On his way back to the apartment, Schiller could clearly feel someone following him.
The enhanced vision brought by his Spider-Sense allowed him to see what seemed to be someone watching him from across the street.
The apartment building opposite was an all-glass structure.
A small windowpane reflected light differently from the rest of the building, which Schiller’s sharp senses immediately picked up on.
His decision to open a clinic in Hell’s Kitchen was not a random whim.
After several days of observation, he had basically figured out the routines of the residents in his current apartment building.
Most of those living here were office workers and elite white-collar professionals.
They were mostly single, with highly regular working hours and very fixed social circles.
Living among such a crowd made it far too easy for agents to find a vulnerability.
Hell’s Kitchen, however, was different.
Although it was the largest slum and gang enclave in Manhattan, New York, and indeed the entire United States, its high population density, heavy foot traffic, and influx of strangers—along with the interlocking web of gangs of all sizes—made it the perfect place for an outsider like Schiller who wanted to fish in troubled waters.
While life in a luxury apartment was comfortable, it wasn’t necessarily as free as in Hell’s Kitchen.
Schiller believed that if he stayed in this apartment for a few more days, at least four or five of his neighbors would be replaced by SHIELD agents.
All sorts of people with dubious origins would try everything they could to get close to him to fish for information—whether it was about himself or Stark.
That was how SHIELD operated; they didn’t care about your privacy.
Hell’s Kitchen was also slightly different from Gotham.
Although Hell’s Kitchen had countless gangs of all sizes, it was still less dangerous than Gotham.
It was mostly populated by the poor, gamblers, and junkies, without the likes of Scarecrow or the Joker, and there were no prominent supervillains to speak of.
The vast majority of the people there were still ordinary folk.
Although guns and drugs were rampant, the victims were mostly ordinary people rather than special individuals with superpowers.
Schiller planned to make that place his first stronghold in Marvel.
Stark’s efficiency was incredibly high.
Before long, he managed to persuade some councilmen to allocate a hospital quota and place it in Hell’s Kitchen.
Some councilmen took this opportunity to loudly advertise their own benevolence, claiming that New York would never abandon any of its citizens.
But they never actually expected the hospital to open.
After all, it was Hell’s Kitchen—a place where even devils would be cooked.
Opening a hospital there?
What a joke.
Unless they built it like a concentration camp, preferably with tanks and artillery stationed at the entrance, and doctors and nurses carrying machine guns, there might be a sliver of hope.
Otherwise, all the medicine would be plundered overnight.
But no matter how skeptical the councilmen were or how numb the residents of Hell’s Kitchen remained, a small psychiatric clinic was still established there.
As Manhattan’s most famous and largest slum, its “Hell’s Kitchen” name was more than just a simple geographic designation.
In reality, its influence radiated far beyond those mere blocks.
Dozens of streets, large and small, formed a complex maze, with over a hundred gangs overlapping and competing for territory.
Some said Kingpin was the boss of Hell’s Kitchen, but that wasn’t actually the case.
In truth, Kingpin’s business interests far exceeded Hell’s Kitchen.
His criminal enterprise stretched across the entire eastern United States, even the entire East Coast.
His business spanned the country.
Hell’s Kitchen might involve some of his drug and smuggling operations, but he didn’t actually live here, nor did he watch it constantly.
Daredevil, who was born in Hell’s Kitchen, was his arch-nemesis, but they rarely fought their battles within Hell’s Kitchen itself.
And Spidey, who had clashed with Kingpin several times, was still just an oblivious high school student at this point.
Kingpin’s ambitions went far beyond unifying Hell’s Kitchen.
He didn’t care about the chaos within Hell’s Kitchen either, because turf wars, robberies, kidnappings, brawls, and missing persons occurred there every single day.
A little extra trouble meant nothing.
Therefore, when Kingpin, far away in San Francisco, heard that a few of his men in Manhattan’s Hell’s Kitchen had gone mad, he merely thought they had overdosed on drugs and paid it no mind.
But in Hell’s Kitchen, a terrifying rumor gradually began to spread.
They heard that in the psychological clinic opened at the very end of Mary Street, in Ninth Tail Alley, lived a terrifying, eccentric doctor.
Every gang member who had gone there to collect protection money or extort him had run out in horror shortly after, and then gone completely mad.
When this first started, a few notorious gang bosses refused to believe it.
They led their men inside, but before long, they came out acting as if they had encountered some kind of monster, frantically fighting the air, struggling, screaming, fleeing, and crying, looking exactly as if they were possessed by ghosts.
This incident caused quite a stir, and rumors spread like wildfire, reaching almost everyone on Mary Street.
Word spread from ten to a hundred, and soon everyone heard that Ninth Tail Alley was an absolute no-go zone.
There was a terrifying curse there that would make you see your deepest fears, eventually driving you mad with fright.
Later, when Schiller, who lived there, started going outside, people learned that he was the owner of the clinic in Ninth Tail Alley.
According to Schiller’s explanation, those gang bosses had guilty consciences from committing too many sins, and he had merely given them some friendly psychological counseling.
As for why they had gone mad?
Perhaps it was karma.
The people of Hell’s Kitchen would believe him over their dead bodies.
For anyone living here, the consensus was that only evil people prospered.
No one born in Hell’s Kitchen would feel guilty.
Committing crimes was the norm here; criminals made up the vast majority.
A guilty conscience?
How could you expect a conscience from someone who had been selling guns and drugs, fighting, extorting, and gambling since they were teenagers?
How could such a person feel guilty, let alone go mad from it?
Everyone who heard about this believed Schiller was a dark sorcerer who could curse people.
And Schiller had no intention of explaining himself.
The fear gas brought from the DC universe was indeed very useful.
Although it was only the earliest version, it worked wonders against ordinary people without superpowers.
Ever since he discovered he could travel between the two worlds carrying external objects in his hands, he had developed the idea of becoming an interdimensional reseller.
Although the power systems of Marvel and DC were different, there were plenty of things that could be resold between them, and of course, many items that could be exchanged to deal with their respective enemies.
For example, if Schiller used the fear gas in Gotham, once the news got out and Jonathan saw the patients’ symptoms, he would definitely associate it with his own fear toxin.
But in Marvel, how could Jonathan possibly know what was happening?
Schiller naturally wouldn’t have to pay any licensing fees.
After these terrifying rumors spread, almost no gang members came to trouble Schiller again.
Of course, the consequence of mingling with this crowd of criminals was that a superhero came knocking on his door.
On a slightly chilly night in Manhattan, Schiller had just brewed a cup of hot coffee.
He closed the clinic doors tightly and locked them, preparing to wrap up his day of slacking off and get some good sleep before continuing to bother Stark tomorrow.
Just as he placed his coffee cup on the table, he heard a crisp click at the door.
Turning around, in the dim light, he saw a tall man in a red skin-tight suit standing outside.
Schiller turned around, picked up his coffee cup, and said, “You seem to be a bit late, Mr.
Daredevil.”
“Do you know me, Doctor?” Daredevil asked.
“Of course, I know you, Daredevil.
You’re famous in Hell’s Kitchen,” Schiller said.
“But you seem to have arrived here only recently,” Daredevil countered.
“And yet, I am even more familiar with your other identity, Attorney Matt.”
Daredevil was visibly shocked.
He had no idea how Schiller had deduced his true identity.
Before he could ask, Schiller spoke up: “You once achieved outstanding grades at Columbia University, and your career path after graduation was very smooth.
Not only did you become a decent lawyer, but you also opened your own law firm.
Matt, tell me, why did you become Daredevil?
Wasn’t the pride of upholding justice as a lawyer enough for you?”
“A lawyer, upholding justice…” Daredevil let out a cold snort.
“Perhaps that’s what you think.
Yes, most people think that way, believing lawyers should speak up for justice and defend the vulnerable.
But in reality…”
“In reality?
Do you think lawyers shouldn’t do that?”
“Of course they should, I meant—”
“You feel you couldn’t achieve it as a lawyer?
So, you wanted to take another approach.
But if you couldn’t do it as a lawyer, do you really think putting on a ridiculous skin-tight suit and a mask will make it possible?”
Daredevil said irritably, “My decisions have nothing to do with you!”
“You know, your tone just now sounded exactly like a rebellious young boy,” Schiller said.
Only then did Daredevil realize that from the moment he stepped through the door, he had fallen into Schiller’s conversational trap.
The rhythm of the conversation had been led by the nose by Schiller; not only had his true identity been exposed, but his inner sensitive spots had also been pricked.
He took a deep breath, calmed himself, and said, “I have to admit, you are a good psychologist, and you’re very skilled at playing tricks in a conversation.
But I still must ask, who exactly are you?
What is your purpose in coming to Hell’s Kitchen?
Why did those people go mad?”
I can only answer one tonight.
Obviously, I’ve been working all day and I’m very tired.
You shouldn’t disturb my rest.
After all, I’m not a gang member, nor have I broken the law,” Schiller said.
“But you drove those gang members mad.”
“You have no evidence.”
“Only the police need evidence.”
“Do you think you’re above the police?”
“Stop running in circles with me,” Daredevil said.
“If you had listened closely to what I said, you would know where I came from and how I knew your identity.”
Daredevil felt a massive headache coming on.
He absolutely despised dealing with such cunning opponents, as it forced him to remain highly focused at all times.
Because of the shock he had just experienced, he had completely forgotten his initial conversation with Schiller upon arrival.
Now, trying to recall it left his mind a total blank.
But if he couldn’t answer, it would make him look stupid, so he remained silent.
“It seems you’ve already forgotten our conversation from a minute ago.
I really didn’t know that becoming a superhero allowed one to have such a terrible memory,” Schiller mocked.
Daredevil was inwardly vexed.
He swore to remember every single word Schiller said from then on.
“Two years ago, I taught at Columbia University.
I saw the list of outstanding graduates, and your name was on it, Matt.
When you filled out your post-graduation plans, you said you would open a law firm, which was also in the state of Kansas.
Although I am a psychology professor, I know your former mentor.
He mentioned to me in conversation that you did indeed achieve your dream.”
“Don’t change the subject.
What I want to know is, how did you know Daredevil is Matt?”
“You might not remember, but when you first started down this path, you wore the black-and-yellow outfit your father wore during his fights.
After I came to Hell’s Kitchen, I went to watch the underground boxing matches.
Coincidentally, the owner there never seemed to change the style of the boxers’ outfits, likely to save costs.
“So I figured Daredevil was likely born here and must have some connection to underground boxing.
Upon investigation, the gang members you killed were all related to your father’s death.
Once I found out your father’s identity, it wasn’t hard to find yours.”
“Why did you investigate me?
Do you have a guilty conscience?” Matt asked.
“It’s nothing.
If you’re going to rent a place, you should always find out who the landlord is, what they do, and try to stay on their good side.”
“I am hardly the landlord here,” Daredevil snorted.
“Oh, really?
Then it seems I’ve got the wrong person; I should go look for Kingpin.
Though, I seem to have already made an enemy of him.
I vaguely recall one of the gang members who visited me mentioning that his boss was Kingpin.”
“Kingpin?
You have news on Kingpin?”
“Some, I suppose.
Consider it my rent: I heard from one of his henchmen that their boss is getting very impatient with a kid named Daredevil.
He plans to find someone to kill you, you little pest.
So, you’d better watch your back lately.”
In the end, Daredevil hurriedly rushed back to his base.
It wasn’t until he got back that he realized he hadn’t achieved a single one of his goals tonight.
He hadn’t figured out who Schiller was, hadn’t warned him to behave, and hadn’t cleared up whether he had any connection to those gangs.
He also had no idea what method he used to drive those people mad.
Matt rubbed his head, suddenly feeling that Schiller’s analogy was spot on.
It was as if he had rented his property to a tenant of mysterious origins, and this tenant had even paid the rent in advance.
This left him with no way to take coercive measures to evict him for the time being, forcing him to just let the man strut around Hell’s Kitchen at his leisure.