Become Kingpin and build a hero mercenary company.

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Complaints among lower-ranked heroes decreased, replaced by discussions on how to complete missions more efficiently to improve their rankings; heroes with different abilities began to spontaneously organize small exchange workshops to explore the possibility of cooperative combat; the gap between logistics and the front lines was broken down, because everyone understood that every number on the leaderboard was inseparable from the support of the entire system.

An internal culture based on "contribution," "professionalism," and "mutual growth" is quietly taking shape. It doesn't rely on personal charisma and legendary status like the Avengers, nor does it depend on national authority and discipline like S.H.I.E.L.D. It's a more...corporate, yet more pragmatic sense of community.

Kingpin stood by the office window, looking down at the headquarters lobby below, where heroes were pausing to discuss in front of the leaderboard, taking photos under promotional posters, or hurrying off to their missions with clear goals.

He knew that relying solely on the system's task allocation and point rewards could only drive behavior, not unite the soul. Now, he was injecting a lubricant and adhesive called "corporate culture" into this increasingly massive machine.

This cultural development is not about sentimentality, but about creating a more efficient, stable, and absolutely loyal system. When every component operates spontaneously because it recognizes its own value and place, the power this machine can unleash will be unmatched by any loose alliance.

The association's body is growing stronger, and now Kingpin is working to shape its soul and will. An era truly belonging to the "Hero Association" is gradually becoming a reality, accompanied by these seemingly trivial rules and slogans.

Chapter 78: Peter Parker's Troubles

For Peter Parker, the ringing of the bell at Midtown High School had never been such a symbol of both relief and torment. Relief because he could temporarily escape from the increasingly abstract physics formulas and literary analyses; torment because the bell also meant that his "working hours" as Spider-Man were about to begin, and his body and mind were protesting against the overwhelming burden.

His schoolbag felt heavier than ever before. On one side were textbooks and workbooks crammed full, seemingly never to be finished; on the other side were a spider web emitter and a spare mask, hidden in a hidden compartment and requiring regular maintenance. This physical heaviness was nothing compared to the psychological pressure he was under.

“Peter, you look terrible.” During lunch, Ned Lids looked at his friend’s heavy dark circles and head that seemed to be burying itself in his plate, and said in a worried whisper, “Did you… work overtime again last night?”

Peter listlessly poked at the mashed potatoes on his plate with his fork, barely able to lift his head. "A C-level mission," he said hoarsely, "tracking down a gang of thugs who were robbing a jewelry store using infrasound equipment. Sounds simple, but they were hiding in the sewers, the environment was complicated, and the echolocation was heavily interfered with. It took four hours to take them down..." He let out a huge yawn, "It was almost dawn when we got back, and I still have to catch up on the physics notes I missed the day before yesterday."

"Four hours?! The points reward must be very generous, right?" Ned's eyes lit up.

Peter sighed, took out the disguised association phone, brought up the mission settlement interface, and handed it to Ned.

[Mission NY-XXXXX (Stop the infrasound hijackers) Completed.]

[Contribution Assessment: 87% (Independently located and subdued all five criminals, recovered stolen goods).]

[Reward Settlement: Association Points x 28.]

[Note: The mission was executed cleanly and efficiently, without causing collateral damage. Tactical assessment: Excellent.]

"Wow! 28 points!" Ned exclaimed. "That can get me a lot of good stuff, right?"

“Yeah,” Peter rubbed his throbbing temples, “It could buy 0.3 standard units of special polymer fiber, or buy Aunt May those smart massage shoes she’s been eyeing for ages but hasn’t been able to bring herself to buy… But if I fail my history test tomorrow because of lack of sleep, Aunt May might kick me out of the house with those new shoes.”

This is a true reflection of Peter's life now. Every point is a temptation, every mission drains him. The association's system is like a sophisticated meat grinder, ruthlessly crushing and devouring his already limited free time, sleep, and energy, turning them into a constantly fluctuating number in his account that he never feels is enough. He needs points to upgrade his equipment, to exchange for research materials, to maintain the illusion of being an "outstanding employee," to appease Aunt May, and even... to satisfy his own desire to become stronger and better able to protect others.

But the cost is that the identity of Peter Parker is being gradually hollowed out.

The afternoon physics class became the final straw. On the podium, the teacher was passionately explaining the comprehensive applications of electromagnetic induction. Those formulas and laws that had once seemed incredibly fascinating to Peter now appeared like gibberish to him. His eyelids felt as heavy as if they were weighed down with lead, and his head bobbed up and down. The teacher's voice seemed to come from a distant underwater world.

"...Therefore, when a conductor moves in a magnetic field and cuts magnetic field lines, an induced electromotive force is generated...Mr. Parker!"

Peter jolted awake, looked up blankly, and found that all the students' eyes were on him. His physics teacher, Mrs. Warren, was standing in front of his desk with an unhappy expression.

“Peter, please answer this: how do you calculate the maximum induced electromotive force generated when a rectangular coil rotates in a uniform magnetic field?” Mrs. Warren tapped on his desk.

Peter opened his mouth, his mind blank. He knew the formula, Fuck… it was Faraday's law of electromagnetic induction… but how exactly it was applied to rotation… the ballistic trajectories and spider web suspension points he had calculated while tracking those robbers last night now occupied his mental cache with crystal clarity.

“I…I’m sorry, Mrs. Warren, I…” he stammered, his cheeks burning.

Mrs. Warren glanced at him with disappointment, shook her head, and gestured for him to sit down. "Mr. Parker, I've noticed you've been having trouble concentrating in class lately. Your 'internship' is important, but I hope you understand that your studies are the foundation for you at this stage."

After class, Peter practically fled the classroom. He leaned against the cold wall of the corridor, feeling his heart pounding with shame and fear. Mrs. Warren was one of the few teachers in the school who still held hope for him.

Just then, his association communicator vibrated slightly. It wasn't a mission notification, but a system message:

[Friendly Reminder: Abnormal circadian rhythm data has been detected in the registered hero "Spider-Man" (Peter Parker) recently, indicating severely insufficient sleep and persistently high levels of mental fatigue. Please pay attention to balancing your tasks and rest. The Association's Mental Health Center is always ready to provide support. Again, a powerful hero needs a healthy mind and body as a foundation.]

This cold system notification felt like a silent slap across Peter's face. Even the system at headquarters could tell he was about to collapse.

The school bell rang, and Peter dragged his heavy steps toward the school gate. He should have rushed to another corner of Queens, where a D+ rank mission, "Stop Street Gang Fighting," was flashing, offering a 15-point reward. But looking at the bustling students discussing their weekend plans, his steps felt as heavy as lead.

His spider-sense gave no warning of any physical danger, but a low groan emanated from the depths of his mind—a groan of Peter Parker’s instinctive longing for a “normal life,” a final, desperate yearning to be an ordinary high school student.

He took out his phone, looked at the task icon, and hovered his finger over the "Accept" button for a long time.

Finally, he took a deep breath, as if using all his strength, closed the app interface, and put his phone back in his pocket.

He turned and walked toward his home, not the mission location.

Tonight, there's no Spider-Man. There's only a weary high school student named Peter Parker who needs a long, undisturbed night's sleep and a chance to catch up on his falling behind coursework.

He knew this was only a temporary escape. The association's task list wouldn't stop updating, the allure of points and becoming stronger wouldn't disappear, and Aunt May's expectations and the city's potential dangers wouldn't diminish.

But at least for this moment, he chose Peter Parker.

Walking home, the setting sun cast a long shadow of him. The shadow was no longer the agile silhouette of Spider-Man, but simply the figure of an ordinary boy carrying a heavy schoolbag and with a slightly hunched back.

Spider-Man's battles may be endless, but Peter Parker's troubles are equally real and heavy. Within this machine called the "Hero Association," this young, still-inexperienced cog is struggling to find a balance point to avoid being worn down. And this inner struggle is far more difficult than dealing with any street criminal or eccentric character.

Chapter 79: The Warmth Between a Sandman and His Daughter

The neon lights of New York couldn't penetrate the curtains of a certain room in this ordinary apartment building in Queens. This place seemed like a completely different world from the outside hustle and bustle, the cold efficiency of the Hero Association headquarters, and the dust and grime of the battlefield. A faint smell of disinfectant mingled with the aroma of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, creating a unique and warm ambiance.

Flint Marco, the S-class hero "Sandman" feared by countless monsters, was carefully sitting on a sofa that seemed a little too small for him. His rough, large hands, capable of stirring up sandstorms and crystallizing barriers, were now clumsily, yet incredibly gently, trying to comb the slightly tangled hair of the little girl in the wheelchair opposite him.

Penny Marko, his daughter, still had a sickly pallor, but her large eyes shone with a life-giving light far brighter than Flint had prayed for in countless desperate nights. She clutched a brand-new teddy bear in a delicate little dress, which Flint had bought yesterday with his newly acquired "mission allowance."

“Daddy, be gentle…” Penny complained softly, but a smile she couldn’t hide was playing on her lips.

“I’m sorry, baby.” Flint immediately softened his movements, as if handling the most fragile treasure in the world. He looked at his daughter with a tenderness in his eyes that was completely different from the unwavering resolve he displayed on the battlefield. This peaceful and fulfilling life was something he couldn’t even imagine just a few months ago.

“Penny, look what Daddy brought you.” Flint temporarily abandoned the arduous task of combing her hair and took out a beautifully packaged flat box from behind him.

Penny curiously took the package, unpacked it, and inside was a top-of-the-line digital drawing tablet and pressure-sensitive pen. Her eyes widened in surprise: "Wow! It's the 'Dream Painter' Pro! Only Lily in our class has one, and she says it's amazing! Dad, this must be very expensive, right?"

Flint chuckled good-naturedly and ruffled his daughter's hair. "It's not expensive. Daddy's been doing well at work lately, so it's a bonus from the company." The "company" he referred to was, of course, the Hero Association. This painting equipment had cost him most of the points he'd earned after completing a high-difficulty Rank B cooperative mission. But seeing the smile on his daughter's face, he felt it was all worth it.

"Great! I want to draw Daddy! I want to draw you as a sand giant!" Penny excitedly fiddled with her drawing board, her little face flushed with excitement.

Seeing his daughter's happy face touched the softest part of Flint's heart. He remembered how, not long ago, he could only hide in a dark corner, watching helplessly as Penny suffered from illness, forced to steal and work as a thug to earn meager, dirty money to pay for her expensive medical bills. Every day felt like struggling in a dark swamp with no end in sight.

It was Mr. Kingpin, it was the Hero Association, that pulled him out of that quagmire.

He vividly remembered the trepidation he felt when he stepped into the association's temporary headquarters, clinging to his last glimmer of hope. He expected to face interrogation, scrutiny, or be studied as a monster. But Kingpin simply listened calmly to his request, without even probing too deeply into his past, and then generously provided an advance payment of a huge sum of money—enough for Penny to receive the most advanced treatment available at the time.

“Your abilities are valuable, Mr. Marco,” Kingpin said, his tone as flat as if he were evaluating a tool. “And value deserves to be rewarded. Take good care of your daughter, and then work for the Association.”

There was no pity, no charity, only a fair exchange based on "value." This attitude, ironically, made Flint feel more grounded and respected than ever before.

Subsequently, the association provided much more than just money. A top-notch medical team developed a long-term rehabilitation plan for Penny, with the association's foundation covering the vast majority of subsequent costs. They even provided Penny with a specially designed, lightweight, and flexible wheelchair, as well as a physical therapist who regularly visited her home to guide her rehabilitation training.

What Flint needs to do is use his abilities to complete the tasks assigned by the association and earn points. Points can be exchanged not only for "luxury goods" like drawing boards, but also for higher-level medical resources, customized equipment, and even... "advanced training tutorials" provided by the system that allow him to more accurately control his sandification abilities.

These tutorials enabled him to awaken his "crystallization" ability when facing the "Deep Sea King" in Tokyo Bay, making him a pillar of the defense line. Each improvement in his ability meant he could complete missions better, earn more points, and thus provide Penny with better living conditions and medical care. It was a perfect, positive cycle that motivated him to continuously grow stronger.

“Daddy,” Penny’s voice pulled him back from his reverie. She held up a simple drawing she had just made on her new drawing board. It depicted a smiling giant made of brown sand protecting a little girl in a wheelchair, with a warm sun in the background. “Look, this is how you protect me!”

Flint looked at the childlike yet loving drawing, and his nose tingled slightly. He reached out his broad hand and gently took the drawing board, as if receiving a priceless medal.

"You drew so well, baby." His voice was a little hoarse. "Daddy will always protect you, forever."

He wasn't just protecting Penny. He was protecting the hard-won, hopeful new life that Kingpin and the Association had given him. This gratitude and this bond, like the grains of sand he manipulated, had become deeply ingrained in his very being, transforming into an almost instinctive loyalty.

Outside the window, the city lights still flickered, concealing countless unknown threats. But in this small apartment, Flint Marko, the Sandman, let down all his defenses and strength, becoming simply a content father. What he redeemed with his points was not just a gift, but the radiant smile on his daughter's face, this tranquil and warm moment, the happiness he was willing to protect with everything he had, a happiness within his grasp.

This tender side of a tough guy is the source of his strength and the most solid reason why he dedicates his life and loyalty to the Hero Association without reservation.

Chapter 80: Kingpin's Past and Future

The lights in the Fisk Tower's top-floor office were deliberately dimmed, leaving only the cold glow emanating from the control panel and the suspended holographic screen, cutting Wilson Kingpin's massive figure into a silent sculpture of interwoven light and shadow. Outside the window, New York's neon lights flowed like a ceaseless river of metal and light, yet could not penetrate this barrier constructed of bulletproof glass and absolute will.

On the main screen in front of him, a stream of data, filtered and marked as "high information density" by the system, flowed silently. It wasn't an emergency alert, but a deeper, more fundamental monitoring report:

The global baseline for background energy field activity increased by 0.03% compared to the previous month.

[Non-targeted abnormal mental fluctuation events (harmless) increased in frequency by 1.7% week-on-week.]

The average level of low-intensity stress hormones in densely populated urban areas has risen slightly...

These data are trivial and microscopic, like unseen ocean currents beneath the surface. They may seem meaningless to outsiders, but Kingpin's sharp eyes can read the abnormal rhythm of the world's pulse. Chaos doesn't always erupt in the form of monster attacks or dimensional rifts; it is more often foreshadowed by subtle shifts in these fundamental parameters.

His fingertips tapped unconsciously on the smooth surface of the console, a steady rhythm like that of a fine clock. His mind was free of fragmented memories of another world, and devoid of philosophical questions about the meaning of his own existence. His thoughts were pure and focused, like a state-of-the-art processor, cross-referencing and calculating the data before him with all the information accumulated since he was bound to the "system."

For him, the existence of the "system" was not a matter of whether it was a blessing or a curse. It was a tool, an unprecedented and powerful tool beyond comprehension. Like the capital, connections, and violence he had once skillfully used, it was only on a higher level and with astonishing efficiency. He accepted its existence like a top engineer receiving a blueprint far ahead of its time; his primary task was not to find out who drew the blueprint, but how to use it to build the strongest fortress that best suited his design.

His "past," whether as the strategist who orchestrated events on the board of directors or as the empire the original owner of this identity built in the dark world, has never changed in its core essence: an obsessive pursuit of order and an absolute zero tolerance for chaos.

Only the stage has changed, and the tools have been upgraded.

He once used money and law to build order and eliminate business rivals.

He once ruled Hell's Kitchen with violence and fear, establishing the laws of darkness.

Now, he uses "systems" and "associations" to regulate supernatural powers, attempting to bring the chaos of the entire world into a controllable framework.

The goal remains the same; only the means evolve with the environment.

He looked at Flint Marko's latest capability assessment report on the screen, seeing the steadily rising curve and the loyalty level marked "MAX". This was good. A stable, strong, and loyal core force was the cornerstone of a solid system. He had traded resources and respect for this loyalty—a fair and efficient investment.

He then pulled up Peter Parker's (Spider-Man's) recent mission logs and physiological data, noticing his rising fatigue and academic warning signs. A young, high-potential asset, but one that needs guidance and discipline to prevent damage from personal emotions or lack of energy. That "family care package" was the pre-set safety valve.

The report from Jingxin Shilin on the handling of the "Chicken You're Too Beautiful" incident showed him the advantages of professional division of labor within the system. Not all problems need to be crushed by force; precise restraint is often more efficient.

Each hero is a piece on his chessboard, possessing different attributes, values, and movement rules. The "system" is the supercomputer that he uses to deduce the game and optimize the strategy.

His "future" is clearly laid out on this invisible chessboard.

The Hero Association is more than just an organization that deals with monsters. It is his ultimate tool for practicing his ideology of order, a social experiment that attempts to transform the greatest variable, "extraordinary," into a controllable constant.

S.H.I.E.L.D.? They are constrained by the state apparatus and politics, their vision limited to the framework of the old era.

The Avengers? They are a collection of individual strengths, lacking systemic support, and difficult to replicate and expand.

Only his association, possessing the technology, management memes, and growth paths provided by the "system," has the potential to truly achieve the "industrialization" and "normalization" of superhuman power management.

Make heroism a profession, turn extraordinary events into "work orders" that can be handled with dispatchable resources, and subject the uncontrollable power of individuals to a grander, more systemic order.

This isn't about power itself—that's too superficial. Power is merely a tool. What he seeks is an ultimate, absolute "controllability"—a world that operates according to clear rules, eliminating all surprises and chaos. In this world, everything is predictable, manageable, and optimizable.

Therefore, he can cooperate with the "system" of unknown origin, use this body full of original sin, and endure all criticism and obstacles.

His gaze returned to the window, where the new headquarters building of the association, under construction day and night, began to take shape in the night, like a wedge being embedded into the foundation of the world's rules.

He knew the road ahead would be anything but smooth. The maintainers of the old order would not stand idly by, potential dragon-level or even higher threats were lurking in the shadows, and the mysteries of the system itself were far from being solved.

But so what?

His will, like the fingertips that tap the control panel, is steady, precise, and unquestionable.

Regardless of the past, the future will inevitably follow the trajectory set by Wilson Kingpin—the founder and CEO of the Hero Association. He will use this unprecedented "system" to gradually shape the chaotic world into the absolutely "orderly" form he envisions.

Inside the office, only the silent flow of data and the steady, heartbeat-like tapping of the table remained, as if silently counting down the coming new era.

Chapter 81: The Second "Dragon-Level" Sign

The association headquarters is the command center.

Unlike the usual bustling scene of processing various alarms and data streams, a deliberately suppressed silence permeated the center. On the main screen, there were no flashing crisis icons, no real-time battlefield footage, only a star map against the backdrop of Earth, with countless fine data streams interwoven like nerve endings. Most of these data streams appeared as steady green or blue, but in a few specific, seemingly unrelated areas—deep in the Siberian permafrost, in the thinnest zone of the Sahara Desert's crust, and in the unexplored core of the Amazon rainforest—intermittently pulsed extremely faint, yet eye-popping, dark red pulses that made all the analysts' pupils constrict.

The pulse intensity was far below the threshold for triggering an alarm, but the "quality" of its energy caused the system's core algorithm to issue a warning that was different from the past, and more subtle and persistent.

Background energy field disturbance index: +2.3 (continuously and slowly rising).

[Abnormal energy pulse pattern identification: Deep energy enrichment features with 67.3% similarity to the early stages of the "Deep Sea King" event were detected.]

[Energy attribute analysis: Complex, leaning towards geothermal stress and anomalous biomass aggregation. The match rate with any known Earth natural phenomenon or recorded paranormal event pattern is less than 12%.]

[Threat Level Preliminary Assessment: The probability of a potential Dragon-level hazard hatching has increased to 41.7%.]

[Warning: At least three independent energy enrichment points have been detected simultaneously increasing, suggesting some unknown correlation. Energy flow model is being built... Model building is stalled due to insufficient data.]

A cold, electronic voice relayed this information, each word striking the hearts of those present like a hammer blow. This was not a sudden attack, but rather a harbinger of something far more terrifying, something slowly brewing.

“A second Dragon-level…” a senior analyst’s voice broke the silence, “and possibly… more than one?”

The technical lead's expression was grave as his fingers flew across the control panel, trying to extract more clues from the chaotic data: "The energy sources are buried deep underground or in remote natural wastelands, making them difficult to observe directly using our conventional monitoring methods. This synchronous enhancement pattern... seems to be catalyzing them simultaneously by some force we cannot comprehend."

Kingpin's imposing figure stood before the control panel, silently watching the dark red areas on the screen that throbbed slowly like malignant sores. His face was expressionless, but deep within his eyes seemed to glaciers clashing. The Deep Sea King's threat was overt and violent, while this one was introverted and somber, like a cancer cell lurking deep within an ecosystem.

“Activate the ‘Deep Dive’ protocol.” He began, his voice steady yet carrying an undeniable authority. “Mobilize all geological monitoring satellites, deep-sea probes, and available geomagnetic induction arrays, prioritizing coverage of these three anomalous areas. I need to know the precise cycles of their energy fluctuations, the energy flows between them, and even the slightest correlation.”

"Yes! But... Boss, these areas have extreme environments, our equipment wear and tear rate will be very high, and data transmission may be delayed and incomplete." The technical manager responded immediately, while also raising the practical difficulties.

“Losses are not a problem. Data, even fragmented data, is better than blind data.” Kingpin’s gaze swept across the room. “Notify the logistics department to activate the ‘Ark’ material reserve plan, prioritizing the resources needed for the ‘Deep Dive’ protocol. Notify all global branches to raise the monitoring level to Level 3, focusing on reports of crustal activity, abnormal biological migrations, and sudden climate changes.”

The order was issued swiftly, and the entire association was like a tightly wound spring, preparing for a possible backlash from underground or from nature itself.