Peter Parker had been having a wonderful time lately.
Ever since he was bitten by that spider, he had gained unparalleled superpowers.
He was no longer a helpless nerd who couldn’t even lift a finger; instead, he had become incredibly strong and agile.
For a high school student, nothing could possibly be better.
However, he was not entirely without worries.
The doctor he had been chatting with online had arranged a thorough physical examination for his family, and that examination had revealed quite a few problems.
Peter himself was perfectly fine.
He was in peak health, and the hospital’s equipment didn’t detect anything unusual about his body.
The issues lay with his uncle and aunt, Uncle Ben and Aunt May.
After all, they were getting on in years, so it was only natural for them to have a few minor ailments.
That wouldn’t have been a big deal, but the doctor told Peter that his uncle had a shadow on his lungs—which was not good news at all.
Anyone with a bit of common sense knew that the next words following such a diagnosis were usually either cancer or a tumor.
The doctor recommended that Ben Parker undergo a comprehensive lung examination, but it wasn’t cheap.
Especially considering that a biopsy might be required later, the Parker family couldn’t possibly afford the medical expenses.
Although some medical expenses could be reimbursed, this specific type of screening was not on the coverage list; no insurance company would pay for it.
If the doctor Peter met online were still working at this hospital, perhaps Peter could have asked him for help.
Even if they couldn’t do it at this high-end hospital, they could have gone to a slightly cheaper clinic.
The Parkers had always lived on a tight budget.
Peter often went the entire year without a single piece of new clothing, but he knew his uncle and aunt had done their absolute best to provide him with the best life possible.
After all, they earned very little.
Uncle Ben refused to take a single penny of dishonest money, living off a meager, fixed salary while putting Peter through school.
They had no savings whatsoever.
Ben Parker was quite optimistic about it.
A shadow on the lungs didn’t necessarily mean cancer or a tumor; perhaps it was just some minor inflammation that would clear up on its own.
He comforted Peter, saying it was probably just the big hospital trying to scare them, but Peter felt incredibly heavy-hearted.
He couldn’t help but feel a sense of resentment.
Flash Thompson, who always bullied him at school, wore sneakers that probably cost hundreds or even thousands of dollars, yet his own family couldn’t even scrape together a few hundred dollars for a medical exam.
But Peter thought to himself that things were about to change.
Now that he had these superpowers, what else was he supposed to do with them if not make money?
Naturally, Peter was highly intelligent.
His quick mind immediately came up with the fastest way to make money: participating in underground boxing matches.
Of course, playing cards at a casino might be even faster, but Peter knew his special sense was a bit hit-or-miss.
If his performance was unstable, he might lose money instead of earning it.
Underground boxing was a different story.
His sheer strength was enough to defeat any ordinary person.
No matter how ruthless or cruel they were, his absolute physical dominance would guarantee his victory.
Where in all of New York did the underground boxing industry thrive the most?
Naturally, it was in that godforsaken place called Hell’s Kitchen.
But as a well-behaved student who had done nothing but study his whole life, Peter was reluctant to get close to such a chaotic neighborhood.
Consequently, out of either fear or caution, he loitered around the edges of Hell’s Kitchen for several days without bringing himself to venture inside.
Finally, one day when Peter came home from school, he learned that his aunt had thrown out her back.
They didn’t even have the money to buy medicine, so she could only lie in bed and rest.
He could no longer bear it.
His pent-up frustration boiled over into anger; he desperately wanted to beat some people up.
He put on his homemade masked suit.
Although it looked rather ridiculous, his body had become slightly more muscular after gaining his spider powers, no longer looking so skeletal. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
As a result, his appearance wasn’t too bad.
He wandered aimlessly through Hell’s Kitchen like a headless fly.
But since nobody could beat him anyway, and he had his Spider-Sense to dodge bullets, he eventually found his way in.
On Bill Street, about two blocks away from Mary Street in Hell’s Kitchen, there was an underground arena run by a local gang.
After Peter knocked out their strongest underground fighter with a single punch, he caught the eye of the manager, who recommended him to the largest underground arena at the end of the street.
And here, Peter gave himself a codename: Spider-Man.
Everything went smoothly.
Peter won match after match, and hardly any fighters could withstand his wild flurries of punches.
The physical strength granted by his spider mutation was simply too overwhelming.
In just a few days, Peter earned tens of thousands of dollars.
***
Meanwhile, Daredevil spent a few days resting at Schiller’s place.
Lacking any actual superpowers, his wounds healed at the same rate as an ordinary person’s.
Fortunately, however, the assassin who targeted him had clearly pulled his punches, as the bullet had missed his vital organs.
After resting for a few days, Matt felt much better.
So, on this evening, Matt bid farewell to Schiller.
He had to continue his crusade for justice.
If he stopped just because of Kingpin’s assassination attempt, he would be letting the villain win.
Thus, rather than halting his vigilante activities, Matt intended to deal Kingpin a heavy blow.
His target was Bill Street.
The two nightclubs, the casino, the underground arena, and the illegal auto-body shop there were all Kingpin’s properties.
One could say that the entire street was controlled by Kingpin’s mob, bringing him millions of dollars in profits every year.
Matt’s first target was the underground arena.
After all, one mustn’t forget how his father had died.
There was absolutely no reason for these underground fight rings to exist.
They only cared about squeezing money out of degenerate gamblers, with zero regard for human life.
Matt’s father had refused to throw a match because he wanted to show his son a winning performance, which caused the bookmakers to lose money.
Consequently, he was brutally murdered by the mob.
This tragedy had catalyzed the birth of Daredevil.
Therefore, Matt would never let any underground arena off the hook.
In fact, Kingpin’s underground fight-betting business had already been severely crippled by Matt’s persistent crackdowns.
This was also the reason why Kingpin had sent an assassin after him.
As long as Matt drew breath, Kingpin could forget about making money from underground fights.
Of course, Matt was an experienced hero.
He didn’t just charge blindly into the arena.
His usual method for dismantling these underground syndicates was to observe for a few days, find a drunkard stumbling out of the place, extract all the information he needed, and then target a few key managers.
By disrupting the betting odds time and again, the gamblers would eventually take their business elsewhere.
After observing for a few days, Matt heard the name “Spider-Man” from quite a few people, learning that this newcomer had been making waves in the ring lately.
Matt had caught a fleeting glimpse of Spider-Man once, but they had only passed each other by.
Even so, Matt knew that the kid’s good days wouldn’t last long.
That day, the arena’s boss approached Peter.
He wanted Peter to throw a fight.
Anyone with a basic understanding of gambling rules knew that with a winning streak like Peter’s, his payout odds would become incredibly low.
Everyone would bet on him to win, with almost no one betting on his opponent.
If Peter lost at this point, the house would only need to pay out the few people who bet on his opponent, pocketing the money of everyone who had bet on Peter.
This was the reality of the underground boxing business.
There was no such thing as fair competition; the house manipulated the odds to drain the pockets of desperate gamblers.
The boss promised Peter a cut of the profits, but Peter wasn’t very interested.
First, he felt he had already made enough money.
Tens of thousands of dollars was plenty to pay for Uncle Ben’s full examination, and even if Aunt May’s back required major surgery, this money would cover it.
Furthermore, Peter was still just a high school student.
He wasn’t fully mature yet, and the thrill of his continuous victories was highly addictive.
Asking an adolescent boy to intentionally lose to an opponent was easier said than done.
Having finally found a way to stand tall, Peter had no intention of backing down.
The boss didn’t say anything further, so Peter naively assumed they couldn’t do anything to him.
After all, with his incredible strength, what ordinary person could possibly beat him?
Little did he know, Daredevil, Matt, had seen it all.
Earlier that day, Matt had slipped in disguised as a drunkard, pretending to slump on the spectator benches.
His extraordinary hearing allowed him to catch every single word of the conversation between the boss and Peter in the backstage area.
And the next day, when the match began, Matt was there as well.
When Peter stepped onto the stage, the crowd erupted into countless cheers.
Peter raised both hands to acknowledge them, waiting for his next victim.
His opponent was a muscular Black fighter.
Peter noticed a cunning smirk on the man’s face, though he didn’t understand what it meant.
When the fight started, Peter felt fine.
He nearly sent the fighter flying with a single punch.
However, the fighter didn’t engage him head-on; instead, he dodged and ducked, seemingly trying to stall for time.
Very quickly, Peter realized something was wrong.
His stomach began to cramp violently, his legs went weak, and his vision started to dim.
Just as his consciousness began to fade, the Black fighter landed a punch right on his cheek.
Peter staggered back a few steps, his head spinning.
The opponent pressed his advantage.
Just as the next blow was about to land, Peter’s Spider-Sense screamed.
He felt that the opponent’s gloves contained heavy lead weights.
If he took a direct hit from that, his brains might get splattered.
Peter ducked, barely evading the blow.
The crowd below began to boo.
In his previous matches, Spider-Man had never dodged.
Peter couldn’t care less about that now.
He was in terrible agony, barely able to breathe.
The opponent threw another punch, sending Peter crashing to the floor.
This wasn’t a regulated match, and there was no real referee to speak of.
Once Peter fell, the opponent’s fists continued to rain down like a hailstorm, and no one stepped in to stop it.
Peter could only cover his head desperately, but the lead-weighted gloves pelted his body, making him feel as though his internal organs were being shaken out of place.
Finally, unable to hold it in any longer, he collapsed on the ground, retching violently as a wave of curses erupted from the spectators.
Knowing that they were about to lose their money, the crowd’s jeers and insults grew sharper and more venomous.
The most vile profanities Peter had ever heard in his life were hurled from their mouths, raining down upon Spider-Man.
Just before he blacked out, Peter saw a figure leap from the spectator stands.
A cane cut through the air with a sharp whoosh, striking the opponent hard on the side of his neck.
The brutal beating finally stopped, but Peter couldn’t hold on any longer and slipped into unconsciousness.