Chapter 56: Threatening Kim Bin

Michael walked in and addressed the blind lawyer inside.
"Hello, I need to draft a contract."
Matthew was a bit surprised to have business at his door—after all, this was Hell's Kitchen. But as a professional lawyer, he composed himself.
"What kind of contract? What are your requirements?"
"A share transfer agreement," Michael replied.
Matthew immediately began to prepare.
Michael continued, "The main terms are: Wilson Fennick agrees to transfer his shares in Osborn Enterprises to Michael as a gift, with no compensation or conditions."
Matthew's hand paused. He asked, "Sir, are you certain?"
"Absolutely," Michael replied.
"Do you know who Wilson Fennick is?" Matthew's expression grew serious.
"Of course I do. I even brought his son along," Michael said, gesturing to Richard.
Kingpin has a son? Matthew couldn't help but be surprised.
Still, was this man insane, using Kingpin's son to threaten him?
"Sir, I won't help you draft this contract. Please abandon this idea," Matthew said.
Michael simply smiled. "No contract is fine. I'm not here for business anyway."
"Sir, I admit your heartbeat is very slow. You're clearly formidable, but Kingpin isn't someone to be trifled with, and he has plenty of men."
Michael smiled again and turned to leave.
His main purpose was to see what kind of man Daredevil was, but it was rather disappointing.
Along the way, he passed many hurried people. Except for a few streets, almost no one lingered.
On the busier streets, without exception, police cars were parked.
Michael saw people in certain alleys using drugs, and after getting high, they began licking inorganic salts from the walls.
Some men staged scenes of violent dominance right there, cheered on by the crowd.
In some alleys, people moved like the walking dead—a chilling sight. Occasionally, someone even tried to mug Michael.
The walls were covered in layer upon layer of graffiti, the original color long lost. The most common trash in the corners was syringes and umbrellas; some alleys were filled only with urine and feces. The environment was appalling.
For things to be this chaotic in broad daylight, Hell's Kitchen lived up to its name.

Soon, Michael and Richard arrived at Kingpin's building. Compared to elsewhere, there was little difference—just a bit cleaner, at least without the stench of rot.
Richard was terrified along the way, glancing nervously at Michael.
Just as they were about to go upstairs, three thugs playing cards inside called out, "You two, who are you looking for?"
Michael gave them a glance. The next moment, he appeared before them, drew his Tang sword, and sent them straight to the afterlife with a single stroke.
In an instant, he returned to Richard's side, patted him on the shoulder, and said, "Let's go."
Richard nodded, bewildered, not understanding what had just happened.
The man in the security room hadn’t seen Michael move—he just saw the three men outside freeze, then blood splattered the ceiling.
He immediately called Kingpin, urgently reporting, "Boss, someone's coming for you. They took the elevator and are on their way to your floor!"
Kingpin crushed his phone in anger. "Who has the nerve to do this?"
Everyone grew tense at once, the henchmen aiming their guns at the elevator.
As the elevator doors opened, nerves snapped—everyone opened fire.
Kingpin saw who was inside and shouted, "Stop!"
But it was too late—the bullets were already flying, and there was no way to call them back.
Michael could only teleport himself, not Richard. He instantly entered bullet time, dynamically tracking every projectile’s path.
He pushed Richard to the floor, then teleported to a henchman’s side and cut him down, blood spraying everywhere—one man was even cleaved in two.
Without pause, Michael teleported to the other side and struck again.
Moments later, only Kingpin and his immediate entourage remained alive in the room.
Michael returned to the elevator and helped Richard up.
Seeing Richard alive, Kingpin glared furiously at the man before him—a clown mask covering his face, his true identity hidden.
"Who are you?" Kingpin demanded.
Richard coughed twice, instantly triggering Kingpin’s nerves.
Though Michael had been careful, Richard was still badly hurt.
Michael lifted Richard and stood before Kingpin. "If you want him alive, do as I say."
Kingpin laughed in fury—for the first time, someone was threatening him. But he had no choice but to agree.
"Fine."
"Acquire as many shares of Osborn Enterprises as you possibly can—by any means necessary. Get every share you can, then transfer them to me."
"Fine," Kingpin replied, glancing at Richard, his heart aching. "My money isn’t so easily earned. You’d better be prepared."
Michael smiled. "Don’t worry. Not only will I get it, I’ll live to spend it."
"We’ll see."
Though he hadn’t obtained all the shares yet, Kingpin played no tricks, immediately sending his men to seize the remainder.
From then on, he kept a close watch on Michael, his gaze murderous.
Richard, meanwhile, was deeply confused, opening his mouth as if to speak, but hesitating—he couldn’t understand how his own father had become a crime lord, and one who seemed incredibly wealthy at that.
After Michael left, Matthew stared silently out the window, deep in thought. At last, he couldn’t resist.
"Foggy, I’m heading out."
He donned his costume, moved between the buildings, and soon reached the familiar building. Using his grappling hook, he reached the rooftop, where his extraordinary hearing allowed him to monitor Kingpin’s penthouse.
There, he detected Michael’s heartbeat—steady, uninjured, as if calmly drinking tea.
Kingpin, on the other hand, did not attack, only glared at Michael.
"I hope that when the fight breaks out, I’ll be able to rescue him," Matthew thought. He couldn’t fathom why anyone would provoke Kingpin.
At last, all the shares were gathered. Kingpin looked at Michael and said, "I have about forty-seven percent of the shares. I’ve cleaned out all the floating shares on the market. Only two other shareholders remain; the rest I’ve dealt with. Are you sure you want them?"
Michael already held four and a half percent, so together they’d control just over fifty-one percent—an absolute majority.
Harry still held thirty-five percent, with the remaining fourteen percent elsewhere.
Kingpin was ruthless.
Among the remaining shareholders were some with political connections—Kingpin had eliminated even them.
What Michael didn’t know was that Kingpin had not planned to target those with political backgrounds, but Michael’s actions had infuriated him, so he took them out as well, venting his rage.
"Transfer them all," Michael said.
Kingpin, recognizing the account, growled, "So it was you, Michael."
Still, he completed the transfer, though he didn’t believe this person could really be Michael—the Michael in his files was a sickly man, only recently recovered.
"Are you following Michael? Why not work for me? I’ll pay triple."
Michael snorted, offering no reply, and waited quietly for Kingpin to finish the transfer.