Ivan lay on his back on the black bench press rack, his muscles tensed as he pushed the 400kg barbell toward the ceiling. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and slid down his sculpted body, highlighting the sheer effort required to lift such an immense weight.
For most people, bench pressing over 300 kilograms would be an extraordinary feat, something achievable only by elite athletes or those with superhuman strength. Even among the elite members of the Marvel team, the average bench press maxed out at around 550 kilograms. But to push beyond 400 kilograms—nearly 900 pounds—was pushing the boundaries of what even the strongest individuals could achieve. Yet, Ivan relished this challenge.
He loved the sensation of his strength being tested to its absolute limits. Every cell in his body was mobilized, every fiber of muscle squeezed to its fullest potential, his entire being teetering on the edge of its capabilities. With each press, he forced himself to go just a little further, to push his body and mind beyond the boundaries he had previously thought unbreakable.
This relentless drive kept him in peak physical condition, ensuring that every adversary he encountered would receive a brutal, VIP-level experience—from the orthopedic ward to the crematorium.
Throughout his intense workout, Ivan's gaze remained locked on a photo he had taped to the ceiling directly above his bench press station.
It was a picture of Batman.
The image quality was poor, the pixels blurry and indistinct, but it was the best he could obtain, meticulously enhanced through various image-processing techniques.
In truth, Ivan's collection of Batman photos extended far beyond this single image. The walls of his small, dimly lit room were plastered with all kinds of pictures of the Dark Knight. Some depicted him mid-punch, delivering justice with a swift blow. Others showed him leaping across rooftops, his cape billowing in the wind. Most were so blurred and grainy that it was difficult to discern if the figure was even human.
If the masked figure in these photos had been replaced by a beautiful girl in a school uniform, the sheer volume and obsessive nature of the collection would be enough to get someone arrested. But considering that the subject was a muscular man dressed in a peculiar bat suit, the entire scenario took on a more unsettling tone. One couldn't help but wonder what kind of person Ivan truly was to maintain such a shrine-like dedication to tracking down this mysterious vigilante.
Clang.
The sharp, metallic sound of the barbell clashing with the bench press rack reverberated through the room, signaling the end of Ivan's set.
He sat up slowly, his muscles burning from the exertion, and reached for the bottle of mineral water on the table beside him. Twisting off the cap, he took a large gulp, feeling the cool liquid soothe his parched throat. His enhanced physical conditioning allowed his muscles to recover quickly, the lactic acid dissipating as his body returned to a state of readiness.
As he rested, his eyes caught the flicker of a news program playing on the small TV in the corner of the room. The sound was low, almost inaudible, but something about the footage on the screen caught his attention. Reaching for the remote, Ivan turned up the volume, his focus sharpening.
On the screen, a female reporter stood in front of an apartment building, her hair whipping in the wind as she held a microphone, reporting live from the scene.
"An eyewitness reported seeing a laughing man fall from a tall building," the reporter said, her voice clear and professional. "Moments later, a masked man wielding a shield jumped from the upper floors and struck the man on the head with lethal force.
Authorities have confirmed that the laughing man was severely infected, but they have not released any information regarding the identity of the shield-wielding individual.
Additionally, reliable sources indicate that Batman may have also been involved in this altercation…"
Ivan narrowed his eyes, his expression hardening. His gaze drifted from the TV to the photo on the wall beside him, where the blurred figure of Batman was frozen in a moment of action, captured by the camera's lens.
Who exactly was this Batman? And why did he keep appearing in these increasingly bizarre incidents?
…
"Ah-choo!"
Charlie sneezed violently as soon as he stepped out of the car, hitching a ride home with Felix. The sneeze echoed in the quiet street, and Charlie rubbed his nose, a wry smile tugging at his lips. He couldn't help but think of the old saying: sneezing meant someone was either thinking of you, cursing you, or talking about you. Perhaps some neighborhood auntie was admiring his good looks again, or maybe someone was gossiping about him behind his back.
He made his way inside and, after locking the door behind him, pulled out his phone. A slew of unread messages from his good friend Walter lit up the screen. It looked like Walter had forgotten to do his homework for tomorrow's class and was now desperately seeking Charlie's help.
Charlie chuckled, quickly typing a response to let Walter know he'd send a photo of the completed homework as soon as he relaxed for a bit.
To his surprise, Walter's reply came almost immediately, laden with mischief: "Exhausted again?"
Charlie paused, taken aback. He was, admittedly, a bit worn out after remotely controlling the shield-bearing hero in a grueling battle against a ghoul in women's clothing, followed by a seemingly endless meeting where he was little more than decoration after barely managing to grab a bite to eat. But how did Walter know?
Before he could ponder the mystery further, another message from Walter popped up, this time with a smirking "I get it" emoji. And at that moment, Charlie understood his friend had completely misunderstood the situation.
It is often said that some people measure others by their own flawed standards. Just as some harbor deep-seated prejudices, others assume everyone around them is inherently virtuous. And then there are those who, when confronted with someone paying too much attention to detail, assume there must be an ulterior motive.
Ignoring Walter's teasing, Charlie snapped a photo of his completed homework and sent it over. Walter responded with an enthusiastic wave of thanks, and Charlie smiled at the small boost in their friendship meter. But there was little time to waste—Charlie quickly sat down in front of his computer.
He had left in such a hurry earlier that he hadn't had time to finish his meal; called away to headquarters before he could even take a proper bite. Now that he was back home, his first order of business was, of course, to indulge in some gacha draws.
Tonight had been a productive one—two bosses down, or at least what could be considered elite monsters if not full-blown bosses. Coupled with the minions and wild monsters he had taken down during his previous nightly patrols, Charlie had saved up enough for ten consecutive single draws and three C-level hero coupons.
Seventeen draws in total.
Could seventeen consecutive draws finally bring him that elusive top-tier hero?
As he clicked through the ten draws, the words "Thank you for participating" flashed across the screen repeatedly, almost knocking him out of his chair.
With only four tickets left and three coupons still to go, Charlie's hand trembled slightly as he moved the mouse to initiate the next draw. He began to feel that this punishing card pool didn't even guarantee a bottom line, playing with his emotions like a cruel game of chance.
But then, as he completed the next draw, a burst of dazzling light filled the screen. Slowly, the light faded, revealing a slender figure curled into a fighting stance—a blonde beauty with long legs and a determined expression.
It was a Marvel superhero, codenamed Black Widow.
[TL Note - who played the best (hottest image) Black Widdow; comment here (no NSFW images, I will report you... after I download it]
But it wasn't the well-known Natasha Romanov. Instead, the figure on his screen was Yelena Belova, Natasha's younger sister and successor. She had been introduced in the "Black Widow" standalone film as the next generation of Black Widow after Natasha's departure.
According to her character description, Yelena, like Natasha, had been trained in the "Red Room," an organization infamous for producing deadly female assassins. As a result, her physical fitness was nearly on par with Natasha's, but she lacked the superhuman qualities that would make her a true powerhouse.
Nevertheless, she was a formidable fighter, albeit not as powerful as some of the top-tier heroes in the C-level card pool. If she had any distinct advantages, they might be her sharp combat skills, long, flowing red hair and light green eyes, which gave her a certain appeal.
Charlie couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed. What was going on with this card pool? First, he had pulled Huntress, then Elektra, Black Cat, and now Black Widow. Each one had less fabric on their costumes than the last. Was this game really pushing attractive heroes over powerful ones?
He now realized how naive he had been to think that Marvel and DC were somehow different from the other gacha games that relied on scantily-clad characters to entice players. These two franchises have been playing the game of appeal since the last century. In terms of experience and seniority, the anime characters that followed had nothing on these pioneers of visual allure.
With a sigh, Charlie redeemed the last three coupons and
took a deep breath.
Could he finally pull a hunk?
"Thank you for participating!"
As if in response to his desperate plea, the penultimate draw burst into a spectacular display of light. The screen filled with a red-suited figure, his face obscured by a helmet adorned with horns.
It was Matt Murdock, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, codename—
—Daredevil.
---
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