Chapter 2: Man Without Fear

A man was running.

Breath ragged, wheezing with every step.

This was New York—Hell’s Kitchen.

Said to be the most dangerous part of the city.

In the alleys of that Hell’s Kitchen—

The man tripped over a trash bin and fell flat on his face.

Ouch. That looked painful.

His cheek scraped the pavement. Blood.

Still, he didn’t care. He tried to get back up—

I grabbed his shirt from behind.

“Eh—”

Before he could react, I yanked him back and slammed him into the wall.

A dull thud rang out as his body hit the brick. The wall cracked from the impact.

“Gweh—”

Letting out a frog-like croak, the man passed out.

This guy was a drug dealer. Also a murder suspect in an ongoing investigation.

They didn’t have enough evidence yet to hold him, so he hadn’t been booked. Lucky bastard.

…Well, unlucky, actually.

If he'd been in custody, he wouldn't have had to die by my hand.

Even Fisk can’t easily kill someone once they’re inside a prison.

…Or, well, maybe not?

Knowing Fisk, he just might pull it off.

I slapped the side of my thigh.

The protector on my leg slid open, and the handle popped out.

I pulled it free.

A knife. Jet-black, carbon-forged, edge and all.

Thick. Durable.

Heat-resistant. Doesn’t retain blood.

The kind of knife you’d see in a late-night TV ad and end up buying without thinking—top-of-the-line.

It cuts through flesh. It shatters bone.

No fancy tricks—just pure killing power.

I spun the handle in my grip and aimed the blade at the man’s throat—

—when something flew at me from behind, and I knocked it away with the knife.

Reacting instantly, I leapt back, ready for a follow-up attack.

My hearing has been enhanced dozens of times over by the serum.

Even without seeing it, I could detect a thrown object from the sound it made slicing through air.

I spun around and saw him.

This alley was dark.

Pitch-black.

But my high-spec red mask came with night vision.

Focusing, I could make out the figure of a man.

He stood alone, silhouetted by the faint glow spilling in from the main street.

Red—no, a deep red-black costume, almost demonic in design.

The helmet covered even his eyes, like it was meant to rob the wearer of sight.

But it didn’t matter.

He didn’t need eyes.

Because he never had them to begin with.

“Daredevil, huh.”

It wasn’t our first time.

We’ve crossed paths a few times before.

Because this is his home turf.

Hell’s Kitchen.

The object I deflected was a metal baton.

Two batons connected by a wire—like a nunchaku.

His weapon of choice. A billy club.

Daredevil.

A crime-fighter who operates in Hell’s Kitchen.

Blinded as a child in a chemical accident, he lost his sight but gained heightened senses—hearing, touch, smell.

Even without vision, he can sense the positions of his enemies and fight using a sort of super-sensory radar.

In other words—

This darkness is his battlefield.

“Been a while,” he said.

I didn’t respond. I threw the knife.

Not at Daredevil. At the drug dealer—my target.

But his billy club came flying again, knocking my blade out of the air.

“In a rush, huh? You the type who finishes all your summer homework on day one?”

I ignored the taunt.

Right now, I had two choices—knock Daredevil out, or dodge his attacks while finishing off my target.

Mission comes first.

…Well, not that I plan on killing Daredevil.

If it’s not work, I don’t kill anyone.

I’m just a humble citizen, after all.

“Stay out of this, Daredevil. The world’s better off with this guy dead.”

I kept my voice calm and composed.

…Whenever I shift into Redcap mode, the way I speak changes.

Ever since being born into this world, I’ve spoken in short, clumsy sentences.
Maybe it’s because I spent my formative years studying the art of killing instead of learning how to communicate properly…

But when I’m Redcap, when I’m on a job, I sound more like I did in my previous life—like a man.

In this line of work, intimidation is key.

You’ve got to shake your enemy. Freeze them in place.

And a masculine tone works best for that.

Daredevil narrowed his eyes at me and spoke.

“Killing someone isn’t your call to make. That’s for the law to decide.”

…He had a point.

Daredevil’s real identity—well, the man underneath the mask—is Matt Murdock.

A blind lawyer.

He’s a stickler for the law. Comes with the job, I guess.

I kicked off the wall and lunged at him.

He countered with his billy club, but I blocked it with the protector on my elbow and followed up with a knee strike aimed at his face.

Daredevil twisted backward, dodging cleanly.

A textbook sway, like in boxing.

His father was a professional boxer.
He picked up the technique from him.

But I’d expected him to dodge. In fact, I was counting on it.

I opened my right hand and slammed it against the wall.

My fingers sank into the brick, literally grabbing hold of it.

Using that as a pivot, I twisted my torso midair to adjust my trajectory.

Then I spun, letting the torque and momentum carry through into a roundhouse kick.

Even Daredevil didn’t see it coming—that one landed square on his back.

I’m a professional killer.

In a no-rules fight, I’ve been thoroughly trained since childhood.

And on top of that, I’ve got physical abilities far beyond any normal human.

“Guh—”

He grunted, but still retaliated with another swing of his billy club.

I let go of the wall and dropped down to avoid it.

Skimming across the ground, I widened the distance between us.

My protector scraped against the pavement, sending sparks through the darkness.

“What’s wrong? That one looked like it hurt.”

“…I’ve had worse.”

Yeah, right. He totally looked like he was in pain.

Not to brag, but my kicks really hurt.

Enhanced by the serum, they can crush through solid metal plates.

And one of those landed clean.

He’s definitely got a hairline fracture at least.
If it hit just wrong, it might’ve even broken something.

…Daredevil has super senses and martial arts training.

But at the end of the day, he’s—

At least, the version of him in this world is—

A hero who’s still just human. No super strength. No powers.
A man who walks the edge with nothing but skill and grit.

There’s a clear physical gap between someone like him and someone like me—a superhuman.

And in a fight, that difference is everything.

But—

Daredevil linked the two pieces of his billy club, swinging it like a staff.

I blocked the strikes with my arm protectors, watching him closely.

Blow after blow rained down, again and again, but none of them broke through.

Sparks scattered in the dark each time the protector clashed against the metal rod.

I analyzed.

Daredevil’s strength—
It lies in his willpower.

No matter how badly he’s injured, no matter how hopeless the situation, he never breaks. Never gives up.

He’s a hero in the truest sense.

The kind of hero I used to love in comic books.

“...Heh.”

I couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh.

Cautious, Daredevil took a step back.

“…What’s so funny?”

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to laugh.”

And just as he raised his guard again—

I spun on the spot and kicked a brick at my feet.

It was a loose one, dislodged earlier when I’d slammed the drug dealer into the wall.

The brick flew straight toward Daredevil’s head.

Caught off guard by the sudden move, he scrambled to respond.

He split his billy club and swatted the brick out of the air.

“Tch.”

It happened in an instant.

But in that instant, he left an opening.

And I never miss an opening.

Crack.

“What—”

That was the sound of my knee snapping the drug dealer’s neck as he slumped against the wall.

“Farewell, Daredevil.”

I picked up the knife at my feet, kicked off the wall, and grabbed the railing of the fire escape.

With the momentum, I flipped myself up and caught the window ledge with my feet.

Hanging upside down, I looked back at Daredevil—he was glaring at me.

…Even upside down, even in the dark, his expression was clear.

Well, half of it. The mask hid the rest.
But the set of his mouth said it all.

With his physical limits, Daredevil would never be able to catch me.

…Still, just in case, I should circle through one of the dummy hideouts before heading back.

The night wind was brutally cold.

Because it’s winter, maybe.

Or maybe—

---

I arrived at my base in Hell’s Kitchen—not “home.”

I don’t stay in one place long enough to call it that.

With the nature of the organization’s assignments, I end up relocating at least once a year.

…Ah, come to think of it—

I never washed the dish from the bavarois I had earlier.

I’ll have to take care of that after I store the suit.

I reached out from the roof, placed my hand on the window to my room, and opened it—

—

—

—

The next moment, a blinding flash exploded outward, followed by a deafening roar and a wave of force.

—

—

—

My eardrums buzzed from the sheer volume of the blast.

My vision was swallowed in pure white.

A bomb?

I rolled as I landed, instinctively absorbing the impact.

Damage… almost none.

Thanks to this suit—and the serum.

Still, I could tell that my mind was a little scrambled from the sudden shock.

What was that?

A bomb?

Why?

When I looked up, my room was completely obliterated.

…No one lived in the unit next door.

There shouldn’t be any civilian casualties.

The target…?

No doubt it was either me—or someone with a grudge against the organization.

Someone’s trying to kill me.

My thoughts, gradually returning to clarity, settled on that conclusion.

…I need to pull back.

With a blast that loud, the police will arrive soon enough.

And I can’t rule out the possibility that the attacker is still nearby.

No—in fact, they’re probably watching right now.

I ducked into an alley and pried open a manhole.

Then slipped down into the underground.

My destination: another safehouse within Hell’s Kitchen.

…Whoever blew up my place, I don’t know.

But I can only hope the other base is still intact.

---

I’m currently at the Hell’s Kitchen docks—inside a safehouse camouflaged as a fisherman’s home nearby.

I was in the basement of that place.

Since a junior underling manages this base, I can’t take off my mask.

Honestly, it stinks inside the mask.

Probably because I passed through the sewers.

It smells like a cesspool.

A mix of chemicals and filth.

…My protectors took some damage from the blast too. I’ll need to replace them.

Right now—

If I could, I’d strip off this suit immediately.

The smell trapped inside the mask is unbearable.

I started bouncing my leg unconsciously, and the underling clearly got spooked.

A grown man, scared stiff by a younger woman—there’s no helping him.

I took the receiver from him.

It’s a secret wired line that connects the underground network of New York.

“Status report?”

The voice on the other end belongs to one of the Ancilicourt executives.

Apparently, he was promoted recently.

He spoke in a monotone, mechanical voice.

This organization has way too many people—myself included—trying to hide their voices.

We’re a bunch of secretive types.

I explained the situation… which was basically: “I came back from a mission and my base got blown up!”

“...Get out of the city for a while.”

He said he’d arrange a forged ID for me, a new comm device, and other logistics.

Basically, move to another base temporarily until things settle down.

He told me he’d contact me again through the new device.

I handed the receiver back to the underling.

He took it with a scared, hurried look and rushed out of the room like he was escaping.

Ahhh—this smell.

I want to take it off. I want to be completely naked.

Whoever blew up my place—I will never forgive them.

I won’t just kill them—I’ll beat them to a pulp.

That was my firm decision.

Oh yeah, the scrapbooks I kept, filled with Spider-Man clippings—they got blown up too.

I’ll definitely crush whoever did this.

I heard a crack and glanced down—the armrest of my chair was broken.

…Wonder if I can expense the repair costs.