Chapter-18 | Wounded Daredevil...

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In Hell's Kitchen, New York, on a bed at the Schiller Psychological Clinic, Daredevil Matt let out a painful cry. Schiller removed the alcohol-soaked cotton ball held by forceps from the wound on Matt's shoulder, saying, "Although this street is unlikely to have any visitors, if you keep your muscles so tight, I won't be able to extract the bullet."

He discarded the cotton ball into the trash and wiped the forceps with an alcohol swab. Then, he gently pried open Matt's shoulder wound a bit more, saying, "I need to make a small incision with a knife."

Matt replied, "You must give me some anesthesia; otherwise, I'll definitely go into shock."

"A superhero who's afraid of pain. I'm not sure whether to mock you or admire you," Schiller remarked.

"There aren't many who can injure me, but Kingpin has found quite the formidable adversary this time," Matt said.

Schiller looked at Matt's pale complexion, his lips almost devoid of color. Everyone had varying pain thresholds, and Daredevil Matt appeared to be among the more sensitive ones.

As Schiller had pointed out, individuals like him choosing to be superheroes was either worthy of ridicule or admiration. Schiller pondered that even the mightiest of drugs couldn't completely shield these superheroes from pain. Perhaps Batman had also abandoned shallow vengeance in favor of a greater purpose during countless episodes of unbearable pain.

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

Schiller set down the forceps and said, "You're lucky, Matt. I've got some good medication here."

He produced a small white bottle and handed it to Matt, who examined the packaging and sniffed the scent before exclaiming, "Damn it, how do you have this kind of painkiller? You're quite the addict!"

Schiller replied, "Don't underestimate it. This isn't like those cheap, rotten ones on the market. It has the highest concentration you can find. If you don't use it, give it back; this stuff is expensive."

The painkiller Schiller had was obtained when he stole fear gas from Jonathan's place. Jonathan needed painkillers for his experiments, and these were ones Schiller had refined himself, far superior to what could be bought.

Matt reluctantly took a pill and said, "God, please let me recover quickly so I can give you a punch in return."

"Don't take my help for granted. Carrying a few pills in Hell's Kitchen is perfectly normal; it's hardly a crime," Schiller replied.

Matt felt the pain gradually subside and had to admit that what Schiller said had some merit. In Hell's Kitchen, indulging in drugs was perhaps the most harmless of vices.

Schiller thought that if it were Gotham, a person with just a drug habit would seem as innocent as an angel.

As Schiller watched Matt's color return, he continued with a simple operation while asking, "How did you get into this mess?"

Matt clenched his lips and replied, "Kingpin brought in some serious players. I was prepared, but those 'Ninjas' they had can lower their heart rate, and I couldn't hear them... Oh, damn it..."

Schiller used forceps to hold up the just-removed bullet, examined it, and said, "Are you talking about those 'Ninjas' who have nothing better to do? They even engraved cherry blossom patterns on their bullets."

Matt looked exhausted, and Schiller called out, "Pikachu, fetch the bandages from the cabinet!"

Matt heard a small creature jump onto the table, and it looked at him with disdain, saying, "I told you not to treat him in the bedroom. Do you think the smell of blood is pleasant? Hey, unlucky guy, here are your bandages..."

Schiller caught the bandages Pikachu tossed, and he wrapped them around Matt's wound. Matt said, "You'd better hurry; I'll have to leave here soon."

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

"They're after me. Those Ninja guys have unique tracking skills. If they come here, none of us can escape," Matt said.

Despite his tough talk, Matt didn't want to drag Schiller into this mess. While he didn't consider Schiller a good person, he had, after all, saved him.

Schiller cleaned his tools stained with blood and said, "They don't need any special tracking skills. You ran here with a strong scent of blood from the neighboring street. If they haven't found you yet..."

Suddenly, Matt heard a violent swooshing sound and shouted, "It's a dart! Get down!"

He was internally frantic because he could tell from Schiller's footsteps that he was just an untrained ordinary person. Facing the Ninja assassins, there was almost no chance of survival.

However, soon after, he heard a loud "thud." It seemed the projectile hit something. Schiller was holding an umbrella, and he thought, an umbrella was indeed a great defense, especially against small projectiles like darts. It greatly reduced their impact.

There was only one person on the other side. Schiller's psychic senses only detected one person's emotions aside from Matt's.

"Miss, if you hesitated for three minutes before attacking, why don't we sit down and have a cup of coffee together?" Schiller said to the empty air.

Before the other side could respond, Schiller continued, addressing the empty air, "You spared your old flame, that's quite merciful. I've never seen anyone precisely hit the least deadly spot in the shoulder blade with a bullet. Since you're here, why not come out?"

A cold snort emanated from the air on the other side, followed by the departure of the assassin.

Matt looked puzzled and asked, "What? What old flame?"

Schiller shook his head and said, "Didn't you notice? The assassin you encountered, since she had the ability to shoot you without your noticing, why didn't she aim for the heart or head?"

"Didn't this bullet target my heart?" Matt inquired.

"Missed it by a hundred and eighty thousand miles."

Matt's mind was a bit scrambled; it was evident he hadn't quite processed it yet. The assassin across from him was none other than his former classmate and ex-girlfriend, Erica.

Schiller, well aware of the situation, knew that Erica was torn. She had unfinished business with Matt but hesitated about whether to complete her mission. She both wanted to show up and avoid seeing her ex-boyfriend. So, as soon as Schiller revealed her identity, she made a hasty retreat, clearly not ready to let Matt know who she was.

Truly, you can never fathom a woman's thoughts.

Soon enough, Daredevil Matt drifted into unconsciousness, a mix of pain and worry. Schiller lowered the rolling shutter on the clinic door and locked it, then secured all the windows. He stood by the bed, gazing at the New York City night sky.

A bright meteor streaked across the sky, with countless couples making wishes upon it. Little did they know it was Stark's Mech armor.

No one in Hell's Kitchen had the luxury to make wishes on shooting stars. Nonetheless, Schiller dialed Stark on his mobile phone. As soon as the call connected, Schiller said, "Miss Pepper knows you'd rather cruise the skies in your Mech armor than spend time with her, doesn't she?"

And then, in the gaze of countless onlookers, that shooting star plummeted from the sky.

After a while, on the roof of Schiller's Psychological Clinic, Stark, donning his Marc5 armor that looked a bit like a cigarette, complained to Schiller, "I should've blacklisted you from my contacts..."

Schiller handed him a cigarette and said, "A middle-aged man, racing around in the middle of the night, tracing such melancholic curves, something must be amiss with his wife."

Stark joined Schiller on the roof and took the proffered cigarette. He said, "She's putting a lot of pressure on me, to be honest. I haven't figured it out yet..."

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

Stark coughed a bit and replied, "Marry? Have you skipped some important steps?"

"Oh, right, in your playboy eyes, there's still an 'important step'."

"Don't say it like that. Pepper is different from those other women."

"I wonder if you're as different to her as you think," Schiller remarked.

Before Stark could respond, Schiller continued, "But I imagine it's pretty close. You haven't spent enough time with her."

"...Then I'll fire that security guard when I get back," Stark angrily retorted.

Clearly, he was avoiding some questions.

After a while, Stark touched his own cheek, feeling conflicted. "Do you really have mind-reading abilities?"

"If I say I do, will you believe me? Stop asking about things you don't believe in," Schiller replied.

"I'd actually like to find a way to believe that mind-reading exists in this world, and then have you tell me what Pepper is really thinking," Stark said.

Iron Man wasn't the typical 'invincible' hero; he had a sensitive and sentimental side that didn't align with his genius in science and technology. Thus, he always tangled his emotions into a messy web.

When facing Pepper, Stark could never boldly move forward, failing to realize that this attitude revealed a lot.

Schiller changed the topic, saying, "How's that red-and-blue-suited kid in New York City lately? I remember you complaining about him."

"Oh, yes, a kid wearing the ugliest spandex you've ever seen, bouncing around the city, like a flea," Stark said. He continued, "JARVIS mentioned the kid's probably not even an adult; I plan to catch him and send him back home."

Schiller said, "I might have a lead here, would you like to hear it?"

"I've seen him a few times on the edge of Hell's Kitchen. He didn't dare to come in. I noticed a high school emblem on his blue pants that day, probably from Queens..."

"You call that a lead?" Stark scoffed. Schiller went on, "Judging by his attire, he can't afford high-end clothing for himself. His family situation may not be great, so he likely attends a public school, possibly Midtown High School or Forest Hill High..."

"Forest Hill High is a boarding school; if a student was wandering around like this, he'd probably get his legs broken. Midtown High is more lenient, judging by his build, he's probably a freshman or sophomore."

"A brat," Stark concluded. He added, "Probably tinkered with a toy of his own making, came out to show it off."

"So, are you planning to show this 'kid' the dangers of the adult world?" Schiller asked.

"Of course, what's more important is that New York City isn't his playground," Stark said.

Though he had just recovered, he was still an adult who had experienced significant events. He knew that Spider-Man's reckless behavior was bound to get him into trouble sooner or later. In fact, the media had already started taking notice of him.