From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Eyes lowered, muscles stiff, a brief pause.

No one could see Peter Parker's expression, but the complexity and contradiction conveyed by the scene were palpable to everyone.

Uncle Ben was the same, quietly watching Peter, waiting, waiting for Peter to look up at him, wanting to speak to Peter while looking into his eyes.

However, Uncle Ben was disappointed.

Was Uncle Ben implying something?

Did Uncle Ben know that he was planning to go to the underground boxing ring to earn extra money?

Suddenly, Peter looked up, his brow slightly furrowed, instantly creating distance and entering a defensive mode, "Are you worried that I'll become a criminal?"

Uncle Ben couldn't believe his ears, and seeing Peter's rebellious face, his own anger surged.

Seeing the impatience on Uncle Ben's face, Peter couldn't help but straighten his back, slightly raising his voice, his momentum increasing a notch, "Stop worrying about me, okay?"

Although the words were polite, the agitation and rejection were more than obvious.

Hormones took over his brain.

Peter tried to explain the ins and outs, but he immediately realized that he couldn't explain and didn't know where to start, so his words became vague, trying to use a loud voice to cover up his guilt.

"Things are different now. I'll handle it myself. Don't lecture me."

Pausing for a moment, seeing that Uncle Ben was about to speak again, Peter interrupted him, which was rare, widening his eyes and looking straight at Uncle Ben.

"Please."

A polite term, but here it seemed particularly sharp and sarcastic, instantly creating distance.

The air, slightly stiffened.

Uncle Ben looked at Peter, raising his hands slightly and lowering them, trying to ease the atmosphere, even offering a smile, further explaining his actions, "I didn't mean to lecture you, I know I'm not your father."

"Then stop pretending to be," the words burst from Peter's mouth—

Like a bomb.

Everything, quieted down.

Peter was stunned.

Uncle Ben was also stunned.

As soon as the words left his mouth, Peter already regretted it, and shallow ripples appeared in those azure blue eyes, whether stubborn or alienated, cracks appeared, and his slightly flickering eyes tried to swallow the sound back, retracting the words he just said, but it was too late, and things couldn't be undone.

Uncle Ben looked into Peter's eyes, shifting his gaze with some panic and embarrassment, the smile at the corner of his mouth tugging slightly, trying to force a smile to cover it up, but the more he did so, the more powerless he felt, the awkwardness in the air continued to overflow, the smile quietly disappearing, revealing a touch of aging.

His gaze didn't know where to rest.

Peter's chest rose and fell slowly, regretting it as soon as he spoke, annoyance and anger devouring the remaining reason, the words of apology already on his lips, but his throat seemed to be choked, unable to say them, and a touch of complexity was also revealed in his azure blue eyes.

Then.

"Right."

Uncle Ben spoke, interrupting Peter's last chance to apologize.

Uncle Ben nodded lightly, avoiding Peter's gaze, adjusting his sitting posture, looking forward again, exhaling almost imperceptibly, but the gaze looking forward couldn't find a focus, sitting there somewhat at a loss.

Peter knew he had hurt Uncle Ben.

But how could he make amends?

Buzz, buzz, buzz.

Outside the car window, vehicles passed by, engines roared, the noise breaking the silence in the car, but it was fleeting, allowing silence to fill the entire space again.

Peter sat there blankly, the tension-filled emotions gradually drooping like a deflated balloon, a hint of panic flashing in his eyes.

Fleeting.

Words seemed to be swirling on the tip of his tongue, but his messy head couldn't find a single thought, a tangled mess.

Then, a sense of grievance and stubbornness surged into his heart, Uncle Ben didn't know anything but was pointing fingers, so what should he do?

Peter's eyes flickered slightly, turning his head away, looking out the window, lowering his head, concealing his disappointment, confusion, and other unclear emotions, and for a moment he didn't know whether shame and annoyance prevailed, or anger and grievance prevailed, and his eyes dimmed.

Uncle Ben noticed, and also wanted to say something but stopped, but finally withdrew his gaze, "I'll pick you up at ten o'clock tonight."

This was the meaning of putting a period, the conversation ended here.

Peter couldn't believe it: was that it?

Peter suddenly looked up, looking at Uncle Ben again, but he himself couldn't tell whether he wanted to talk to Uncle Ben or didn't want to talk.

He didn't even know what he was thinking.

Both annoyed and angry, more at himself than at Uncle Ben.

So, Peter didn't speak again, turned around and opened the car door, got out of the car in a huff, and closed the door.

However.

Peter didn't take a step, standing there with his back to the car door, seemingly waiting for something—

He needed a way out.

If Uncle Ben spoke again, he would apologize, he would apologize for his remarks just now.

Unfortunately, Uncle Ben didn't stop, started the engine, and left straight away.

A gust of wind surged, Peter turned around and looked over, both surprised and unexpected, subconsciously taking two steps forward, because he knew he was wrong.

His footsteps, just rushing out, immediately stopped again, standing there, struggling alone.

Teenagers in puberty are always so contradictory, even if they realize their mistakes, admitting their mistakes is not an easy thing, because of self-esteem and because of pride, and even more because of their own confused thoughts, so stumbling, they tripped themselves up like this.

Stopping, turning around to leave, but couldn't help but stop again, looking at the tail of Uncle Ben's car, somewhat lost in thought.

Ahead, Uncle Ben was already preparing to turn away.

Peter retracted his gaze, exhaled a long breath, lowered his head and drooped his shoulders, looking at the traffic in front of him, preparing to cross the road, but after taking a step, he braked urgently and pulled it back.

His head was full of messy thoughts, he had forgotten that he was not preparing to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, coming here was just a cover excuse, his real purpose was to go to the underground boxing match,

His footsteps, pulled back, looked again at the direction Uncle Ben left, the tail of the car was no longer visible, and then Peter turned around and ran in another direction.

From the back, it could be seen that all the confusion and complexity were temporarily thrown to the back of his mind, after all, Peter's youthful spirit prevailed, he still wanted to show off his skills, test his abilities, and earn some extra money, this was the only thought in his mind.

Worries, left in place, disappeared in the roar of traffic in a blink of an eye.

"Cut!"

Finally, Sam Raimi's voice came.

Phew.

At this time, the crew realized that they themselves had involuntarily held their breath, and only now did they begin to breathe, and re-felt their heartbeats.