In The DC World With Marvel Chat Group

When Peter regained consciousness, he found himself in a cramped and dimly lit room. He noticed a man in a red, tight-fitting suit with his back turned, busy organizing his equipment.

Peter's body still ached all over, but thanks to his exceptional self-healing abilities, most of his injuries had already healed. The man turned to him and said, "Kid, you're lucky. They just gave you some laxatives and anesthetics. They didn't use anything more potent, or else you wouldn't be awake right now."

Spider-Man's mutation abilities didn't reach their peak right from the start. They required a series of training and stimuli. The later Spider-Man, in terms of strength, speed, and healing abilities, was many times stronger than Peter is now.

Peter had acquired his mutation abilities some time ago, but he had only dealt with ordinary people. His abilities now surpassed those of ordinary humans by a considerable margin, so he hadn't thought much about improving them.

Because of this, his body hadn't reached a level where it could fully resist drugs. The owner of the underground fighting arena had given him a substantial dose of laxatives, combined with some anesthetics, which left him incapacitated.

Peter said, "I remember you. You're the one who saved me, right?"

"You're lucky, kid. It seems you have some extraordinary abilities, or else you would be dead by now."

Peter broke out in a cold sweat. You couldn't expect a high school student to have strong distrust of people. The place where Peter grew up had a simple and friendly atmosphere, just like his uncle. Positive education was the norm, and Peter had never encountered the treacherous nature of people. He shivered and said, "I thought..."

Then, he angrily pounded the bed and said, "I'm going to teach that owner a lesson! How dare he drug me!"

"Do you really expect that place to have fair referees, just like in the World Championships?" Daredevil asked.

"Alright, I can see your wounds are mostly healed. You better leave this place soon, kid. Hell's Kitchen isn't where you should be."

"I'm not just a kid," Peter said. "I'm Spider-Man."

"You still have a long way to go," Daredevil said. Just as Peter was about to retort, a cane whizzed past his neck.

Even Spider-Sense didn't react, or perhaps there was no time to react.

Peter broke out in a cold sweat, and Daredevil's movements were so fast that even his enhanced vision couldn't catch them.

Matt had learned from Stick, not just any ordinary martial arts. Although he was just a regular human, his physical attributes had almost reached the limits of what an ordinary person could achieve. Coupled with extensive combat training, he was even more formidable than the newly awakened Spider, in terms of skill and combat prowess.

Peter, on the other hand, was just a greenhorn. He swallowed hard and said, "That move was impressive, buddy. I see you used it to save me."

With that, Peter imitated a boxing stance with his hands, swaying left and right. Daredevil retracted his cane and said, "If you really want to be Spider-Man, there's a lot more you need to learn. If you're interested, you can come here and find me."

Daredevil wasn't exactly a saint; in the Marvel world, he was a very decisive hero. He saved Peter not only out of sympathy but also because of memories of his father's death. He didn't want to see anyone die in an underground fighting arena like he did.

But on the other hand, he also intended to find himself an assistant. The day he was injured in an assassination attempt made him realize that he couldn't do everything alone. He couldn't evade his enemies and uphold justice at the same time. Having an assistant would make things much easier.

The young Spider seemed to fit the bill perfectly. He had incredible abilities and high potential but was still inexperienced.

And so, Peter began to visit Daredevil regularly, realizing that despite his extraordinary strength, his skills were lacking, and he lacked life experience in many aspects. Otherwise, why would he need to earn money in underground fights when he had such martial prowess?

Driven by his desire to improve his life with his abilities and his admiration for Daredevil's impressive martial arts, Peter quickly became friends with Daredevil and understood what he was trying to achieve.

Although Peter admired him, he couldn't help but wonder if it was necessary. What could one person achieve? Even dealing with Hell's Kitchen's criminals was a daunting task, and he could barely handle it. With his determination and perseverance, he could have settled down and led a happy life.

However, as Peter grew closer to Daredevil, spending several evenings at his residence during holidays, he witnessed Daredevil repeatedly tending to his injuries in excruciating pain. Peter's attitude began to waver.

Daredevil was just an ordinary human, and unfortunately, he was more sensitive to pain than most. Every time he patched up his injuries, Peter could see how much pain he was in. Yet, the next day, he would still go out to fight criminals.

While Hell's Kitchen might not be as dangerous as Gotham, trying to uphold justice here carried a high risk of injury. Sometimes, he would get grazed by bullets during gang shootouts, or he would jump from several stories high to evade pursuers, or he would get hit up close in a brawl, leaving large bruises. Whenever Peter saw these injuries, he felt a mix of emotions.

In his heart, he had come to consider Matt as a friend, and he didn't want his friend to get hurt. But how could he persuade Daredevil otherwise?

Could he dissuade him from seeking justice? From fighting criminals? Peter was clever; he understood that if even these excruciating injuries couldn't deter Matt, a few words from him certainly wouldn't.

One day, Matt found himself once again pursued by the relentless Ninja assassins. A bullet had grazed his thigh, and Peter rushed to his side to extract the projectile. The wound was unlike anything Peter had ever seen, emanating a pungent, nauseating scent of blood. It made his head spin, and the torn muscles exposed bone. Peter's trembling hands attested to his discomfort.

He wasn't the Spider-Man he would become later, hardened and truly heroic. Any high schooler witnessing this scene would have been equally unnerved.

As he assisted Matt with the bullet, Peter's voice cracked with dryness as he asked, "Why are you doing this? Is it really worth it?"

"I thought you'd ask sooner," Daredevil replied, leaning against the wall. His voice quivered from the pain, and he continued, "I can tell, even though your family life may be ordinary, you probably have a caring guardian and a relatively happy home. You've led a stable life from childhood to now."

"In school, you may have faced some hardships, but most of the time, you were safe. I can see you have some complaints about money, but do you know? You're already quite lucky."

In the dimly lit room, Daredevil rambled on like a delirious dream, saying, "I'm lucky too. I was born in Hell's Kitchen, but my father wasn't a gambler or an addict. He did his best to protect me, to give me a chance to escape this place, to go out and read books."

"He was a great father. To support me, to enable me to leave here, he chose to become an underground fighter."

"Yes, your fate was supposed to be like his. He refused to throw a fixed fight when I went to watch him compete, so the owners of those fight clubs killed him."

Peter was overwhelmed with both emotional and physical distress, almost unaware that tears were streaming down his face. Daredevil was beginning to lose consciousness due to the pain, but he continued, "You and I are lucky, but some people are not. Their mothers drank or used drugs during pregnancy, and they were born addicted. To survive, they either work for gangs or engage in even more dangerous, inhumane activities. Because their lives are so painful, they continue to indulge in drugs and alcohol, passing on these patterns to their children."

"...that's Hell's Kitchen."

"Yeah... I'm fortunate to have a chance to leave here, to receive higher education, to train in martial arts. Since I'm luckier than them, since I have greater abilities..."

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

Daredevil often referred to Hell's Kitchen as "this cursed place," and Peter had heard him curse those people countless times, wishing a swift descent to hell upon everyone in this damned place.

But for the first time, Peter realized that Daredevil genuinely wanted to save this place, harboring unwavering determination to lift Hell's Kitchen from its hellish state.

Peter couldn't fathom why, given the circumstances, anyone would attempt to rescue this place. It seemed utterly impossible.

But Daredevil was determined.

In silence, Peter removed the bullet, and Daredevil let out a harrowing cry as if on the brink of death. Soon, his face turned pale, and he passed out.

Peter stood in the center of the room, surveying its shabby, rotten state. Even basic supplies like anesthesia and bandages were nowhere to be found. He could only makeshift a bandage for Matt's wound using strips of cloth from their clothing.

A profound anger welled up inside Peter, stronger and deeper than his complaints about lacking money. He believed that Matt didn't deserve to be in this situation. Matt was resolute, persistent, and had tremendous willpower.

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

Why were the owners of those underground fight clubs and shareholders living in such opulence, even the alcoholics who passed out in their seats, getting pleasant dreams for a night? Meanwhile, someone like Daredevil had to endure immense suffering, sleeping in this dim and narrow room.

With his experience, Peter couldn't comprehend these issues, and these emotions swirled within him.

He left Daredevil's hideout and ran through the nighttime streets of Hell's Kitchen. Utilizing his spider abilities, he leaped across rooftops, navigating the nocturnal expanse of New York. In the distance, the neon lights of casinos and nightclubs never ceased, while these dark alleys seemed eternally shrouded in darkness, as if the sun would never rise.

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