When Peter woke up again, he found himself in a cramped, dimly lit little room.
He saw a man in a red skin-tight suit with his back turned, organizing his gear.
Peter was still sore all over, but thanks to his extraordinary self-healing ability, most of his wounds had already closed.
The man turned his head and said, “You’re lucky, kid.
They only slipped you some laxatives and anesthetics.
Nothing stronger, or you wouldn’t be waking up right now.”
A Spider-Man’s mutated abilities did not peak right when he got them; they required a series of training and stimulation.
In his later years, Spider-Man’s strength, speed, and self-healing would be dozens of times stronger than Peter’s current levels.
Although Peter had possessed his mutated abilities for a while, he had only ever dealt with ordinary people.
Since his abilities were already far superior to regular humans, he naturally hadn’t thought about how to improve them.
Consequently, his physical functions had not yet reached the level of complete immunity to drugs.
The underground fight club owner had slipped him a heavy dose of laxatives combined with some anesthetics, which had successfully done him in.
Peter said, “I remember you.
You saved me, right?”
“You survived because you’re tough, kid.
And it looks like you have some extraordinary abilities, otherwise you’d be dead by now.”
A cold sweat broke out on Peter’s back.
You couldn’t expect a high schooler to be overly guarded against people.
The place Peter lived was full of simple folk and kind neighbors, and Uncle Ben was the same, always focusing on positive education.
Peter had never witnessed the dark side of human nature.
With lingering fear, he said, “I thought…”
Then he slammed his fist onto the bed and said quite angrily, “I’m going back to teach that owner a lesson!
How dare he drug me!”
“You didn’t actually expect a fair referee there like it’s the World Championships, did you?” Daredevil asked.
“Alright, looks like your wounds are mostly healed.
Hurry up and get out of here, kid.
Hell’s Kitchen is no place for you.”
“I’m not some kid,” Peter said.
“I’m Spider-Man.”
“You’re a long way off,” Daredevil said.
Just as Peter was about to retort, a cane stopped right beside his neck with a rush of wind.
His Spider-Sense did not react at all—or rather, it hadn’t even had time to react.
Cold sweat trickled down Peter’s forehead.
Daredevil’s movements were so fast that even his superhuman vision hadn’t captured them.
What Matt had learned from Stick was no amateur kung fu.
Although he was just an ordinary human, his physical stats had nearly reached the absolute limits of human capability.
Combined with thousands of hours of tempered martial arts, he was actually a cut above the newly awakened teenage Spider-Man.
Peter was just an inexperienced greenhorn.
Squeezing down a gulp, he said, “That move was incredibly cool, man.
I saw you use it when you saved me, too.”
As he spoke, Peter made a weaving boxing motion with his hands.
Daredevil retracted his cane and said, “If you really want to be Spider-Man, you still have a lot to learn.
If you’re interested, you can come here to find me.”
Daredevil wasn’t some soft-hearted saint.
His rescue of Peter wasn’t purely out of sympathy.
Part of it, of course, was because it reminded him of his father’s death, and he didn’t want someone else dying in an underground boxing ring like that.
But another part was that he planned to find himself an assistant.
Getting injured in an assassination attempt the other day had made him realize he couldn’t split himself in two.
He couldn’t flee from his enemies’ pursuit while simultaneously dispensing justice.
But if he had an assistant, things would be much easier.
The young Spider-Man fit his expectations perfectly.
He was powerful and highly talented, but extremely green and knew nothing.
Just like that, Peter began running to Daredevil’s place every few days.
He had also realized that although his strength was extraordinary, his technique was terrible, and his life experience was sorely lacking.
Otherwise, why would he have gone to an underground fight club to make money?
With this kind of physical ability, making money should have been a breeze.
Driven by a desire to use his abilities to improve his life and a young man’s envy of Daredevil’s cool martial arts, Peter quickly grew closer to Daredevil and learned about what he was doing.
Although Peter admired him, he felt it was completely unnecessary.
How much could one person really do?
He couldn’t even kill all the criminals in Hell’s Kitchen.
If he had this kind of persistence and willpower, if he used it for anything else, he would have started a family, established a career, and lived a happy life long ago.
But soon, as the young Spider-Man and Daredevil grew closer, he even spent several holiday nights at Daredevil’s hideout.
Having seen Daredevil bandage his own wounds countless times, his stance began to waver.
Daredevil was indeed just an ordinary human.
He didn’t have any super self-healing abilities, and unfortunately, his experience of pain was even more sensitive than that of normal people.
Thus, whenever he bandaged his wounds alone at the hideout, Peter could see him almost passing out from the pain.
Yet the next day, he would head out to fight crime as usual.
Though Hell’s Kitchen wasn’t quite as dangerous as Gotham, trying to uphold justice here carried a massive risk of injury.
Sometimes he would be grazed by a stray bullet in a gang shootout, sometimes he had to jump down from several floors to escape pursuit, and sometimes he took a hit in close-quarters combat, leaving a massive bruise.
Every time the young Spider-Man saw these wounds, he felt a complex mix of emotions.
In his heart, he already considered Matt a friend.
Naturally, he didn’t want his friend to get hurt, but how could he dissuade Daredevil?
Persuade him not to uphold justice?
Tell him not to fight crime?
But Peter was smart.
He understood that since even these excruciatingly painful wounds couldn’t deter Matt, how could a few casual words from him possibly stop him?
Finally, one day, Matt took another bullet to his calf from the ninjas pursuing him.
Peter helped him dig the bullet out.
Peter had never seen such a wound before.
The pungent, nauseating smell of blood made his head spin in waves.
The torn muscle even exposed the bone, making Peter’s hands tremble with discomfort.
He wasn’t yet the Spider-Man of later years who would be forged in blood and iron to become a true hero.
No high schooler facing this kind of scene would fare any better than him.
Under Matt’s guidance, he helped extract the bullet while a dry voice rasped from his throat.
He asked, “Why on earth are you doing this?
Is it really worth it?”
“I thought you’d ask me sooner.”
Daredevil leaned against the wall and shifted his posture.
Due to the pain, his voice trembled slightly as he said, “I can tell that even though your family’s financial situation is average, you have elders who love you, a fairly happy and warm family, and you’ve lived a very stable life since childhood… This chapter is updated first at novelping(.)com.
“Maybe things aren’t perfect at school, but most of the time you’re safe.
I can tell you have some complaints about being short on cash, but do you know?
You’re actually incredibly lucky…”
In the dim cabin, Daredevil mumbled fitfully, like talking in his sleep.
“Actually, I was lucky too.
I was born in Hell’s Kitchen, but my father wasn’t some gambler or drug addict.
He did his best to protect me, giving me the chance to leave this godforsaken place and study outside…
“He was a great father.
To support me and help me leave this place, he chose to become an underground boxer.
“Yes, you were supposed to end up just like him.
He refused to throw a fight when I went to watch his match, so the fight club owners had him killed.”
The double weight of psychological and physical distress made Peter barely realize he was crying.
Matt was already slightly delirious from the pain, but he kept muttering:
“You and I are very lucky.
Others are unfortunate.
When their mothers were pregnant with them, they were either drinking or using drugs.
They were born with drug addictions.
To survive, they either work for gangs or do even more dangerous, inhumane jobs.
Because living is too painful, they continue to drown themselves in drugs and alcohol, and their children repeat that exact same life…
“…That is Hell’s Kitchen.
“Yeah…
I was lucky to have the chance to leave here, receive a higher education, and train in martial arts.
Since I was luckier than them, gained more than them, and have greater power…
“…then what reason do I have not to do this?”
Daredevil often called Hell’s Kitchen “this godforsaken place.” Peter had also heard them curse those people countless times, wishing everyone in this damned place would go to hell.
But for the first time, he realized that Daredevil truly wanted to save this place.
He truly harbored a steadfast determination to drag Hell’s Kitchen up from hell.
Peter really couldn’t imagine how someone already trapped in this kind of environment could still think about saving it.
It was simply impossible.
Yet Daredevil insisted on doing it anyway.
Peter remained silent.
When he pulled the bullet out with his fingers, Daredevil let out a near-death shriek, and soon went pale and passed out.
Peter stood in the middle of the room.
He looked around the somewhat dilapidated space, where they couldn’t even find anesthetics or bandages.
Matt’s wound could only be wrapped in strips of cloth torn from clothes.
A sense of anger welled up inside Peter, fiercer and deeper than when he complained about having no money.
He felt that Matt shouldn’t be in this situation—not when he was so firm, persistent, and determined.
Besides, he was a good man, and good people should be rewarded.
Why did those underground fight club owners and shareholders live so comfortably, while even the drunkards who passed out in their seats could have a good night’s sleep?
Yet a good man like Daredevil had to endure immense suffering, sleeping in agony in this dim, cramped room.
With Peter’s life experience, he couldn’t yet wrap his head around these questions.
These emotions surged wildly in his chest.
He left Daredevil’s hideout and ran through Hell’s Kitchen in the dead of night.
Using his spider powers to leap across rooftops, he navigated through New York’s night sky.
In the distance, the neon lights of casinos and nightclubs stayed lit all night long.
In contrast, the alleys submerged in darkness remained pitch-black, as if dawn would never come.