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

A glimmer of light gradually appeared behind the tarpaulin.

Dio lifted the curtain, his toes barely touching the Gotham floor...

The sound of wind cutting through the air came whistling from the side!

In the corner of his eye, a wooden stick was slowly approaching.

The man wielding the wooden stick was a fat Black man with yellowed teeth.

A sneak attack?

Dior sneered inwardly.

snort!

Dior bent over and easily dodged.

too slow.

The whistling sound came again, but it still missed.

He even had time to leisurely slip the mechanical watch onto his fist.

"Ha, kid, do you know you're in hell?"

The fat black man tossed the stick in his hand, his thick lips parted to reveal a few smoky, yellowed teeth.

At such close range, Dio could smell the pungent odor emanating from him.

"I am the devil from hell."

"No, no, no, you're not a devil, you're just a black man!"

Dior smiled dismissively and poked the fat man's nose with a slender, pale finger:

"Let me show you what it means to be unable to get up again!"

"You despicable country bumpkins!!!"

The blond boy's right fist left a trail of afterimages.

boom!

A heavy punch slammed into his stomach.

"Well!"

The fat man's eyes widened instantly, he spat out a puddle of sour water, and staggered to the ground.

Dior turned his gaze to the people who were gathering around him not far away, especially a man with a headscarf.

"You're the boss?"

"I'm Evan, and this area is under my protection."

A Black man who looked like the leader walked over, striking a very imposing pose.

"Kid, Gotham's first lesson: Don't flaunt your money in public."

"Lesson Two..."

A fist suddenly swung at him.

Evan looked smug, even anticipating seeing the pretty boy in front of him get beaten up and cry.

Snapped.

The usually successful sneak attack was firmly grasped by a fair hand.

Evan's smug expression froze.

The next second, my side ribs felt like they'd been hit by a hammer, and the bone cracked.

"ah!!!"

He knelt down on the ground.

puff.

Dio withdrew his fist, took a step forward, and slowly swept his gaze over the young men and teenagers surrounding him, his eyes filled with undisguised arrogance.

Every thug who made eye contact with him would instinctively lower their head or avoid his gaze.

It was as if he wasn't the one being surrounded, but rather these people.

In the distance, Alfred watched all this, his grip on the drumsticks loosening.

"Phew, that was close, young master Dior."

He had just breathed a sigh of relief when he saw a flash of silver light behind Dior.

That is!

Knife!

"No, no! It's a knife!!!"

Alfred's face changed drastically, and he rushed forward like a madman, only to be grabbed by the leg by the fat black man on the ground.

"No!"

"Die, kid!!"

Evan drew a switchblade from his waist and lunged at Dio with a ferocious expression.

Alfred felt a chill run down his spine.

But the sound of the blade piercing flesh did not ring out.

In his line of sight, Dior had already turned around, and Evan's body remained stationary, not moving an inch.

Drops of blood dripped from between Dior's fingers.

"Are you an idiot?!"

Evan's eyes widened, and he shouted incredulously.

"He actually managed to grip the blade with his bare hands!"

"oh!!!!"

A gasp of surprise erupted from the crowd.

Alfred couldn't help but swallow.

"You idiot, if I just pull the blade a little, all four of your fingers will be gone!"

"Ugh, that's enough."

Dio rolled his eyes somewhat reluctantly, pointed his other finger at Evan's nose, and his face darkened.

"Alright, listen up, Evan!"

"The moment you make a move, I'll kick your dick to pieces with my log-like legs!"

"Yes... Ah-------!!!"

Evan let out the most miserable scream of his life, clutching his groin as he fell to the ground.

Dio threw down the knife, looked down at Evan who was rolling on the ground, and snorted coldly:

"snort!"

"You really are an idiot."

"You don't actually think I'll wait for you to make a move, do you?"

He wiped the blood from his palms expressionlessly and contemptuously threw the blood-stained handkerchief at Evan.

"My fingers are more valuable than you, you fool."

Alfred punched the fat man who was hugging him to the ground and ran over quickly.

"Young Master Dior, is your hand alright?"

"Um...."

Dio glanced at his wound, which was almost to the bone, and his eye twitched.

"It's just a minor injury."

"show me."

Alfred shooed away the street thugs with his eyes, then took Dior's hand and examined it closely, his brows furrowing deeper and deeper:

"I think we need to go to the hospital, Master Dior."

Neither of them noticed that Evan, who was lying on the ground, took out a small bottle of green potion from his pocket and tilted his head back to gulp it down.

As his throat tightened, his eyes began to glaze over, his arms swelled with blood, and his face turned pale.

"You've messed with the wrong person, you mortal."

Evan staggered to his feet, his eyes unfocused, but a strange smile played on his lips.

"I will show you that God is invincible."

"I'm going to tear your pretty face off! I'll make you scream in agony!"

"Hmm? Young Master Dior, you're injured. Let me do this."

Alfred put his hand on Dio's shoulder and stepped forward, drumsticks in hand.

"Oh, look at him." He weighed the drumstick in his hand. "A young man who bought a bottle of cheap stimulant at a convenience store on the street and thinks he's been chosen as the savior."

"I used to know an Evan who worked in Whitechapel. He wasn't a big guy, he was a small guy."

"We often make fun of him, mock him..."

Just as he raised the drumstick, Evan suddenly pushed it away.

"Hmm!"

Alfred flew backward like a kite with a broken string, skimming the ground and crashing at Dio's feet.

How is that possible?

What happened...?

this...

Dio looked down at the old butler lying at his feet, his pupils contracting.

The old butler's chest caved in unnaturally, blood foam seeped from the corner of his mouth, and each breath was accompanied by broken, jagged sounds.

"Damn it, someone's going to die!!!"

"run!"

When the street thugs realized someone was about to die, they scattered in a panic, afraid of being caught by the police and extorted for more money.

Dio frowned, then immediately knelt down and placed his fingers on Dio's neck.

three seconds.

A full three seconds.

Many images flashed through his mind.

I recall those hands clad in boxing gloves, the patient instruction in the study, and the thoughtful care in meals and daily life.

I recall those hesitant gazes, how they saw through my ambition time and time again, yet remained silent in their tolerance.

"Young Master, look at the butler beside you. His face, covered in blood and spittle, is truly something else!"

Dio's knuckles tightened slowly as he stood up, facing the swaying, drug-addicted madman.

At that moment, the blond boy's face was devoid of arrogance, fake smile, and everything else.

Evan opened his mouth, but it felt like someone was choking him.

"My name is Dio Brando."

"He's my butler, and you hit him."

"So for Alfred's dignity and soul, I will make you pay with your life!!!"

Dio clenched his fists, his body trembling slightly, and his back teeth clenched together fiercely.

"Silver, Chariot!!!"