Chapter 3 Captain Marvel and the Flerken
A single serving of golden fried rice was nowhere near enough to satisfy Daredevil's appetite.
It wasn't about quantity.
It was about contrast.
After leaving the Chinese restaurant, Matt Murdock adjusted the collar of his coat and turned left onto the crowded street of Hell's Kitchen. His cane tapped lightly against the pavement as he followed familiar foot traffic into a nearby fast-food joint. The smell hit him immediately—grease, old oil, over-sweetened bread, burnt coffee.
He ordered two hamburgers and a cup of coffee.
This place used to be one of his guilty pleasures. Cheap, filling, predictable. Normally, Matt could tune out the flaws.
Today, he couldn't.
He took one bite.
The textures collapsed in his mouth—overprocessed meat fibers, artificial salt, stale buns masked with sugar. Compared to the layered aroma, balance, and almost resonant aftertaste of the golden fried rice…
Matt froze.
Then he spat it out.
"My God," he muttered, voice sharp with genuine irritation, "what kind of garbage is this?"
The room went quiet.
Matt's enhanced hearing caught heartbeats skipping, chairs scraping, whispers starting. Realizing what he'd done, he cleared his throat, stood up too quickly, grabbed the remaining burger and coffee, and exited without another word.
As he passed the Chinese restaurant again, that familiar, infuriating scent brushed his senses.
Damn it…
Kai, he thought bitterly. Your fried rice has ruined my standards.
What was worse—criminal, really—was the restriction.
One serving per person. Per day.
Back at Nelson & Murdock, Matt tossed the half-eaten burger into the trash. The sound alone told him Foggy wasn't in court today—papers rustling, keyboard clacking, an uneven breathing pattern that screamed forgot to eat lunch again.
Matt picked up the remaining burger and coffee and knocked once before pushing the door open.
"Foggy," he said, deadpan. "I brought food."
Foggy Nelson, his former college roommate and current law partner, looked up like a man rescued from drowning.
"Matt," Foggy said reverently, already reaching for the bag, "you are—without question—my best friend. Another ten minutes and I was calling an ambulance."
He unwrapped the burger and took a massive bite.
"Hey," Foggy said through a mouthful, "don't you usually go for Chinese food?"
Matt leaned against the doorframe. "Tell me something, Foggy. Have you ever eaten a hundred-dollar plate of egg fried rice?"
Foggy stopped chewing.
Slowly, he looked up.
"Bro," he said carefully, "are you messing with me?"
"A hundred dollars," Matt repeated calmly.
"That's robbery," Foggy said. "Even Michelin places don't pull that kind of nonsense."
"It's not Michelin," Matt replied. "But it is the best fried rice I've ever eaten."
Foggy swallowed, thinking hard.
"…You know what?" he said at last. "I trust your taste. If you say it's worth it, it's worth it. Take me. Right now."
"Not today," Matt said, already turning away. "Maybe tomorrow."
"Matt, don't do this to me!"
"I'll pay!"
Foggy scrambled out of his chair, chasing him into the hallway.
Inside the Chinese restaurant.
Congratulations, Host. Daredevil has given a positive evaluation.
Super-sensory synchronization increased by 1%.
Kai Chen glanced at the system notification, then at the customer profile. He let out a quiet breath of relief.
So it really was Daredevil…
His stomach growled violently.
Apparently, heightened senses weren't the only thing contagious—hunger was, too.
The system allowed only one employee meal per day. No loopholes.
With no choice, Kai Chen steamed rice the old-fashioned way and cracked egg after egg into the wok. Same technique. Same motions.
The result was a massive plate of egg fried rice—easily three times the normal portion.
But it was wrong.
No glow. No faint luster. No layered aroma.
Just… food.
Kai Chen took one bite.
"—Pff!"
He spat it out instantly.
"What the hell is this?"
It wasn't bad—not objectively. If he'd never tasted the golden fried rice, this would have been a solid, comforting meal.
But now?
It was unbearable.
The problem wasn't his skill.
It was the ingredients.
Without the system's materials, golden fried rice was simply impossible.
A soft sound interrupted his thoughts.
"Meow."
Kai Chen looked up to see a large, fat orange cat sitting near the counter, eyes locked on the rice.
"…Hungry?" Kai Chen asked, sighing.
He set the plate down.
The cat didn't hesitate. It devoured the fried rice in seconds.
"Meow."
Then it jumped into Kai Chen's lap, yawned, and settled down as if this were its rightful throne.
Kai Chen laughed softly and started petting it.
"You've got it easy," he muttered. "I'm still starving."
"Meow."
"What's your name, huh?"
No response.
Kai Chen thought for a moment. "I run this place. That makes me the 'king.' So… Xiao Wang?"
The cat flicked an ear.
"Yeah," Kai Chen nodded. "That does sound insulting."
Ding-dong.
The doorbell rang.
A woman with short blonde hair stepped inside, shopping bag in hand.
"Excuse me," she said. "Have you seen an orange cat?"
Her eyes immediately locked onto the cat in Kai Chen's lap.
"Hughie!" she snapped.
The cat opened one eye.
Kai Chen's blood ran cold.
…Carol Danvers?
Yes—Carol Danvers owned an orange cat.
And that cat wasn't a cat.
It was a Flerken.
One of the most dangerous organisms in the universe.
Kai Chen slowly looked down at the creature purring on his lap.
His body stiffened completely.