Become Kingpin and build a hero mercenary company.

Page 5

Chapter 9: The First Applicant: Sandman

Queens, General Hospital, outside the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit.

Flint Marko pressed his forehead against the cold glass wall, looking through the thick isolation barrier at the small, thin figure lying on the hospital bed, covered in tubes. It was his daughter, Penny. Her pale face was almost bloodless behind the breathing mask; only the fluctuating curves on the monitor testified to the tenacity of life.

The doctor's words still echoed in his ears, like a dull knife repeatedly cutting into his nerves: "...The condition has worsened, conventional treatments are not effective...A new round of targeted therapy and special care is needed...The estimated cost will be at least another three hundred thousand dollars...Time is running out, Mr. Marco..."

For this man who once could only find odd jobs on construction sites and later resorted to petty theft and serving as a punching bag in underground boxing rings to barely make ends meet, this number was astronomical. He emptied all his savings, borrowed from everyone he could (although few were willing to lend to him), and even sold his blood several times, but it was still a drop in the bucket.

Despair, like icy seawater, slowly engulfed him.

He once possessed power—that damned particle accelerator experiment accident granted him the ability to turn his body into sand. He once thought it was a chance from heaven to escape poverty and give Penny a better life. He tried…taking shortcuts. Using his abilities to rob and steal. But after each success, seeing the terrified ordinary people, seeing the wanted posters for him in the news, he was filled with self-loathing and fear. This wasn't what he wanted; he didn't want Penny to know her father was a criminal.

He gave up. He carefully hid his abilities, living like a rat in the gutter, just to occasionally save a little money to buy Penny her favorite cartoon stickers or a cheap ice cream.

But now, even this last hope is about to be taken away.

He clenched his fist, his rough knuckles turning white from the force. A sand-like instinct stirred slightly in his emotional state, a barely perceptible granular texture appearing at his fingertips, but he forcefully suppressed it. What could this power do besides bring trouble?

Just then, a deep, magnetic voice came from the television hanging in the waiting area next door. Flint instinctively looked up.

On the screen was the man who had recently stirred up a storm in New York—Wilson Fisker, Kingpin. He was speaking eloquently at a press conference.

"...A hero should not be a lonely symbol, much less a tragic victim. It should be a glorious, promising profession, and...with comprehensive benefits!"

"...We will provide all registered heroes with competitive salaries, comprehensive medical care, disability benefits, and... retirement plans!"

"...Recognizing the value of heroes, giving them the rewards they deserve, and ensuring the livelihood of them and their families is not a defilement, but the greatest respect!"

Every word struck Flint Marco's heart like a heavy hammer.

Salary? Medical insurance?

His gaze was fixed on the scrolling text at the bottom of the screen—"Hero Association is recruiting globally...Official website and app are now online..."

A crazy yet deadly alluring idea suddenly ignited in his mind like a flame in the darkness.

Association... Heroes... Money... Penny's medical expenses...

He was no longer Flint Marco, who craved ill-gotten gains through power. Now, he was simply a desperate father willing to trade his only possession—even this cursed power—for a chance at his daughter's survival.

"Hero..." He murmured the word, a bitter smile playing on his lips. Did he deserve that title? He was just a failed father, a scum of society.

But... what if this "association" really does not care about the past, but only about ability and future performance, as they claim?

What if...they could actually get an advance on their salary? Even just a portion of it?

Once this thought arises, it can no longer be suppressed.

He stood up abruptly, feeling slightly dizzy from the sudden movement. He took one last deep look at Penny in the intensive care unit and said in a voice only he could hear, "Wait for Daddy, Penny. Daddy... will go earn money for your medical bills."

He turned and left the hospital, his steps gradually becoming firmer, even carrying a sense of resolute determination.

Following the address found on his phone, he arrived at the Fisker Tower in Manhattan. Looking up at the towering, sun-drenched glass facade, Flint felt a deep sense of inferiority and alienation. His faded jeans and oil-stained jacket contrasted sharply with the smartly dressed white-collar professionals around him.

The security guard at the entrance eyed him warily, but after he said, "I'm here to apply for a position with the Hero Association," the guard's gaze remained suspicious, but he still verified the information through internal communication before signaling that he could pass through security and proceed to the designated floor.

Inside the elevator, Flint could hear his heart pounding like a drum. He nervously wrung his hands, his palms sweating profusely. He imagined all sorts of possibilities: being mocked, being kicked out, or even being taken directly to the police station because of his past criminal record…

The elevator doors opened, revealing not the glittering reception hall I had imagined, but a technologically advanced space dominated by blue and white colors. The sign for the "Hero Association Temporary Reception Center" was clearly visible. Behind the reception desk sat a smiling young woman.

"Hello, sir, how can I help you?" The woman's voice was gentle, and she did not show any unusual reaction to his shabby clothes.

“I…I’m here to apply.” Flint’s voice was a little dry and hoarse. “Applying for…the position of hero.”

"Okay, please follow me. We need to fill out a basic information form and have a preliminary discussion about our intentions." The woman led him to a relatively private cubicle and handed him an electronic tablet.

The form was very detailed, including basic information, ability description (optional), past experiences (optional), and so on. Flint hesitated for a long time, and in the ability description section, he tremblingly typed, "Body can turn into sand, and I can control sand to a certain extent." In the past experiences section, he struggled even longer, but finally, gritting his teeth, he simply wrote, "Due to financial hardship, I have committed minor illegal acts, which I have deeply regretted." He didn't want to hide anything, nor did he dare to be completely honest.

After submitting the form, he waited anxiously. A few minutes later, the receptionist returned, still wearing her professional smile: "Mr. Marco, please come with me. Mr. Wesley wants to see you."

Wesley? Flint had no recollection of the name, but it sounded like a manager. He took a deep breath and followed her through several corridors to an office.

He knocked and entered. Inside sat a well-tailored, sharp-looking middle-aged man in a suit. James Wesley looked up, his gaze sweeping sharply over Flint, showing no emotion whatsoever because of his appearance. He simply gestured to the chair opposite him: “Please sit down, Mr. Marco. I’ve looked at your application. Your abilities… are quite interesting.”

Flint sat down stiffly, his hands on his knees, like a prisoner awaiting trial.

"Could you describe your abilities in more detail? For example, the degree of sandification, the range and precision of your manipulation?" Wesley asked, his tone calm, as if conducting a regular interview.

Flint tried his best to describe it, his language somewhat incoherent, but he demonstrated how to turn a hand into sand and then solidify it back.

Wesley looked closely, a fleeting hint of surprise flashing in his eyes, but he quickly regained his composure. He continued, "So, Mr. Marco, why did you apply for the position of 'Hero'? As far as I know, with your abilities, it seems there's... an easier way to make money."

This question strikes at the heart of the matter.

Flint stiffened. He lowered his head, looking at his rough hands, and remained silent for a long time. Finally, he raised his head, his eyes bloodshot, his voice trembling with suppressed pleading:

“I…I need money. My daughter, Penny, she’s seriously ill and needs a lot of money for surgery…I’ve tried everything…I’m at my wit’s end…” His voice choked with emotion. “I know I don’t deserve to be a hero, I’ve made mistakes in the past…but please, give me a chance! I’ll take any mission, no matter how dangerous! Just give me an advance on my salary to save my daughter’s life! Please!”

He revealed his most humble and vulnerable side without reservation. He no longer cared about dignity; all he wanted was for Penny to live.

Wesley listened quietly, his face expressionless, showing neither sympathy nor contempt. Only after Flint finished speaking, slumping almost unconsciously in his chair, did he slowly begin to speak:

“I understand your situation. The association adheres to the principle of ‘looking forward’ when it comes to applicants’ past. Ability and willingness are what we value more. However, advance payment of salary… requires approval from a higher level.”

He picked up the internal communicator and whispered a few words.

A moment later, the office door was pushed open.

A massive, mountain-like figure almost completely blocked out the light at the entrance.

Wilson Fisk came in person.

Flint Marko felt his breath catch in his throat. He watched as the man, a symbol of power and strength he had only ever seen on television, approached, and the invisible pressure made him almost want to run away.

Kingpin's gaze fell on Flint, a gaze so tangible it seemed to pierce through his skin, revealing the deepest struggles and desires within him. He asked no questions, only giving Wesley a slight nod.

Wesley immediately said to Flint, "Mr. Marco, please come with us. We need to conduct a detailed competency assessment."

Flint followed Kingpin and Wesley, bewildered, into a room he had never imagined—a room filled with all sorts of strange instruments and glowing with a ghostly blue light—the [Ability Assessment Room] produced by the system.

As Flint stood on the platform in the center of the room as instructed, a soft beam of light scanned his entire body. Immediately afterwards, a cold, inhuman electronic voice (system simulation) resounded in the room, announcing a series of data that moved even Wesley:

[Target detected: Flint Marko.]

[Ability Type: Matter Assimilation and Manipulation (Sand Grains)]

[Current capability development level: 17%]

[Potential Assessment: S-level]

[Abilities and Characteristics: Physical immunity (mostly), morphological changes, environmental utilization, enormous potential...]

[Overall Recommendation: We strongly recommend recruiting him and giving him focused training.]

S-rank! Huge potential!

Wesley looked at Kingpin in shock. Kingpin's face remained expressionless, but a glint of light, as if he had discovered a rare treasure, flashed in his sharp eyes.

The evaluation ended, and Flint walked out nervously. He couldn't understand any of the technical terms, but he knew that... his abilities seemed pretty good?

Kingpin walked up to him, looked down at him, and asked directly, "How much do you need?"

Flint didn't react for a moment: "Wh...what?"

"How much will it cost to cure your daughter initially?" Kingpin's tone was calm, yet carried a decisive force.

Flint's heart pounded. He could hardly believe his ears and stammered out a number: "Three...three hundred thousand...dollars."

Without any hesitation, King told Wesley, “Advance $500,000 from his first year’s salary. Arrange the transfer to his designated account immediately. Contact the best hospitals and doctors to ensure his daughter receives the best treatment.”

Then, he looked back at the completely dumbfounded Flint Marco and stretched out the large hand that had crushed the "pearl" and blasted away the monster:

"Welcome to the Hero Association, Mr. Marco."

"From now on, your code name will be—"

Chapter 10: Getting an advance payment upon joining the company, this boss is something else!

"Five...five hundred thousand?"

Flint Marko, the future "Sandman," felt as if he'd been hit in the face by a ton of sandbags; his ears were ringing, and his mind was blank. He stared up at Kingpin's imposing face, mouth agape, trying to find a trace of a joke.

But no. There was only a bottomless calm, as ordinary as drawing up half a million dollars in advance or deciding what to have for lunch.

“Boss…” Wesley, standing beside him, paused slightly, but his excellent professionalism allowed him to quickly regain his composure. He confirmed in a low voice, “Are we going to advance the first year’s salary directly? That exceeds our initial advance limit…”

Kingpin's gaze never left Flint, his tone calm yet carrying an undeniable determination: "His potential is worth the price. Do as I say, immediately."

“Yes, boss.” Wesley had no further questions and immediately took out his encrypted communicator to begin making arrangements.

Flint remained frozen in place. Five hundred thousand! Not only was it enough to cover the initial treatment costs, but it even covered the subsequent rehabilitation and better medications! The enormous shock made his whole body tremble slightly, not from fear, but from an emotion he had almost forgotten—hope.

“Mr. Marco,” Wesley’s voice snapped him out of his reverie, “Please provide your daughter’s hospital account information, or any secure account you designate. The funds will be in your account within ten minutes.”

Flint frantically rummaged through his worn-out wallet, his fingers moving erratically with excitement. He finally found a crumpled piece of paper with the hospital's account information written on it, and handed it to Wesley with trembling hands. Wesley took it, took a picture, and sent instructions—a series of actions executed flawlessly.

The next few minutes felt like centuries to Flint. He stood there, his hands clutching the hem of his shirt, head bowed, not daring to look at Kingpin or Wesley, staring intently at the ground as if he could see through it whether the life-saving money had been wired.

Jin didn't speak again. He simply walked to the control panel in the assessment room and reviewed the detailed data report about the Sandmen that the system had just generated. His sharp eyes gleamed with calculation and planning. S-level potential... matter assimilation and manipulation... this was indeed a rough diamond, worthy of his heavy investment.

A crisp notification tone sounded from Wesley's communicator. He glanced at it, then said to Flint, "Mr. Marco, the $500,000 has been wired. You can contact the hospital now to confirm."

Flint jerked his head up, his eyes wide with disbelief. He practically snatched his old flip phone from his pocket—his only remaining connection to the hospital and Penny. His fingers trembled as he pressed the speed dial, calling Penny's doctor.

"Hello? Mr. Marco?" came the doctor's familiar voice from the other end of the phone.

"Doctor! Has the money...has the money arrived? It's for Penny's treatment!" Flint's voice was hoarse and urgent, tinged with tears.

"It's arrived! Just arrived! A full five hundred thousand!" The doctor's voice was filled with obvious surprise and excitement. "My God, Mr. Marco, where did you get this from... But this is wonderful! I'll immediately arrange for Penny to be transferred to the special care ward and start the latest targeted therapy! Don't worry, we have hope!"

"Thank you... thank you, doctor! Please! You must save her!" Flint choked up, almost incoherently.

The moment he hung up the phone, this weathered man, who had almost never bent his back under the weight of life's burdens, could no longer control his emotions. He didn't wail, but his shoulders trembled violently, and scalding tears, like a burst dam, gushed down his rough cheeks, dripping onto the cold, clean floor and leaving a small, dark stain.

He turned to face Kingpin.

Without a word, Flint Marko, a man with the power to overturn a tank, expressed his gratitude and loyalty in the most primal and direct way.

He bent down and bowed deeply, almost at a ninety-degree angle, to Kingpin.

His body was still trembling slightly from excitement, but he remained in that position for a long time without getting up.

“Mr. Fisk…” His voice came muffled, with a heavy nasal tone, yet unusually firm, “From today onwards, my life… belongs to you. I will do whatever you ask! Without hesitation!”

This is not a subordinate flattering their superior, nor is it an employee being polite to their boss. This is a father's vow from the depths of his soul after being pulled out of the abyss by a strong hand.

Kingpin looked at the man bowing deeply before him, his face still showing no emotion. But he could sense that the value representing the Sandmen's loyalty in the system interface (if he could see it) was soaring at an alarming rate until it reached the maximum.

That's exactly what he needs. Abilities can be cultivated, skills can be imparted, but absolute loyalty, especially in this world, is often more precious than gold.

"Get up, Marco." Kingpin's voice remained steady. "The Hero Association doesn't need you to give your life. We need you to live, become stronger, and then fulfill your duty—to handle crises and protect those who need protection. That's the best reward for you and for me."

Flint slowly straightened up and vigorously wiped his face. Although his eyes were still red, a new light, full of hope and strength, now burned in those eyes that had been somewhat clouded by life.

"Yes, sir!" He straightened his back, his voice booming. At this moment, he was no longer Flint Marco, struggling at the bottom of society with no future in sight; he was Sandman of the Hero Association, a warrior fighting for his daughter and to repay the kindness shown to him!

Wesley watched from the sidelines, his heart filled with mixed emotions. He had followed Kingpin for many years and had seen too many people loyal to money, power, or fear, but he had never seen loyalty like Sandman's, forged from the purest gratitude and hope. He had a feeling that his boss's seemingly risky advance of 500,000 might be a highly profitable investment.

“Wesley,” Kingpin instructed, “take Marco to complete the formal onboarding procedures, sign the contract, and register his identity information. Then, arrange for him to undergo a full physical examination and a basic combat skills test.”

"Yes, boss."

“Also,” Kingpin said, looking at Flint, “take care of your daughter’s hospital arrangements and make sure she receives the best care. The association will provide the necessary assistance. You’ll have two days to settle in, and then you can begin your first training session.”

"Understood, boss!" Flint nodded vigorously, his eyes filled with eagerness.

Kingpin nodded, said nothing more, and turned to leave the assessment room. His steps were steady and powerful.

In my mind, the system's notification sounded at just the right moment:

[Successfully recruited the first potential S-class hero, "Sandman". Association member +1.]

The initial loyalty of member "Sandman" has reached MAX.

[Achievement "Providing Timely Assistance" triggered, reward points: 300.]

Current total points: 520.

[Note: The addition of the first core member marks the association's entry into the substantive operational phase. Basic functions in the "Association Development" section are now available; please review them and plan your development strategy as soon as possible.]

Kingpin's lips finally curved into a barely perceptible smile of satisfaction.

The first employee is in place.

Loyalty is maxed out.