Madame Gao and Parseltongue

Fudge waited anxiously.

He should never have come to a place like this.

Unfortunately, he had already boarded the wrong ship.

After seeing what kind of man John was, he no longer dared describe his boss as someone who paid well and asked little.

"Why do you work for him?" Fudge asked Ferdinand.

"Because he has money," Ferdinand said.

"But didn't you see?" Fudge exclaimed. "He made one man kill another."

Ferdinand hesitated too. He wanted desperately to make something of himself.

Everything told him that unless he stayed with John, he would never be anything more than a Brooklyn thug.

"You can't blame him for that."

"Who else am I supposed to blame?" Fudge thought Ferdinand had lost his mind.

Ferdinand could only say, "He's ill."

"What?" Fudge froze. "You mean he has a mental illness?"

"I don't know either. He said he had an operation before, and it left him a little unstable."

At the mention of it, Ferdinand's hands curled inward. He had been the first to witness John in that state. "He's normal most of the time."

Fudge didn't know what to say either. If illness was to blame, he could at least use that to rationalize what had just happened.

Just then, John walked out carrying a bag.

"What's that?"

"I ran into our old friend, though he wasn't holding a woman. That'll probably disappoint you." John casually handed the bag to Ferdinand.

Their old friend?

As Fudge wondered, Matt walked out in a suit.

He had wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and changed into the clothes John had given him. No one would connect him with Daredevil now.

"Matt? What are you doing here?" Fudge's eyes widened.

You're blind, and you still get up to this sort of thing?

"Matt came here at my request," John stepped in to explain. "As you know, one of my cars was stolen."

Fudge reluctantly accepted the explanation.

They headed toward the Death Race venue.

"We need to leave as soon as possible," Matt whispered into John's ear. "Those guys could discover us at any moment."

"The most dangerous place is often the blind spot people overlook."

John pushed open the last door and stepped inside. "You can't fight freely with two deadweights in tow."

Matt reluctantly accepted that argument, while also learning why John had come.

All this over a car?

Is there something wrong with all these rich people?

"How much was that car?"

"I don't know. A million or so?"

"Do you really need it?"

"No."

"Then why did you come?"

"Because I was bored."

Matt was speechless. Is this how rich people think these days?

They reached the Death Race.

It was a racetrack that operated at night.

All sorts of heavily modified cars appeared. Here, one could see New York's elites in sharp suits, as well as stars who had once graced magazine covers.

Thrill seekers came here to burn off energy they had nowhere else to release.

The rules of the Death Race were to finish the course and take first place.

During the race, each car needed a navigator, and racers could use all kinds of vehicle modifications to attack.

Once only one intact car remained and completed the challenge, its crew could win two hundred thousand dollars sponsored by Satan's Mansion.

Of course, they had to be able to walk away with it.

The people from Satan's Mansion had been taking the prize money race after race.

"Welcome to the Death Race!"

A flamboyantly dressed host appeared on a rising platform, microphone in hand and brimming with excitement.

"Today, we welcome a new challenger! His name is Black Ape Man!"

"When the fuck did I call myself Black Ape Man?"

Roman was furious when he heard that introduction.

If he hadn't wanted to prove himself, that nickname alone would have made him leave on the spot.

"His opponent has won seven consecutive races and killed every rival-the most vicious of them all, Rattlesnake!"

A wildly modified car appeared, its body covered in spikes and its front equipped with a scoop capable of flipping other cars.

"Wait, I'm racing that thing?"

Seeing what he was up against, Roman began to panic.

That thing didn't look like a car any sane person would drive.

Is this Death Race even remotely legitimate?

The host then introduced several more challengers.

Their cars had all been heavily modified into terrifying weapons.

Only Roman had a luxury executive car that looked utterly unremarkable.

Like a little lamb that had wandered into a pack of wolves, he drew laughter from the audience.

Ferdinand fidgeted uneasily. He felt that if his little brother wasn't killed in a crash, his boss would kill him instead.

John showed no anger at all. On the contrary, he looked very interested.

The race began. Although Roman lacked their formidable offensive weapons, he possessed superb driving skills.

He floored the accelerator and immediately took the lead.

But that was a very dangerous position.

The other challengers began attacking.

Someone even leaned out a car window and fired a handgun repeatedly.

Bullets struck the car like raindrops, frightening Roman into ducking his head.

Ferdinand turned deathly pale. It was over. Now he was going to lose his job.

Matt paid none of this any attention. He was using his hearing to locate a room amid the cacophony.

"We need to go upstairs," he whispered into John's ear.

John glanced at the heavily guarded second floor, looking thoughtful. "You still want to take out their leader first?"

"They're jamming the signal here. We can't make calls," Matt said. "Once they realize what's happened, we'll be their prisoners."

"Optimism isn't a good strategy."

"They've kidnapped a lot of children. I suspect they have other plans for them," Matt said seriously. "I need your help."

"If it's for my lawyer, I don't mind helping." John gave him an enigmatic smile. "Are you my lawyer?"

Matt hesitated, then nodded. "I can be."

He needed John's help to rescue those kidnapped children.

Even though he knew John wasn't a good man, John was his only option.

"Deal." John held out his hand and shook Matt's.

"I'll handle the second floor."

He stood up. "You can go do what you need to do."

Matt rose too and nodded. "I need to step away for a while."

"Go ahead."

John patted Fudge on the shoulder, took a thick wad of bills from his pocket, and tucked it into Fudge's arms.

"My dear lawyer, place a bet for me." He pointed at the car Roman was driving. "Bet on my car."

Fudge looked utterly confused. He wanted to say something, only to discover that Matt had already disappeared.

When he turned again, John and Ferdinand were walking away.

He was left alone, holding a bundle of cash with no idea what to do.

Upstairs.

Corey was meeting with Madame Gao.

"You'll certainly be pleased with this deal, Madame Gao."

Corey sat opposite the elderly woman. He liked drinking alcohol, but had somehow managed to procure some tea.

Only those at the top of Hell's Kitchen knew of Madame Gao.

The merchandise she controlled was the finest available.

"I've found the children you wanted," Corey said. "But this means I'm getting involved in human trafficking, so..."

He hoped to gain something from Madame Gao.

Madame Gao lifted her teacup, slowly savoring its fragrance.

"If you can prove you're capable," Madame Gao said calmly, "I can give you more merchandise."

If not for those children, Madame Gao would never have come in person.

The last time she had visited Hell Paradise, she had been preparing to discuss the contraband business with Simon.

Satan's Mansion was merely a testing ground. Only a small fraction of Madame Gao's business flowed into the Viper Gang.

Even that much drove Corey wild.

She wanted to cultivate a force that would work for her, and Corey was the lucky candidate.

A smile appeared on Corey's face when he heard that Madame Gao was willing to supply more merchandise.

He personally escorted her out.

Just after Madame Gao left, one of his men rushed over in a panic.

"The merchandise is gone?!"

Hearing that his goods had been stolen, Corey flew into a rage.

That shipment was worth millions, and it had been stolen right after he had made such grand promises.

If he couldn't deliver on time, Madame Gao might revoke his eligibility.

"Find it right now!" Corey seized the man by the neck, his face contorted. "Kill that Daredevil!"

Madame Gao was heading downstairs when she encountered John.

She thought the person before her looked familiar. That strange feeling puzzled her.

John glanced at Madame Gao. What a coincidence.

He had encountered her at Hell Paradise last time, and now he had run into her again at Satan's Mansion.

As they passed Madame Gao, Ferdinand followed behind John with tension written all over his face.

He kept wiping away sweat with a towel. His hand ached from carrying the bag, but he didn't dare let go.

He had opened it for a look earlier. What was inside was enough to put him in prison for life.

"Boss, you're already so rich. Why are you still doing this?" His face was miserable. He really wanted to leave crime behind and become a decent man.

"What are you thinking?" John said, exasperated. "Only an idiot would do this for such a pittance."

"Then what are you doing?"

"I'm here to find someone."

Downstairs earlier, John had used the Confundus Charm to deal with the guards.

In his room, Corey grew angrier the more he thought about it.

He smashed things in fury, and as his rage mounted, the tattoos on his body gradually turned red.

With each panting breath, his strength grew.

He punched through the television and smashed hole after hole into the bar counter.

The patterned snake watched the enraged Corey, flicking its tongue.

In the midst of his rampage, Corey heard a knock.

What idiot would knock now?

He angrily opened the door and saw a young face.

"You seem to be looking for something?" John walked in with Ferdinand as though he hadn't noticed the wreckage.

Corey was about to explode when he spotted the bag in Ferdinand's hand.

His bloodshot eyes fixed on it.

"Where did you get that?" Corey roared like a beast. "Tell me!"

"That's not the point. The point is, do you want it?"

Unhurried, John walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and admired Roman maintaining the lead in his father's luxury car.

Corey gradually calmed down and snorted. "Who are you?"

"Me? A nobody." John smiled. "But I've brought you a deal. You can choose."

"I won't force you."

He was so calm that Corey began to question his identity.

He had strolled brazenly into Corey's room and openly started discussing terms.

Who exactly was this man?

Was he really going to make Corey pay for something that already belonged to him?

Corey sneered, flexed his fists, and said with a vicious grin, "Give it to me."

He certainly wasn't going to pay.

John sighed regretfully. "Looks like the deal fell through. Then..."

"Kill him."

Ferdinand looked utterly bewildered. He couldn't understand John's last sentence.

That sound wasn't a human language at all.

That didn't matter.

Because someone had understood.

Corey was just about to take back his belongings.

The next second, coils tightened around his body.

Then a gaping maw clamped down on his neck.

Patterned scales filled his vision.

The Patterned Snake.

His pet.

Corey opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

Fangs pierced his skin like knives and tore open his windpipe.

Corey rolled and struggled, but the Patterned Snake refused to let go.

The sight made Ferdinand's scalp prickle.

John's expression remained calm.

He had a special ability.

In the magical world, there were people who could communicate with snakes.

They were known as...

Parselmouths.

John watched Corey slowly breathe his last. Corey struggled with all his might, but he was only flesh and blood in the end.

By the time he finally died, Corey's muscles had swollen noticeably, and even the Patterned Snake's bones had been crushed in his desperate final struggle.

None of this stirred the slightest emotion in John.

Meanwhile, the Death Race ended. John glanced over and asked in surprise, "Your little brother won?"

Ferdinand was about to throw up, but at those words, he swallowed it back down and ran to the window to look below.

Delighted surprise spread across his face.

It looked like his little brother wouldn't have to die.