Chapter 7

On his way back to the apartment, Schiller could clearly feel someone following him. The enhanced vision from his spider-sense allowed him to see that someone across the apartment building seemed to be watching him.

The building opposite was a fully glass structure, and there was a small window pane inside that reflected differently from other areas. Schiller was able to perceive it keenly.

His decision to open a clinic in the Hell's Kitchen was not aimless. After observing for several days, he had basically figured out the daily routine of the residents in the apartment building.

Most of the residents living here were white-collar workers and elite professionals. They were mostly single and had very regular work schedules. Their social circles were also very fixed.

Living among this kind of population made it too easy for special agents to find flaws.

Hell's Kitchen, on the other hand, was a different story. It may have been the largest slum and gang-infested area in Manhattan and the entire United States, but it was also a place of high population density, with many strangers and a large flow of people. Furthermore, it was home to various gangs of different sizes nested and entrenched, making it the perfect place for Schiller to operate as an outsider who wanted to stay under the radar.

Living in a luxurious apartment might have been comfortable, but it was no guarantee of freedom. Schiller knew that if he stayed in that apartment for a few more days, at least four or five of his neighbors would become special agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. People with murky backgrounds would try all kinds of methods to get close to him and extract information, whether it was his own or Stark's. That was just how S.H.I.E.L.D. operated; they cared little about privacy.

Despite the risks of living in Hell's Kitchen, it was still slightly less dangerous than Gotham, even though it was also filled with gangs of all sizes.

The place was teeming with destitute, gambling addicts, and those enslaved by their vices. Yet, no jesters or harlequins adorned the streets, nor were there any notorious villains to speak of.

Despite the prevalence of firearms and drugs, the vast majority of people in this place were still common folks. However, it was the ordinary who bore the brunt of the violence, not the exceptional individuals with superpowers.

Schiller saw this place as an opportunity to establish his first stronghold in the Marvel universe.

With his remarkable efficiency, Stark managed to cajole some politicians into allocating a hospital spot for Hell's Kitchen.

Some of the politicians took this as an opportunity to grandstand, claiming that they would never give up on any New Yorker. But deep down, they never expected the hospital to actually open. After all, it was Hell's Kitchen. Even the devil would be sautéed here.

Establish a hospital there? The very idea was laughable. Unless the hospital was built like a concentration camp, with tanks and cannons piled up at the door, and all the doctors and nurses inside were carrying machine guns, there was no hope. Otherwise, all the drugs would be looted overnight.

Yet, despite the politicians' doubts and the numbness of the people of Hell's Kitchen, a small psychological clinic emerged in the heart of Hell's Kitchen.

As Manhattan's most renowned and colossal slum, the eight blocks here were merely a moniker.

In truth, this area was far more extensive than the eight-block radius, with countless streets, alleys, and byways that wove together like a complex tapestry. Nearly a hundred gangs were tangled up in this web of chaos.

Rumors were rife in Hell's Kitchen that the notorious boss, Kingpin, ruled the roost in the gritty neighborhood. However, the reality was far from this. Kingpin's business stretched far beyond the narrow confines of the Kitchen, encompassing the entire East Coast and beyond.

Although his operations were widespread, there were whispers that some of his drug and smuggling activities were inextricably linked to Hell's Kitchen. But Kingpin did not live in the neighborhood and did not keep a close eye on it.

Daredevil, who had grown up in Hell's Kitchen, was Kingpin's arch-nemesis. Yet, their battles seldom took place within the locality. Spider-Man, who had also crossed swords with Kingpin, was nothing more than a naive high school student back then.

Kingpin's ambition went far beyond dominating Hell's Kitchen. The frequent commotion that rocked the area hardly bothered him. After all, arson, robbery, kidnapping, brawls, and missing persons' cases were everyday occurrences there.

Deep in the heart of San Francisco, the Kingpin sat in his luxurious office, overseeing his criminal empire with a watchful eye. His ears perked up at the sound of a whispered rumor: several of his henchmen had gone mad in the treacherous streets of Hell's Kitchen.

He leaned back in his leather chair, contemplating this news. To the Kingpin, the residents of Hell's Kitchen were like ants scurrying about in the dirt. He had little concern for their petty squabbles and drug addictions.

He dismissed the news as nothing more than the folly of weak-minded men.

The streets of Hell's Kitchen were filled with whispers of a dreadful doctor who resided in the psychological clinic at the end of Mary Street's Ninth Alley. According to the rumor, all the gang members who had attempted to collect protection fees or extortion money from him fled in terror, only to succumb to insanity shortly after.

As the incident began, a few renowned gang leaders refused to believe the rumors and ventured inside the clinic with their henchmen. But before long, they acted as if they had stumbled upon a monstrous entity. The men began to thrash about, their bodies convulsing in a frenzied battle against the air. They screamed, wailed, and sprinted away in terror, looking as if they had been possessed by some otherworldly force.

This incident created a significant stir, and the rumors quickly spread throughout Mary Street, leaving many people on edge.

As whispers swept through the dingy streets, a sinister warning echoed in the air: the Ninth Alley was cursed. A malevolent force lay in wait, eager to prey on unsuspecting souls and haunt them with their deepest fears until they descended into madness.

As time passed, Schiller, who lived in the area, started to venture out into the streets. It was then that rumors began to circulate about him being the proprietor of the clinic located in the Ninth Alley. The people of Hell's Kitchen finally learned that the supposed "ghost" haunting the area was actually an eccentric psychologist.

To the surprise of the people of Hell's Kitchen, Schiller claimed that he was simply providing psychological counseling to the gang leaders who had committed too many heinous crimes.

The idea was met with scoffs and disbelief. In Hell's Kitchen, wickedness reigned supreme, and no one was born with a conscience. Selling drugs and guns, fighting, threatening, and extorting were rites of passage for the majority of its inhabitants. How could someone who lived in this underworld feel guilt to the point of insanity?

Schiller, however, remained unfazed by the doubt and suspicion that surrounded him. He had brought Scarecrow's gas from DC, which he found effective against some of the ordinary people without special abilities.

And with the discovery that he could travel between worlds by holding onto an object, Schiller began to plot his grandest scheme yet: overthrow the boss. As the people of Hell's Kitchen whispered about the strange therapist and his unconventional methods, Schiller plotted his next move.

The power systems of Marvel and DC may differ, but there were ample opportunities for gain. He could bring items from one world to deal with enemies on the other side. He could also seek help from a friend to help him deal with something.

For example, if Schiller used fear gas in Gotham, once the news spreads, Jonathan will see the symptoms of those patients and think it is his own fear gas.

How could Jonathan know about Marvel if he is in Marvel? Schiller naturally wouldn't have to pay any copyright fees after such a terrifying rumor spread, and there were almost no more gangsters coming to trouble him.

Of course, the consequence of getting along with this group of criminals is that a superhero came knocking on his door.

On a slightly cold night in Manhattan, after Schiller had just brewed a cup of hot coffee, he closed and locked the clinic's door, ready to end a day of idleness, sleep well, and continue to harass Stark tomorrow.

Just as he placed the coffee cup on the table, he heard a crisp sound from the door, and then he turned around. In the dim light, he saw a tall man in a red tight-fitting suit standing outside the door.

Schiller's eyes flicked up from his work as he heard the sound of footsteps behind him. He turned slowly, taking his time to survey the man who had just entered his office.

"You seem to be a little late, Mr. Daredevil," he said.

Daredevil arched an eyebrow. "Do you know me, Doctor?" he asked, a note of suspicion creeping into his tone.

Schiller allowed himself a small smile. "Of course, I know you, Daredevil. You're famous for your work at Hell's Kitchen."

Daredevil's expression was guarded. "But you seem to have just arrived here," he said, his voice laced with a hint of accusation.

Schiller chuckled. "Ah, I'm more familiar with your other identity, Matt Murdock, the lawyer."

Daredevil was clearly taken aback. He didn't know how Schiller had figured out his true identity.

Before he could ask, Schiller continued. "You graduated with honors from Columbia University, and your career as a lawyer has been successful. You not only became a good lawyer, but also opened your own law firm. Matt, can you tell me why you became Daredevil? Isn't the sense of pride that being a lawyer gives you enough to uphold justice?"

Daredevil snorted. "Lawyer, justice..." he muttered. "Perhaps you think so. Yes, most people think that lawyers should be outspoken and defend vulnerable groups, but in reality..."

Schiller raised an eyebrow. "Actually? Do you think lawyers shouldn't do this?"

Daredevil hesitated. "Of course they should, I mean..."

"So you think you can't do it as a lawyer? And you want to take another approach. But can you do something that you can't do as a lawyer just by wearing a ridiculous tight suit and a mask?"

Daredevil's temper flared. "My decision has nothing to do with you!" he spat.

Schiller's expression remained unchanged. "Do you know what? Your tone just now sounded very much like a rebellious little boy," he said, his voice calm and measured.

As Daredevil stepped into the room, he had no idea that he was walking straight into a trap. It wasn't until moments later that he realized the conversation had been carefully orchestrated by none other than Schiller himself. Every step of the way, the psychotherapist maneuvered the discussion to expose Daredevil's deepest secrets and vulnerabilities.

Taking a deep breath, Daredevil composed himself and acknowledged Schiller's cunning skills. "I must admit, you are quite skilled at manipulating conversations," he said. "But I still have to ask, who are you? What is your purpose in coming to Hell's Kitchen? And why have you driven those people to madness?"

Schiller chuckled at the barrage of questions. "You are quite the interrogator, aren't you? I'm afraid I can only answer one of those tonight. I've had a long day, and I need my rest. After all, I am not a member of the mafia nor have I committed any crimes."

Daredevil wasn't convinced. "But you have driven those mafia members insane," he pointed out.

Schiller's response was swift. "You have no evidence of that," he countered.

"Perhaps not," Daredevil replied. "But that doesn't change the fact that you are up to something."

Schiller smirked. "Do you think you are nobler than the police?" he challenged.

Daredevil wasn't about to let Schiller sidestep his questions. "Let's not waste time with semantics," he said firmly.

Schiller leaned back in his chair, sizing Daredevil up. "If you listen closely, my dear Daredevil, you'll find that I've already given you some clues about where I come from and how I know your true identity."

Daredevil felt a headache coming on. He really didn't like dealing with these cunning opponents, which required him to remain highly focused at all times. And due to the shock he just experienced, he completely forgot his conversation with Schiller when he first arrived. Now, when asked to recall it, his mind was blank.

But if he couldn't answer, he would appear foolish, so he remained silent.

"It seems like you've forgotten our conversation just a minute ago. I can't believe that someone who became a superhero could have such a poor memory," Schiller sneered.

Daredevil was secretly annoyed, he swore to remember every word that Schiller said.

"Two years ago, I taught at Columbia University. I saw a list of outstanding graduates, and your name was on it, Matt. When filling out your graduation destination, you said you would open a law firm within Kansas state. Although I am a psychology professor, I know one of your former teachers. He mentioned to me that you have indeed achieved your dream."

"Don't change the subject. What I want to know is, how did you know that Daredevil is Matt?"

"Perhaps you don't remember, but when you first started on this path, you wore a black and yellow costume that your father wore during his matches. After I came to Hell's Kitchen, I went to an underground boxing match, and coincidentally, the owner of that place never changed the style of the boxing gear worn by the fighters to save costs."

"I understand now. Daredevil was probably born here and must have a connection to the underground black market boxers. After investigating, the gang members you killed were all related to your father's death. Once we discovered your father's identity, it wasn't hard to find out who you are."

"Why did you investigate me? Are you feeling guilty?" Matt asked.

"It's nothing, but if you're going to rent a house, you have to know who the landlord is, what they do, and it's best to have a good relationship with them."

"I'm not a landlord here," said Daredevil coldly.

"Oh, really? Then it seems I've got the wrong person. I should go find Kingpin. But it seems like I've already made an enemy of him. I vaguely remember that one of the gang members who came to visit me mentioned that his boss was Kingpin."

"Kin Pin? Do you have any information about Kingpin?"

"Sort of. Just when I was paying the rent, I overheard one of his subordinates saying that their boss was getting impatient with a guy named Daredevil and was planning to find someone to kill you. So you'd better be careful these days."

In the end, Daredevil hurriedly returned to his base.

Only after he got back did he realize that he hadn't achieved any of his goals tonight.

He neither found out who Schiller was, nor warned him to behave, nor found out if he had any connections with the gang.

He also didn't know how he managed to drive those people insane.

Matt slapped his head. He suddenly felt that Schiller's analogy was right. He was renting a house to a tenant with an unknown background who paid the rent in advance, which left him with no way to force him to move out in a short time.