The fresh scent of expensive fabrics permeated the air in the bedroom.
William was deeply nestled in the soft embrace of Egyptian cotton, breathing steadily.
Here, sin and clamor seemed like stories from another World.
"Ding!"
A crisp notification sound exploded in William's mind.
His body trembled violently, forcibly pulled from his deep sleep.
He opened his eyes, and the ghostly blue data screen still lingered on his retina.
"Customer Claim Request: Matt Murdock"
"Policy: 'Street Fighter Minor Injury Mutual Aid Insurance (Hell's Kitchen Special Edition)'"
William instantly sobered, all sleepiness gone.
He sat up, leaning against the headboard.
The virtual screen before him clearly listed the information:
"Reason for Claim: High-intensity Combat Injury"
"Injury Details: Five severe soft tissue contusions on the left ribs, accompanied by large areas of subcutaneous hematoma. Deep cut on the right arm, about ten centimeters long, tendons exposed. Dislocated index, middle, and ring finger joints on the left hand, partial ligament tears. Mild concussion, blurred vision, accompanied by temporary disorientation. Multiple abrasions and bruises..."
A series of injury reports were shocking.
"Claim Judgment: Has reached the maximum claim threshold for 'Street Fighter Minor Injury Mutual Aid Insurance'. Emergency clause triggered – 'Life-Sustaining Instant Medical Support'."
William looked at the list and couldn't help but gasp.
This is what he called "minor injury"?
The tough guy standards of Hell's Kitchen were indeed extraordinary.
He had no doubt that this "Daredevil Lawyer" had just finished a hellish battle.
Below the screen, a new prompt appeared.
"Allocating emergency medical supplies..."
"Accessing Dimensional Pocket permissions..."
"Constructing delivery list: High-strength painkiller x3, Medical suture kit x1, Broad-spectrum antibiotic x2, Disinfectant spray x1, High-energy nutrient solution x5, Rapid hemostatic bandage x2..."
"List confirmed. Generating one-time spatial beacon..."
"Beacon locked: New York, Hell's Kitchen, behind the water tank on the roof of the Clinton District Church. Note: Customer preset safe point"
In William's vision, a miniature package, composed of blue code, materialized out of thin air.
It spun once on the screen, then was pulled into a line of light, disappearing instantly.
Like a shooting star, it traversed space and distance.
"Delivery completed. Estimated arrival time: 5 seconds"
"Claim process ended."
Does this claim not have a sleep mode?
William leaned back on the soft pillow, letting out a long sigh.
Just as he was about to fall asleep again, the ghostly blue screen did not dissipate; instead, its light intensified.
"Ding!"
"Client: Matt Murdock. Ability Traits: Superhuman senses, peak-level combat skills, willpower..."
"Extracting..."
"Ability: Danger Prediction (Intermediate)"
"Effect: Passive ability. Can vaguely perceive, 5 seconds in advance, actions and accidents within a thirty-meter radius targeting him that possess 'malice', 'threat', or 'potential risk'."
"New Trait 1: Threat Identification. Can initially distinguish the number and approximate direction of threat sources."
"New Trait 2: Line of Sight Lock. Can perceive malicious 'gazes' from a distance."
An indescribable sensation instantly seized William.
It wasn't pain, but a strange experience of… deconstruction and reorganization.
A tingling, throbbing pain came from his temples.
He instinctively closed his eyes.
The sound of the entire World changed.
Outside the window, the sound of waves crashing on the beach was no longer a chaotic "whoosh".
He could clearly distinguish the layers of each wave as it swelled, broke, rolled up sand, and slowly receded.
He could even "hear" the subtle friction of a crab waving its pincers under the distant beach.
On the lower floor of the Villa, the hum of Tony's Arc Reactor now became three-dimensional.
It was no longer a single frequency but an orderly symphony composed of tens of thousands of faint currents.
His hearing was extremely amplified.
William suddenly opened his eyes.
The World before him seemed to become even more transparent.
Perception range surged from five meters to thirty meters!
Prediction time increased from two or three seconds to five seconds!
More importantly, it was no longer a vague warning, but had the prototype of direction and quantity.
In combat or stealth, this was an intelligence advantage that could change life and death.
Just as William was too excited to sleep.
On the other side.
On the roof of the Clinton District Church, the metal shell of the water tank pressed against Daredevil's back.
The heartbeat of the city was amplified countless times in his ears.
The distant wail of police sirens, the arguments of drunks on the street corner, the scurrying of rats in the sewers—everything became background noise, stirring his concussed mind.
Matt gritted his teeth, his left hand pressing tightly against the deep, bone-visible wound on his right arm.
Warm blood was uncontrollably seeping between his fingers.
This wasn't even the worst of it.
He lifted his still trembling left hand, three fingers twisted at an odd angle.
Dislocated.
He took a deep breath, suppressing the groan that almost burst from his throat back into his lungs.
He pressed his twisted index finger against the cold iron wall of the water tank, gripped the base of the finger with his other hand, and snapped it!
"Crack!"
A crisp sound of bone resetting.
Excruciating pain shot through his entire body like lightning, and cold sweat soaked the hair at his temples.
He didn't pause.
He reset his middle and ring fingers one by one in the same manner.
Throughout the entire process, apart from heavy gasps, he made no other sound.
The nights of Hell's Kitchen never pitied the wails of the weak.
After dealing with his fingers, he slumped against the water tank, gasping violently, feeling his vitality drain away with his blood.
He needed to stitch his wound, needed painkillers, needed antibiotics… He needed everything, and he had nothing.
Just then.
An extremely faint ripple, not belonging to this environment, disturbed the air.
It wasn't the wind, nor the movement of any object.
It was more like a small piece of space being instantly compressed and then released.
Immediately after, a soft "plop" sounded behind him.
Something had fallen to the ground.
Matt's muscles instantly tensed.
His remaining strength allowed him to immediately roll over into a defensive stance.
There was nothing there.
No, that's not right.
His hearing caught the outline of an object.
A square box, lying quietly on the ground less than three meters from him.
No heartbeat, no breathing, no engine hum.
It was as if it had appeared out of thin air.
Matt moved cautiously.
He crouched down, touching the box with his recently reset, still somewhat clumsy fingers.
It was ordinary cardboard.
No markings whatsoever.
He carefully opened the tightly sealed box.
A strong scent, a mixture of alcohol, medicine, and medical materials, wafted out.
His fingers fumbled inside.
A slender glass bottle.
It was an ampoule of high-strength painkiller.
A sealed package of metal with a subtle curve.
It was medical sutures.
A roll of uniquely textured, sticky fabric.
It was a rapid hemostatic bandage.
Disinfectant spray, broad-spectrum antibiotics, high-energy nutrient solution… everything he needed lay silently in this small box, not a single item missing.
Matt Murdock froze completely.
His heart, which had never wavered in a hail of bullets and a flurry of fists, was now pounding uncontrollably.
In his mind, he uncontrollably pictured the man in the gym, with a professional smile, selling him insurance.
William Rodriguez.
"Street Fighter Minor Injury Mutual Aid Insurance."
U.S. $29.90 per month.
Minor.
Matt looked down at his right arm, which was almost completely split open.
He felt the breaking pain in his ribs.
This was not "minor injury" at all.
And this claim… could not be explained by "medical subsidies" or "vouchers".
This was precise, cross-spatial delivery.
It was a miracle delivered at his moment of greatest need.
His preset safe point, only he knew.
How did the other party know he was here?
And how did he send the things over?
What was behind this insurance policy?
Who exactly was that man?
Matt Murdock, the unyielding warrior who walked in the darkness of Hell's Kitchen, felt for the first time a bottomless chill that exceeded his understanding.