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

In the Upper Town, Lovecraft's apartment welcomed another new visitor.

"I've arrived, you can hang up now."

Gordon hung up the phone with Alfred, raised his gun, and stepped across the threshold into the living room.

As soon as I entered, a strong smell of blood rushed into my nostrils.

Gordon's expression changed, he quickened his pace, raised his gun, and rushed into the bathroom.

The bathtub was filled with blood, and a middle-aged man with a gloomy face lay in it, with a bloody hole in his forehead.

"Lovecraft?"

Gordon frowned as he called out the deceased's name, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the pistol beside the bathtub.

He looked around the scene, finally fixing his gaze on the bloody hole in Lovecraft's forehead.

Judging from the traces, this was undoubtedly a homicide, even though someone tried their best to make the scene look like a suicide.

But who would shoot themselves in the forehead to commit suicide?

Gordon solemnly pulled out his phone:

"I'm Jim Gordon, GCPD. I've discovered something in the uptown area—"

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

"Then, Master Dior, how do we find Master Bruce?"

Dior pondered for a moment, then honestly shook his head:

"I don't know, maybe he's learning the unspoken rules of Gotham from Selena right now?"

"Of course I know! But now is not the time to discuss this, Master Dior!"

Alfred's patience was nearing its limit.

In his youth, this old butler was a ruthless character who could easily break someone's hands or feet while guarding a brothel. The reason he is so mild-mannered now is all thanks to Thomas Wayne.

But who says he doesn't have a bad temper?

Dior noticed his increasingly irritable temper and decisively offered a solution:

"Turn left at the next intersection to the flea market; there might be some news there."

Following Dior's directions, Alfred quickly parked the car in front of Gotham's most famous flea market.

This place is nominally called a market, but it's actually just a place where a group of homeless children huddle together for warmth.

Dior, who had once lived in the East End, naturally knew this place, but the people here did not welcome him.

Now we finally have a chance.

"Is this the place?"

Alfred stared at the abandoned theater before him, trying to maintain a respectable expression.

But the faint, vulgar music coming from inside still made the old butler frown.

"It's obvious, this is the place."

Dior brushed the raindrops off his shoulder, looked around the building, and finally settled on a staircase.

He was the first to walk over.

Alfred gritted his teeth, and thinking that Bruce might be inside, he quickly followed.

"Actually, I still don't understand why we chose this place, young master Dior."

Why?

Dio turned to look at him, as if he hadn't expected this question.

"I'm asking you, what's the easiest way to integrate into Gotham?"

"Buy a train ticket?" Alfred asked tentatively.

Dior rolled his eyes at him:

"They walk down the street dressed smartly, and within thirty minutes they blend into Gotham as victims."

"So Bruce will definitely come here with Selena as soon as possible to change his clothes."

After saying that, he looked at the graffiti-covered staircase and walked down with a look of disgust.

"What terrible taste."

As you step onto the first step, the entire staircase groans under its own weight.

Dio paused for a moment, looking down at the rusty iron plate at his feet, and felt immense regret for his earlier decision.

"Watch your step," he said without turning his head.

Behind him came the dull thud of Alfred's leather shoes hitting the metal plate.

The steps decreased one by one, and the surrounding environment became even darker with the loud music.

Dio frowned as he looked at the tarpaulin in front of him, but still lifted it and went inside.

The sour smell of sweat mixed with the unpleasant odor of moldy items eagerly rushed into my nostrils.

Dior paused, forcing himself to suppress his discomfort, and looked around with renewed vigor.

A drum set pieced together from various items, a barbecue grill with something burning inside, and even a pair of shoes hanging out to dry in the vent.

The overhead light was a dim yellow, and the exposed wires were vaguely visible.

There are vending machines, game consoles, and even small farms.

This place truly lives up to its name as a flea market; it has everything imaginable.

"Hey, hello there, handsome young man."

A delicate hand with pink nail polish was about to rest on Dior's shoulder.

"Miss, isn't this inappropriate?"

Alfred calmly grasped the hand, looking down at the heavily made-up girl before him.

"Let her go, Alfred." Dio gave a fake smile and turned around. "What is it?"

"It's nothing, it's just that we haven't seen such a handsome boy at the flea market in a long time."

"I'm looking for someone."

Dio, adept at using his strengths, gently grasped the girl's right hand and smiled.

"A dark-haired boy in a suit. Have you seen him before?"

"I've never seen this person before."

The girl's voice was somewhat dazed as she stared blankly into his eyes.

But this kind of bewilderment is clearly not normal bewilderment.

"Yeah?"

Dior glanced sideways at the expensive clothes behind the curtain, especially the wool sweater, and the fake smile on his face gradually disappeared.

Are you sure?

"Of course, I've never seen this person before."

The girl took another step forward, unknowingly extending an invitation.

"By the way, have you ever kissed a girl?"

That's strange.

Dior nodded, his smile vanishing completely.

"Judging from the traces left here, I think you've seen him before."

He grabbed the girl's wrist and gently applied force.

"Ugh!"

The girl's dazed gaze was instantly replaced by pain.

Dior glanced at the needle marks on her arm and disgustedly shook off her hand.

"Young Master Dior."

Alfred stood silently beside him, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the homeless children who were quietly gathering around.

"It seems we've gotten ourselves into trouble."

"Is that so?" Dio calmly wiped his palms, drew his pistol, and aimed it at the ceiling.

boom! boom! boom!

The people around them froze on the spot, looking as bewildered as startled groundhogs.

Dio watched their reaction with satisfaction, stood in front of everyone, and pointed his gun at a young black man:

"I'm Dio Brando. I've heard you can buy anything at this flea market?"

"That's right," the young Black man replied reluctantly. "What exactly do you want?"

"That's a good question."

Dior pulled a thick wad of banknotes from his pocket and deliberately showed it to everyone.

"Listen up, everyone."

"I'm looking for a dark-haired boy with a gloomy demeanor, very handsome, and accompanied by a girl."

"Whoever finds him first, I'll give him a $10,000 reward. Even if all I get is a tip, I'll give him $1,000."

Everyone froze, their minds unable to process what was happening.

"Ten thousand dollars? Did I hear that right?"

"Gao Fu, did I take too much?"

"Hurry, hurry, let's get moving!"

Everyone rushed toward the exit like wild horses.

On this day, the homeless children at the flea market ran wildly through the streets.

The allure of ten thousand dollars was even more tempting than Dior had imagined.

So, do those who take risks think the same way?

Dio smiled, already thinking about what modifications he would make after taking over the place.

(There's a competition next Tuesday, the 31st, so everyone please remember to watch it, otherwise this book will be half dead.)

(Sobbing, Orz)