American comic book: Transmigrated into Dior and adopted by the Wayne family

In the study.

Dio leaned back in his chair and, taking advantage of the fact that no one was around, started a 5-pull spree!

[A 300-year-old recipe for braised beef passed down from the mother of a penguin]

[Joseph Joestar's favorite bottle of Coke]

Batman's grappling hook gun

The Golden Blood of House Joestar

[A Collection of Riddles by Riddlers]

...It seems like something strange has infiltrated.

Dio blinked, and before he could think further, a burning pain suddenly shot through the back of his neck.

"Ugh----!"

He fell off the chair, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, his fists clenching unconsciously.

Damn it, even though I got something good, this hurt so much!!!

The pain lasted for about five seconds before finally subsiding.

Dior pushed himself up from the ground and caught his breath:

"Damn it, Joestar is still chasing me!"

"call."

He picked up the mirror on the table and turned his head to look at the back of his neck.

A star-shaped birthmark has appeared on her originally fair skin.

The Golden Blood of House Joestar

[Ability 1: Enables the user to be strong and robust, possessing a physique beyond that of ordinary people]

[Ability 2: More easily swept up in the tides of fate, more easily favored by fate]

[Ability 3: The ability and power to break free from predetermined fate by drawing courage and honor]

I've lost the honors, but what about the courage?

snort!

Dio stared at the panel, feeling the power surging within him, and a slow smile crept onto his lips.

It was a smile as innocent as a child's.

That's the kind of physical ability that allowed Jotaro to punch an adult when he was a child.

I've got my first ticket, Bruce!

I don't have time to play detective games with the kids anymore.

Dior clenched his fists, his resolve growing ever stronger.

10 is old.

My mother, worn out from years of hard work, died at home.

That scumbag father, Dalio didn't bury her; instead, he used the funeral expenses to buy alcohol.

From that day on, Dio understood one thing: the world is cruel, but Gotham is crueler than the world.

He learned Gotham's first lesson from his mother's death—

Only when you force the world to act will it become reasonable.

So Dior's goal was always clear: he wanted to climb to the top and then humiliate those who made things difficult for him and his mother and those who stood by and did nothing, in an even worse way.

These people, kneeling at my feet, have no self-respect left.

Dior walked to the window, his gaze falling on the police car by the door.

A blonde girl in a leather jacket nimbly climbed out of the car.

She looked up and met his gaze through the glass.

Selena suddenly broke out in goosebumps on her neck.

She instinctively reached out to touch it, but when she looked up again, the space behind the window was empty.

"Let's go, Cat."

Gordon got out of the driver's seat, stretched his neck, and turned his head.

"Where are they?

He looked around and finally his gaze settled on an open window.

"...Don't young people these days like to use the front entrance?"

-----------------

Inside the study.

This is such a hassle!

Dio looked at the blonde girl who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, stood up, and gave her a perfectly timed smile.

[Key figure detected: Selena Kyle]

"You must be Selena. How did you get in through the window?"

"The gate is closed."

Selena paced back and forth in the study like a real cat.

"And I'm not used to using doors."

Those were clear but far from innocent eyes, amber in color, and they would slightly contract when threatened, just like a cat's.

"You're the one who was just peering out the window?" She tilted her head. "Bruce Wayne?"

"Dio Brando." Dio bowed slightly. "The Wayne family's adopted son."

Selena stopped and stared at him intently for three seconds before saying frankly:

"Your smile is fake. You're clearly angry, but you still have to smile."

Dior's smile froze for a moment, then became more genuine as he offered a frank apology:

"I'm sorry, Selena, my etiquette is still not good enough."

Selena pursed her lips, seemingly somewhat surprised by the answer.

"You're quite interesting, more interesting than the Prince of Gotham right now."

"Thanks, but it's best if Bruce doesn't hear this."

Dior walked to the table and gentlemanly pulled out a chair.

Selena tiptoed around the pile of documents on the floor and sat down in front of him.

Dior sat down as well.

"You didn't bring any clothes with you, did you? Alfred can take you to buy some."

"No need, and besides, are you planning to interrogate me?"

Selena rested her chin on her hand, her words clearly barbed, yet a smile played on her lips.

"Aren't you going to talk about Bruce? Like, what kind of person is he?"

"He is very serious."

Dior gently stirred the black tea in his cup and thought for a moment:

"He's a little too serious. He reads newspapers and checks archives every day, like a little old man."

Selena smiled, very softly, and quickly stopped, but she did smile.

Why was he so eager to find the killer?

"Because they are his parents."

Dior's voice softened, his body leaned forward slightly, and his eyes shone brightly.

"If you were in that situation, you would want to find it too."

"You saw it... didn't you? That night, you were on those stairs..."

Selena stared into those green eyes, sensing Dio's presence. Her gaze swept over his slightly parted lips, and her breath caught in her throat.

The next second, she suddenly woke up, shook her head vigorously, took a piece of paper out of her pocket, and pushed it across the table.

"Don't get so close. This is what the killer looks like. I've drawn it."

"Thank you, this is exactly what I need."

Dior took the portrait and unfolded the paper.

The painting depicts a square-faced, slightly overweight man with a full beard and sparse hair on top.

Dior's brow twitched.

This face... why does it look so familiar?

Similar to a professional player in some FPS game from a past life?

Zywooo?

He placed the portrait on the table and shifted his gaze from the paper to Selena's face.

"This is a really good drawing, so lifelike. This person must be over 40 years old, right?"

Selena replied without hesitation, "He's in his fifties."

Dior nodded, his gaze returning to the portrait, and he murmured to himself thoughtfully:

"Over fifty years old...and still has quite a thick head of hair, that's not easy at this age."

"He's not bald, he's bald."

Selena pointed to the hairline in the portrait.

"Your hairline is very high here, didn't you see?"

"How's your skin? Is it rough?"

"Rough." Selena said without hesitation, "How good can the skin of someone who's always on the streets be?"

Dior asked a few more questions: the color of the clothes, the style of the shoes, and whether he was wearing a hat.

"He was dressed in black, wearing a hat, and on his feet were a pair of somewhat worn boots."

Selena answered each question, but she grew increasingly impatient.

"Why are you asking so many questions? Didn't I already give you the portrait?"

"It's nothing, just checking."

Dior took a deep breath, then stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to her.

"By the way, did you really see the killer that night?"

Selena sat up straight, alert. "Of course I saw it."

"That's good."

Dior turned around, strode over, bent down, and the smile on his face disappeared.

"When Alfred and Bruce ask you that later, you'd better answer the same way."

He leaned close to Selena's ear, who was frozen in place, and whispered:

"Just so you know, the killer wore leather shoes at night, a pair of gleaming leather shoes."

"You little liar."

Selena's face turned pale.

Dior straightened up, took a step back, and his tone returned to its previous gentleness:

"Oh, and remember to take a shower; the facilities at Wayne Manor are excellent."

After saying that, he turned and left the study.

Selena kept staring at the door until the footsteps completely disappeared.

After a long silence, she finally managed to squeeze out a sentence:

"....asshole."