"Mr. Wade… your face actually recovered?"
Wesley only needed one glance before genuine surprise flashed across his face.
Two months ago, he had approached Deadpool once before. Back then, Wade had still been wearing that hideous cratered moon-face of his.
And now, two months later, it was completely healed.
It was unbelievable.
Wesley couldn't imagine how a face ruined to that extent could possibly be restored. Had modern medicine really advanced that far?
Of course, what Wesley didn't know was that Deadpool's face hadn't healed over two months.
It had healed in a single day.
"Haha! That look again! No matter how many times I see it, it still brings me joy." Wade lounged crookedly in his chair, one leg thrown over the other, pointing at Wesley like he was watching a clown. "I knew you'd make me take off the mask. I've been waiting for this moment."
"Well? Shocked?"
Wesley: "…"
He swore to himself that if he weren't such a civilized man, he would have put a bullet in this bastard's head already.
This guy was unbelievably irritating.
"Congratulations, Mr. Wade," Wesley said at last, his tone flat as ever. "Now, shall we discuss business?"
"Hold it. You're not even curious how I did it? Not curious where I got my face fixed? You're not following the script!"
Deadpool cut him off at once, sounding genuinely dissatisfied.
He had originally planned to take the opportunity to advertise for the shop owner again. Wesley himself might not be that impressive, but the man behind him?
That was a real heavyweight.
A very rich one, too.
"Mr. Wade, may I be honest?" Wesley adjusted his glasses. "That has nothing to do with me, so I don't care."
"And while I would be more than happy to get to know you better in private, right now…"
"We are discussing business."
"Okay, okay. Business it is."
Deadpool spread his hands. No matter what, the man across from him was still the client. Best not to push him too far.
"One price. One million dollars."
He said it heavily, like he was dropping a hammer.
"Mr. Wade, that is a very expensive quote."
"But we both know I'm not asking for much, right?" Deadpool leaned forward slightly. "The losses Daredevil has caused your boss are worth far more than that."
"You're right." Wesley didn't even blink. "Which is why I said price is not the issue. Bring us Daredevil's head, and the one million will be paid in full."
A million dollars sounded like a lot.
But to someone like Kingpin, it wasn't even worth mentioning.
Wesley could make that call himself.
"Also, if you need it," Wesley added, "we can arrange for Daredevil to come to you."
Deadpool raised a brow.
Wesley continued calmly, "That man can't resist sticking his nose into trouble. Drawing him out would be easy."
"Sounds like you really want him dead," Deadpool said with heartfelt admiration. "Man, it's bad luck getting on the wrong side of people like you."
Then he narrowed his eyes.
"But that extra service is free, right?"
"It's free, Mr. Wade."
"Your customer service is incredible." Deadpool nodded with satisfaction. "In that case, I'd be more than happy to save myself some expenses."
Information gathering and baiting targets took time, manpower, and money.
If the client was willing to handle that part for free, Wade had no reason to turn it down.
"Then I suggest you stay in Hell's Kitchen tonight, Mr. Wade. I may need to contact you at any time."
Wesley sounded completely confident.
They had crossed paths with Daredevil many times before.
To be more precise, Daredevil had ruined far too many of their operations.
No one understood that man's patterns better than they did.
Sometimes, your enemy really did know you best.
"Works for me. Your boss owns luxury hotels too, right?" Deadpool asked shamelessly. "So my lodging gets reimbursed?"
The man truly had no concept of embarrassment.
"Simon."
Wesley casually called for one of his men.
The subordinate immediately understood and stepped forward. "Mr. Wade, this way."
He led Deadpool off into the darkness.
The moment Wade was gone, Wesley took out his phone and started making call after call.
Hell's Kitchen, already far from peaceful, became even more chaotic that night.
…
"Help! Somebody help!"
"Stop! Please, stop hitting me!"
"No—don't kill me! I can pay! I can pay!"
"You dare steal from us? You got a death wish? Kill them!"
On the roof of a building somewhere in Hell's Kitchen, a man in a black mask and tight suit crouched at the highest point.
But the expression beneath that mask was anything but calm.
He was irritated.
This night was far too chaotic.
Under his relentless pressure, Hell's Kitchen had already improved quite a bit. The criminals who once ran wild had started keeping their heads down. Many of them didn't even dare show their faces anymore.
And yet tonight, it felt like everything had returned to square one.
Every direction carried the sounds of crime.
Looks like I still wasn't ruthless enough.
Daredevil's expression darkened, his jaw tightening.
Then he moved.
Like a nimble ape, he shot across the rooftops, running over uneven ledges and broken walls with astonishing speed.
His figure vanished into the night.
One criminal after another fell beneath his fists.
But then—
Daredevil stopped.
He turned sharply toward one direction.
His enhanced hearing had already told him the truth.
Someone had been following him for two blocks.
"So you noticed me that quickly? Wow. You really are full of surprises."
Along with that voice, a man in a red suit with twin swords strapped to his back jumped down from a nearby wall.
Deadpool.
And Wade really was surprised.
He'd thought he'd tailed the guy carefully enough, but not only had he failed to stay hidden, he hadn't fooled the man for even a second.
No—not "fooled his eyes."
Because Wade could see it clearly.
The guy was blindfolded.
There were no eyes involved.
And yet this blind man moved like a predator—sharp, clean, terrifyingly aware.
Deadpool genuinely wanted to know how the hell that worked.
"You're not from Hell's Kitchen," Daredevil said coldly, facing him. "Who are you?"
"Let me introduce myself." Deadpool leaned against the wall with his arms folded, speaking as casually as if he were chatting with an old friend. "I'm a highly professional mercenary with a perfect track record. You can call me Deadpool."
Then he grinned.
"And yeah—I'm here to kill you."
He tilted his head.
"By the way, can you tell me why you wear that thing over your eyes? Don't tell me you're actually blind. You don't move like it."
Daredevil ignored the nonsense completely.
"Who sent you?"
His voice lowered.
"Madame Gao?"
"Or Wilson Fisk?"