The mouth of the Hudson River.
After leaving the home of Marvel's number-one capitalist, Finnian Murdock stood alone by the sea, letting the salty breeze hit his face.
At this moment, a very real two hundred million dollars was sitting comfortably in his account.
To be precise: one hundred million for "consulting fees" and another hundred million for Stark's temporary rental of the White Can Armor.
For a moment, Finnian had the strangest illusion—making money really wasn't that hard.
After savoring the moment like a man enjoying his first fine cigar, he jogged back toward Chinatown.
By the time he was nearly home, the system's daily shop refresh had already triggered.
Superpower: Freeze. Omega-Level Mutant Ability. Capable of freezing all things in existence. Price: $200 million.
Item: Captain America's Diary. Price: $1.
Item: Bucky Barnes's Diary. Price: $1.
Finnian stood frozen at the corner, staring at the refreshed menu.
Not because there was no new bedroom technique today. Not because of Steve Rogers' diary. But because he realized something horrifying: the damn system was targeting his bank account directly.
He had just received two hundred million—not even warmed up in the account—and instantly the system dropped an Omega-level ability with a price tag of two hundred million dollar.
Perfectly matching his new maximum purchasing power.
"My god…" Finnian muttered, dragging on his cigarette.
If anyone ever dared say this system wasn't intelligent, he'd slap them on the spot.
After a long silence, and knowing his current combat abilities were still a bit thin on magical offense, Finnian finally sighed.
"Fine. Since you've refreshed it, I'll buy it."
"Purchase: Freeze. Captain America's Diary. Bucky's Diary."
"Ding. Purchase successful…"
A bone-deep cold sank into his soul, the air around him dropping in temperature, frost already forming on the edges of nearby windows.
Finnian exhaled, and a plume of white mist escaped his lips.
"Well… guess I don't need to buy cold drinks anymore."
Satisfied, he sparked up another cigarette to help stabilize his new power. Then, during the calm, he pulled out Captain America's Diary.
1938. Alley. Got beat up. Bucky~ save me!
1939. Got beat up again. Bucky~ save me!
1940. Got beat up. Bucky really came to save me!
1945. Finally, my turn to save Bucky!!!
Finnian: "…"
Closing the diary, he had a very particular feeling. It shouldn't be called Captain America's Diary. It should've been titled Bucky~ Save Me: The Prequel Trilogy.
The whole thing was dripping with bromance.
Back at the Murdock Detective Agency, the lights were still on. Skye was yawning at the front desk, trying to fight sleep.
Finnian rolled the shutter door down behind him.
"Still awake, Skye?"
"Boss, you're back." She rubbed her eyes.
"Can you use a gun?"
"Huh?" Skye blinked, caught off guard.
"It's messy out here at night. Don't go walking around by yourself. If something happens, you'd better be carrying."
New York by night wasn't New York by day. When darkness fell, the jackals came out—smash-and-grab crews, gangbangers, opportunists, all treating the city like a buffet of zero-dollar shopping.
Finnian opened a drawer and pulled out an assortment of firearms.
Skye's sleepiness evaporated in an instant.
"Thanks, Boss. Just a pistol is fine."
This was the girl who used to live out of a van—she wasn't exactly fragile.
"Good. Get some rest."
"Good night, Boss."
The Murdock Agency had three floors: the office on the first, two bedrooms on the second, and Finnian's study on the third.
After cleaning up, Finnian went to his room where Maria Hill was already lying in bed. He slid in, wrapping himself around her, hands wandering near her private parts.
"Ah—you're freezing."
"That's why I need your warmth," Finnian said smoothly.
Hill tightened her arms around him, whispering like a brand ambassador for L'Oréal: "If you had to choose between me and Skye, who would you pick?"
Finnian's hands froze mid-movement.
"Uh… can I lie in the middle?"
"Bastard." Hill pinched him hard.
Americans cursed differently. Their insults usually landed like teasing banter. The harshest they got was: Your mom doesn't love you anymore.
That wasn't even a proper insult.
Compared to the Eastern art of cursing, where you mapped out someone's entire family tree and insulted every branch, this was child's play.
Finnian kissed her lips deeply to pacify the oncoming storm.
"My love, it's not about youth or beauty. I don't fall for appearances—I love your unique soul."
"Really?"
"Really."
Well… really for now.
Out of all his girlfriends, Hill was special. Tall. Could switch from sweet to mature to ice queen in seconds. And tough.
And, of course, gorgeous.
At the end of the day, this was still a world that worshipped appearances.
They tangled until dawn, eventually falling asleep in each other's arms.
Meanwhile, in the next room, Skye stared at the ceiling, wide awake, eyes dead inside.
"Finally. It's quiet."
The next day, Finnian did something uncharacteristic: he slept in. With Freeze in his pocket, plus the Perfect Spider Serum, he had confidence to spare.
If he'd had this kind of power in his last life, he wouldn't have been content with "sleeping in." He'd have scheduled nightly rotations of models at the club—ten at a time, no repeats.
Hill, wrapped in a white bath towel, hair pinned up, sat on the edge of the bed. Smooth skin, long legs, curves carved like they were sculpted to mock mortal men.
"I'm heading back to the office."
"Alright. Come by when you can."
Three years into their relationship, Finnian had never once asked about her work.
She was S.H.I.E.L.D., after all. That place was Swiss cheese with HYDRA holes. Better not to ask. Less hassle.
Besides, Finnian didn't want to be a savior. He wanted to be rich.
Man must have money. Especially a man with a pay-to-win system—without cash, you couldn't even move.
They kissed goodbye, and Finnian slid into the bathtub. His body, fully evolved by the Spider Serum and Freeze, was perfection.
Eight sculpted abs, shark lines, a deep V-cut. Testosterone personified.
"No wonder Hill lost her mind last night."
Finnian smirked, humming to himself.
"An excellent man like me…"
S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters. Director's office.
"She's back. What did she say?"
Nick Fury studied Maria Hill, his one good eye glinting with curiosity. Coulson leaned in too, gossip written all over his face.
Hill looked helpless. What was she supposed to say? That her boyfriend had the stamina of a nuclear reactor and had somehow gotten even better?
Instead, she said evenly: "It shouldn't have anything to do with him. He's the same as before. Just an ordinary man."
"Ordinary…" Fury tapped his fingers on the desk.
In truth, he had spent half the night digging into Finnian Murdock's file, where he discovered the existence of Matt Murdock—Daredevil.
Like Stark, Fury didn't believe this family was "ordinary" at all.
But Hill's words told a different story.
"Hill, the Bureau is stretched thin on talent right now. Think you can recruit him? You'd also get to keep him under your nose."
Hill's eyes lit up. Right. Lock the bastard down.
"Alright. I'll try."
Fury turned to Coulson. "What's the situation with Stark?"
Coulson grimaced. "Difficult. I went twice. Both times brushed off. Didn't even get a word in."
"Consistent with his style," Fury muttered.
He paused, then added: "Fine. Then slip the truth about his kidnapping to his secretary. Privately."
"Understood," Coulson nodded.
"You two get moving."
"Yes, Director."
Once they left, Fury unlocked his safe, pulled out a thick leather-bound diary, and crossed out Finnian Murdock's name.
Beside it, he wrote: Daredevil (Matt Murdock).
"Avengers…"