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

"Do you have time?" Edward asked.

[Guiding confused believers]

As the savior of evil, you have a duty to guide every believer who has gone astray back to the right path.

[Reward: 500 points]

Dior didn't answer, but simply turned his head to look at the fire door at the end of the corridor.

Behind the door is an iron staircase leading to the rooftop. The staircase is rusty and neglected, and the wind is strong, making it a good place to say things you don't want a third person to hear.

He started walking, and Edward followed silently behind.

The iron gate let out a sharp whistle as it was pushed open.

The wind on the rooftop was much stronger than down below, whipping Edward's neatly combed hair into a wild, unruly frenzy.

He instinctively reached out to press down, but then felt the action was too stupid, so he put his hand down, then raised it again, and finally simply gave up struggling.

In contrast, Dior's smooth, golden hair remained perfectly still in the wind, as if he had just stepped off a magazine cover.

Edward stared at that beautiful hair for a long time, almost asking what brand of hairspray it was.

Dior leaned against the railing, hands in his pockets, and his smile deepened when he noticed the other person's gaze.

Check out the hairspray for the Silver Chariot logo.

He glanced sideways at the stand-in beside him, who had long since tossed aside his knight's sword and was now using his incredible speed (speed A) to tame his hair, and smiled silently.

It's just pressing down some hair, no big deal.

He turned his gaze away and looked at Edward.

"Can we talk? I'm really curious about what's going on between you two."

"I don't know if it's right to talk to a 12-year-old about this kind of thing..."

Edward opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again.

Their fingers unconsciously twisted together, tangled like an unsolvable ball of thread.

He finally sighed.

"Her name is Christine. She works in the evidence room and has been there for about six months."

His voice was muffled.

"She is very serious and never careless in her work, but sometimes she will put the files on the wrong shelf."

Dior didn't say anything, but simply shifted to a more comfortable position and leaned back.

"The coffee she makes is awful, it's terribly bitter."

"But every time she asked me if I wanted a drink, I said yes."

Edward stared at his toes, his voice growing softer and softer.

"She has a dimple on her left side when she smiles, but not on her right."

"She thought I was strange, and she thought my riddles were strange too, she-----"

"She doesn't know you like her," Dio said for him.

Edward remained silent.

He felt his face burning hot and even began to doubt himself from just a few minutes ago.

God knows why he inexplicably agreed to this blond kid's request to chat on the rooftop!

This kid is only twelve years old, and he doesn't even look like he's ever held a girl's hand before!

"I don't like her."

Edward adjusted his glasses, his tone deliberately feigned composure.

"I just think she's a very hardworking colleague and a respectable colleague, that's all."

"Our relationship is pure, noble, and free from base desires—"

"A colleague relationship," Dior replied smoothly.

"Yes, we're colleagues!"

A gust of wind blew into his collar, and Dior squinted.

He never imagined that one day he would see the Riddler acting like a sycophant.

"Mr. Nigma, I have a riddle I'd like to ask you."

Edward was taken aback.

His eyes lit up at the mention of riddles: "What riddle?"

Dio sighed silently, recalled the riddle book for a moment, and then spoke:

"I have a thousand languages, yet I cannot utter a single word."

"I have a thousand faces, but only one heart beats."

"I can turn a wise man into a fool, and I can make a fool think he is omnipotent. What am I?"

Edward's lips moved, but he didn't make a sound; his eyes, however, were filled with conflict.

"Love," Dio answered himself. "What are you afraid of? Afraid that she knows too?"

Edward looked up abruptly, something churning in his eyes—the kind of anger and embarrassment that comes from being exposed.

"You're only twelve years old, what do you know?"

"I don't understand anything."

Dior pulled his hand out of his pocket, opened it, and then closed it again.

"But you blushed the whole way, from the archives to the rooftop, from our colleague relationship to the fact that she doesn't have dimples."

What are you anxious about?

Edward opened his mouth, but ultimately lowered his head to look at his shoes, which he had polished again and again.

Finally, he spoke, his voice muffled:

"...I like her, okay? I'm just a coward who doesn't even dare to confess."

"I don't know how to ask girls out, I don't know how to say sweet things, I just ask her weird riddles, are you satisfied?"

Dior shook his head:

"You've misunderstood me. Actually, I'm here to teach you the secret to getting a date."

Upon hearing this, Edward swallowed hard.

If someone else says this, and he believes even half a word, he thinks the other person is amazing.

But today, looking at Dior's already alluring face before it had fully matured, he subconsciously nodded.

"What is it?"

"Do you know?"

Dio didn't laugh, but just looked at Edward with a particularly serious expression this time.

"When I was a child, I lived on a farm. There was a girl with a ponytail and a beautiful laugh that could be heard throughout the whole barn."

"Every time I see her, I think she's very pretty and I want to hang out with her, so I just asked her directly."

"Are you coming again tomorrow?" The other party agreed, and we had a lot of fun.

Edward raised his head, his eyes filled with hope:

"That's it? No flowers? No poetry? Nothing... You didn't even call her name?"

"Will you come again tomorrow?"

Dior repeated it, somewhat smugly, even with a hint of amusement:

"She said she would come, and she came again the next day. I asked her again, 'Will you come the day after tomorrow?' She said yes."

"Later, she came to deliver milk every day, and I stood at the door every day asking her if she would come again tomorrow."

"One day I didn't ask, but she said herself that she would come again the next day. I think it's pretty easy to ask girls out."

Edward stared, unsure what to say.

"You—" he pushed up his glasses, "what kind of secret is this?"

"Isn't that a secret?"

"Heh, I bet you've forgotten even that girl's name by now."

"I think her name was Harley something, her grandfather was a redneck, and her father was a coward."

Dio stroked his chin, completely unaware that there was anything wrong with what he said.

After all, in his opinion, Edward was really good-looking, it was just that his hairstyle was too stupid.

With that face, he can pick up girls anywhere outside of Gotham.

Edward was momentarily speechless.

Are you saying, "You number-obsessed idiot, you think you're all that good?" or "You little brat, just die already!"

Considering the rumors circulating within the Gotham Police Department, as a smart man, he decided it was best not to mess with this wicked blond brat.

"I understand. Thank you for your advice, Dior. You're such a good friend."

After leaving those words, Edward pulled open the door and walked out.

The words "good friend" were said through gritted teeth.

Dior glanced at the panel, saw that it wasn't finished, and shook his head.

He's already taught me the secret techniques, why don't you get it yet? You're so stupid.

Five minutes later.

[Task Completed]

[Points +500]

Dior: "????"

Is this some kind of self-consolation?

Is the second personality really that good?