Chapter 35 – Bullseye's Death
"In the end, you can't deal with those villains yourself, yet you come looking for trouble with us who punish evil and defend the good. So all the credit for being a 'good guy' belongs to you, huh? Haven't you ever considered what ordinary people think? Most of them just want a simple and peaceful life."
Daredevil still drew his batons after listening. "Maybe you have a point, but I can't allow you to go on running wild like this. The law is equal for everyone. Even if your intentions are good, your actions and your methods are not justice."
Damn it, Uchiha Akira cursed inwardly. He had reasoned with him for so long, yet this Daredevil guy was stubborn as a mule!
"Ironfire, teach him a lesson. People like this—pitiful yet hateful—need a good beating. Just don't kill him."
"Oh, and be careful—this blind man's other senses are sharp. Don't stumble into trouble by underestimating him." Akira gave the warning out of caution, though if Ironfire really failed, Akira swore he'd break three of his legs himself.
Daredevil was enraged. Not only was the man unrepentant, but he even dared to underestimate him. Just as he was about to charge forward, Ironfire kicked him hard and sent him flying.
The kick was so powerful that Daredevil nearly lost his breath. Hitting the ground, he coughed up a mouthful of blood.
"Tight-suit freak, how dare you disrespect our clan leader? Today you won't be walking away."
Ironfire had no concept of America's "democracy" or "freedom." Ninjas were task-oriented, guided by benefit above all. To Ironfire, Matt's high-minded ideals were pure nonsense.
Thus, Daredevil suffered unprecedented torment. Against common thugs, he was unbeatable, but in front of an elite jōnin—even one not using ninjutsu—Matt was utterly crushed.
Desperately resisting, Matt soon realized he had kicked an iron wall. What's worse, he could tell his opponent had no intention of killing him, only of beating him down. Yet even so, Matt had no power to fight back.
His enemy's ghostlike speed (Body Flicker Technique), his overwhelming blows—there was nothing he could do.
While Ironfire was teaching Matt a lesson, Uchiha Akira ran into another obstacle on his way back: a deranged man with a bullseye mark on his forehead.
The stranger immediately pulled out a gun and fired, but Akira deflected every bullet with his short blade. He could have dodged with Shunshin, but against such small fry, practicing swordwork was fine too.
"Mutant? Mutant or not, you die today!" Bullseye drew a handful of throwing knives. In his hands, they spun open like a folding fan, dazzling and precise.
The knives shot toward Akira as if guided by eyes. Clang, clang, clang! Akira's blade moved swiftly, easily batting away several of them. Then, in a blink, he appeared behind Bullseye, kunai at the man's neck.
"Who sent you after me?"
"Hell's Kitchen is my turf—"
"Then go to hell." Akira didn't hesitate. With a slash of his kunai, he severed Bullseye's neck. Even then, he felt heavy resistance—metal implants in the body, perhaps.
The headless corpse twitched violently for several minutes before finally going still.
A soul rose from the corpse, clear and distinct, the mocking face of Bullseye twisted in rage as he looked at Akira.
"So this is the difference in soul strength? This one's the strongest I've encountered yet—and it even recognizes me." Akira willed his Soul Furnace to activate, and Bullseye's spirit was drawn helplessly in, shredded into nothing.
System: Soul Furnace (103/10000) Lv. 2
So Bullseye's soul counted as the equivalent of 103 standard souls—the strongest Akira had seen so far. He still wasn't sure how the system calculated this, but it was definitely tied to soul strength.
If only fortune like this came knocking every day, Akira would welcome it gladly. The Soul Furnace constantly nourished his chakra and body, making him stronger, especially in this period of rapid growth.
"Ironfire, you finished with that tight-suit freak?"
Ironfire had completed his mission. "Rest assured, clan leader. I broke both his arms, his nose, his face is swollen, and one leg is fractured. He won't die, but he won't enjoy himself either."
"Good. Next time you see him, do the same—beat him hard, just don't kill him. I can't stand these hypocritical moral preachers."
"Clan leader, what does 'moral preacher' mean?"
"It's like Sarutobi Hiruzen—always talking about the 'Will of Fire.' Sounds noble and righteous, but when it comes to action, he plays favorites. When it's time to share benefits, he turns a blind eye. Loves to use lofty ideals to pressure others. That's a moral preacher."
Ironfire instantly understood. After all, Sarutobi Hiruzen was the perfect living example.
After they left, the battered Daredevil managed, with his one unbroken leg, to crawl to his car. Ironfire had left him that one leg on purpose, forcing him to drag himself with his cane.
Eventually, he reached the home of his mentor, Stick.
"Master… help me." Stick was stunned to see Matt collapse before him. In all these years of vigilante work, Matt had never been injured so badly. His body was covered in blood, both arms broken, nose crooked, ribs fractured.
Stick could tell the attackers had held back. The injuries were severe but not life-threatening, all things a skilled doctor could heal without lasting damage. It was a deliberate beating.
Knowing some medicine, Stick immediately set his bones and bandaged him. He withheld painkillers, worried about their side effects on Matt's heightened senses.
A day later, Matt finally woke up. Familiar surroundings pressed on him with unfamiliar bitterness. His first crusade for justice had ended in disaster—worse, it had been his own meddling that caused it.
"Tell me," Stick asked, "what happened? You're badly hurt, yet they clearly spared your life."
Though blind, Stick could feel his pupil's heavy heart.
"I… I ran into the one who's been massacring gangs in Hell's Kitchen. I tried to stop him, but I couldn't even handle his subordinate. I was beaten half to death." Matt's voice carried shame. This was the classic case of showing off only to be humiliated.
"Weren't the ones dying in Hell's Kitchen just gangsters and drug dealers? No need to risk yourself for them."
"But those people still had families and friends. Their deaths cause grief. And punishing criminals is the law's job, not vigilantism. I can't accept vigilante executions!"
Stick said nothing more. He knew his student well—Matt was kind at heart.
"Child, the world isn't simply black or white. The worst part is that you weren't even a match for them. That's the most painful truth."
At that moment, Matt felt the pain in his wounds was nothing compared to the pain in his heart.
The truth cuts sharper than any blade.