"Isn't that the perfect ability for a bodyguard?" Ethan Blake said thoughtfully. In his mind, Daredevil's abilities were practically tailor-made for the job. With heightened senses, incredible reflexes, and relentless vigilance, the man would be an ideal protector.
Wilson Fisk nodded slowly, clearly lost in his own thoughts as he processed the idea. Ethan didn't interrupt him again. He had already provided the most suitable candidate, and how to convince Matt Murdock to willingly become Richard and Vanessa's bodyguard was Fisk's problem to solve.
Ethan had no doubt Fisk would find a way. After all, the man hadn't become the underground emperor of New York through brute force alone. Behind that immense physique was a calculating mind capable of bending almost anyone to his will.
Just then, Richard and Vanessa walked out of the room together. The little boy immediately spotted Ethan and ran toward him with obvious excitement.
Vanessa noticed that Wilson and Ethan had stopped talking, so she stepped closer and asked gently, "Wilson, are we having dinner now?"
"Of course," Fisk replied with a warm smile. His normally intimidating expression softened noticeably whenever Vanessa was around. "And make sure to pack the pineapple pie you baked this afternoon so Ethan can take some home later."
"It's already packed," Vanessa said with a satisfied nod. Then she looked at Ethan and added with mild reproach, "You should've brought Wanda and Pietro with you."
Ethan rubbed the back of his neck and sighed in frustration. "Don't remind me. That kid Pietro made me so mad yesterday that I completely forgot about today's visit. I'll remember next time."
Vanessa chuckled softly at the explanation, while Richard tugged impatiently on Ethan's sleeve. The boy clearly had other priorities.
"Come on, little Richard," Ethan said with a grin as he stood up. "Let's go eat."
The evening passed pleasantly. After spending several hours chatting, eating, and relaxing at Fisk's home, Ethan finally left a little after ten o'clock that night.
The quiet streets of the city greeted him as he drove away, unaware that events already set in motion would soon ripple across New York.
…
The next morning, while Ethan was still sleeping peacefully, Wilson Fisk arrived outside the modest office of Nelson & Murdock, Attorneys at Law, in Hell's Kitchen.
Even before Fisk stepped inside, Matt Murdock had already "seen" him.
To ordinary people, the office door remained closed and silent. But to Matt's heightened senses, Fisk's presence was impossible to miss. The man's heavy footsteps, the slow rhythm of his heartbeat, and the faint shift of air as his massive body moved were all unmistakable.
Matt's mind immediately tensed.
As the undisputed underground emperor of New York, Wilson Fisk had dozens of elite lawyers working for him. There was absolutely no reason for him to personally visit a small law firm like Nelson & Murdock.
Which meant Fisk had come for only one possible reason.
Him.
Matt's heart sank.
Damn it.
How had Fisk discovered his true identity? Had he made a mistake somewhere? Had he slipped up during one of their countless nighttime encounters?
But now wasn't the time to analyze it.
Turning his head slightly toward his partner, Matt spoke quickly while maintaining his calm demeanor.
"Nelson, I just remembered I left an important lawsuit document at home. Could you go get it for me?"
Foggy Nelson looked up from his desk, clearly puzzled. "Sure, but give me a minute to finish this—"
"Go now," Matt cut in firmly as he held out a key. "Here's the spare key to my apartment."
Foggy blinked in confusion. "Okay… but I can—"
"Use the back door," Matt interrupted again, his voice more urgent now. "The document is very important."
Foggy stared at him for a moment, sensing the unusual tension in Matt's tone. Finally he shrugged and grabbed his coat.
"Alright, alright. I'm going."
The moment Foggy left through the back door, Wilson Fisk walked into the office.
Matt stood still behind his desk, every muscle in his body tense. Over the years he had crossed paths with Fisk many times, and he knew better than anyone how terrifying the man could be. In a direct confrontation, he stood little chance.
"Sir," Matt said calmly while facing Fisk with his sunglasses hiding his expression. "Can I help you with something?"
Fisk stared at him silently for a moment, his gaze heavy and penetrating. Then he spoke in a low voice.
"Should I call you Matt Murdock," he said slowly, "or should I call you… Daredevil?"
The moment the words left Fisk's mouth, Matt exploded into motion.
He leapt forward instantly, grabbing his cane and swinging it toward Fisk with lightning speed.
But Fisk moved with shocking agility for a man his size. He sidestepped the attack with a swift motion that seemed almost unnatural.
"Enough!" Fisk growled sharply. "Daredevil, I'm not here to settle scores today. I came to do business with you."
Matt lowered his weapon slightly but didn't relax. His voice remained cold and cautious.
"Sorry," he replied flatly. "I don't think I have any business with you."
"Are you sure?"
Fisk's lips curled into a faint smile.
"What if I told you that if you agree to my request," he continued calmly, "I guarantee that the crime rate in Hell's Kitchen will drop below the average crime rate of the rest of New York?"
Matt froze.
Hell's Kitchen was notorious throughout the entire city. It wasn't just the worst district in New York—it was arguably one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the entire country. Robberies, arson, assaults, and murders occurred almost every day.
If a day passed with fewer than a dozen violent crimes, it was considered unusually quiet.
That was precisely why the area had earned the name Hell's Kitchen.
For Matt Murdock, eliminating crime in Hell's Kitchen had always been his lifelong dream. That was the entire reason he had chosen to open a tiny law firm here instead of working at a prestigious firm downtown.
But he also understood the harsh reality.
Cleaning up all the crime in Hell's Kitchen was impossible for one man. Even the entire New York Police Department couldn't accomplish it.
And if there was anyone who actually had the power to control the criminal underworld of Hell's Kitchen…
Matt slowly turned his head toward Fisk.
His enhanced senses focused completely on the massive man standing before him.
After a long silence, Matt finally spoke.
"What do you want me to do for you?"
…
At a villa in Long Island, Ethan Blake had just woken up.
After exactly three seconds of serious consideration, he made an important decision.
He wasn't going to work today.
And just like that, Ethan's glorious day of laziness officially began.
He turned on the television and prepared himself a relaxed breakfast, enjoying the rare quiet morning. The calm atmosphere felt almost luxurious compared to the chaos that often surrounded him.
While flipping through channels, a piece of news suddenly caught his attention.
"Yesterday, Tony Stark, president of Stark Industries, personally traveled to Bagram Air Force Base in Afghanistan to successfully demonstrate the newly developed Jericho missile."
On the television screen, Tony Stark appeared confident and flamboyant as ever, basking in the applause of military officials.
Watching Stark's arrogant smile, Ethan muttered quietly to himself.
"Looks like the timeline has finally reached this point."
The curtain of the grand story was about to rise.
Iron Man.
The Hulk.
Thor.
Soon, all kinds of superheroes and supervillains would begin appearing one after another.
Then a sudden thought flashed through Ethan's mind.
Wait a second.
His eyes lit up instantly.
Tony Stark was the heart and soul of Stark Industries. Once Stark disappeared, the company would inevitably fall into chaos. The stock price would almost certainly plummet—and not by a small margin.
With an opportunity like that right in front of him, not taking advantage of it would practically be a crime.
Speed was essential.
The Jericho missile test had happened only yesterday. If Ethan remembered the timeline correctly, Stark had probably already been kidnapped by the Ten Rings.
The news of his disappearance would break soon.
And when it did, the market would panic.
If he played this right, he could make a fortune.
After thinking for a moment, Ethan picked up his phone and dialed Wilson Fisk.
He skipped all pleasantries and got straight to the point.
"Wilson, I need some money."
"How much?" Fisk asked without hesitation.
"Five hundred million dollars," Ethan said calmly. "And it needs to be clean."
"When do you need it?"
"Today. The sooner the better—no later than three in the afternoon."
The U.S. stock market opened at 9:30 a.m. and closed at 4:00 p.m. If the money arrived by three, Ethan would still have enough time to funnel nearly all of it into the market.
Fisk paused briefly before answering.
"You'll have the money in your account before two o'clock this afternoon."
"Perfect," Ethan replied. "I'll borrow it for two months. Forty percent interest. Deal?"
In truth, Fisk wouldn't have cared even if Ethan never paid interest—or even if he never repaid the money at all. But Ethan had his own principles.
Friendship had to remain balanced.
Fisk had just lent him half a billion dollars without even asking why. The least Ethan could do was ensure the deal was fair.
"Deal," Fisk said with a faint chuckle. "That sounds like a very profitable investment."