American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 161: A Thousand Tacos and 1,500 Blueberry Pies

Gotham, Iceberg Club.

Time here can be bought out by expensive champagne and ever-burning crystal chandeliers.

It flows slowly and is viscous.

Dio stepped calmly into his territory, followed by Clark, who seemed completely out of place in his surroundings.

The air was filled with the rich aroma of cigars and the sweet scent of perfume.

It must be said that super senses can only become a burden at this moment.

Countless whispers, clinking glasses, the clatter of chips, and even unspeakable sounds from a private room further away flooded his ears like a tide, causing him to unconsciously furrow his brow and tighten his grip on the crystal glass in his hand.

However, he quickly composed himself and focused his attention on the conversation between Rocman and Dio ahead.

The man's posture was impeccably respectful; he bowed slightly and spoke in a very low voice:

"Your Majesty. Everything has been running smoothly while you were away. Now, is there anything I need to prepare for you and your...guests?"

A trace of sweat still lingered on his forehead, and his eyes held a deep reverence. He subtly gestured, instantly sharpening the gazes of the nearby waiters and security guards, effectively isolating this area from the rest.

Dio did not answer immediately, but slowly scanned the hall with his red pupils.

Like a monarch inspecting his own territory.

He makes everyone who makes eye contact with him involuntarily lower their eyes or raise a glass in greeting.

He slowly began to enjoy this silent sense of control.

"A glass of grape juice, please," Dior said.

Clark covered his face: "Then I'll have a glass of grape juice too."

Upon hearing this, Rocman looked at Dio, and seeing the latter nod slightly, he immediately replied:
"Prepare for you two immediately, sir."

“I’m ready.” But before the attendants could step forward, a languid, amused voice came from the shadows of a nearby pillar: “Oh dear, oh dear~ look who’s back? Our invincible ‘King’, and…”

A cat slid out.

A sly smile played on her lips as she turned her gaze to Clark.

If I hadn't witnessed the interaction between this familiar-looking 'husky' and my own king at the museum, I would never have imagined that they had that kind of relationship.

"Long time no see, sir."

Selena leaned closer, her voice tinged with teasing:

"Still drinking juice? Do you need me to recommend some drinks that truly match your 'sophistication', like last time?"

That's one way of saying it.
But Clark could still smell the aroma of grapes from the crystal glasses on the tray.

"Miss Selena, it's been a long time."

He said helplessly, then took the glass of grape juice and took a small sip.

Don't say it.

It's a bit addictive.

What exactly was added to it?
"Yeah?"

Selena smiled and shrugged, then looked at Dio.

With a bewildered look in his eyes, he subtly hooked his fingertip downwards.

"?"

Dior raised an eyebrow slightly, but quickly relaxed.

That little penguin.
They've only managed to hold back for a few days, and they're already starting to get restless.
-
44
Since Dio took the iceberg from the ground.

The underground iceberg has become Oswald Copport's regular respawn location.

He was holding an umbrella at that moment.

Standing in front of the one-way monitor, his chubby fingers tapped lightly on the screen.

The scene is frozen on Dior and Clark entering the club.

His expression was grim and uncertain.

"That idiot Rocman, sweat is dripping down his collar..."

Cobbett muttered under his breath, his tone tinged with dissatisfaction, then picked up the internal phone and connected with his intelligence subordinate, his voice icy:
"Let's try again! I want to know everything about that big guy who's always with our 'King'!"

"Hmph! I may not be able to investigate you, Dior, but I can certainly investigate the people around you!"

However.
Just moments later.

A secret number called.

"Cotterpad! Who exactly did you make me investigate?!"

A barely suppressed roar came from the other end of the phone: "No! Absolutely not! The files are ridiculously confidential! If we keep investigating, we'll all be called in by the FBI! Or maybe even worse!"

Someone even the mayor's secretary couldn't find.
Who is this new guy?
Copport's lips twitched slightly, but he immediately switched lines:
"...Stop! Cut off all contact with all the informants who were trying to find out about this! Now!...Damn it!"

He slammed the phone receiver down and gasped for breath.

My gaze fell once again on the blue-eyed boy downstairs.

Intuition tells me
This guy is extremely dangerous to icebergs.

Although he looks like just an ordinary, even somewhat unsophisticated, boy.

But upon closer inspection, Cobblestone felt that this guy was even more terrifying than Dio.
It's like a sun?
This iceberg could melt anytime, anywhere.

fortunately
They were the king's own people.

Copport breathed a sigh of relief.

"."

Why am I so glad I got it?
His face darkened.
-
Dior seemed completely oblivious to the undercurrents below.

He simply and elegantly accepted the glass of wine offered by the waiter, which was also filled with deep purple grape juice. Then he glanced at the slightly uneasy Clark, a half-smile playing on his lips.

"Relax, bro."

His voice carried its usual mockery, but seemed to carry an indescribable undertone, "Welcome to... a corner of the real world."

"Everything here is clearly priced, and everyone gets what they need. It's much more complex and interesting than the simple rules on a farm."

He gently swirled his glass, his gaze sweeping over the mixed expressions of awe, curiosity, greed, and fear before finally settling on Clark.

"Enjoy it, Clark."

Clark nodded silently.

He could sense the subtext of Dior's words, and he could also sense the invisible order that Dior had built throughout the club.

This is completely different from the path he is currently contemplating.
However, it also possesses a strange allure.

"Follow."

He looked on with satisfaction at his brother, who was deep in thought.

Although he initially only wanted to pick up his car and leave, Clark said those things in the car.

Dior, of course, was not stingy in restoring his respect.

For example.
They walked straight to a gilded elevator that required a special key to activate, where Rocman was already waiting respectfully and quickly opened it for them.

The elevator interior was covered with a thick, sound-absorbing dark red carpet.

The four walls are covered with gleaming brass panels.

"Om-!"

The elevator ascended silently.

"Iceberg Club".

The indifferent voice sounded particularly clear in the small space.

"This is the crown of Gotham's night..."

"Or rather, it's the most magnificent wound."

"It doesn't flow with blood, it flows with money, intelligence, and desire."

The elevator doors slid open silently, revealing a more private corridor with thicker carpets and softer, more ambiguous lighting. On either side were tightly closed, soundproofed booth doors.

Occasionally, well-dressed guests, with expressions that were either reserved or slightly tipsy, would pass by.

They would immediately stop when they saw Dior and nod respectfully, saying, "Good evening, Mr. Dior."

However, when their eyes fell on Clark, they were all filled with curiosity.

Whose son is this, to be able to enter with the 'Golden Phantom of the Iceberg Club'?
With his somewhat rustic appearance? Is he Falcone's illegitimate son from the countryside, brought back from Italy?
I ignored their reactions.

“This is a top-tier den of iniquity,” Dior continued, as if stating a business plan unrelated to himself, showing no concern whatsoever about the secrets that might be leaked.

"Beverages, performances, companionship... the profits are considerable."

"But what keeps it running, as you can see, is order."

He stopped and pointed to an inconspicuous metal box on the wall of the corridor.

"See that? 'Employee Emergency Fund'."

"Anyone who works here gets into real trouble. A family member falls seriously ill, gets blackmailed by unscrupulous scoundrels in Gotham after get off work, or even accidentally overhears something they shouldn't have."

"You can apply for either. It's interest-free, and... usually, you don't need to repay it."

"Is this what you wanted? To 'help' people this way?" Clark's voice was filled with confusion. "To fill this...wound with money earned from other places?"

“Fill it up?” Dio scoffed and continued walking forward. “No, Clark. It’s about management. The wounds of this city will always remain, and I’m just making sure they don’t fester and become infected, turning on themselves.”

His words carried a familiar barb, but his tone was less purely malicious than before, and more like a cold statement of facts.

"That's good, you can help others."

Dio: “…”

He felt that his explanation was completely futile.

So he could only wave his hand helplessly, as if trying to shoo away a giant golden retriever that couldn't understand human speech.

“Dio,” Clark pressed, “Does his uncle know about this place?”

“My father knows I need space, and he also knows I can handle my own affairs.”

Dior gave an ambiguous answer and pushed open a heavy, double-leaf carved wooden door.

Inside was an extremely spacious and luxuriously decorated private room.

The view here is excellent, overlooking part of the main hall, yet it guarantees absolute privacy. "As for the details? There's no need to waste Father's time on such... trivial matters."

"."

Doesn't that mean they don't know?
Clark's lips twitched.

How did Dio manage to keep it a secret? Last time they fought so fiercely.

He thought his uncle knew, but judging from his reaction today, his uncle still seems unaware of the specifics.

Following Dior, Clark sat down on the sofa opposite him.

But his body still looked a little cramped on the sofa, unlike his brother who sat there with his legs crossed with elegance.

The room fell silent.

For a moment, the two were speechless.

Fortunately, Ms. Selena followed her in like a gust of wind.

"Two more drinks, please!"

She placed the glass in front of Dior, then shoved the fancy drink into Clark's hand. "Don't worry, it's just juice and a little bit of syrup."

She winked at Clark, and then, under Dio's gaze, she slightly composed herself, leaned slightly towards Dio, and lowered her voice.

but
Clearly, everyone present could hear it:
"We just received a message from down below."

"Things aren't going well for the Falcone family. Those people are like mad dogs, relentlessly attacking their dock routes in the east of the city. Old Carmine was so angry he almost smashed his favorite antique pipe."

“He seems to really need our help right now. The young master has been hoping to see you these past few days,” Selena reported, her tone slightly mocking. “Also, the Maroni family seems to have a problem with us recently ‘taking in’ a few dealers who jumped ship from their casino. They’ve been making sarcastic remarks in a few tabloids.”

He glanced at Selena with some surprise.

You just got promoted today and you're already working so hard?

Dio watched Selena with a half-smile, until a hint of guilt flashed in the woman's eyes, then he casually swirled his wine glass and said, "If Cameron can't even handle this much pressure, then 'Rome' should have collapsed long ago. As for Maroni..."

A cold smile tugged at the corner of his lips:

"Tell them that if they have any opinions, they can come and talk to me in person."

"Ahem." Clearing her throat, Selena nodded knowingly. "Understood. I'll have Rocman relay the message 'tactfully'."

She straightened up and resumed her lazy demeanor.
"Oh, by the way, there's a drunk Wayne Tech junior manager downstairs, bragging that he wants to go up to the third floor to broaden his horizons, and even wants to inquire about the 'new friend' you brought today."

She glanced at Clark.

Dior didn't even lift his eyelids.

Selena laughed: "I know, really, you don't give me any fun at all."

She turned and left as gracefully as a cat.

A few minutes later, there was another gentle knock on the door of the private room.

Rocman stood at the door, his expression unchanged: "Your Majesty, a minor problem has been resolved. The gentleman from Wayne Technologies suddenly 'remembered' an important transoceanic meeting and has left quite 'voluntarily'."

“We have ensured that he will not have any inappropriate curiosity about the club or your guests for some time to come.”

The whole process was incredibly fast.

There was no commotion, no violence, not even a single clear instruction from Dior.

Like a finely tuned gear being gently turned, trouble was silently crushed and eliminated. Clark witnessed it all firsthand.

Clark witnessed all of this firsthand and understood perfectly.

This is what Dior was referring to—

Dominate.

I don't always do everything myself.

Rather, it is an omnipresent, efficient, and ruthless system of order.

It was completely different from the path he had envisioned, yet it possessed a certain unsettling rationality.

Dior raised his glass and gestured slightly toward Clark, his red eyes gleaming with an unfathomable light in the dim light.

“See that, Clark? This is my choice.” He waved the grape juice in his hand. “That’s why you got this bottle, worth one…”

She glanced at the boy in front of her with that inexplicable look in his eyes.

Dior thought for a moment and decided to rephrase it: "Grape juice worth 1000 tacos! Or 1500 blueberry pies!"

Seeing Clark's shocked expression, Dio smiled with satisfaction: "Now, let's continue our conversation in the car."

"Tell me, which is superior, the 'Golden Spirit' or the 'Dark Will'?"

"."

"I do not know."

“Dio,” Clark exclaimed, taking a large gulp of grape juice. “I don’t know!”

"."

Why are you yelling so loudly?
Clark, are you drunk from drinking grape juice?

Seeing Clark clearly trying to fool him, Dio's face darkened, and he clapped his hands in annoyance.

After a few minutes
Looking at the mountain of hearty roasted ribs and farm-style potato wedges piled high in front of him, Clark glanced at Dior's small, exquisite plate and couldn't help but speak:
"Dio, is it really okay to wear so many?"

"It's staff food, eat as much as you want," Dior said earnestly. "Eat more, and it would be best to eat tomorrow's portion too, to save your family some money."

"."

Is this statement a serious statement?

“Actually, I don’t eat much.” Clark took a deep breath. “Right now, I can get ninety percent of my energy a day just by sunbathing.”

"Dior, haven't you been paying attention to my meals in a while?"

"?"

Dior paused in his cutting of the steak and glanced at Clark.

Why should I care about what you eat?

"The point of food is to savor it. I'm not going to waste my time on you."

He slowly put a small piece of beef into his mouth.

"That's true."

“Your taste is indeed excellent.” Clark blinked. “After all, the grape juice here is really delicious.”

Dio: “…”

He decided to give up on discussing food philosophy with this big, simple-minded guy whose taste buds and emotional intelligence were stuck in Kansas cornfields.

Selena was trying so hard not to laugh that her stomach hurt; she thought the interaction between the two was more entertaining than any performance in the club.

It was definitely the right decision not to run away tonight.

"boom--!"

Just then, the door opened, breaking the delicate atmosphere inside.

Roccoman stood in the doorway, first bowing respectfully to Dior, and then said:
"His Majesty."

“The Falcone family has arrived again, this time it’s Mario Falcone.”

"The eldest son of the Falcone family."

"Oh?"

Dior paused just as he was about to put the grape juice in his mouth.

His red eyes swept over Rocman, clearly displeased by the untimely interruption.

but
His gaze unconsciously drifted to the side.

Clark was picking up a rib and eating it with a focused and satisfied expression.

Ok
He instantly lost his appetite and the desire to stay there any longer.

"Tsk."

With an impatient click of his tongue, Dior elegantly picked up a napkin, wiped his hands, and stood up.

"lead the way."

Then he gave Roccoman a succinct order, his voice turning cold.

Upon seeing this, Selena immediately followed like a cat smelling fish, her face filled with excitement at the prospect of a good show.

Dior ignored her and walked straight towards the door.

Rocman quickly stepped aside to make way, instinctively wanting to follow closely behind.

After all, he was a subordinate.

His job is to handle such emergencies and stay close to the boss.

However, he had barely taken a step.
Accompanied by a soft sound.

The heavy door was casually closed right in front of him, almost hitting his nose.

Roccoman: "???"

He stood frozen in place, completely stunned.

No… Your Majesty? Me? Shouldn’t I be going to handle this? I’m your follower! What do you mean by locking me out?
He quickly pushed the door open.

He could only watch helplessly as Dio and Selena disappeared around the corner of the corridor, leaving him alone in the empty hallway and the person inside the door...

Rocman turned around stiffly, little by little.

Inside the private room, Clark just put the bone down.

He sighed contentedly and picked up a napkin to wipe his mouth and hands.

He looked up, his clear blue eyes curiously staring at Rocman, who had been left alone, as if asking: Why didn't you go with them?
"..."

He swallowed hard, and Rocman felt the old wound on his forehead, which had long since healed, begin to ache again.

But he still managed to force a very strained smile.

“Mr. Clark,” his voice was a little dry, “would you… like another drink? Or… dessert?”

He had to admit.

The pressure now.
It's bigger than facing a potentially enraged member of the Falcone family.

(End of this chapter)