American comics: Play as Kizaru and get off work in three seconds

Then, he said slowly: "Penguin? Interesting name.

I heard you're a very capable person and can make even the dirtiest dishes sparkle."

His voice was steady and magnetic, and it was particularly clear in the noisy kitchen. Every word seemed to be spoken after careful consideration.

Oswald said modestly, “Just doing the best I can, sir.

I have always believed that no matter what you do, you should do it to the best of your ability.”

There was a sincere expression on his face and a simple and determined light in his eyes.

He rubbed his hands nervously in front of him, his fingers intertwined, showing his inner tension.

Sal nodded, his carefully groomed hair swaying slightly as he moved.

He took a few steps closer, his leather shoes making crisp sounds on the kitchen tiles, and each step carried a sense of majesty.

He got closer to Oswald, so close that Oswald could smell his expensive perfume, a unique scent mixed with woody notes and a hint of tobacco.

He said: “I admire your attitude, Penguin.

There are not many people in this city who can bend and stretch.

Tell me, what is your dream?" There was a hint of curiosity in his eyes, and he seemed to be exploring something deeper about Oswald.

There was a gleam in Oswald's eyes, but it quickly faded away.

The light was like a meteor across the night sky, short-lived and dazzling.

The previous humility instantly returned to his eyes, and he lowered his head, as if thinking about how to answer the question.

After a while, the Penguin said slowly: "Dream? I hope to find my own place in this complex world in my own way, sir."

His voice was soft, but full of suppressed power.

Sal chuckled, and his laughter echoed in the kitchen, with an elusive feeling.

He held out his hand, a well-kept hand with long, bony fingers, and patted Oswald's shoulder.

When the hand fell on Oswald's shoulder, Oswald could clearly feel the strength of the hand. Although it was not very heavy, it gave him an invisible sense of oppression.

He said: “Well, it’s good to be ambitious.

But remember, Gotham has never lacked people with dreams, what it lacks is the courage and wisdom to realize their dreams.

Tonight, you have a chance to help me with a small matter. If you do it well, I might be able to give you more."

His eyes became more serious and he stared straight into Oswald's eyes, as if he wanted to carve his words into Oswald's mind.

Oswald was so excited that his body trembled slightly, and this excitement spread from his heart to every part of his body.

His voice trembled slightly, and he said with an irrepressible excitement: "Please give me your orders, sir. I will do my best!" His eyes were full of anticipation, like a person who saw a ray of light in the darkness and tightly grasped this hard-won opportunity.

As night fell, darkness slowly enveloped the entire Gotham City like a huge black curtain.

The lights in the city flickered in the darkness, like lighthouses in the dark ocean.

Sal handed Oswald an envelope containing a confidential document. The envelope was made of thick kraft paper, which had a rough but textured feel.

The envelope was sealed with red wax, and on the wax seal was the unique logo of the Maroni family, a pattern that looked like a lion's head. It was lifelike, as if guarding the secret in the envelope.

As Sal handed the envelope to Oswald, he detailed the delivery location and contact person.

His voice was very low, as if he was afraid of being heard by the people around him.

He said: “This letter is very important and must be delivered safely.

Remember, don't attract anyone's attention, especially the police." He stared into Oswald's eyes with an unquestionable seriousness, as if he wanted to convey the importance of the letter through his eyes.

Oswald took the envelope solemnly, holding it carefully in his hands as if he were holding a rare treasure.

His eyes were firm, and there seemed to be an invisible power in them. At this moment he was like a warrior with an important mission.

He said, "Don't worry, sir, I will guard it as if it were my own life."

He held the envelope close to his chest, as if that would make it safer.

Oswald changed into civilian clothes. His civilian clothes were very simple, a worn gray jacket with several patches on it, but he washed it very cleanly.

The pants were a pair of dark blue jeans that were worn and turned white in some places.

He put on a pair of black sneakers. Although the shoes were a bit worn out, they were still very light for him to walk in.

He traveled through the dark alleys of Gotham, which were filled with a foul smell and where garbage and sewage piled up in the corners.

The walls were covered in graffiti, most of which contained dark and violent images, and some were symbols of various forces in Gotham.

The alley was dimly lit, with only a few shabby street lamps emitting faint light. The lights swayed in the wind, as if they would go out at any time.

Oswald relied on his familiarity with the terrain and his keen insight into people's hearts to cleverly avoid all ears and eyes.

He was like a nimble mouse, moving freely in this dark maze.

He knew every nook and cranny where he could hide, every route he could take to avoid being seen.

His footsteps were so light that they were almost inaudible. He remained alert at all times, listening carefully to the movements around him and scanning the surrounding environment like an eagle.

Finally, the envelope was successfully delivered to the contact person.

There was a hint of mystery on the contact person's face. He was wearing a black hat with the brim pulled down low, covering his eyes.

He was wearing a long black windbreaker that fluttered gently in the night breeze.

The contact person whispered, his voice was low and hoarse, as if it came from underground.

He said approvingly: "Well done, Penguin.

Your contribution will never be forgotten by the Maroney family.”

He reached out and took the envelope from Oswald with the quickness and agility of a panther stalking its prey.

Oswald smiled, and there was a sense of satisfaction and anticipation in his smile.

He thought to himself, "This is just the beginning."

There was a deeper ambition flickering in his eyes, like a flame hidden beneath the ashes, slowly beginning to burn.

A few days later, Sal summoned Oswald to a private room in the restaurant.

The restaurant's private rooms are luxuriously decorated, with exquisite oil paintings hanging on the walls. The scenery and characters in the paintings seem to be telling ancient stories.

The lighting in the box is very soft, a warm yellow tone, giving people a warm and comfortable feeling.

The tables and chairs are made of the finest mahogany. The cushions on the chairs are soft and thick, and are embroidered with exquisite patterns.

Sal sat in the main seat in the box. Behind him was a huge floor-to-ceiling window, and outside the window was the bustling night scene of Gotham City.

In front of him was a bottle of expensive red wine, which was emitting an alluring aroma in the crystal wine glass.

When Sal saw Oswald coming in, a satisfied smile appeared on his face. (End of this chapter)