“Are you here to sell your merch?” Green scratched his cheek, intelligence on his visitor flashing through his mind.
Matt Murdock.
Blinded by radioactive material as a child while saving a life, he had acquired superhuman senses and a radar-like spatial perception as a result.
Trained by Stick, he was a master of hand-to-hand combat and staff techniques who used a modified white cane as his weapon.
Driven onto the path of dual justice after his father was murdered by the mob and the law failed to bring them to account, he was an attorney by day and the vigilante protector of Hell’s Kitchen, Daredevil, by night.
“No, of course not.” Matt adjusted his sunglasses.
“I’m here on behalf of Mr.
Wilson Grant Fisk, officially retained to negotiate peace with you.
Given how elusive you are, and that Mr.
Wilson’s intelligence points to this residence as one of your few fixed safehouses, I came to try my luck.” He paused, seemingly sensing Green’s reaction before continuing, “Fortunately, you really are here.” “Heh, I can’t believe he asked a ‘vigilante’ like you for help.” Green found it amusing and stepped aside.
“Come on in.” “Thank you.” Matt folded his cane, walked inside, and pulled the door shut behind him.
He paused at the entryway, habitually preparing to take off his shoes.
“Don’t bother.
Just come in,” Green’s voice called out.
Hearing this, Matt stopped unlacing his shoes and walked up the steps into the living room like a sighted person.
“Don’t go ‘looking’ around.” “I’ll keep it under control,” Matt replied.
The angle of his cane shifted almost imperceptibly as he voluntarily cut off his spatial awareness beyond the living room.
Because the man was exuding a faint trace of killing intent.
If Matt stepped out of line even slightly, Green would kill him.
“What did he promise you?” Green walked toward the open kitchen.
“Nothing for me, but he promised that once this situation cools down, he’ll permanently shut down all his drug operations in Hell’s Kitchen.” Matt sat down on the couch, leaning his cane against his leg.
“Heh.” Green opened the fridge, scanning for a drink.
“That’s what Scar told his brother and nephew in *The Lion King*, too.
Ever heard of using a borrowed knife to kill?
Whether you live or die, it’s a win for him.
What do you want to drink?” “Water is fine.” Green tossed him a bottle of water.
“So, what’s in it for me?” “As long as you agree not to let things escalate any further, Mr.
Fisk will give you a satisfying resolution.” Matt caught the bottle.
“That answer alone makes me deeply dissatisfied.” Green sat on the armchair diagonally across from him, draping an arm over the backrest.
“Besides, what exactly counts as ‘letting things escalate’?
Hmm?” Matt fell silent for a moment, his face behind the dark sunglasses turning slightly toward Green.
“I’ve heard about your methods, Mr.
Green.
You don’t belong to any conventional faction, and your moral compass is…
remarkably flexible.
So I beg you, whatever grudge lies between you two, don’t involve Wilson’s family.” However, he didn’t receive an immediate response from Green.
*Oh no.* A sinking feeling hit Matt.
Leaning forward, his voice dropped, laced with incredulous dread.
“You…
haven’t already moved on them, have you?” …
Inside the hotel suite, Kingpin stared down at the round hole blasted through the floor, bloodstains still visible on the ground of the room below.
A heavy aura suffocated the room.
His subordinates barely dared to breathe, afraid of triggering the mountain of muscle teetering on the edge of explosion.
“We checked all the security footage,” only James dared step forward at a time like this, handing him a tablet.
“Green transferred them through the hotel’s waste disposal chute and pulled them out through the sewer system.” Kingpin took the tablet.
The screen froze on a high-definition screenshot.
A man wearing a green felt hat grinned at the camera, holding up his middle finger.
“Why didn’t the security room sound the alarm?” Kingpin’s voice was low and emotionless.
“They said the twins from the tactical squad hijacked the monitoring room.
An hour after Green left, the twins fled by car and boarded the fastest flight out of the country,” James reported truthfully.
*Crack!* Kingpin’s fingers tightened abruptly, shattering the tablet’s screen.
Tiny sparks sprayed between his fingers.
He took a deep breath, his chest heaving violently as he fought to suppress the rage threatening to shatter his reason.
“Also…” James continued, his voice growing even more cautious.
“Bullseye is missing too.
But local news in the docks reported a victim found with both hands severed.
It’s likely him.
He probably suspects we sold him out.” “I understand,” Kingpin spat through gritted teeth, veins bulging on his temples.
His left hand clutched into a fist, snapping his gold ring under the swelling strain of his fingers until it dropped onto the carpet.
“Wait for Matt’s call.
Stand down all defenses, and cancel every contingency against Green.” He was well aware of Matt Murdock’s other identity, of course.
In fact, he had always turned a blind eye to Daredevil’s activities in Hell’s Kitchen.
A symbolic vigilante, an apparent rival to his empire, served as his perfect cover.
Without such a “check,” if his supreme power operated without a visible opponent, the people sitting higher up would no longer just be wary—they would feel threatened and resort to far more direct, merciless measures.
Chaos needed to be managed, and a controllable, symbolic adversary was part of that management.
“Sir…” James hesitated, a rare occurrence for him.
“James,” Kingpin cut him off, turning his head slowly.
His bloodshot eye bored into his second-in-command, churning with suppressed madness and…
a barely perceptible sliver of fear.
“My Richard, my Vanessa—they’re both in his hands.
I don’t want to be fishing their body parts out of the Hudson River tomorrow.” “…Understood.” James’s expression hardened.
Without another word, he turned to execute the orders.
Seeing this, the remaining henchmen in the room showed pleading looks, their eyes trailing James’s back: *Take us with you!* Matt felt thoroughly stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Looking at Green, who wore an expression of complete indifference, regret washed over Matt.
Taking this job for a sliver of hope seemed to have been a mistake.
The information gap between him and Kingpin left him utterly unable to gauge how bad things had gotten.
“Did you…
kill them?” he finally asked straight out.
“Not yet.” “Please don’t!” Matt almost blurted out.
Realizing his tone was improper, he quickly lowered his voice and added, “I mean, please—they’re just innocent civilians.” “Your so-called innocent civilians share a single fate with Kingpin.
The life of comfort they enjoy was built on the ruined lives of others.
I was planning on leaving only one alive.” “…” Matt lapsed into silence.
“Then you’ll owe me a favor.” “Fine.” Matt nodded without hesitation.
“Heh.” Green chuckled softly.
A hero’s favor?
That sounded like an interesting trade.
Seeing that Green seemed in decent spirits, Matt dared not delay.
He quickly pulled out his phone and dialed.
It picked up almost instantly.
He passed the phone to Green.
“You actually called the cops?” Green took the phone, his tone slightly mocking.
“…Unconventional times call for unconventional means,” Kingpin’s voice replied from the speaker, unnaturally calm and devoid of emotion.
“Last time we met, you had your men open fire on me.” “I apologize.
But you ripped a chunk out of me as well.” “I apologize too.” “My family…
are they alive?” “Mm-hmm.” A sharp, involuntary exhale came from the other end.
“So, what can you offer me?
And don’t bring up Bullseye—that was my doing, not your apology.” “…Dragon Bone,” Kingpin uttered slowly.
“You have a lead?” Green’s eyes narrowed.
Dragon Bone originated from the mythical dragon named Shou-Lao.
Every vast epoch, it underwent nirvanic rebirth, leaving behind a molted skeleton infused with mysterious power.
The vast majority of Dragon Bones had been reclaimed by the guardians of Kunlun, but buried deep beneath Hell’s Kitchen was the remnant of a rebirth from thousands of years ago.
Its effects were potent—it could raise the dead and grant longevity.
The catch was that resurrection permanently damaged the soul, leaving most of those brought back driven mad.
Furthermore, the longevity granted by Dragon Bone required a continuous supply; once cut off, the user’s organs would rapidly fail, resulting in death.
According to Green’s intelligence, the faction closest to obtaining this Dragon Bone was The Hand.
Now, it appeared Kingpin was secretly scheming for the exact same prize.
“We can cooperate,” Kingpin’s voice continued.
“A forty-sixty split on the Dragon Bone.” “Fine.
I take sixty.” “I have more than just myself to split it with on my side.
Forty percent max.” “Then I want double the bounty from the original job as well.” “…Green, you’re greedy.” “Yeah.
You refusing?” “Deal.
Now give me back my family.” “I’ll arrange a middleman with enough weight.” “Matt will do.” “Wilson, are you three years old?
Or did all that muscle crush your brain?” Green scoffed, his tone shifting into a malicious tease.
“Oh, right…
your wife…
she’s really juicy.” With that, he hung up and tossed the phone back to Matt.
Matt listened from the side, his heart racing—not just because of the content of the conversation, but because of the atmosphere between them.
They didn’t sound like mortal enemies; they sounded like old friends.
As long as there was enough mutual benefit, the line between friend and foe blurred easily.
Especially Kingpin—the moment he confirmed his family’s safety, he instantly displayed the poise and tactical negotiation worthy of a crime lord.
And Green clearly hadn’t fallen into his rhythm, maintaining absolute leverage instead.
Matt felt like he was just a tool in whatever game they were playing.
“You can leave now.” “What about them…?” Matt looked toward the inner room, referring to Kingpin’s wife and son.
“Wait outside.” “Okay.” Knowing better than to push it, Matt stood up and left.
Just then, Laura finished her shower and stepped out wearing one of Green’s oversized T-shirts.
The shirt hung loosely off her thin frame.
Reluctant to rip off the excess fabric, she simply stood there staring blankly at Green, as if awaiting orders.
“Go get something to eat.” Green walked past her, reaching out to ruffle her damp short hair.
“Oh.” Green entered the bathroom, opened a hidden door, and injected Vanessa with the antidote.
She slowly stirred awake, her eyes carrying a trace of offended resentment.
“Your behavior…
isn’t gentlemanly at all.” Her voice was weak, and the dull ache in her hip made her wonder just how much sedative this bastard had pumped into her.
He was overly cautious—cautious enough to make her question her own charm.
“Which Hydra head do you belong to?” Green sliced through her restraints with a pocket knife.
“You’ll find out…” Vanessa tried to maintain a sense of mystery.
Green pressed the blade against her cheek, leaving a thin cut of blood, and she blurted out quickly, “Madame Viper!” He stared into her eyes, confirming her pupils hadn’t physiologically dilated from lying.
“In the future, don’t play smart and try testing me again, got it?
Not unless I come looking for you.” Green didn’t resort to further violence; he simply sheathed his blade.
Yet the killing intent rolling off him felt far more bone-chilling than the ice water she had been soaked in earlier.
“…Understood.” She couldn’t help clenching her fists, digging her nails into her palms to force herself to stay calm.
“Let’s go.” Green tossed back her clothes along with her delicate, deadly hidden weapons, then quietly watched as she put everything back on and re-equipped herself piece by piece.
Afterward, he dragged out the still-unconscious Richard and shoved the mother and son into the waiting car outside.
“Thanks,” Matt smiled from the driver’s seat to Green standing outside.
“Don’t be naive.
You’re nothing more than a messenger.” The smile on Matt’s face stiffened.
“Still, I like polite people.
See ya.” Green patted the roof of the car.
“Heh.” Matt let out a bitter chuckle, turned his head back, and stepped on the gas.
The car glided away.
From the back seat, Vanessa looked back through the rear window at Green standing in the doorway, her eyes full of mixed emotions, until his figure vanished behind the closing door.
*Bzzzt…
bzzzt…* Just then, Matt’s phone buzzed rapidly.
“Mrs.
Fisk, it’s for you.” Matt checked the caller ID announce feature and passed the phone back.
“Thank you.” Vanessa took it and answered.
“Hey!
Honey, are you all right?” Kingpin’s voice came through, unusually tense.
“Just a little tired, but I’m fine.
Richard is okay too.” Vanessa stroked her sleeping son’s hair.
But Kingpin caught that word immediately—”tired”?!!
“Did Green do something to…” His voice dropped into a dark register.
“No, he didn’t even deign to touch me.
He’s as cold-blooded as a timber wolf, Wilson.
I was truly terrified back there.” “Is…
is that true?” “When you get back, strip me down and check for yourself, you bastard!” Vanessa’s voice spiked, filled with embarrassment and outrage at being doubted, before she slammed the phone back onto the front seat.
Collateral damage once again, Matt winced as the phone bumped the back of his hand, his lip twitching slightly.
The situation felt downright surreal.
He—Daredevil, the vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen—was currently acting as a chauffeur for the wife and son of the city’s biggest mob boss, forced to listen in on their marital spat.
He picked up the phone, which now had a chipped corner, and touched it ruefully.
He’d just bought the damn thing.
Remarkably, the call hadn’t cut off.
Through the earpiece, he could hear Kingpin frantically trying to explain himself.
A sudden streak of dark humor welled up inside Matt.
He held the phone to his ear.
“Yes?” Silence fell over the other end.
“Ahem…” Kingpin cleared his throat, his voice returning to its usual composure.
“I’m grateful for everything you’ve done.” “And what about our deal…” Matt chimed in promptly.
*Beep…
beep…
beep…* The call was disconnected.
Kingpin had clearly banked on the fact that Matt’s moral code would never allow him to harm the mother and child in the back seat.
“…” Matt stared at the disconnected phone, frustration mounting in his chest.
He wanted to swear, but with the guy’s family sitting right behind him, he had no choice but to swallow his words.
His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.
And thus, a world where only Matt Murdock got hurt was achieved.