Wounded Daredevil

Hell's Kitchen, New York.

On the bed in Schiller's psychiatric clinic, Daredevil Matt let out a scream. Schiller pulled away the alcohol-soaked cotton ball held by his tweezers and said, "Even though not many people come down this street, if you keep tensing your muscles like this, there's no way I can get the bullet out."

He tossed the cotton ball into the trash can, wiped the tweezers with an alcohol pad, pried the wound on Matt's shoulder open a bit, and said, "I'll have to cut the wound open a little with a scalpel."

Matt said, "You have to give me some anesthetic, or I'll definitely go into shock."

"A superhero afraid of pain. I don't know whether to laugh at you or admire you," Schiller said.

"Not many people can hurt me. Kingpin found someone formidable this time," Matt said.

Schiller looked at Matt's pale face; his lips were almost completely bloodless. Everyone's tolerance for pain is different, and Daredevil Matt clearly belonged to the more sensitive type.

Like Schiller said, for someone like that to become a superhero—it's hard to say whether it's laughable or admirable.

Schiller thought, superheroes get hurt and bleed too. No amount of powerful medicine can completely avoid pain. Perhaps Batman, too, in those unbearable moments of agony, abandoned shallow thoughts of revenge and found himself a greater purpose.

Only a grand ideal like "justice" could sustain these superheroes, night after night, as they licked their wounds alone.

Schiller put down the tweezers and said, "You're in luck, Matt. I've got some good stuff here."

He took out a small white bottle and handed it to Matt. Matt felt the packaging and sniffed the smell, then said, "Damn it, how do you have this kind of painkiller too? You addict!"

Schiller said, "Don't be ungrateful. This isn't like the junk on the market. The concentration is the highest you'll find. If you don't take it, give it back. This stuff is expensive."

What Schiller pulled out was the painkiller he'd swiped when he went to steal Fear Gas from Jonathan. Jonathan needed painkillers for experiments on his subjects, and these were refined by him personally—much better than anything you could buy.

Matt still took one and said, "God help me get better soon so I can turn around and punch you."

"Don't make biting the hand that feeds you sound so matter-of-fact. In this godforsaken place called Hell's Kitchen, carrying a few little pills on you is perfectly normal. That's hardly a crime."

Matt felt the pain gradually fade, and he had to admit Schiller had a point. In Hell's Kitchen, popping pills was practically the most harmless hobby around.

And Schiller thought, if someone in Gotham only had a pill-popping habit, they'd be as virtuous as an angel.

Schiller watched Matt's complexion slowly recover, and while performing the simple surgery, he asked, "How did you end up capsizing in a ditch?"

Matt pressed his lips together and said, "The person Kingpin found is no joke. I took precautions, but those guys calling themselves 'ninjas' can lower their heartbeats. I couldn't hear them... Oh! Damn it..."

Schiller used the tweezers to hold up the freshly extracted bullet. He turned the bullet left and right and said, "These ninjas of yours really have too much time on their hands. They even carved a cherry blossom pattern into the bullet."

Matt looked exhausted. Schiller called out, "Pikachu! Bring me the bandages from the cabinet!"

Matt heard a small creature jump onto the table. It said with a look of disgust, "I told you not to treat him in the bedroom. Do you think the smell of blood is nice? Hey, unlucky bastard, your bandages..."

Schiller caught the bandages Pikachu threw over and wrapped them around Matt. Matt said, "You'd better hurry up. I have to get out of here soon."

"And die on the street outside the door?" Schiller asked.

"They've got their eyes on me. Those ninjas have unique tracking skills. If they come here, none of us will get away," Matt said.

After all, he was still a good person and didn't want to drag Schiller down. Even though Schiller wasn't exactly a good guy in his book, he had saved him. Matt talked tough, but he didn't actually want to repay kindness with enmity.

Schiller cleaned the bloodstained tools as he said, "They don't need any special tracking skills. You ran all the way from the next street reeking of blood. If they haven't found you yet..."

Matt suddenly heard a sharp whistling wind. He shouted, "Shuriken!! Dodge!!"

His heart was frantic, because he could tell from Schiller's footsteps that he was just an untrained ordinary person. Facing those ninja assassins, he had almost no chance of survival.

But soon, he heard a "thump." The projectile seemed to hit something. Schiller was holding an umbrella. He thought, an umbrella really is a good defensive tool, especially against small things like shuriken—it greatly reduces their impact.

There was only one person on the other side, because Schiller's telepathy had a range. Aside from Matt, he could only sense one person's thoughts.

"Miss, if you hesitated for three whole minutes before making a move, why don't we sit down and have a cup of coffee together?" Schiller said.

Before the other side could answer, Schiller continued speaking to the air, "You really went easy on your old flame. I've never seen anyone manage to land a bullet right in the gap between the shoulder blades, the least fatal spot. Since you're here, why not come out and show yourself?"

A cold snort came from the air on the other side, and then the assassin left.

Matt was completely confused and said, "What? What old flame?"

Schiller shook his head and said, "Haven't you figured it out? This assassin you ran into—since she had the ability to shoot you without you noticing, why didn't she aim for the heart or the head?"

"Wasn't that bullet aimed at my heart?"

"Off by a mile."

Matt's brain short-circuited. Clearly, he hadn't realized yet that the assassin on the other side was actually his former classmate and ex-girlfriend, Elektra.

Knowing the plot, Schiller was well aware that Elektra was probably agonizing right now. She still had feelings for Matt but was hesitating over whether to complete the mission. She wanted to show up but didn't want to see her ex-boyfriend. So when Schiller just called out her identity, she bolted, obviously not wanting Matt to know who she was.

Truly, a woman's heart is a labyrinth.

Soon, Daredevil Matt drifted off to sleep from the pain and anxiety. Schiller pulled down the rolling shutter on the clinic's main door and locked it, then closed and locked all the windows. He stood by the bed, gazing at the night sky over New York City.

A bright meteor streaked across the sky. Countless couples made wishes upon it, but it was actually Stark's armor.

The people of Hell's Kitchen didn't have the leisure to make wishes on meteors, but Schiller pulled out his phone and called Stark. As soon as the call connected, Schiller said, "Does Miss Pepper know you'd rather fly around in your armor in the middle of the night than go back and keep her company?"

Then, under the gaze of countless couples, the meteor plummeted straight down.

A moment later, on the roof of Schiller's psychiatric clinic, Stark, wearing the slightly smoking Mark V prototype, complained to Schiller, "I really should put you on my contacts blacklist..."

Schiller lit a cigarette for him and said, "A middle-aged man, out joyriding in the middle of the night, flying such a melancholy trajectory—what else could it be but a fight with his wife?"

Stark walked over to the edge of the roof and sat down, taking the cigarette Schiller offered. He said, "...She's putting a lot of pressure on me. Seriously, I haven't figured it out..."

"Haven't figured what out? Whether to marry Pepper or not?"

Stark coughed a couple of times, choked up, and said, "Marriage? Don't you think you're skipping a few important steps?"

"Oh, right, in the eyes of a stallion like you, there is indeed one important step."

"Don't say that. Pepper's not like those other women."

"Just don't know if you're any different from other men in her eyes," Schiller said.

Before Stark could respond, Schiller continued, "But I'd guess it's about the same. You spend less time with her than the security guard does."

"...Then I'll fire that security guard as soon as I get back," Stark said indignantly.

Clearly, he was dodging some issues.

After a moment, Stark touched his cheek, looking conflicted. "...Can you really read minds?"

"If I said I could, would you believe me? If you don't believe it yourself, stop asking," Schiller said.

"I'd love to find a way to make myself believe mind reading exists in this world, and then you could tell me what Pepper's really thinking," Stark said.

Iron Man wasn't the traditional "justice always wins" type of hero. He had a sensitive, emotional heart and a sentimental brain that didn't match his tech-genius character design, always tangling his thoughts into a mess.

Facing Pepper, Stark could never charge ahead boldly, never realizing that this attitude alone already said a lot.

Schiller changed the subject. "How's that red-and-blue bodysuit kid in New York City doing lately? I've heard you complain about him."

"Oh, yeah. A kid in the ugliest bodysuit imaginable, bouncing and swinging around midtown like a flea," Stark said. He added, "Jarvis says the kid's probably not an adult. I plan to catch him and throw him back home."

Schiller said, "I've got a few clues here. Want to hear them?"

"I've seen him a few times on the edge of Hell's Kitchen. He didn't dare come inside. I noticed a high school logo on his sky-blue pants—over in Queens..."

"You call that a clue?" Stark scoffed. Schiller continued, "It's obvious he can't afford a decent outfit. His family situation probably isn't great, so definitely not one of those expensive private schools. Most likely a student at Midtown High or Forest Hills High..."

"Forest Hills High is a boarding school. If a student there was out roaming like that, they'd probably get their legs broken. Midtown High is a lot more laid-back. Judging by his build, he's probably a freshman or sophomore."

"A little brat," Stark concluded. He said, "Probably tinkered together some toy to show off and couldn't wait to run around with it."

"So, are you planning to teach him how harsh the adult world can be?" Schiller asked.

"Of course. More importantly, New York City isn't his playground," Stark said.

Though he was just recovering himself, he was still an adult who had been through major events. He knew that if Spider-Man kept wandering around like this, something would happen eventually. In fact, some media had already noticed him.

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