest by multiversal standards."
Peter scratched his cheek sheepishly, a sheepish smile forming. "I guess you could say it ties back to what you said earlier. I like looking after the little guys. With more power comes more responsibility, yeah… but also more distance. The more powerful you get, the less in touch you become with the lives of the ordinary people. I'm not power-hungry. I'm not out here chasing every opportunity to grow stronger just for the sake of it. As long as I have the strength to protect the people of this planet—my home—that's more than enough for me. I don't need to become a god or some cosmic-level entity. I just want to keep being a hero. That's… enough. I'd be content with that."
The TOAA studied him quietly, his smile soft and contemplative as he set aside his now-finished cone.
"You know," he said at last, "a lot of people would call that naive. Maybe even foolish. The universe isn't kind, Peter. It's vast, dangerous, and indifferent. And not being strong enough—well, that often means the people closest to you pay the price."
Peter's smile faded at that, a shadow passing over his expression.
"Then they'd be mistaking contentment for complacency," he said firmly. "Just because I'm satisfied with where I am doesn't mean I'm not prepared. I'm always preparing. Always watching. Always waiting. I am paranoid, yeah. I'll admit that. If the chance to grow stronger comes my way, I'll take it. I'm not stupid. But I won't actively chase after it like some desperate power addict. My priority is the people. Always has been."
TOAA looked at him for a moment longer, the gleam in his golden eyes dimming just slightly. Then he asked, almost too casually:
"Does being prepared… and being paranoid… mean you'd go so far as to control the thoughts and actions of others?"
Peter's brows furrowed. "What?"
"Consider this advice from a nosy old man," TOAA said, turning to face him fully now. "That paranoia you carry—while useful in moderation—will be your undoing if left unchecked. Think of it like a disease. And like any disease, it manifests differently depending on the host."
He held up his fingers as he listed. "For one person, it may take the shape of distrust—believing no one can be relied upon. For another, it becomes the fear that the entire world is out to get them. But for you, Peter… it takes the form of control. A compulsive need to orchestrate everything around you. To plan for every possibility. To shoulder the entire burden alone because you don't believe anyone else can carry it the way you can."
Peter stared at him, lips parting slightly. He blinked but didn't speak.
TOAA's voice softened.
"That sort of control—over people, over fate—it's a fragile illusion. And chasing it will hurt more than it helps. The more you try to control everything, the faster it all slips away. Like sand through clenched fingers. And in the end, you'll look down… and realize your hand is empty."
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