Even when facing the Hammerhead gang members who tried to burn down the orphanage, Batman never used Peter Parker's full twenty-five tons of strength.
If he had, there would have been nothing left but shattered flesh and blood.
That wasn't Batman's goal.
He needed criminals alive—alive enough to talk, alive enough to crawl back into the shadows, alive enough to spread fear. So he broke bones instead. Arms. Legs. Ribs.
Pain lingered longer than death.
---
In Hell's Kitchen, the afternoon sun blazed fiercely, washing the streets in harsh light.
Yet on a rooftop wrapped in shadows, two figures collided violently.
One black.
One red.
They moved like specters, completely unaffected by the brightness around them.
Bang! Bang!
Fists and feet crashed together again and again, the sound sharp and relentless. Each impact was followed by a muffled grunt as one side absorbed a blow.
Batman's body was wrapped in rigid armor, but the man in red wielded two short batons, his movements so fast they left streaks of afterimages in the air.
In seconds, they exchanged multiple rounds.
Neither gained the advantage.
A gauntlet slammed into a baton.
Both figures slid backward several steps, boots scraping against concrete.
The fight looked brutal—but both were holding back.
Testing.
Measuring.
"Who are you?" Batman asked, his voice low and distorted. "And why are you stopping me?"
The man in the dark red suit tilted his head slightly and bowed.
"Call me Daredevil," he said calmly. "You came to Hell's Kitchen last night and broke several people's bones."
"I want to know why."
Batman studied him closely.
During the exchange, he had already noticed something strange—Daredevil's eyes were covered by his mask. Yet every punch, every kick, every feint had been blocked with perfect precision.
This man didn't need to see.
"They robbed a convenience store," Batman said.
"If that's all," Daredevil replied, tightening his grip on his batons, "you went too far. Several of them are permanently paralyzed."
He lowered his stance again, ready to strike.
"…And then," Batman continued evenly, "they used the alcohol they stole to make Molotov cocktails."
"They planned to burn down an orphanage."
Batman stared straight at him.
"Still want to fight?"
For a moment, Daredevil was silent.
Then he laughed.
"Heh. No one would ignore something like that."
He straightened, slid the batons into the holsters on his thighs, and turned away.
"If there's another chance, we'll spar again," he said. "But I've got work to do."
As Daredevil walked off, Batman watched him carefully.
"Barry Allen always says…" Batman thought briefly, then dismissed it.
His hand moved.
A blackened, hollowed Batarang flew from his utility belt, slicing through the air without a sound.
In less than a blink, it was behind Daredevil.
Just before it could strike, Daredevil shifted his body slightly.
The Batarang missed—then his hand shot out and caught it cleanly.
"Just as I thought," Batman said calmly as he approached. "You can perceive your surroundings without using your eyes."
His fists clenched slowly.
"You said my actions 'ruined your plan.' Explain."
Clink.
Daredevil released the Batarang. It fell to the rooftop with a sharp metallic sound.
He turned back to face Batman.
"I led them there," he said. "I needed to provoke a gang war and draw out the real leader behind them."
Batman immediately thought of Kingpin, but he kept the thought to himself.
"So you were willing to use orphans as sacrifices?" Batman asked coldly.
Daredevil laughed again.
"The orphanage moved out last week," he replied. "If I crossed that line, God wouldn't forgive me."
Batman's expression didn't change.
He already knew.
But he needed to hear it from Daredevil himself.
Only then could he be sure this man wasn't gambling with innocent lives.
Without another word, Batman stepped back and leapt from the building.
The compact gliding system unfolded behind him, carrying him swiftly between the towering structures of New York until he vanished.
---
Batman's thoughts remained sharp as he moved.
"The opponent is blind," he analyzed, "yet possesses world-class combat skill."
"In Hell's Kitchen, he's trying to provoke gang conflicts."
"No visible facial features. Voice disguised."
"He senses his surroundings through something similar to Spider-Sense—but fundamentally different. His perception is constant, not danger-triggered."
Batman's eyes narrowed.
"Sonic-based weapons should be effective."
---
Back at the abandoned shipyard, Batman changed into a plaid shirt.
"For now, I can't determine Daredevil's true motivation," he thought. "Personal vengeance, or his own version of justice?"
He shook his head.
There was no time to linger.
Dr. Otto's funding problem came first.
After that, he needed to manufacture new equipment—sonar systems, tasers, listening devices, a true detective mode.
Eventually—
A Batmobile.
A Batwing.
A command center.
With those in place, no one would be able to hide from him.
First, he needed a company.
Registering a company in New York usually took days—or months.
But money opened faster doors.
Within hours, Batman obtained the necessary documents.
The company existed only on paper, registered under AI technology research. He had no intention of actually developing AI—it was too slow.
He needed capital.
"Stark Tower," Batman told the taxi driver.
He planned to use a fragment of past civilian AI technology—originally designed for obstacle recognition in the Batmobile—to attract investment.
New York had countless companies.
He chose only one.
Stark Industries.
Batman remembered seeing Howard Stark's name in CIA records related to the Tesseract.
This was an opportunity.
Funding.
Connections.
Information.
---
Meanwhile, in a modest law firm in Hell's Kitchen—
Matt Murdock adjusted his suit, sliding dark red glasses onto his face.
"Foggy," he asked casually, "did anyone come in just now to commission a case?"
Foggy Nelson spread his hands.
"Matt, come on. We've taken one case since opening."
"You stepped out for a minute. No miracles happened."
He sighed.
"At this rate, we'll be bankrupt soon."
Matt smiled faintly and said nothing.
He sat down, mind drifting back to the opponent he had just faced.
The most dangerous one yet.
"His heartbeat was steady," Matt thought. "His breathing never changed—even during close combat."
"His techniques combined everything I know… and things I've never seen."
Matt leaned back slightly.
"…Is he a friend?"
"Or an enemy?"
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