As Schiller made his way back to the apartment, he could clearly sense that someone was following him. The enhanced vision granted by his spider-sense allowed him to see that there appeared to be someone watching him from across the street at the all-glass apartment building. A small window reflected differently than the others, and Schiller picked up on it keenly.

His choice to open a clinic in Hell's Kitchen was not without purpose. After several days of observation, he had grasped the daily routines of the residents in the building. Most of them were office workers or elite professionals, primarily single, with regular work hours and a fixed social circle. Living among such a crowd made it all too easy for agents to find flaws.

Hell's Kitchen, however, was different. Although it was the largest gang stronghold in Manhattan, New York, and even the entire country, it had a high population density, heavy foot traffic, and many unfamiliar faces. With gangs of all sizes entrenched, it was the perfect place for someone like Schiller who wanted to operate under the radar.

Life in a high-end apartment, while comfortable, could not compare to the freedom found in Hell's Kitchen. Schiller believed that if he stayed in that apartment for a few more days, at least four or five of his neighbors would turn into agents of SHIELD, and various unclear individuals would find ways to get close to him, extracting information that could be his own or Stark's. This was how SHIELD operated; they didn't care about your need for privacy.

Hell's Kitchen was somewhat different from Gotham. While there were numerous gangs in Hell's Kitchen, the danger level was not quite on par with Gotham. The area was filled with more poor people, gamblers, and addicts, lacking iconic villains like the Scarecrow or the Joker; most residents were ordinary people. Though guns and drugs were rampant, the victims were often just regular folks, not special individuals with powers.

Schiller intended to make Hell's Kitchen his first stronghold in the Marvel universe. Stark was highly efficient; it didn't take long for him to persuade some legislators to allocate a hospital slot for Hell's Kitchen. Some legislators took this opportunity to grandstand about their kindness, claiming that New York would not abandon any citizen, but they never expected the hospital to actually open in Hell's Kitchen—a place where even the devil would get cooked.

Opening a hospital there? What a joke! Unless they could build it like a concentration camp, with tanks and cannons piled out front, and doctors and nurses armed with machine guns inside, there might be some hope. Otherwise, all the supplies would be wiped clean overnight.

Yet, regardless of the legislators' disbelief and the residents' apathy, a small mental health clinic was established in Hell's Kitchen. As Manhattan's most well-known and largest slum, the term "eight blocks" was merely a nickname. In reality, the area extended far beyond eight blocks, with dozens of winding streets and about a hundred gangs overlapping.

Some claimed that Kingpin was the boss of Hell's Kitchen, but that was not entirely true. Kingpin's business interests extended far beyond Hell's Kitchen, with a criminal enterprise that spanned the entire Eastern United States and even the East Coast. His operations were nationwide. While Hell's Kitchen might involve some of his drug and smuggling businesses, he did not live there, nor did he keep constant watch over it.

Daredevil, born in Hell's Kitchen, was his arch-enemy, but they had rarely taken the battle to Hell's Kitchen. The Spider-Man who had clashed with Kingpin multiple times was, at this time, just an ignorant high school student. Kingpin's ambitions extended far beyond merely unifying Hell's Kitchen; he didn't even care about the chaos that erupted there. There were daily shootings, robberies, kidnappings, brawls, and disappearances, creating disturbances that were hardly noteworthy.

So when Kingpin, far away in San Francisco, heard that a few of his subordinates had gone mad in Hell's Kitchen, he merely thought they had taken too many drugs and didn't pay it any mind. Meanwhile, a terrifying rumor began to circulate in Hell's Kitchen—people said that a terrifying quack resided in the mental health clinic located at the end of Mary Street in Ninth Alley. All the gang members who went there to collect protection money or extort him fled in terror shortly after, only to go insane.

Initially, several well-known gang leaders didn't believe it and had led their subordinates inside. But it didn't take long for them to behave as if they had encountered a monster. They began to fight the air wildly, struggling, screaming, fleeing, and crying, as if possessed by some ghost.

This incident caused quite a stir, and nearly everyone on Mary Street had heard about it, with rumors spreading rapidly. One person told ten, and ten told a hundred; soon everyone knew that Ninth Alley was a place you absolutely should not go, as it was said to carry a terrible curse that would force you to confront your deepest fears, ultimately driving you mad with terror.

Later, when Schiller began to venture out, people learned that he was the owner of the clinic in Ninth Alley. They then realized that he was not a ghost but rather an eccentric psychologist. According to Schiller's explanation, the gang leaders had committed too many wrongdoings, and he merely provided them with some friendly psychological counseling. As for why they went insane? Perhaps it was simply retribution.

The people of Hell's Kitchen would be crazy to believe him; the consensus among the residents was that evil people would get their comeuppance. No one born in Hell's Kitchen would feel guilty; committing crimes here was the norm, and criminals were the majority. Guilt? How could someone who had been dealing drugs, fighting, threatening, extorting, and gambling since their teenage years have any conscience? How could such a person feel guilty? Could they feel guilty enough to go mad?

Everyone who heard about this incident thought Schiller was a dark sorcerer who could cast curses on those gang members. But Schiller would never explain. The fear gas he brought from DC was indeed quite effective; although it was just the initial version, it worked well against ordinary people without powers.

Once he discovered that he could traverse between two worlds by holding objects in his hand, the idea of becoming a crime lord began to take root. Although the power systems of Marvel and DC were different, there were indeed many things to trade between them, and plenty of items could be exchanged to deal with each other's enemies.

For instance, if Schiller were to use fear gas in Gotham, once the news got out and Jonathan saw the symptoms of those patients, he would certainly think it was his own fear toxin. But in Marvel, how could Jonathan possibly know what was going on? Naturally, Schiller wouldn't have to pay any copyright fees.

After the terrifying rumors spread, almost no gang members came to trouble Schiller anymore. Of course, the consequence of mingling with these criminals was that a superhero came knocking.

On a slightly cold night in Manhattan, Schiller had just brewed a cup of hot coffee. He locked the clinic's door tight, ready to end a day of slacking off and get a good night's sleep before continuing to harass Stark the next day. Just as he set the coffee cup down on the table, he heard a crisp knock at the door. Turning around in the dim light, he saw a tall man wearing a red spandex suit standing outside.

Schiller turned to pick up his coffee cup and said, "You seem to be a bit late, Mr. Daredevil."

"Do you know me, doctor?" Daredevil asked.

"Of course I know you, Daredevil. You're quite famous in Hell's Kitchen," Schiller replied.

"But you seem to have just arrived here," Daredevil said.

"But I'm more familiar with your other identity, attorney Matt."

Daredevil was clearly shocked; he had no idea how Schiller figured out his true identity. Before he could ask, Schiller continued, "You graduated with excellent marks from Columbia University, and your career path has been quite smooth. Not only did you become a good lawyer, but you also seem to have opened your own law firm. Matt, can you tell me why you chose to be Daredevil? Isn't the pride of delivering justice as a lawyer enough for you?"

"Lawyer, delivering justice..." Daredevil scoffed, "Perhaps you would think so. Yes, most people think that way, believing that lawyers should stand up for the underprivileged, but in reality..."

"In reality? You think lawyers shouldn't do that?"

"Of course they should, I mean..."

"You think you can't do it as a lawyer? So you want to take another approach, but what you can't do as a lawyer, do you really think putting on a silly spandex suit and a mask will let you accomplish that?"

Daredevil retorted angrily, "My decisions have nothing to do with you!"

"You know, your tone just now sounded a lot like a rebellious little boy," Schiller said.

Daredevil then realized that since he entered, he had fallen into Schiller's verbal trap. The rhythm of the conversation had been led by Schiller, exposing his true identity and touching on sensitive points in his heart. He took a deep breath, calmed himself, and said, "I have to admit, you are a good psychologist, and you know how to use tricks in conversation. But I still want to ask, who exactly are you? What is your purpose in Hell's Kitchen? Why did those people go insane?"

"You ask too many questions. Tonight I can only answer one. It's clear that I've worked all day and I'm quite tired. You can't disturb my rest; after all, I'm not a gang member and I haven't committed any crimes," Schiller replied.

"But you drove those gang members insane."

"You have no evidence."

"The police are the ones who need evidence."

"Do you think you're nobler than the police?"

"Stop beating around the bush with me," Daredevil said.

"If you had listened carefully to what I said, you would know where I come from and how I discovered your identity."

Daredevil felt a headache coming on; he disliked dealing with such cunning opponents, which required him to remain highly focused. Because of the shock he felt earlier, he had completely forgotten his initial conversation with Schiller, and now, trying to recall it, his mind was blank.

But if he couldn't respond, it would make him look foolish, so he remained silent.

"It seems you've forgotten our conversation from a minute ago. I really don't know. Being a superhero can apparently come without a good memory," Schiller mocked.

Daredevil felt secretly irritated and swore to remember every word Schiller had said from then on.

"Two years ago, I taught at Columbia University. I saw the list of outstanding graduates, and your name was on it, Matt. When filling out your post-graduation plans, you said you would open a law firm in Kansas. Although I'm a psychology professor, I know your former teacher, who mentioned in conversation that you indeed realized your dream."

"Don't change the subject. What I want to know is, how do you know Daredevil is Matt?"

"You may not remember, but when you first started down this path, you wore the black and yellow outfit your father wore during his matches. After I came to Hell's Kitchen, I attended an underground boxing match; coincidentally, the owner there seemed to have never changed the style of the outfits worn by the fighters to save costs."

"I figured it out; Daredevil must be born here, and he is certainly related to the underground black market fighters. Upon investigation, the gang members you killed were all linked to your father's death. Once I discovered your father's identity, it was naturally not difficult to find out yours."

"Why are you investigating me? Feeling guilty for being a thief?" Matt asked.

"Nothing much, just that if you want to rent a house, you must know who the landlord is, what they do, and it's best to make good relations with them."

"I'm not the landlord here," Daredevil snorted.

"Oh really? Then it seems I've found the wrong person. I should go look for Kingpin. But it seems I've already made an enemy of him. I vaguely remember that among the gang members who visited me, someone mentioned that their boss is Kingpin."

"Kingpin? Do you have information on Kingpin?"

"I have some, I suppose. Consider it your rent payment. I heard from one of his subordinates that their boss is very impatient with a kid called Daredevil and plans to send someone to kill you, so you should be careful lately."

In the end, Daredevil hurried back to his hideout.

Only after he returned did he realize that he had not achieved any of his objectives for the night. He had neither discovered who Schiller was nor warned him to behave, nor clarified if he had any connections with those gangs. He also did not know how he had driven those people insane.

Matt slapped his forehead, suddenly realizing that Schiller's metaphor was accurate; it was like renting a house to a tenant of unknown origins, and this tenant had even paid the rent upfront, leaving him no means to forcibly evict him in the short term. He could only allow him to swagger around in Hell's Kitchen.