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

Gotham River, at the dock.

A dozen or so black cars were quietly parked on the shore, with men in suits and fierce-looking faces sitting or leaning against the hoods of the cars.

The once bustling canal estuary that runs through the entire city of Gotham is now eerily deserted; not a single angler can be seen.

A crisp sound of footsteps rang out.

"My friend."

Maroney, the boss of the Maroney family, walked across the street with his arms outstretched and a hypocritical smile on his face.

"have not seen you for a long time."

Falcone, the "Roman," stared at the fat man with a fierce face, stepped forward, and gave him a cheek kiss.

Today is an important negotiation.

This is about whether Gotham can maintain peace.

Falcone loosened his arms and glanced discreetly at the young man with wispy hair and a sinister face behind Maroni.

Penguin, Oswald Cobport, a rising star in Gotham's underworld, and a close confidant of Maroney.

Maroni also noticed the black woman with red-streaked hair behind Falcone at almost the same time.

Fish Mooney, owner of Mooney nightclub, and a high-ranking member of the Falcone family.

Interestingly, in this round of negotiations, the second-in-commands behind both leaders were replaced.

During the last negotiation, Frankie was the second-in-command of the Maroni family, and Nicola was the second-in-command of the Falcone family.

Now it's the Penguin and Fish Mooney.

What this means is self-evident.

"That's a real shame. Nicola and I are like father and son, and I believe Frankie feels the same way about you."

Falcone's voice was neither loud nor soft, carrying a solemn regret, but his head did not bow even slightly.

I express my regret to you.

"Me too." Maroni raised an eyebrow.

"I hope this violence can stop. We won't touch the person behind you, but in return, you have to show some sincerity."

Maroni swayed slightly, a hint of disdain in his expression: "Like what?"

How's the real estate market?

Just as Maroni was about to refuse, the Penguin walked up to him and whispered a few words in his ear.

"Indian Hills," Maronny said, raising his eyes. "I'll give you this place."

"make a deal."

The negotiations have now concluded.

The days of gang warfare in Gotham have temporarily come to an end.

Back in the car, Falcone took out his phone and dialed a number.

The call was answered quickly, but the other party did not speak.

"I've got Indian Mountain."

The other party hung up the phone without saying a word.

Falcone didn't care, because a new era was just around the corner.

In a mysterious corner of Gotham.

On the huge round table, an incandescent lamp carved into the shape of an owl emitted a cold white light, illuminating the tabletop in a stark white light.

A hand with nail polish painted in a nutmeg color gently put down the phone.

"Indian Mountain is in our hands; let the philosophers begin."

"What about Dio? Aren't we supposed to teach him a lesson?"

The contact woman turned her head and glanced indifferently at the old man who had spoken:

"It's more important to move forward with the Indian Mountain Project now."

"Understood."

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

And so, time passed day by day.

The Owl Court has stopped contacting us, but the daily reporting tasks continue.

These days, Dio has read almost every story in Grimm's Fairy Tales.

But very few things can elicit a reaction from the claws; the only one that does react somewhat is Snow White.

But Snow White only showed a slight reaction.

Finding the mental imprint that the Court of Owls left on Claws is harder than climbing to heaven.

Several months have passed in the blink of an eye.

Gotham City High School.

In class, the female lecturer, wearing black-rimmed glasses, gently tapped the blackboard with her pointer:

"Students, I'd like to know, if our civilization hadn't developed the Industrial Revolution, but instead relied entirely on our own hands to create alternatives like steampunk machines, what would your ideals have become?"

She paused, her gaze sweeping across the classroom.

"Tommy, you answer."

A boy with brown, side-parted hair stood up, a confident smile on his lips:

"If the world hadn't experienced the Industrial Revolution, my dream would have been to become an executive like my parents."

"I will leverage their connections to promote my machinery and eventually expand the brand to the entire mainland."

"I want to become the richest person in the world, marry a wife that everyone envies, and live the life I want!"

Just as the female teacher was about to say something, a very soft, clearly disdainful sneer came from the back of the classroom.

It was a blond boy sitting in a chair.

He didn't even lift his head, but the mockery was so strong it seemed to overflow from him.

Tommy glared at him fiercely.

His henchmen also glared at him.

"Dio, what are you trying to say?" The female teacher frowned unhappily.

What do I want to say?

Dior leaned back in his chair, his fingers interlaced on his knees, his posture languid and comfortable.

"I was just wondering what this guy would be like without the Industrial Revolution."

He raised his eyes, his green eyes looking at Tommy with a mocking gaze.

"You will still pretend to be well-behaved in front of adults and hide behind your textbooks to sleep."

While others were working hard, you were busy dating.

"While others graduate with impressive diplomas and look for jobs, you'll only be able to carry molten iron ladles."

"After a long day at work, you lie in bed and can't help but fantasize—if only I had worked harder when I was in school."

"Would we be different if humanity hadn't developed steampunk?"

"You—! I'm going to kill you!!!"

Tommy, enraged and humiliated, turned pale and then flushed, and pointed at Dior's nose, yelling:

"What are you without the Wayne family?"

Dior stood up slowly and adjusted his cuffs.

"I am Dio Brando."

"Someone who, even starting from scratch, can make everyone remember my name."

"Billionaire? Playboy? Philanthropist? It's only a matter of time."

He sat down again, opened his textbook, and didn't even look up.

"As for you, keep dreaming. Reality has already given you the answer."

Tommy's breathing became rapid.

He quickly exchanged glances with his henchmen, their eyes growing even more venomous.

Dior didn't care at all what Tommy wanted to do.

It's nothing more than classic American bullying.

Actually, his deliberate provocation of Tommy in class just now was intentional.

However, the target wasn't Tommy, but someone else.

He turned his gaze to the other side of the classroom, to the somewhat melancholy black-haired boy, and smiled gently.

Now that Bruce is attending Gotham City High School, how can he, as the Prince of Gotham, not experience the unique features of the school?

If Bruce's will can be weakened even a little, it will also help him seize the Wayne family's property.

Naive Blues.

Let me help you fill in this gap in your knowledge.

Dior glanced at the furious Tommy, then at his glaring underlings, and a slight smile played on his lips.

After class, a group of people gradually surrounded his desk.

Tommy, who was in the lead, stood in front of him, with only half a step between them.

Dio tilted his head back, his emerald-green eyes staring up at the other man.

Tommy unconsciously took a half step back.

"You hate me?"

Dior's voice was neither too loud nor too soft, but it had a sweet, almost cloying quality that made one's head spin.

"You hate me because I shattered your illusions, but do you know who you should hate more?"

He turned his head and his gaze fell on the black-haired boy who was looking down at a book on the other side of the classroom.

Tommy looked somewhat dazed, his throat tightening: "Who...who is it?"

Dior smiled and looked away.

"That guy over there, Bruce Wayne, the prince of Gotham, the heir to the Wayne Enterprises, the man every girl in school wants to marry."

"The person you try so hard to please won't even give you a second glance."

Tommy's fists clenched involuntarily.

"What's the point of getting angry at me?"

Dior spread his hands, his expression innocent like that of a wrongly accused child.

"I'm not your enemy; your enemy is right there."

"He doesn't have to do anything to have things you could never have in your entire life: money, status, and fame."

He paused, then leaned close to Tommy's ear, his voice extremely low, his eyes filled with malice:

"Marianne, the girl you have a crush on, wrote a love letter to Bruce last week."

Tommy's breathing became completely disordered.

"You're talking nonsense!"

He glanced at the few henchmen beside him.

The men's eyes darted around, and none of them denied it.

Tommy's face changed from a liverish color to a bluish-gray.

He rushed past Dio, shoved aside the desk blocking his way, and walked toward Bruce.

Wow.

Dio leaned back in his chair, watching the angry figure from behind, and chuckled softly.

"The real show is about to begin."