Spider-Man and Daredevil

When Peter woke again, he found himself in a cramped, dimly lit room. A man in a red bodysuit stood with his back to him, sorting through his equipment.

Peter still hurt all over, but thanks to his extraordinary Self-Healing ability, most of his wounds had already closed. The man turned around and said, "Kid, you were lucky. They only gave you some laxatives and anesthetic, nothing stronger. Otherwise, you wouldn't be awake right now."

Spider-Man's mutant abilities did not reach their peak the moment he acquired them. They needed a series of training sessions and stimuli to develop. The Spider-Man of the future would surpass the current Peter dozens of times over in strength, speed, and Self-Healing alike.

Although Peter had possessed his mutant abilities for some time, all he had ever dealt with were ordinary people. His abilities had already far exceeded those of normal people, so naturally, he had never considered how to improve them.

As a result, his body had not yet reached the point where it could completely resist drugs. The boss of the underground fighting ring had given him a heavy dose of laxatives along with some anesthetic, and Peter had fallen for it.

Peter said, "I remember you. You saved me, didn't you?"

"You were lucky to survive on your own, kid. And it looks like you have some abilities beyond those of ordinary people. Otherwise, you'd already be dead."

A cold sweat broke out all over Peter's body. You could not expect a high school student to be deeply wary of others. Peter had grown up in a place with simple, honest people and friendly neighbors. Uncle Ben was the same, always favoring positive guidance. Peter had never truly seen the darkness of human nature. Still shaken, he said, "I thought..."

Then he slammed his fist into the bed and said indignantly, "I'm going back to teach that boss a lesson! He actually dared to drug me!"

"Did you really expect that place to be like a world championship, with fair referees?" Daredevil asked.

"All right. Your injuries look mostly healed, so get out of here, brat. Hell's Kitchen isn't a place you should be."

"I'm not some brat," Peter said. "I'm Spider-Man."

"You've got a long way to go," Daredevil said. Just as Peter was about to argue, a cane stopped beside his neck with a whistle of wind.

And Spider-Sense had not reacted at all—or rather, it had not even had time to react.

Cold sweat streamed down Peter's forehead. Daredevil had moved so quickly that even Peter's extraordinary vision had failed to catch it.

What Matt had learned from Stick was no amateur martial art. Though he was only an ordinary person, every aspect of his physical ability had nearly reached the limits a normal human could attain. Combined with his battle-tested martial arts, he was even a notch stronger than the newly awakened Spider-Man.

Peter was only a greenhorn. He swallowed and said, "That move was so cool, man. I saw you use it when you saved me too."

As he spoke, Peter raised his hands and mimicked a boxer's side-to-side stance. Daredevil put away 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 and find me."

Daredevil was not some blindly kindhearted man. In the Marvel universe, he was the sort of hero who acted decisively and without hesitation. He had not saved Peter solely out of sympathy. Part of it was certainly because Peter reminded him of his father's death, and he did not want anyone else to die in an underground fighting ring like that.

But another part of it was that he intended to find himself an assistant. Being injured in that assassination attempt had made him realize that he could not split himself in two. He could not evade his enemies' pursuit while dispensing justice at the same time. But with an assistant, things would become much easier.

Spider-Man fit his expectations perfectly. He was powerful and gifted, yet still very inexperienced and ignorant of many things.

And so, Peter began coming to Daredevil's place every few days. He also realized that although he possessed extraordinary strength, his skills were terribly lacking, and he had too little experience in dealing with people and situations. Otherwise, why would he have gone to an underground fighting ring to make money? With martial arts like this, wouldn't making money be effortless?

Driven by his desire to use his abilities to improve his life, as well as a young man's admiration for Daredevil's flashy martial arts, Peter quickly grew closer and closer to Daredevil and learned about what he was doing.

Although Peter admired him greatly, he felt it was unnecessary. What could one person really accomplish? He could never finish killing all the criminals in Hell's Kitchen. With that kind of determination and perseverance, if he had done something else, he would have long since started a family, built a career, and lived happily.

But soon, as Spider-Man and Daredevil became more familiar with each other, Peter even spent several nights at Daredevil's base during vacation. He saw Daredevil bandage his own wounds alone countless times, and his attitude gradually began to waver.

Daredevil truly was just an ordinary person. He had no superhuman Self-Healing ability, and unfortunately, he was even more sensitive to pain than most people. Whenever he was injured and bandaged himself alone at the base, Peter could see that he was nearly fainting from the pain. Yet the next day, he still went out as usual to fight criminals.

Hell's Kitchen was not as dangerous as Gotham, but trying to uphold justice here came with a high chance of injury. Sometimes he was grazed by stray bullets in gang shootouts. Sometimes he leaped from several stories up to escape pursuit. Other times, he took a hit in close combat and was left with a huge bruise. Whenever Spider-Man saw those wounds, he felt a complicated mix of emotions.

In his heart, he already considered Matt a friend. Of course he did not want his friend to get hurt, but how could he persuade Daredevil to stop?

Tell him not to uphold justice? Not to fight criminals? But Peter was smart. He understood that not even those unbearable wounds could stop Matt. How could Peter's few casual words possibly hold him back?

Finally, one day, Matt was shot in the calf again by a Ninja pursuing him. Peter helped him remove the bullet. Peter had never seen a wound like that before. The sharp, nauseating smell of blood made his head spin in waves. The torn muscle was so deep that bone could be seen, and Peter's hands trembled with distress.

He was not yet the Spider-Man who would later endure trials of blood and iron to become a true hero. No high school student who saw such a scene would fare much better than he did.

While helping Matt remove the bullet under his guidance, he forced out a dry voice from his throat. "Why are you doing this? Is it really worth it?"

"I thought you would have asked me sooner."

Daredevil leaned against the wall and shifted his position. His voice trembled slightly from the pain as he said, "I can tell that although your family isn't well-off, you must have an elder who loves you, and a fairly happy, complete home. Since childhood, you've lived a very stable life..."

"School may not have always gone your way, but most of the time, you've still been safe. I can tell you resent not having enough money, but do you know what? You're already lucky enough..."

In the dim little room, Daredevil muttered in broken fragments as if sleep-talking. "Actually, I was lucky too. I was born in Hell's Kitchen, but my father wasn't a gambler or an addict. He did everything he could to protect me, gave me a chance to leave this hellhole and study outside..."

"He was a great father. To support me and let me get out of here, he chose to become an underground boxer."

"Yes, your fate should have been the same as his. He refused to throw a fight when I went to watch him, so the bosses of that fighting ring had him killed."

Peter was so overwhelmed by both physical and emotional distress that he barely noticed he was crying. Daredevil was already becoming delirious from the pain, yet he continued muttering.

"You and I are both lucky. But some people are very unlucky. When their mothers were pregnant with them, they either drank or used drugs. They were born addicted. To survive, they either worked for gangs or took on even more dangerous, inhuman jobs. Because life was too painful, they kept drowning themselves in drugs and alcohol, and their children repeated the same lives..."

"...This is Hell's Kitchen."

"Yes... I was lucky. I had the chance to leave this place, receive a higher education, train in martial arts. Since I was luckier than all of them, since I gained more than them and had greater abilities..."

"...what reason do I have not to do these things?"

Daredevil often called Hell's Kitchen "this hellhole." Peter had also heard people curse those criminals countless times, wishing everyone in this damned place would hurry up and go to Hell.

But for the first time, he understood that Daredevil truly wanted to save this place. He genuinely possessed the unwavering determination to pull Hell's Kitchen out of Hell.

Peter truly could not imagine how someone already trapped in such an environment could still think of saving a place like this. It was simply impossible.

Yet Daredevil still insisted on doing it.

Peter fell silent. When he reached in and pulled out the bullet, Daredevil let out a scream like someone on the verge of death. Soon, he passed out, his face pale.

Peter stood in the middle of the room, looking at the somewhat shabby space. There were not even anesthetics or bandages here. Matt's wound could only be wrapped with strips torn from clothing.

Peter felt anger rise within him. It was fiercer and deeper than the anger he felt when complaining about being poor. He felt that Matt should not be living like this. He was clearly steadfast, persistent, and resolute.

And he was a good person. Good people deserved good rewards.

Why were the bosses and shareholders of those underground fighting rings living so comfortably? Why could even the drunks who drank themselves unconscious in their seats enjoy a good Dream for the night?

Yet a good man like Daredevil could only endure immense pain and fall asleep in agony inside this cramped, dim room.

With Peter's limited life experience, he still could not understand these questions. Those emotions churned violently in his chest.

He left Daredevil's base and ran through Hell's Kitchen in the middle of the night.

Using his spider abilities, he leaped across rooftops and darted through New York's night sky. In the distance, the neon lights of casinos and nightclubs never went out, while the alleys sunk in darkness seemed as if dawn would never come, pitch-black from end to end.