Although he says he will pick up the medicine later, Peter doesn't go until the afternoon because Matt's leg hasn't stopped bleeding. He has to try several different bandaging methods. By the time he's finished, it's already the afternoon.
Peter hasn't had time for lunch, so he's famished. As he arrives at the clinic, he smells an enticing aroma.
Schiller hears the doorbell and comes out to see a big boy in a hoodie standing at the door, greedily sniffing as if trying to inhale the delicious scent into his belly.
Schiller wipes his hands and says, "Come in."
Peter scratches his head and says, "Good afternoon, sir. A friend told me to come here for some medicine. He said you'd know."
"Oh, I know," Schiller responds. "But you'll have to wait until I finish lunch. He's not in a rush, is he?"
"It's okay; his bleeding has stopped, but he's in quite some pain. He needs some pain killer," Peter replies.
"Have you eaten lunch?" Schiller asks. Peter blushes; he feels the doctor may have noticed his longing gaze towards the kitchen.
"If you haven't, stay and have some with us. You can also bring some back for Matt," Schiller offers.
As he speaks, a small yellow creature scurries up to the table with a big bowl, its nose twitching eagerly above it before licking its lips, seemingly impatient to start.
Schiller has prepared a Chinese meal: rice, sweet and sour ribs, hot and sour shredded potatoes, plus a bowl of tomato and egg soup.
Ravenous, Peter stares at the dining table with such intensity that he finds it difficult to refuse.
Since gaining his spider abilities, Peter's appetite has increased significantly, and he gets hungry easily. After eating an entire rice cooker's worth of rice, Peter feels genuinely embarrassed. His ears turn red as he puts down the bowl, murmuring, "I'm really sorry, doctor, I seem to have eaten all your food. I... I can pay for it…"
"It doesn't matter," Schiller insists. "I was actually going to cook another pot for my old friend and prepare him lunch as well. There's still some ribs left in the pot. Serve them out and put them in the lunchbox in the cabinet to take back for Matt."
Little Spider-Man hurries into the kitchen, not only making another pot of rice but also cleaning all the pots and pans.
Schiller feels that this version of Spider-Man is quite likable.
By contrast, Pikachu has gorged himself round-bellied. After eating, he sprawls on the chair and begins to snore. Schiller grabs Pikachu's lightning-shaped tail and shakes it, saying, "Even if someone else is responsible for washing dishes today, that's no excuse for you to avoid work. Go take out the trash."
"Oh, sir, I can take that out on my way," Peter offers,
"Alright, thank you. Oh, and there's no garbage disposal fee in Hell's Kitchen. Just go straight ahead, there's a corner, and you'll see a pile of waste. Just throw the trash there."
Peter carries two large bags of kitchen waste in his hands, turning out the back door of the clinic and immediately spotting the place described by Schiller. It's some distance from the clinic, with a large pile of broken bricks, scrap wood, and various other garbage thrown by people, piled high and emitting a pungent odor.
Beside this garbage heap are several beggars, waiting for the leftover discarded by others to fill their stomachs.
As Spidery walks past, the beggars are on the other side of the debris pile. He doesn't see them—either he is full or the Chinese meal made by Schiller just satisfied his taste buds so well that Peter's gloomy mood is swept away. Happily carrying the two bags of garbage, he sprints a short distance and flings his arms forward, tossing the trash to the very top of the rubbish pile.
"Bingo!" Peter exclaims, reminiscent of when he and Uncle Ben used to throw trash from afar, hoping it would land right in the bin.
But previously, without such strength, it was usually Uncle Ben who had to clean up the mess, and Peter thinks next time he should impress his uncle with his newfound arm power.
When he throws the trash bags, one of them splits open, spilling leftover bones from meals, remnants from Schiller's cooking, uneaten bits of shredded potato, and a half-sprouted potato. The beggars scramble for the spilled contents as if it were a feast.
The pile has grown into a small hill. To climb it, the beggars step on broken bricks and wooden planks. The top of the pile is formed by several large broken wall segments stacked into a triangle. They struggle to climb up, and it's only then that Peter realizes people are scavenging through the trash.
He feels a little embarrassed. So, he dashes halfway up the rubbish pile, intending to reach the top and retrieve the trash.
But the beggars are not Spider-Man, gifted with superhuman powers. Having been starved for a long time, they lack the strength, and one elder woman, who is closest to the top, panics. The piece of debris she grabs gives way, and without hand support, she falls backward.
Just as Spider-Man reaches the top of the pile, he sees a beggar falling. He reaches out to catch her but is a moment too late.
The pile contains all sorts of hazardous items, including broken glass from bottles thrown by drunkards, exposed rebar, and wooden planks with nails sticking up. Hit with any of these could be life-threatening.
Luckily, Peter has his superpowers, and he bends down quickly to catch the falling beggar. Before he can feel proud of himself, a roaring explosion is followed by a sharp, piercing screech of brakes and a dull sound of an impact.
Blood splatters. Peter turns in disbelief toward the nearest intersection. The flying figure is all too familiar.
It's Daredevil.
A significant amount of blood flows from the spot where he lands. The thick scent of blood shadows Peter's vision with a hazy red tint.
He bolts down frantically, and there lies Matt, blood seeping from his eyes, nose, and mouth. His spine is contorted in an unnatural angle, seemingly broken.
But he isn't dead; he just can no longer move after losing the connection of his nerves to his brain.
Peter is trembling all over. Ignoring everything, he quickly lifts Matt and rushes through the back door of Schiller's clinic, crying out, "Doctor! Doctor! There is someone needs help!!!"
Schiller recognizes that Matt has likely been attacked by those hunting him and orders, "The garage is right next to us; put him in the car and take him to Presbyterian Hospital immediately."
With such severe injuries, only the best hospital might have a chance to save him.
Schiller races through Manhattan's streets and gets Matt to Presbyterian Hospital as quickly as possible. He carries some influence there, and Matt is quickly taken to the emergency room.
However, the attending physician soon tells them with a serious face, "The chances of this gentleman making it are slim. It's a pity he can no longer write a will or give a verbal testament. If you are his relatives, perhaps it's time to see him for the last time."
Peter is nearly breaking down; everything is connecting in his mind. He never imagined that the target of the gangsters' murder plot was the only good soul in Hell's Kitchen—Daredevil, Matt.
He can't accept that all of this was caused by him. If he had killed those gangsters when he heard about the plan,no, just warned Matt, surely he would have been more cautious.
Had he not stayed at the clinic for lunch and had left right after grabbing the medicine, Matt wouldn't have needed to come out looking for him.
If he hadn't playfully thrown the trash bags so high, perhaps he could have saved Matt the instant the car came hurtling out.
He had so many opportunities to save his friend, yet he accomplished nothing.
Daredevil is dying, and Peter can't accept this fact.
Schiller remains calm and asks the attending physician, "What's the main problem? Cardiopulmonary function? Neurosurgery? Internal abdominal injury?"
The doctor shakes his head, "None of those. It's his spine; the nerves are likely irreparable. Even if we manage to barely save his life, he will be paralyzed for life."
Schiller takes a deep breath and insists, "I just want to know if there's any way to save him."
The doctor hesitates and then offers, "Maybe Dr.Strange has a way. He's the best neurosurgeon we have here. Perhaps only he can reconnect all those nerves."
Schiller immediately turns and says to Peter, "Peter,I'm going now to find the person who can save Matt, but you must stay here. You know, Matt has been taken to the hospital, but those who want to kill him will not give up. After I leave, you must ensure no one enters the operating room. I will be back as fast as I can."
With that, he leaves straight away.
Peter repeats to himself while trembling, "No one will enter the operating room. No one will enter. I won't let anyone in..."
After leaving the hospital, Schiller calls Pepper and requests, "I need the home address of a doctor named Strange."
Pepper doesn't ask for an explanation. Quickly, a string of addresses appears on his phone, not far from Presbyterian Hospital, in one of the most upscale apartments nearby.
Schiller blinks, arriving at the apartment building at breakneck speed. He doesn't bother with the elevator nor knocking, using continuous blinks through walls and appears behind Strange, who is enjoying afternoon tea.
Strange hears a slight noise. As he turns around, a cane is pressed firmly against his throat.
"Listen, I don't have time to waste with you. A friend of mine is seriously injured and is now being resuscitated at the Presbyterian Hospital. You're the best neurosurgeon there. Pick up your stuff and get moving to operate right now."
Strange reveals an absurd expression. Schiller lets go of the hand holding the cane, but the cane still floats in mid-air, pointing straight at Strange. Strange raises his hands and backs away, but the cane, with no one holding it, continues to press against his neck.
Schiller stretches out his hand towards the air, and Strange's coat hanging on the rack flies over to him. Strange's eyes widen, watching this scene in disbelief. Schiller tosses the coat to him and says, "I think you understand that you don't have the right to refuse. Come with me now."