Become Kingpin and build a hero mercenary company.

Page 14

He was always absent-minded when chatting with her. Last night, she was excitedly telling him about the funny things the new interns at the hospital had done, but he just mumbled "uh-huh" and "yeah," his eyes wandering. Finally, he suddenly blurted out, "Aunt Mei, do you think if a job pays very well, but... might change some things, should you accept it?" Her question left her completely bewildered.

He even reduced the time he spent tinkering with those "scientific experiments" in the room (she always thought he was making some small inventions), and instead spent more time holding his old cell phone, his fingers flying across the screen, the light reflecting on his face, his expression ever-changing, sometimes dreamy, sometimes struggling.

These signs, taken together, point to a hypothesis that Theresa May considers very reasonable.

“Peter,” Aunt May called to her nephew, who had already stepped into the room, her tone gentle but with an undeniable concern, “Have you been…worried about something lately? Or…have you met any…new friends?”

She carefully chose her words, afraid of hurting the boy's sensitive self-esteem. In her rich life experience (mainly from TV dramas and gossip among her hospital colleagues), she believed that a seventeen-year-old boy exhibiting these symptoms was most likely related to "relationship problems."

Peter froze, as if he'd been stepped on. He turned around in a panic, forcing an exaggerated smile to prove he was "all right": "New friends? No, Aunt May! What new friends could I possibly have? It's just... it's just that schoolwork is a bit tough, and the physics project team is working on a new... uh... project! Yes, a project!"

His explanation was a cover-up, his eyes darting around, completely avoiding eye contact with Aunt Mei's seemingly all-seeing eyes.

Aunt May's doubts deepened. She put down the sweater, stood up, walked over to Peter, and gently straightened his slightly disheveled collar with her usual tenderness.

“Peter, you know you can tell Aunt May no matter what happens.” She looked into his eyes, her voice as gentle as the night breeze. “Are you… in a relationship? With which girl? Is it Liz? Or that girl who always comes to you asking about homework… Michelle?”

"Dating?!" Peter recoiled as if burned by the word, his face instantly turning bright red. He waved his hands frantically, "No! Absolutely not! Aunt May, what are you thinking! Liz and MJ... no, I'm just classmates with them! Just ordinary classmates!"

His overreaction only further confirmed Aunt May's "diagnosis." In her view, this was the standard reaction of an adolescent boy when his secret was exposed—shyness, denial, and incoherent speech.

“Okay, okay, no, it’s not.” Aunt May smiled understandingly and didn’t press further, but the worry in her eyes didn’t disappear. “But Peter, you have to remember, no matter what it is, if it bothers you or you need to make some… important decisions, you must think it over carefully. You can also discuss it with Aunt May, okay? You’re still young, and you don’t need to carry many things alone.”

Her pointed words, like a feather, gently scratched at the most sensitive part of Peter's heart. He was certainly troubled; he was certainly facing an important decision, but he couldn't confide in Aunt May. Should he tell her that her nephew, the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man of New York City, was currently debating whether to join a hero association founded by a former mob boss for money and equipment?

He could only lower his head and mumble, "I understand, Aunt Mei. Thank you. I... I'm a little tired, I'll go back to my room now."

After saying that, he practically fled into his room, gently closing the door as if to shut out the concern from the outside world and the inner struggle within.

Looking at Peter's closed door, Aunt May sighed softly, walked back to the sofa, and sat down, but she no longer had the heart to continue mending. She picked up the remote and absentmindedly switched TV channels, her mind filled with various speculations and worries about her nephew's "relationship problems." Was it unrequited love? Or had they argued? What kind of girl was she? Would it affect Peter's studies?

She was completely unaware that Peter's real troubles were far more complex and dangerous than a budding campus romance. He wasn't struggling with girlish feelings, but rather with a heavy choice about power, responsibility, reality, and faith.

Inside the room, Peter leaned against the door, slowly slid down to the floor, and let out a long breath. He took out his phone; the screen was still displaying the alluring interface of the Hero Association app.

Aunt May's worries were like a mirror, reflecting the turmoil in his heart. He both craved the "reward" that could change his current situation and feared losing his purity as Spider-Man.

"Online dating..." He chuckled softly, a bitter laugh etched on his face. "If only it were really online dating..."

At least, it doesn't involve the question of whether or not one should look at the reward before saving the world.

As night deepened, inside and outside the apartment, an aunt and niece, who deeply loved each other but could not truly understand each other's troubles, each carried their own worries and found it difficult to fall asleep.

Aunt May was worried about the "heartbreak" Peter might suffer.

Meanwhile, Peter is engaged in a fierce internal struggle regarding his "financial prospects" and "future" as Spider-Man.

A heartwarming act of concern born from a misunderstanding, and a serious choice concerning the path to heroism, are miraculously intertwined in this small apartment.

Chapter 29: Kingpin's "Money" Power

Under the New York night sky, in the heart of Manhattan, a vast plot of land that once belonged to the Fisker Group and had been vacant for a long time is now tightly surrounded by towering construction fences. The fences are emblazoned with a huge Hero Association logo and the words "Future Landmark, Coming Soon," but there are no renderings of the specific architectural style, giving it an air of mystery.

However, anyone who dares to peer through this tight blockade will be utterly astonished by what they see. Here, you won't hear the deafening roar of pile drivers and mixers typical of traditional construction, nor will you see swarms of construction workers busily working like ants.

Instead, a construction method that is almost "magical" has been adopted.

Several large, oddly shaped machines with sleek lines and a bluish metallic sheen, like living behemoths, silently worked on the planned foundation. They were not powered by diesel or electricity; their power source remained unknown. One of the machines emitted a soft beam of light that scanned the ground. The soil and rocks inside the deep pit, which would normally have taken weeks to excavate, were precisely "wiped away" by an invisible force field, as if by a giant hand, directly reduced to the most basic particles and recycled, leaving the pit walls smooth as a mirror.

Another device sprays a silvery-gray, liquid-metal-like substance onto a pre-installed, special alloy frame provided by the system. Upon contact with the frame, this substance seems to come alive, rapidly spreading and solidifying along the pre-designed structure, constructing the building's walls and floors at a visible speed. The process is precise, efficient, and without the slightest error or waste.

These are [Basic Building Units - Multifunctional] that Kingpin redeemed from the [Association Construction] module using system points. They represent a construction technology that completely surpasses the current understanding of Earth's civilization.

Wilson Fisker, Kingpin, stood atop a Fisker Corporation building next to the construction site, gazing down through massive floor-to-ceiling windows at the silent yet astonishingly rapidly "growing" miracle below. His massive frame resembled a sculpture in the dim light, only his sharp eyes reflecting the eerie blue glow of the construction site below, gleaming with calculation and control.

“The technology provided by the system is indeed efficient.” His deep voice echoed in the empty room, as if he were speaking to Wesley behind him, or perhaps to himself. “But this is just the skeleton. To make this headquarters a true symbol of the association and a source of its power, we need more… filling material that conforms to the rules of this era.”

Systems technology is the core, the sharpest weapon. But for an organization to function, especially to establish itself in this complex world, merely possessing a sharp weapon is not enough. It needs flesh and blood, it needs a network, it needs a cohesive structure, and it needs a network that can integrate into the existing system and, in turn, influence or even control that system.

This requires him to utilize another form of "superpower" that he has accumulated over decades as Wilson Fisk—the power of "money," and the vast resources and connections it represents.

"Wesley."

“Boss.” James Wesley immediately stepped forward, holding a thick electronic notebook in his hand.

“First, funding.” Kingpin’s gaze remained fixed on the ground. “Activate my reserve accounts in the Cayman Islands, Switzerland, and… other locations. The first phase will invest five billion US dollars for standardized renovations of non-core areas within the headquarters, the procurement and deployment of the world’s most advanced electronic security systems, and all the ‘routine’ equipment and supplies that need to be purchased. I want this headquarters to be impeccable, inside and out.”

“Yes, boss. The funds will be laundered and injected through seventeen different charitable foundations, offshore companies, and cross-border trade projects to ensure a clear and ‘legal’ source.” Wesley quickly took notes.

“Second, talent,” Kingpin continued. “We’ll send anonymous invitations to the world’s top ten architectural design firms and structural engineering companies, asking them to design functional spaces for the headquarters that are ‘in line with the association’s image.’ We only need their ideas and the ‘shell,’ the core structure will be our own. At the same time, we’ll poach top engineers, programmers, and data analysts from major tech companies with three times the market salary to fill the association’s technical support, intelligence analysis, and network maintenance departments. Remember, their backgrounds must be clean, or… they must have enough leverage that we can control.”

"The headhunting firm has already started working on it, and the first batch of candidate profiles will be delivered to your desk tonight."

“Third, materials and supply chain.” Kingpin turned around, his eyes blazing. “Place huge orders in the name of Fisker Group with major rare material suppliers and precision instrument manufacturers around the world. I’ve already sent you the purchase list. Part of these will be used to cover up the consumption of our own technology, and the other part will be used for the mass production attempts of those… ‘unique’ designs in the Equipment Department. I want to establish a supply chain that belongs entirely to the association and is not subject to anyone else.”

"Understood. We will diversify our procurement through several trading companies that we hold controlling stakes in, to avoid attracting unnecessary attention."

“Fourth, legal and public relations.” Kingpin walked to the liquor cabinet, poured himself a glass of ice water, and said, “Hire the best legal team to ensure that all procedures for the construction of the headquarters are ‘perfectly’ compliant, and to deal with any possible questions or lawsuits from the government or the public. The public relations department will continue to guide public opinion, portraying the headquarters as the ‘cornerstone of future security’ and the ‘new landmark of New York.’ At the same time, we will strengthen our efforts to secure ‘political donations’ and ‘relationship maintenance’ with all partner media and key members of Congress.”

"The legal team is in place, led by Attorney Stone. The public relations strategy is proceeding as planned, and positive coverage of the headquarters construction has increased to 70 percent. Political donations are readily available, and the chairpersons of several key committees have expressed interest."

Kingpin nodded slightly and took a sip of ice water. The cold liquid slid down his throat, making his rapidly working brain even clearer.

The system endowed him with technology and frameworks that were ahead of their time, while his vast wealth, business empire, and underground network became the fertile soil that filled, solidified, and deeply rooted this framework in the world.

Technology (system) + Resources (Kingpin's Empire) = True Power.

He looked down at the building silhouette rising from the silence below. It was not just a creation of steel and concrete, but also the embodiment of his ambition, the throne where he would re-establish the rules for this chaotic world.

“Tell Dr. Leo,” Kingpin concluded, “to reserve enough space in the headquarters’ underground area for his equipment development department and future specialized laboratories. Energy supply will be provided by our own ‘fusion core’ (system technology), so let him go ahead and work on his…inventions.”

“Yes, boss.” Wesley bowed and replied, his eyes gleaming with anticipation and awe for the future.

He knew that when this headquarters, which combined cutting-edge technology ahead of its time with Kingpin's vast secular resources, was finally completed, the Hero Association would no longer be just a concept or an active organization. It would become a real, undeniable behemoth, a being capable of engaging in equal dialogue with any existing powerful force in the world, and even... looking down upon them.

Kingpin's financial power is transforming the blueprint of the system into an unshakeable reality at an astonishing speed.

In the darkness of night, the silently growing building resembles a lurking beast, waiting for the moment it will bare its fangs to the world.

Chapter 30: The Foundation Under the Night and the Distant Thunder

Deep beneath the Fisk Tower, in a silent space isolated from the city's hustle and bustle, only the low hum of flowing energy and the subtle frequency-changing sounds of the environmental simulation system could be heard. Flint Marko, the Sandman, stood in the center of the [Training Simulation Pod], surrounded by swirling yellow sand—a transformation that was no longer simply about gathering and releasing it.

Under his mental control, countless grains of sand, like miniature artisans with life, were precisely constructing a miniature, intricately detailed model of the Brooklyn Bridge. The traffic on the bridge, the streetlights, and even the "ripples" on the water beneath it were all lifelike. This was a deep understanding of the "Advanced Sand Grain Control Insights," a visible improvement in control that had been earned with 120 points.

Sweat dripped from his forehead, but his eyes remained focused, and a hint of almost devout seriousness played on his lips. Each improvement in his microscopic manipulation made him feel one step closer to becoming the person who could provide his daughter with a more secure future.

Meanwhile, a few floors away in the "Mental and Physical Health Protection Center," meditation therapist Lin had just finished a deep meditation session. Dr. Emily looked at the gradually flattening brainwave curve on the monitoring equipment and nodded slightly.

"The turmoil in your mental sea has largely subsided, Mr. Lin. Your recovery speed in dealing with this ghost-level mental pollution was 15 percent faster than expected."

The meditator slowly opened his eyes, his gaze beneath the silver mask calm and serene. He nodded slightly, saying nothing, but one could sense that the battle against "chaos" had made his "stillness" even more refined. The professional recovery environment provided by the association was like the best whetstone.

On the ground, that heavily fenced-off plot in the heart of Manhattan was quietly transforming at a defying logic. The system-generated [Basic Building Units] operated silently in the night, their eerie blue light outlining the increasingly imposing steel skeleton of the building, like a metallic behemoth gathering strength in slumber. Kingpin's vast worldly resources—funding, materials, legal frameworks, public relations—were like surging blood, continuously infusing this futuristic skeleton, making its flesh and blood grow ever fuller.

In his top-floor office, Kingpin stood with his hands behind his back, his gaze sweeping over the brightly lit New York City below, seemingly fixed on the more distant coastlines of Europe and Asia. Wesley stood quietly behind him, a tablet in his hand displaying several preliminary property listings, located in London's Thames River area and Tokyo's Shinjuku district.

"The preliminary site selections for London and Tokyo still require your final decision," Wesley said in a low voice.

Jin didn't turn around, only giving a faint "hmm." The pieces of his global strategic plan had already been placed in his mind.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, in his cozy apartment in Queens, Peter Parker tossed and turned in bed. The dim light from his phone screen illuminated his conflicted face. The Hero Association app interface remained there, the "Register" button like a tempting Pandora's box. Aunt May's gentle bedtime advice—"Discuss any decisions with Aunt May"—still echoed in his ears, mingling with the preview images of equipment in the app store that could solve his real-world predicament.

S.H.I.E.L.D., Trident Headquarters.

Nick Fury's single eye stared grimly at the latest satellite analysis report on the Fisk Tower's underground energy anomalies and the mysterious construction site. Coulson stood beside him, his tone grave:

"Sir, their expansion speed is exceeding expectations. The source of their technology remains a mystery, but their strength... is no longer to be underestimated. We have detected that several unidentified low-level superhumans are attempting to contact the Association through various channels."

Fury remained silent, his fingers tapping a dull rhythm on the table. He knew the tentative contact was over, and the next visit would not be a polite one.

In Tony Stark's Malibu villa laboratory, rousing symphonic music resonated. Before him, holographic blueprints depicted an armor set more streamlined and energy-responsive than the Mark VII, taking shape. Jarvis's rational analysis was selectively ignored; a competitive spirit, ignited by challenges and doubts, drove him into a new round of research and development. Kingpin's cold, hard face and those "vulgar" posters pierced his heart like thorns.

As night deepens, New York remains bustling.

The Hero Association, a name born amidst controversy and skepticism, is no longer just a concept. It has a loyal core, diverse capabilities, an efficient platform, robust logistics, a rising headquarters, as well as lurking enemies and wavering observers.

The first cornerstone has been quietly and firmly laid, unnoticed in the shadows and under the spotlight. It is not the end, but the beginning of a broader and more turbulent era.

In the distance, the faint rumble of thunder could be heard.

A storm is brewing.

Chapter 31: Daredevil's Job Application

Hell's Kitchen, Nelson-Murdoch Law Firm.

Outside the window, the tireless hustle and bustle of New York City blared, while inside, a stark silence clashed with this clamor, accompanied by a palpable heaviness called "financial hardship." Matt Murdoch, the devil who guarded this neighborhood in the darkness, sat behind his slightly worn desk, his fingertips lightly brushing against a recently received letter—politely worded yet cold in content—another long-term legal counsel firm had decided not to renew its contract.

“Things… aren’t looking good, Matt.” Virgil Nelson, his best friend and business partner, sat across from him, his voice betraying his weariness and anxiety. “This is the third one this month. Rent, utilities, Karen’s salary… if we don’t get a new stable income, we might not make it through the next quarter.”

Matt remained silent. His eyes, blinded by a childhood accident but now possessing a heightened sensitivity far exceeding that of ordinary people, seemed to "see" the deep worry on Foggy's face and "hear" his heartbeat quickening slightly under pressure. He could smell the stale paper and cheap coffee in the air—a true reflection of their impoverished circumstances.

As Daredevil, he can strike down criminals and protect the innocent in the darkness. But as Matt Murdoch's lawyer, he cannot easily defeat the enemy called "livelihood" with law and fists. His sense of justice and responsibility seem so powerless in the face of cold reality.

Just then, his extraordinary hearing caught the excited chatter of several pedestrians on the street outside the window.

"...Really? 'Gold will always run out, but heroes can come to the association for their pay'? This advertisement is..."

"The Sand People seem to be from that area, and they're quite powerful now!"

"I heard the benefits are really good, with five social insurances and one housing fund, and all battle losses are covered..."

The murmurs faded away, but the name "Hero Association" remained, like a pebble thrown into Matt's heart lake, creating ripples.

He knew about the organization. His superhuman senses allowed him to "sense" the subtle changes in the city caused by the association more acutely than ordinary people. The unique sound of sand grains rubbing together during the Sandman's battle, the peculiar "silent" force field emanating from the Meditation Master as he calmed the chaos, and the association's logistics units' equipment—operating almost silently yet with astonishing efficiency…

More importantly, he had "heard" Wilson Fisk—the man he had been secretly fighting against and knew all too well—declaring at a press conference. That deep, powerful, and controlling voice left a deep impression on him, even through the television speakers.

Working for a former mob boss? Matt's instinct was to resist and be wary.

But... Foge's anxiety and the firm's predicament bound him like invisible ropes. He needed money, a stable income, to sustain his life as Matt Murdoch and to continue his heroic deeds as Daredevil. The association's clearly stated salary and benefits were, at this moment, like a drop of sweet spring water in the desert, incredibly tempting.

“Perhaps…” Matt began slowly, his voice a little hoarse, “…I could give it a try.”

Foggy paused for a moment: "Try? Try what? Matt, you mean... the Hero Association?"

“Hmm.” Matt nodded, his face expressionless. “They seem to be recruiting all sorts of… people with ‘special skills.’ Maybe I can find a part-time job.” He deliberately used a relaxed tone.

Foggy opened his mouth, as if to say something, but ultimately let out a sigh. He knew Matt's "specialty" and was aware of the firm's current predicament. He patted Matt on the shoulder: "Be careful, Matt. That Fisk... is no ordinary person."

A few days later, Matt Murdoch, dressed in his best (though slightly worn) suit and carrying a white cane, appeared at the Hero Association's temporary reception center in Fisk Tower. He looked like any other somewhat down-on-his-luck blind job seeker looking for an opportunity.

The receptionist's smile remained polite, showing no disrespect despite his disability or clothing. After filling out the detailed electronic application form (which Matt completed using special electronic assistive devices), he was led to a waiting room.

Soon, James Wesley walked in.

“Mr. Murdoch, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Wesley’s voice was gentle and professional, but Matt could “hear” a shrewd scrutiny and a barely perceptible…curiosity beneath his voice about why a blind lawyer would apply for a “heroic” position.

"Hello, Mr. Wesley." Matt nodded slightly.

“I’ve looked at your application form,” Wesley said, getting straight to the point. “In the ‘Ability Description’ section, you wrote ‘Super Senses’ and ‘Exceptional Fighting Skills’? Could you elaborate? After all, as you know, our association requires very clear definitions of abilities.”

Matt calmly replied, “My other senses—hearing, smell, touch, taste, and a unique ‘radar’ perception of my surroundings—compensate for the lack of vision and are far beyond what ordinary people can achieve. This allows me to move freely in the dark and catch details that ordinary people would miss. My fighting skills are learned and are mainly used for…self-defense.” He skillfully avoided revealing his Daredevil identity.

Wesley remained noncommittal; the description sounded somewhat vague. "I understand. According to procedure, the next step is a detailed competency assessment. This will help us accurately determine your potential and the appropriate level."

Matt's heart skipped a beat. An assessment meant he might be exposed to the Association's mysterious technology. But he had no way out. "Okay, I accept the assessment."

He followed Wesley back into the "Ability Assessment Room," the very room that had left S.H.I.E.L.D.'s technical experts utterly defeated. As the metal door, gleaming with a deep blue light, closed behind him, Matt's senses instantly surged to their peak.

He "heard" the low hum of energy flowing within the walls, "smelled" the unidentifiable, unnatural scent of air freshener in the air, and "felt" the almost imperceptible vibrations emanating from the platform beneath his feet. In his world of perception, this room was filled with the unknown and danger.

[Target detected: Matt Murdoch. Capability assessment initiated.] A cold, electronic voice announced.

[Phase 1: Basic Sensory Threshold Test.]

Without warning, the room instantly fell into absolute darkness and silence—not physically, but through some kind of energy shield targeting Matt's senses. But this had no effect on Matt. His "radar senses" clearly outlined every contour of the room.

[Shielding failed. Target perception system is functioning normally. Proceeding to Phase Two: Sensory Accuracy and Range Testing.]

Countless incredibly subtle sound waves were emitted simultaneously from different directions at different frequencies; hundreds of faint, almost non-existent odor molecules were released into the air; nanoscale texture changes began to appear on the platform surface…

Matt stood still, his cane lightly tapping the ground, his brow slightly furrowed. He needed to control the "degree" of his performance—not too weak, lest it arouse suspicion, nor too strong, lest it reveal his hand. He carefully discerned the sound waves, reporting their location and approximate frequency; he inhaled softly, accurately identifying several scents he could recognize (a mixture of citrus, old leather, and some kind of metallic oxide); he sensed the changes in the texture of the platform through his cane and the soles of his feet.

[Auditory perception range: Exceeds the upper limit of standard measurement. Accuracy: Extremely high.]

[Olive sensitivity: Surpassing the known limits of living organisms.]

[Haptic resolution: Reaching the microscopic level.]

[Overall sensory evaluation: S-level potential (special area).]