Marvel: Infinite Potential

Inside the sleek black car, Kingpin observed Noah with a raised eyebrow, his massive frame betraying no impatience. Negotiations like these were a game of posturing, a dance of offering too much and asking for more. Yet, this time, the stakes felt different. If Noah could truly secure him the position of New York City Mayor, what was $50 million compared to that?

"Are you absolutely sure you can help me win?" Kingpin asked with a disarming smile.

Noah leaned back confidently. "Simple. Winning the election is just a matter of overwhelming public support. The one with the highest backing gets the title."

Kingpin's smile faltered slightly. "And how exactly do you plan to secure that?"

Noah's eyes gleamed. "By giving the people something they can't resist—a path to becoming superhuman. The training method I've developed can turn anyone into a Superman. Once it's out, every citizen of New York, no—every person on the planet—will be clamoring for it."

Kingpin blinked, caught off guard. "You're serious? This… this 'everyone can practice' thing you mentioned in passing to the media?"

"Dead serious," Noah replied with a smirk. "It's straightforward and doesn't require a genius to understand. What's more, practicing replaces sleep. Imagine the possibilities—working, studying, living—without the burden of rest. It even extends your lifespan."

The room—or rather, the car—seemed to grow colder as Kingpin processed this. If true, the implications were staggering. Billionaires had spent lifetimes searching for ways to cheat death, and now this young man was claiming to hold the key.

"Why would you hand something like this over so easily? And for just $50 million?" Kingpin's tone carried suspicion.

Noah shrugged. "The money is just a token of your sincerity. If you prove yourself, we can discuss terms of a larger partnership. Refuse, and I'll find someone else. Believe me, plenty of people would line up for this."

Noah's expression hardened. "And let's not play games, Fisk. Strength talks in your world, doesn't it?"

Without warning, Noah slammed his foot into the car floor, his sole crushing through steel as if it were cardboard.

The driver gasped in terror as the car screeched to a halt. Tires smoked against the asphalt, and the vehicle stopped dead in its tracks under the immense force Noah exerted.

"Still think you can intimidate me?" Noah's voice was icy as he dusted himself off, stepping out of the now-stationary vehicle.

Kingpin froze, his usual calm slipping for a moment. The audacity—and raw power—of this man wasn't something he could dismiss.

"Wait," Kingpin called after Noah, forcing a smile onto his face. "200 million. I'll transfer $200 million to your account tonight. Consider it a gesture of goodwill."

Noah raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Now that's more like it. But remember, as a future mayor, you can't afford to act like a thug."

Sliding back into the car, Noah smirked. "Let's go. I'm suddenly in the mood for a good dinner."

As the driver reluctantly restarted the car, Noah leaned back, pulling out his phone. "Here," he said, opening an image in his photo gallery. "This is the training manual I mentioned. I took a picture of it. Feel free to study it."

Kingpin frowned, looking at the screen with skepticism. "A secret manual... on a phone?"

"Modern problems, modern solutions," Noah replied with a chuckle. "And before you ask, yes, this is the real deal."

Kingpin studied the page. "But it says here the process is slow. Ten years to reach your level? That's… impractical."

"Ah, that's where creativity comes in." Noah's eyes glinted mischievously. "Have you ever heard of passing on your skills?"

"Skill transference?" Kingpin muttered, recalling a vague section from the manual.

"Exactly," Noah explained. "If a person cultivates true energy for a night, you could buy their progress and have them transfer it to you. Let's break it down. If one night of cultivation earns a beginner $100, a year's worth would cost $36,000. Ten years? $360,000. For 100 years of accumulated energy, $3.65 million could turn you into a living Superman. Isn't that a bargain? It's not even the price of your car."

Kingpin's eyes narrowed, the gears turning in his mind. The numbers made sense, and the prospect was tantalizing.

To drive the point home, Noah gestured casually, channeling his internal energy. With a soft flick of his finger, a sharp, high-pressure blade of energy erupted, slicing through the car's roof with surgical precision.

"Crash!" The top of the vehicle was blown away, leaving a convertible in its wake.

Kingpin gawked at the clean cut. The sheer power behind such an effortless display was staggering. "This... this is the result of practice?"

"Just a fraction," Noah replied nonchalantly.

Kingpin's resolve hardened. He stared back at the phone's image and nodded. "Very well. I'll start tonight."

"Good," Noah said, leaning back with a smug grin. "But remember, Kingpin, this is just the beginning. If you want real power, it'll cost you much more than money."

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Many may be upset with this decision, but. Whoever Noah is sharing powers with, he is making them sla- I mean subordinate! Yeah, keep reading; everything will make sense. And to ease your worries, the manual he is sharing is made by him and it is weakened like hell.