American comics: Praising the sun, starting from Gotham!

Shuen's fingers held the card Bruce hadn't put away, reflecting a kind of brilliance called evil capitalism in the sunlight.

"Boss, just a friendly reminder, if I remember correctly, my allowance account is directly linked to your backup fund."

His golden eyes were full of mockery as he laughed.

"If this money is meant to keep me from starving outside of Gotham, then I think reimbursing a few sets of tableware shouldn't even be worth that tiny fraction of a percent interest?"

Bruce Wayne's previously flawless business smile froze almost imperceptibly for a moment. Even his brain, trained to withstand interrogation, felt a sudden throbbing.

"You can do it too, Xiu En."

Bruce finally took a deep breath, picked up the glass of water, and took a sip, as if trying to suppress an urge to throw the guy back to Gotham with the ice.

"But I will notify all the restaurants in the Metropolitan and have them replace all your cutlery with those soft plastic spoons for babies."

"Wow, a glowing, mysterious gentleman? My god, he's way sexier than those guys who fly around in tight suits all day!"

Accompanied by the sound of high heels comparable to a Gotham typhoon, a red whirlwind knocked a young police officer who was about to take a statement aside.

That's Louise Lane.

She wore a business suit with an extremely bold cut, and her chestnut hair was impeccably styled even in this weather where makeup is prone to smudging.

The moment she stood still, the recording pen in her hand was shoved right under Xiu En's nose, so close that Xiu En could even smell her unique metropolitan scent.

Clark's wall-like body was once again "accidentally" bumped by this woman who was willing to rush into the war zone for the sake of the news, and he almost stepped on his new boss's suit with his shoe print.

"Louise! Wait, Mr. Wayne is here..."

Clark weakly reached out his hand, trying to salvage his professional image.

"If it's a press release for the acquisition, I'm not responsible for that kind of coverage. You big guy from Smallville, is that your excuse for being late?"

Louise didn't even turn her head; her sharp eyes were fixed on Hugh.

"I am Louise Lane, Daily Planet, Exclusive. Sir, you have three minutes to explain how you just caused the alloy to deform like that without any muscle exertion. Was it some kind of superpower? Or Eastern qigong?"

Shuen looked down at the microphone that was almost shoved into his mouth, then glanced over Louise's shoulder at Clark, who was rubbing his nose with a look of habit, and the corners of his mouth widened a little.

This is the vitality of this city full of light and heat. Compared to the lifeless "I'm going to kill you" greetings in Gotham, this woman who uses the microphone as a gun seems particularly vivid.

"It's not some kind of qigong, beautiful lady."

Xiu En didn't refuse the camera; instead, he turned slightly to the side in the sunlight so that the golden sunflower on his shoulder could also be in the shot.

He was as if he were made of light.

"I run a craft workshop in Gotham. We usually handle unruly materials in a rather direct way. You know, practice makes perfect."

His words were half true and half false, especially the stressed word "materials," which made Bruce, the only one who understood the subtext, have to pick up the menu again to cover his face.

"Craftsman?"

Louise raised one eyebrow, clearly not believing that the guy in the trench coat, whose clothes were glowing, was a potter.

"You call shaving a pistol like a cucumber craftsmanship? Is that a Gotham-specific custom?"

"Perhaps we should attribute this craft demonstration to... well, I'm also surprised by how advanced Gotham's arts education is."

Bruce finally put down the menu and used his nationally renowned Wayne charm to intervene in the battle, attempting to salvage his precarious corporate image through the sharp pen of a top-notch journalist.

"Miss Ryan, perhaps you'd be more interested in why his boss, that is, me, invested in a newspaper full of such professionals?"

Clark finally found an opportunity to shrink his massive body into a blind spot in the aura of the three, but when he heard that Lois had no intention of letting the glowing monster go, his superhero heart still jumped.

Because he saw Hugh pointing at an old Ford that looked a lot like the one he was using to disguise himself, and mouthing to him, "Your car looks like it's leaking oil."

"This can hardly be considered a craft."

Bruce Wayne straightened his silk tie, which probably cost more than the entire coffee shop combined, and wore an apologetic smile typical of Gotham's wealthy elite.

He didn't argue with the Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter about the matter, because Shum was twirling the black card between his fingers like a dart.

"As compensation for interrupting everyone's work, and to celebrate my investment in the daily newspaper, how about we move to a more private setting and chat over a meal?"

Louise, who was already on the tip of her tongue, suddenly got stuck on the pointed question about "metal deformation and stress analysis of human bones".

It wasn't because of the allure of capital, but because the golden sunflower on Xiu En's shoulder impatiently shook its flower head.

A wisp of golden sleep dust, carrying the scent of grass and sunshine, drifted out with the movement, landing precisely between Louise's breaths as she spoke eloquently.

This strong woman, who could keep up with the general's interviews even on the front lines of war, suddenly felt that the metropolitan sunlight at 11:30 in the morning... was a little too warm.

"Hmm...or?"

Louise rubbed her temples, which suddenly felt heavy.

"Or if you insist, Mr. Wayne, if you recommend that Michelin three-star restaurant, I might consider not including your flashy luxury car in my column about carbon emitters."

Ivy's direct approach, titled "I'd rather sleep than listen to your nonsense," perfectly struck Louise's weakness, a weakness that only surfaced after she'd been working long hours.

That is, lack of sleep.

"But... Louise, can I go too?"

Clark pushed up his glasses, which were about to slip down. His massive frame, over 1.9 meters tall, was trying to squeeze himself into the corner of the café's small booth without attracting anyone's attention, but now he had to stand up straight again because of the owner's invitation.

"Of course, Mr. Kent."

Xiu En smiled and leaned closer, looking the earthly god up and down with the eyes of someone looking at a giant panda, as the god was trying to shrink his chest and tuck in his stomach.

"After all, we can't do without a driver, I mean, we can't do without a local guide, right? And judging from your expression, I think you'll get used to not getting enough to eat at that restaurant's giant steak—oh sorry, they only have foie gras and snails there.

Clark felt that the red cloak he had hidden seemed ten times heavier than usual, thanks to the meaningful emphasis on hunger in Shuen's words.