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

"Anger? I will learn to control it."

Bruce replied coldly, then his expression turned subtle as he seemed to realize something.

Wait a minute—who did he say came back today?

Alfred?!

"Alright, Dior, let's put everything else aside for now."

After hesitating for a moment, he walked over, looked around, and then lowered his voice:

"Alfred's back today? What are we going to do? Did you get rid of that zombie in your freezer?"

Dior couldn't help but feel a headache coming on when he recalled the cold storage room he had converted into a hypnosis chamber.

Without Alfred's help these past few months, he's really put his hands-on skills to the limit.

He not only fixed the bug where the claws wouldn't look at the pendant during hypnosis, but he also almost succeeded in hypnotizing the person.

As for how to solve the problem of "the pendant moving but the eyeball not moving", he used a machine.

Dior named it the "Neck Shaker," which is a combination of a dough mixer motor and two spatulas.

Since Alfred wasn't home, they bought all their bread and pasta from outside, so he requisitioned the dough mixer.

"Um..."

Dio lowered his head in thought for a moment, then shook his head, meeting Bruce's expectant gaze.

"I'm quite talented at admitting my mistakes."

He paused, then added, "By the way, don't tell Alfred about the secret room incident."

Bruce nodded.

Based on their understanding of the old butler, they knew he would go crazy if he found out.

If he knew the dirty secrets about the Wayne Group in the secret room, the first thing he would do would be smash the computer.

With only a few days left until the decoding is complete, all the hard work of the past few months will be wasted if all our efforts are in vain.

After discussing their plan, the two returned to the classroom for class.

Soon after, the school bell rang.

Dior and Bruce walked out of the campus and were met by a luxury Bentley.

Alfred stood beside the car, looking around at everything.

The two quickly exchanged a glance and hurried over.

"It's a bit late, young masters." It was still the familiar British accent, full of energy.

Alfred took the two backpacks, his face beaming with an uncontrollable smile.

Even though the two of them frequently visited each other during her hospitalization, they still felt like they were reunited after a long separation after she was discharged.

"Young Master Dior, your stewed beef is delicious. Bruce often mentions it to me."

"Yeah?"

Dio glanced at Bruce, who had turned his head away, and smiled silently.

"Did he mention to you that the dishes I made were stewed mutton, stewed venison, or stewed pork?"

Alfred gave an awkward laugh.

He only intended to say the nice things, but Dio ended up saying them himself.

During this time, he was hospitalized, and there was no one at home to cook, so the two of them had to take care of their own meals.

Sometimes I order takeout, sometimes I cook myself, and sometimes I hire someone to cook.

In short, these past few months have been a bumpy ride.

It has to be said that teenagers are creatures that can completely change after just a few months apart.

The car door opened, and the three people got in one after another. After the engine was started, the car drove off smoothly.

"Young Master Bruce, what's your decision? How about inviting some classmates over for a party?"

"Forget it." Bruce shook his head without even thinking.

School is just a place for learning. What's the point of inviting classmates over for a party?

Those people only care about who's good-looking and who bought new sneakers.

Instead of wasting time, they should be collecting evidence of Wayne Group's illegal activities.

"And what about young Master Dior? Do you have any friends who want to throw a party?"

"A party?"

Hearing someone ask him a question, Dior put down his newspaper and shook his head.

"I'm not interested either."

"I see."

Alfred sighed, a hint of worry flashing across his face.

The two of them have completely fallen behind their peers; this can't go on.

Even though he was in the hospital, he had been sending people to keep an eye on Bruce and Dior's school life.

The informant said that Bruce was very polite during his time at school, refusing all attempts to get close to him.

No matter what the other person says, no matter how boring it is, he will listen patiently to the end, but that's all.

As for Dio, he displayed the same extraordinary adaptability as when he entered the Wayne family, mastering the school's rules completely in just one morning.

The problem is that the kids at school are no match for him; they're completely outmaneuvered.

It was as if he came to school only because he was too bored at home and needed to find some peers to play with.

"Sigh." Alfred sighed again, looking very distressed.

But at that moment, Dior was already captivated by a sensational news story in the newspaper.

Today's Gotham is different; a criminal codenamed "Electrocutioner" has escaped from Arkham.

This person used his advanced knowledge of electricity to apply precisely calculated electrical currents to the target's brain through specially made equipment, forcibly altering the normal working pattern of the nerves.

Simply put, he can turn people into electric boys who obey his commands—a truly outrageous technique.

Several patients at Arkham have had their brains burned through by excessive electrical currents, but a few have survived.

All I can say is that Arkham is producing more and more talented people. Dio shook his head.

"This is absurd."

Dior put down the newspaper, but his mind was already set on the technology.

If the implanted personality cannot control the claws under hypnosis, can electrotherapy be used to make use of waste?

He thought it was very feasible, since claws can't be killed by electricity, so they can be used to shock people at will.

What if it works?

The Claws are useless now; no matter how you manipulate them, they won't get any worse.

Bruce took the newspaper and glanced at it, then discreetly glanced at Dio, his brow furrowing imperceptibly.

I have a feeling you're thinking about something dangerous again, Dior.

He thought to himself.

"Young Master Bruce, Young Master Dior, it seems there's been trouble up ahead."

Alfred lightly applied the brakes, his brow furrowed as he looked at the panicked crowd ahead.

Dio leaned over the front seat and followed his gaze; his enhanced vision allowed him to see everything clearly.

An ambulance was parked in front of an Italian restaurant, surrounded by many police officers.

Leading the group were familiar faces, the golden duo of Jim Gordon and Harvey Bullock.

By the way.

Since Gordon returned from his "study abroad" at Arkham, he seems to have understood something and is no longer so pedantic.

But people are still just as annoying, just as heartless.

"Alfred, stop the car."

"OK."

The car was parked on the side of the road. Dior rolled down the rear window, stopped a passerby, and asked with a smile:

"What happened up ahead? Why is there an ambulance?"

Passersby glanced up and down at the blond boy in the luxury car, showing no interest in chatting with him whatsoever.

"It exploded." After saying that, he pulled down the brim of his hat and hurried away.

"It exploded?" Dio asked thoughtfully.

In that fleeting glimpse, he could see two charred scars on either side of the man's forehead.

Although the person tried to hide it quickly, he still couldn't escape his eyes.

Are these the victims of electrotherapy?

Dior narrowed his eyes, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"What's wrong, Dior? Is there something wrong with that person?"

Bruce looked at the backs of the passersby, scanning them back and forth, but couldn't see anything unusual.

"No, I was just asking," Dio said, having already planned it out in his mind. "Let's go home."

"it is good."