When Peter woke up again, he found himself in a cramped and dim small room, where he saw a man in a red bodysuit with his back turned, organizing his equipment.
Peter was still in a lot of pain all over, but due to his extraordinary self-healing ability, most of his wounds had already healed. The man turned his head and said, “Kid, you are very lucky. They only gave you some laxatives and anesthetics, nothing stronger, otherwise you wouldn’t be waking up now.”
Spider-Man’s mutated abilities did not reach their peak from the start; they required a series of training and stimulation. The later Spider-Man, whether in strength, speed, or self-healing ability, was dozens of times stronger than the current Peter.
Although Peter had possessed his mutated abilities for some time, he had only dealt with ordinary people. Now that his abilities were far superior to ordinary people, he naturally didn’t think about how to improve them.
Because of this, his physical functions had not yet reached a level where he could be completely immune to drugs. The owner of the underground boxing ring had given him a large amount of laxatives, combined with some anesthetic drugs, which made him fall into their trap.
Peter said, “I remember you, you saved me, right?”
“You’re just lucky, kid, and it looks like you have some extraordinary abilities, otherwise you’d be Dead now.”
Peter broke out in a cold sweat. You can’t expect a high school student to be overly wary of people. Peter lived in a place with simple folk customs and kind neighbors. Uncle Ben was the same, always focusing on positive education. Peter had never witnessed any human wickedness, and he said with lingering fear, “I thought…”
Then he slammed his fist on the bed, saying angrily, “I’m going back to teach that boss a lesson! How dare he drug me!”
“You don’t really expect that place to have fair referees, like the World Championships, do you?” Nightcrawler asked.
“Alright, I see your injuries are almost healed. Get out of here quickly, kid, Hell’s Kitchen is not a place for you.”
“I’m not a kid.” Peter said, “I’m Spider-Man.”
“You’re still far from it.” Nightcrawler said. Just as Peter was about to retort, a cane with a whooshing sound stopped next to his neck.
And his Spider-Sense had no reaction, or rather, it didn’t have time to react at all.
Peter’s cold sweat trickled down his forehead. Nightcrawler’s movements were so fast that his extraordinary vision couldn’t even catch them.
What Matt learned from Stick was not some amateur martial arts. Although he was just an ordinary person, his various statistics had almost reached the limit an ordinary person could achieve. Coupled with his well-honed martial arts, he was even stronger than Little Spider, who had awakened his Spider abilities.
Peter was just a rookie. He swallowed and said, “That move of yours is so cool, buddy. I saw you use the same move to save me.”
As he spoke, Peter made a swaying boxing gesture with his hands. Nightcrawler put away his cane and said, “If you really want to be Spider-Man, there’s still a lot to learn. If you’re interested, you can come here to find me.”
Nightcrawler wasn’t a soft-hearted person either; he was a very decisive hero in the Marvel Universe. He saved Peter not just out of sympathy, though part of it was due to his memories of his father’s Death, not wanting anyone else to die in an underground boxing ring like that.
But another part of it was that he planned to find himself an assistant. The assassination attempt that injured him that day made him realize that he couldn’t split himself in two; he couldn’t evade his enemies’ pursuit while also dispensing justice. But if he had an assistant, things would be much easier.
Little Spider perfectly met his expectations: strong abilities, high talent, but very green and naive.
And so, Peter started visiting Nightcrawler every now and then. He also realized that although he had superhuman strength, his skills were really poor, and he lacked experience in dealing with people and situations. Otherwise, why would he go to an underground boxing ring to earn money? With such martial arts, how much money wouldn't be easy to get?
Driven by the desire to use his abilities to improve his life, and a young man’s admiration for Nightcrawler’s cool martial arts, Peter quickly became more and more familiar with Nightcrawler and learned about what he was doing.
Although Peter greatly admired him, he felt it was truly unnecessary. How much could he do alone? Just the criminals in Hell's Kitchen, he couldn't kill them all. With such perseverance and determination, if he were to do something else, he would have long since settled down and lived a happy life.
But soon, as Little Spider and Nightcrawler became more and more familiar, he even stayed at Nightcrawler’s base for several nights during his holidays. He saw Nightcrawler bandage his own wounds countless times, and his attitude began to waver more and more.
Nightcrawler was indeed just an ordinary person; he didn’t have any super self-healing ability, and unfortunately, his experience of pain was even more sensitive than that of an ordinary person. Therefore, every time he bandaged his wounds alone at the base after getting injured, Peter could see that he was in so much pain he was almost passing out, but the next day, he still went out to fight crime as usual.
Although Hell's Kitchen was not as dangerous as Gotham, the possibility of getting injured while trying to dispense justice there was too high. Sometimes he would be grazed by stray bullets during gang shootouts, sometimes he would jump down several stories to evade pursuit, and sometimes he would take a hit in close combat, leaving a large bruise. Whenever Little Spider saw these wounds, he felt a complex emotion.
He had already considered Matt a friend in his heart, and he certainly didn’t want his friend to get hurt, but how could he dissuade Nightcrawler?
Dissuade him from dispensing justice? From fighting crime? But Peter was very smart; he understood that even these excruciatingly painful wounds couldn’t dissuade Matt. How could a few light words from him possibly stop him?
Finally, one day, Matt was once again shot in the calf by a ninja who was chasing him. Peter helped him remove the bullet. Peter had never seen such a wound before; the pungent, foul smell of blood made his brain dizzy in waves, and the torn muscle was even deep enough to expose bone. Peter’s hands trembled with discomfort.
He was not yet the Spider-Man who would later be tempered by hardship and become a true hero. Any high school student seeing such a scene would not have fared any better than him.
While helping Matt remove the bullet under his guidance, he made a dry sound from his throat. He said, “Why on Earth do you do this? Is it really worth it?”
“I thought you’d ask me sooner.”
Nightcrawler leaned against the wall, changing his posture. His voice trembled slightly from the pain. He said, “I can tell that although your family situation is very ordinary, you probably have an elder who loves you, a relatively happy and complete family, and have lived a very stable life since childhood…”
“Things might not always go well at school, but most of the time it’s safe. I can tell you have some complaints about being short on money, but do you know? You’re really lucky enough…”
In the dim small room, Nightcrawler muttered intermittently like a dream: “Actually, I’m also very lucky. I was born in Hell’s Kitchen, but my father wasn’t a gambler or an addict. He tried his best to protect me, giving me the chance to leave this cursed place and study outside…”
“He was a great father. To support me and allow me to leave this place, he chose to become an underground boxer.”
“Yes, your fate was supposed to be the same as his. He refused to throw a fight when I went to watch him, so he was killed by those boxing ring owners.”
Peter’s dual psychological and physical distress made him almost unaware that he was crying. Nightcrawler was already in so much pain that his consciousness was a bit hazy, but he continued to mutter:
“You and I are both very lucky. There are some people who are very unlucky. When their mothers were pregnant with them, they either drank or took drugs. They were born with drug addictions. To survive, they either work for gangs or engage in more dangerous, inhumane work. Because life is too painful, they continue to indulge in drugs and alcohol, and their children repeat their lives…”
“…This is Hell’s Kitchen.”
“Yes… I am very lucky to have the opportunity to leave here, to receive higher education, to train in martial arts. Since I am luckier than them, have gained more than them, and have greater abilities…”
“…Then what reason do I have not to do these things?”
Nightcrawler often referred to Hell’s Kitchen as “this cursed place,” and Peter had heard them curse those people countless times, wishing everyone in this damned place would go to Hell.
But for the first time, he realized that Nightcrawler truly wanted to save this place; he truly had a firm resolve to pull Hell’s Kitchen out of Hell.
Peter truly couldn’t imagine how, being in such an environment, one could still think of saving such a place. It was simply impossible.
But Nightcrawler still insisted on doing it.
Peter remained silent. When he pulled the bullet out with his hand, Nightcrawler let out a dying scream. Soon, he turned pale and fainted.
Peter stood in the center of the room, looking at the somewhat dilapidated room. There wasn’t even anesthetic or bandages to be found here; Matt’s wound could only be wrapped with strips of cloth from his clothes.
Peter felt a surge of anger, an anger more intense and profound than when he complained about being broke. He felt that Matt shouldn't be in this situation; he was clearly determined, persistent, and resilient.
And he was a good person, and good people should have good things happen to them.
Why did the owners and shareholders of those underground boxing rings live such comfortable lives, and even the drunkards who passed out in their seats could get a good night's sleep?
Yet a good person like Nightcrawler could only endure immense pain and fall asleep painfully in this dim and narrow room.
With Peter’s limited experience, he still couldn’t understand these questions. These emotions surged in his chest.
He left Nightcrawler’s base and ran through Hell’s Kitchen in the dead of night.
Using his Spider abilities, he leaped across rooftops, soaring through the New York night sky. In the distance, the neon lights of casinos and nightclubs burned all night, while in contrast, the dark alleys seemed like they would never see dawn, utterly black.
