American comics: Praising the sun, starting from Gotham!

On business vehicles.

Shuen sat in the passenger seat as if it were his right, using Bruce's tablet to order food, while occasionally making faces at the pair of terrified blue eyes in the rearview mirror.

"For the appetizer, I'd like some firmer shellfish... For the main course, could you please have him change the knife to a tungsten alloy one? This stainless steel feels like paper when you chew it."

Bruce silently turned off the tablet's voice input and turned to Louise: "Don't mind it, this is also a kind of... performance art."

The Metropolitan's most upscale French restaurant is known for its strict dress code and its arrogant attitude that even a glass of water costs twenty dollars.

But all those rules became meaningless with Bruce's massive investment of zeros.

Clark's suit, which even had two patches, seemed to the waiter to be the most fashionable distressed style of the year.

"So, Mr. Shuen."

Despite being extremely sleepy, Louise forced herself to maintain her professional demeanor as she poked at the snail on her plate with her fork—a snail that supposedly cost as much as a single bite to cover her monthly rent.

"Is this... casual throwing skill also part of performance art?"

Ivy seemed dissatisfied with the enclosed space filled with the smell of butter and red wine, or perhaps with something else, and secretly sprayed another little extra sleeping pills.

Louise's eyes began to glaze over, but her pen continued to move across the notebook.

I guess so.

Xiu En picked up one of those hard baguettes and bit into the uncut end.

"In our line of work, if you don't learn to defend yourself with anything at hand, you might wake up in a junkyard the next day. You agree, Mr. Kent? Like using a briefcase to stop a bullet or something... oh, sorry, to keep out the rain."

Clark is facing one of the biggest challenges of his life.

It wasn't about kryptonite or monsters, but about how to fight against his black hole-like Kryptonian metabolic system with a French foie gras dish that wouldn't even fill a tooth gap, under the watchful eyes of three pairs of eyes.

He had just taken a small bite when his stomach rumbled loudly, like a muffled thunderclap.

The noise was so loud that the ring in the hand of the man proposing at the next table trembled.

"……terribly sorry."

Clark's face turned the same color as his red cape.

"I have hypoglycemia... the really low kind."

Bruce silently beckoned a waiter.

"Give this gentleman another twenty main courses."

Xiu En clapped and laughed, waving his baguette like a glow stick: "See that! This is what I admire about the metropolis—even a rumbling stomach can echo!"

In the end, Louise couldn't hold out until dessert under the combined pressure from both Hypnos and Ivy.

She leaned against the pillow Bruce had politely brought her, clutching the recorder tightly in her hand, muttering in her sleep about things like "Tomorrow's headlines... the secret romance between the mysterious Lightman and Wayne..."

Bruce's business smile finally cracked a little.

Even Xiu En, who had been letting himself go for no apparent reason and whose thoughts were often unpredictable, couldn't hide his true feelings.

"Damn it, she definitely won't be able to publish this kind of headline, right, boss?"

"Of course, I'm her boss now too. I guarantee she can't post it."

After finishing his large meal, Clark gave Bruce and Shum the most genuine, satisfied smile he had ever given them.

At least today, he has saved his identity, saved his belly, and hasn't even spent a penny of his own money.

The potted plant at the restaurant entrance, which is said to have French royal lineage and whose every leaf is wiped by a specialist, is now squeezed to the edge of the pot like a pile of weeds.

Instead, there was an extremely arrogant golden sunflower.

It occupies the most central position, its broad leaves like two lazy arms draped over the edge of the flowerpot, the flower head slightly rotated, just in front of Xiuen's face for a second photosynthesis.

Bruce glanced at the pitiful potted plant, then at Hugh, who was standing next to him trying to swallow the last bite of his baguette. Before the restaurant manager's almost tearful expression could even freeze, Bruce had already expertly pulled a check out of his suit pocket.

"Consider it as part of the landscaping renovation cost."

He gently placed the check into the fairly sturdy waiter's breast pocket.

"Remember, these sunflowers are delicate and don't like being touched, unless you also want to take a nap at the dining table."

The waiter glanced at Louise Lane, who was still fast asleep in the back seat, nodded immediately, and quickly took two steps back.

Shuen noticed that Clark seemed to be hesitating as he looked at the remaining dishes of food.

"Hey, what are you thinking about, looking at all this food but not eating it?"

"Ah, well... Mr. Wayne ordered too much; it would be a waste to throw it away."

An awkward blush, unsuitable for Superman, appeared on Clark's face.

"I live on a farm, and my mother rarely gets to eat this kind of, you know, authentic French cuisine."

Xiu raised an eyebrow and patted Clark's shoulder, which would have ripped his suit long ago if not for the bio-force field suppression, as if he had discovered a new continent.

"Wow, big guy, I didn't expect you to be so clever despite your seemingly silly appearance."

Xiu En swallowed the crunchy thing he was chewing.

"Unlike this bat... I mean my boss, next time you come to Gotham, I'll treat you to fish and chips and braised pork at Wayne Manor. Of course, don't bother packing it up, because Alfred took most of it before I even thought of packing it up."

Bruce paused briefly while adjusting his cufflinks, then gestured to the waiter outside without looking up.

"Add another one, pack it up, make sure it can be stored in Kansas."

"As a new employee benefit, this is in compliance with regulations... Mr. Kent, I hope your mother will enjoy the sweets."

It was no easy task to settle a sleeping Pulitzer Prize winner and the notebook in her hand filled with earth-shattering secrets, especially since the first thing she would do upon waking up was to use Bruce's tie as a microphone.

Clark stood by the roadside, looking somewhat lost, holding the employee benefits package that was not only not hot but actually burning hot.

He could feel the urge to fly within him, but in front of this boss and that strange man, he could only obediently wait for the bus.

"besides."

Bruce turned around and glanced at Clark as he was about to get into the luxury car.

"Although I am a shareholder who doesn't come often, I would be very troubled if the daily newspaper went bankrupt because of someone's accidental workplace injury or huge equipment damage."

Clark shrank back and hugged his briefcase tighter: "I promise I won't, don't worry, sir."

"That's good. Also, remember to send the suit size to the HR department; this one is restricting your movements too much."

Xiu En had already pulled the sunflower out of the flowerpot like a radish and put it back on his shoulder.

Before getting into the car, he made a shooting gesture to Clark.

A golden light shot from his fingertips and landed on Clark's belt buckle, which was stretched to the point of breaking.

The metal buckle, which was already on the verge of collapse, suddenly seemed to be reinforced by something, flashing a hard luster.

"Consider this hush money. After all, judging from your voice, if your pants rip open again, you're doomed."

Xiu En's smile was somewhat wicked.

"See you later, the big eater from Kansas."

With the roar of the engine, the extended Lincoln sped away, leaving Clark, who now held a super-reinforced belt buckle and a packaged dessert, staring blankly at the exhaust fumes in the midday sun.