Someone understood his meaning.
"Killing with a borrowed knife?"
The man in the suit nodded.
"Exactly. If Kingpin wins, he helps us test that woman's strength. If the woman wins, Kingpin's power will be greatly diminished, and New York's underworld will be reshuffled. When that time comes—"
He smiled and didn't continue.
But everyone understood.
When that time comes, it will be HYDRA's opportunity.
"Do it discreetly," the man in the suit said finally. "Don't let anyone discover it was us."
...
In the apartment.
Mavuika suddenly opened her eyes.
Her gaze seemed to pierce through countless obstacles, looking precisely at the roof of the building opposite her.
A person.
He was lurking there, holding something in his hand, pointing it directly at her window.
Mavuika didn't move.
She could probably guess who sent him.
Kingpin's man.
She could go deal with him right now, throw him off the roof, or make him disappear with fire.
But she didn't move.
Because it wasn't necessary.
And—
Mavuika smiled softly.
She wanted to see exactly what Kingpin intended to do.
She rolled over, closed her eyes, and went back to sleep.
The next morning.
Sunlight shone into the living room, and Mavuika was awakened by a pleasant aroma.
She walked to the kitchen and saw Loki standing before the stove, spatula in hand, seriously flipping fried eggs.
Mavuika was stunned.
"You... can cook?"
Loki turned back and gave a slight smile.
"Just learned it." He pointed to his phone. "There are tutorials on there."
Mavuika walked over to take a look—the fried eggs in the pan did indeed look good, golden-yellow with slightly crispy edges.
"Pretty impressive," she said.
Loki shook his head modestly: "It's average."
Thor rushed out of the bedroom, and upon smelling the aroma, his eyes lit up.
"Smells so good! There's breakfast to eat!"
He sat down at the dining table, watching eagerly as Loki brought over the fried eggs and bacon.
Loki gave him a portion, another to Mavuika, and finally one for himself.
The three sat down and began to eat breakfast.
Thor took a bite of the fried egg, and his eyes widened.
"Loki! You made this?"
Loki nodded.
Thor's expression was complicated—as if he wanted to praise him, but also didn't really want to.
In the end, he still said: "...It's quite delicious."
The corners of Loki's mouth curled up slightly.
"Thanks."
Mavuika watched them, and a wave of Warmth welled up in her heart.
Outside the window, the New York sunlight was just right.
A new day had begun.
...
Fisk Tower, top floor.
Kingpin sat in his massive leather chair, holding a glass of red wine.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows was the spectacular night view of Manhattan, but he wasn't looking.
He was looking at the person in front of him.
Bullseye stood there, holding a report.
"Boss, there's a new development."
Kingpin tilted his chin up.
"Speak."
Bullseye opened the report.
"The whereabouts of those three: yesterday afternoon, they were shopping on Fifth Avenue and bought a few outfits. In the evening, they ate near Central Park and then returned to the Villa."
Kingpin frowned.
"That's it?"
"There's more," Bullseye continued. "After their conflict with Viktor's group, they said a few things."
Kingpin looked at him.
"What words?"
Bullseye paused.
"That Blond strong man said... he said you are a 'rat hiding in the gutter'."
Kingpin's eyes narrowed.
The Hand holding the wine glass tightened slightly, the glass making a faint groaning sound.
"He also said that if you dared to come, he would twist your head off and kick it like a ball."
Bullseye finished and took a step back.
The office was quiet for a few seconds.
Then Kingpin laughed.
That laughter was low and suppressed, like muffled thunder rolling through.
"Interesting," he said. "It's been many years since anyone dared to speak to me like that."
He put down the wine glass and stood up.
His massive frame cast a huge Shadow under the lights.
"Bullseye, what do you think the background of those three is?"
Bullseye thought for a moment.
"Hard to say. That Blond strong man's physical fitness is very high. The black-haired one... I didn't see him take action, but he doesn't look like an ordinary person. As for that woman—"
He paused.
"She looks familiar, but I can't remember where I've seen her."
Kingpin fell silent.
He knew Bullseye had a very good eye; for someone to look familiar to him, they certainly weren't ordinary.
"Keep watching them," he finally said. "Don't make a move for now."
Bullseye was a bit surprised.
"Boss, you're just going to let them be that arrogant?"
Kingpin glanced at him.
In that glance, there was something Bullseye couldn't read.
"I said, don't make a move for now," Kingpin repeated. "I need to know their background."
Bullseye nodded.
"Understood."
He turned and left.
Only Kingpin remained in the office.
He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the city, silent for a long time.
Then he picked up the phone and dialed a number.
"Mr. Murakami, it's me."
An old and sinister voice came from the other end of the line.
"Mr. Fisk, calling so late, what can I do for you?"
Kingpin leaned back in his chair.
"I need some manpower."
Murakami was silent for a second.
"What kind of manpower?"
"Ninjas," Kingpin said. "The Hand's ninjas."
A soft chuckle came from the other end.
"Mr. Fisk, The Hand's ninjas are not cheap."
Kingpin's voice was very calm.
"I know. Name your price."
Murakami went silent.
Then he said: "Who is the opponent?"
Kingpin: "Three fellows who don't know their place. They beat up my men yesterday."
Murakami: "Just three people?"
Kingpin: "Yes."
Murakami laughed softly.
"Mr. Fisk, you have thousands of men. Why do you still need to borrow people from me?"
Kingpin's eyes narrowed.
"Those three are not simple," he said. "I need to test their background."
Murakami pondered for a few seconds.
"Fine," he finally said. "But I have a condition."
"Speak."
"After the matter is done..." Murakami's voice carried a hint of coldness.
"I want their bodies."
Kingpin was silent for a second.
"Deal."
The call disconnected.
Kingpin looked at the night outside the window, a cold smile curling at the corners of his mouth.
"Let me see," he murmured, "who exactly you people are."
...
Kyoto, Japan.
In a secret Base hidden beneath an ancient temple, Murakami put down the phone.
He sat in the dim room, several black-clad ninjas kneeling before him.
Murakami was an old man in his sixties, wearing a traditional black kimono, with graying hair and a thin face.
But those eyes flashed with a cold light, like winter stars in the night.
"New York," he began, "there is a mission."
The leading ninja looked up.
"My Lord, what mission?"
Murakami briefly explained Kingpin's request.
"Three people, two men and one woman. Deal with them—"
He paused.
"Bring back the bodies, dead or alive."
The ninja nodded.
"How many men are needed?"
Murakami thought for a moment.
"Send twelve first. Twelve should be enough."
He stood up and walked to the wall, where an ancient ukiyo-e painting hung.
"If those twelve don't come back..." he said softly, "then it means those three have even greater value."
He turned back and looked at the ninjas.
"Go. Act with caution."
The twelve bowed their heads simultaneously.
"Yes."