This lunatic.
Daredevil finally saw it clearly.
The man before him was a complete madman—someone who lived entirely inside his own twisted world.
"You killer belong in prison!"
Daredevil gritted his teeth, anger tightly suppressed in his voice.
Daniel only chuckled, his tone frivolous. "Funny you say that. I've actually never been to prison. If it weren't for faction restrictions, I'd really like to try out this game's wanted system. Relive some of my good old days in Los Santos."
Daredevil's heart sank.
This man didn't just treat human life like it meant nothing—he even saw law and order as some kind of absurd joke.
He had to stop him.
He absolutely could not let this madman act freely any longer.
With that thought, Daredevil moved without hesitation.
He leapt from the top of the streetlamp. As he dropped, a red short baton whistled through the air, flying straight toward Daniel.
Bang!
Another gunshot rang out. The bullet struck the baton cleanly out of the air.
But the moment the gun fired, Daredevil had already landed solidly in front of Daniel. His hands jerked back; the two short batons, knocked away moments ago, snapped back along the chains connecting them. Without a pause, he charged Daniel at incredible speed.
Bang! Bang!
Daniel reacted quickly, firing two more shots.
Daredevil's wrists twisted sharply. The batons drew streaking afterimages in front of him—two crisp metallic cracks echoed as he deflected both bullets.
"You're blocking bullets with sticks?"
Daniel raised an eyebrow.
Then he remembered this world was made by a superhero company. Suddenly, everything felt perfectly reasonable again.
The next second, Daredevil was already closing in, his red baton thrusting toward Daniel.
He knew Daniel's aim was frighteningly precise. His only chance was to rush in, shut down the space needed for shooting, and reduce Daniel's threat to the minimum.
That was the plan—he was about to unleash his signature six-strike flurry—
"Muay Thai Warning!"
Daniel barked the words, lunging forward. His knee drove up like a sledgehammer toward Daredevil's ribs.
[Skill: Muay Thai Warning]
[Effect: Max-level Muay Thai techniques]
[Note: One warning. Next time it's Muay Thai for real.]
The sudden, brutal close-range attack caught Daredevil off guard. The knee smashed into his ribs, the force twisting his expression and threatening to knock the air out of him.
Gritting through the agony, he kicked against Daniel's abdomen and vaulted backward, opening distance again.
Daniel holstered his golden Desert Eagle and shifted into a textbook Muay Thai stance, a mocking grin tugging at his lips. "Trying to fight me in melee? Bold. Do you not realize Strength is my highest stat?"
Daredevil indeed did not know.
After all, who would expect a marksman with god-tier aim to also have terrifying close-combat power?
He had underestimated him.
Daredevil clutched his injured ribs. It felt like several bones might have snapped. The pain was so sharp he could barely straighten himself; his stance was unsteady, miserable.
Seeing Daredevil's pained expression, Daniel cheerfully teased, "What's wrong, Matt Murdock? Hemorrhoids acting up?"
"...!!"
Daredevil's heart jolted—but he forced himself to remain calm. "What are you talking about?"
Daniel laughed. "Stop pretending, Matt Murdock. The name floating above your head already sold you out."
In his vision, a line of text hovered clearly above Daredevil's head:
Matt Murdock.
The very same blind lawyer he'd met that morning.
Matt's expression darkened.
His heightened senses detected nothing unusual above his head, yet Daniel stated his real identity without hesitation. They had only met once. And he had never revealed his secret to anyone—not even Foggy, his closest friend.
Daniel watched Matt's stunned reaction with a click of his tongue.
"Didn't expect that. In the morning you're a model lawyer, and at night you slip into a tight suit to wrestle sweaty men. Pretty spicy hobby."
Matt: "..."
I fight criminals. How does it become something else entirely when it comes out of your mouth?
"But I am curious," Daniel continued, "you're blind—so how exactly do you see?"
He could tell Matt's eyes truly didn't work. But that didn't stop him from moving with superhuman precision. That wasn't normal for someone blind.
"That has nothing to do with you."
Matt's tone returned to cold neutrality. His answer was as good as an admission.
There was no point denying it. Daniel clearly knew everything already.
Daniel shrugged. "Don't be stingy. Tell you what—answer my question, and I won't expose your… nightlife preferences. Deal?"
That's not a nightlife preference!
Matt paused for several seconds, weighing the consequences.
"Fine."
He eventually agreed. He could not risk his identity being exposed.
"I truly can't see," Matt said slowly. "But my remaining senses are far beyond normal levels. I can perceive changes in the environment… movements… And put your middle finger down. I said I can feel it."
"Ah. No offense, just curious."
Daniel awkwardly lowered his middle finger, though his eyes carried an odd look of sympathy.
This level of sensitivity… his night life must be tragic.
Matt picked up that strange expression but didn't understand it and chose not to pursue it.
Holding his injured ribs, he spoke firmly. "Daniel, you've already broken the law. If you surrender now, there's still time."
Daniel laughed. "What law did I break?"
"Murder. The evidence is at your feet."
Matt pointed at the corpse of Hammerhead.
Daniel widened his eyes. "Don't frame me. I never kill anyone. He's just sleeping."
Matt: "..."
He's bled out a river. How is that 'sleeping'?
Daniel waved a hand dismissively. "And anyway, a crime boss dying is no loss. People like him ruin countless families. Even a thousand deaths wouldn't be enough. Put him through the courts and he'll just get a few decades. Hire a premium lawyer team and he might even get early release."
Matt clenched his jaw.
As a lawyer, he knew Daniel wasn't wrong.
"Regardless of who he is, his crimes must be judged by the law," Matt insisted.
Daniel suddenly asked, "What if he killed your friend? Would you still insist on handing him to the law?"
Matt froze for a moment, then nodded. "I believe the law would handle it fairly."
"Then what if… I killed your friend?"
Daniel's voice lowered.
"For example… that chubby guy named Foggy?"
"What would you do?"
His eyes sharpened, a dangerous arc appearing at the corner of his mouth.
Matt's heartbeat tightened violently.
He could clearly hear Daniel's calm, steady pulse. This man was not joking.
Matt sensed that one wrong answer might send Daniel into action immediately.
Seeing Matt fall silent, Daniel lost interest.
Sure enough—until the blade is pressed against their own skin, people never really feel the pain.
Without warning, a machete appeared in his hand. He swung it down at Hammerhead's neck in one clean motion.
There. Under ten kilograms now.
"Wait! You—"
"Later, Matt. Let's hang out again sometime."
Daniel waved casually.
In the next instant, he and the freshly severed head vanished.
The cold alley fell silent.
Only the stunned, speechless Matt remained—along with the headless corpse bleeding onto the pavement.