Assassins' League Headquarters.
Inside the training room, Smith Doyle was clad in a weighted suit, throwing powerful punches and kicks, doing one-finger handstand pushups, and occasionally launching energy blasts at moving targets.
"Hah—hah—"
BOOM!
The target exploded under his strike, but Smith didn't even break a sweat. This training environment was too weak—it was barely a warm-up. What he needed was the gravity chamber to make things more challenging.
Just then, the door swung open. Fox entered, eyes lingering on the destroyed target with envy.
"Smith, you've got a letter. You need to see this."
SWOOSH!
In a blink, Smith appeared in front of Fox—he moved so fast Fox only felt a gust of wind pass him.
"Who sent it?"
As he took the envelope from Fox and opened it, Fox replied, "No sender. It came in stuck to a flying knife—pinned it right to the pillar."
Smith's brow arched with interest. A message delivered that way? Now that was something.
He unfolded the letter. The contents weren't handwritten—they were printed. Odd. But the message itself was more surprising: someone was tipping them off. The Hand was planning a major operation in New York.
As Smith read, he recalled details about the Hand. It was led by five figures—Alexandra, Madame Gao, Bakuto, Sowande, and Murakami. All were former elders of K'un-Lun, exiled centuries ago. For 500 years, the Hand had relied on dragon bones to prolong life and even cheat death.
The Hand had always been enemies with both the Chaste and the Assassins' League. The five "fingers" of the Hand were powerful, but the Assassins' League excelled at long-range kills and ambushes. The two sides had clashed repeatedly over the centuries. When Sloan took leadership of the League, hostilities ceased for a while. And after Sloan's death eighteen years ago, the skirmishes were few and far between.
So why was the Hand coming to New York now?
Smith remembered: in the original story, Madame Gao operated a flour factory in Hell's Kitchen. There was also a derelict Rand Corporation building there—beneath which dragon bones were buried. So, if the Hand was moving early, it couldn't be just for the bones. There had to be more.
He had a theory—maybe the Dragon Pearl.
Thanks to Gamora's bounty and John Wick's interest, the Dragon Pearl had become a well-known artifact in the underworld, with a price tag of $2 million. It wasn't surprising that the Hand would make a move for it. But their Pearl wasn't the same kind he had in mind.
Still, dragon bones were immensely valuable—perfect for resurrection or extending life. Smith himself didn't fear death, but such a prize could be an excellent reward for his loyal subordinates.
As for who could throw a knife so precisely into their castle? Only one name came to mind: Bullseye, Kingpin's notorious marksman.
Smith folded the letter and said, "Looks like our old enemies, the Hand, are coming to New York. This time, they're not leaving."
"Call a high-level meeting. Expand the invite list. You, Wesley, and John Wick—you're all in."
Fox nodded. "On it."
---
Elsewhere—atop Fisk Tower.
Kingpin stood before the massive floor-to-ceiling window, gazing down at the glowing lights of Hell's Kitchen. When night fell, he ruled this city.
By day, he bowed to the government.
By night, the city bowed to him.
A thought echoed in his mind: the High Table couldn't make him kneel, and neither would the Hand.
A knock interrupted his thoughts.
"Come in," he called.
The door opened. Bullseye walked in. "Boss, the letter's been delivered to the Assassins' League. By now, they should know the Hand's heading for New York."
"You want me to pose as one of the Hand's ninjas? I could assassinate a few of their people and pin the blame—it'd be easy. I'm great with shuriken too."
Bullseye clearly had a taste for chaos and was eager to stoke conflict.
Kingpin turned, gripping his cane tightly. His voice was cold.
"Bullseye, don't overstep."
"This operation must leave no trace."
"I've already looked into it—the League and the Hand hate each other. All we need to do is tip them off. They'll tear each other apart."
"Remember, the Assassins' League is headquartered right here in New York."
"All we have to do is stay out of it… and watch the fireworks."
Bullseye reluctantly swallowed his excitement. "Understood, Boss. I won't interfere. Though... there's a guy who's been poking around our business lately. I might take care of him."
Kingpin didn't argue this time. Daredevil had become a nuisance—he didn't kill, but he kept interfering in their deals.
"Go. He's a problem. Deal with him."
Bullseye grinned. "Unlike him, I don't hold back."
He turned and left, shutting the office door behind him.
Kingpin stared out the window again. Another idea crossed his mind—if the League and the Hand didn't end up fighting, maybe Daredevil could be used to stir things up. He'd be the perfect wild card.
On his desk, a phone lit up.
Caller ID: Madame Gao.
He answered.
"Yes, yes…"
"I've gathered everything you asked for on John Wick and the Dragon Pearl. I even have some intel on Smith Doyle, though most of it dates back to before the High Table fell."
"Mhm. I'll send it all over shortly."
"Nothing big in New York yet. The League seems to be lying low, probably still digesting their victory over the High Table."
"Yes, yes. For further matters, let's meet in person. Once you arrive, I'll pay a visit."
—End of chapter—
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