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

"It's Dior. What am I doing?"

"This one?"

"I'm drinking at a bar right now."

Listening to Harvey's feigned ignorance on the other end of the phone, Dior rolled his eyes as he walked away:

"Really? What kind of bar would have such vulgar Italian jokes?"

"Who knows? Maybe someone gets drunk and likes to tell vulgar jokes."

Harvey continued to play dumb.

"I hope you wore rubber shoes today, Harvey."

Dior gave a cold reply and then hung up the phone cleanly and decisively.

Since Harvey isn't going to help, then I'll do it myself.

Finding the person who was electrocuted is much simpler than outsmarting the Court of Owls.

Claw was the first subordinate with extraordinary abilities he acquired after arriving in this world, and he was the key to freeing him from time constraints.

He was determined to acquire knowledge about the electric torturers.

For him, anything he wants must be obtained as soon as possible.

He would gradually acquire both electrical knowledge and the Wayne family's wealth.

The crisp sound of footsteps echoed on the creaking stairs of the Wayne family home.

Dior's expression remained completely hidden in the shadows as he walked upwards at a leisurely pace.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he glanced at Bruce and Alfred standing at the entrance of the cold storage, a hint of gloom flashing in his eyes before he quickly looked away.

After a while.

The garage door of the Wayne family slowly opened.

A figure flashed by.

Dior stepped forward, flipped over, and straddled the black-painted Kawasaki Ninja 400, twisting the throttle.

Buzz---! Buzz-----! !

The roar of the engine, like a startled wild beast, exploded from the depths of the garage.

After the silver chariot donned its helmet, it stood quietly to one side like a knight.

Dior twisted the throttle, and the rear wheels scraped against the ground, kicking up a pungent cloud of white smoke.

The motorcycle shot out of the garage door like an arrow, its golden hair dancing wildly in the airflow.

This motorcycle is one of the results of the past few months; he spent more than two weeks making improvements to it.

Not only has the seat height been lowered to perfectly suit my current height of 167 cm, but the engine horsepower has also been increased significantly.

Dior leaned slightly forward, his center of gravity merging with the car body, pressing down perfectly on every curve.

In fact, he discovered his talent for driving when he was a child.

Not just motorcycles, but also horses, cars, tractors, and even the rusty harvester on the farm.

He was born with a sense of balance that others need to practice repeatedly to master.

He can easily figure out the operating rhythm that others need to deliberately memorize.

This is talent.

The evening breeze in Gotham carried the salty smell of the river.

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

"The last piece of the puzzle has been pulled to my side by gravity!"

"Just you wait!"

At the same time, at the entrance of the cold storage, Bruce and Alfred both looked up.

"Was that the sound of a motorcycle?"

Alfred instinctively reached into the pocket of his suit jacket.

empty.

He paused for a moment, then patted his pants pockets, the side pockets of his coat, and even the inside pockets of his overcoat.

still none.

"Garage key..."

Alfred's brow furrowed, his fingers fumbling in his pocket.

"When were you taken away?"

He looked up at Bruce.

"It must have been when I patted your arm."

Bruce shrugged, his expression calm, showing no surprise whatsoever.

He noticed Dio's interest in the newspaper articles as soon as school ended this afternoon.

After all, Dior's eyes would always crinkle slightly whenever he encountered something that interested him.

This was a subconscious action, very light and quick; if one didn't observe it intentionally, no one would notice it at all.

But Bruce noticed.

For the past few months, he has been quietly observing Dior's every move.

"If I'm not mistaken, he should be going to find the person who used electric shock."

"An electrician?"

Alfred closed his eyes in distress, and after a brief moment of thought, sighed.

"I have to go to Gotham, Master Bruce."

"It's okay, I'll just eat a little something for dinner."

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

Gotham City arrived quickly.

Outside the now-renovated flea market, a Kawasaki Ninja 400 was parked.

Dior removed his helmet, freeing his blond hair from its confinement, and slowly exhaled a breath of white air.

"It's 5 o'clock? Hopefully, we can still have dinner soon."

After getting out of the car, he glanced at his watch, leaned against the car quietly, and waited patiently.

(Main character's clothing)

The noisy music from the flea market during the day had long since stopped, as it was almost evening.

It's not that homeless children are well-behaved and don't want to disturb the peace, but rather that this place is no longer their territory at night.

Every evening, homeless people would return to the flea market and chase the little kids out.

After all, a place with a roof is really hard to find.

"Get lost, you brat!"

A homeless man roughly shoved a flamboyant Black child.

"I know! I've grown legs!"

The Black child fell to the ground, complaining.

"What a pile of shit!"

Seeing this, Dior leaned against the car, watching coldly without any emotional reaction.

This is none of his business.

A moment later, a thin figure appeared at the end of the street, sneaking along the wall as it jogged over.

"Boss, you—"

Peter, panting, bent over, supporting himself on his knees.

"You came too fast, I wasn't ready."

"You don't need to prepare anything."

Dior took a banknote out of his pocket and patted it lightly in his hand.

"Tell me, what did you see?"

Peter swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on the hundred-dollar bill, but he still delivered the information first:

"This morning, I set up a stall on the seventh transportation line, near the dock industrial area."

"I saw an old man with my own eyes. He was wearing a black leather jacket and had a large box on his back. The box was covered with electrical wires."

"Behind that man were four burly men, all dressed in black leather jackets, each one stronger than the last, their arms thicker than my thighs."

"But... their eyes are wrong, boss. I've seen that look before. Those drug-addicted homeless people in the East District look like that, like their souls have been ripped out."

Upon hearing this string of words, Dio's eye twitched violently.

I don't know if it's because we've gotten to know each other better, but Peter has been talking more and more lately.

He talked non-stop, like a machine gun, rattling off his words in no time.

"The information you brought this time was very useful. What about the Gotham electricity report you bought from the black market broker?"

"Here."

Peter rubbed his hands together, pulled out a folder, and hesitantly handed it over.

"Boss, those guys look really dangerous. Are you sure you want to go?"

Dio didn't answer, but instead slapped the money into Peter's hand, opened the folder, and started looking through it.

"Don't show your face at the flea market these next few days."

Peter took the money, hesitated for a moment, and then nodded.

"Then be careful."

By the light of the streetlamp, Dior leaned against the car, flipping through the electricity usage reports page by page.

The data was all very dry, dense numbers and curves, but his eyes scanned it quickly like a scanner, memorizing the data.

Most of the anomalies were small, but there was only one place where anomalies started to appear in the last two days.

Owen Electronics Store.

Located on the edge of the dock industrial area, the electricity consumption has surged in the past three days, with the peak concentrated in the late night to early morning hours.

Dio stared at the name, nodded, and a knowing glint flashed in his eyes.

Electricity consumption surged, late at night, during an experiment.

Electric torture victim, I've got you.

After putting away his phone, he climbed into the car.

"I hope Owen Electronics is still open."

The Kawasaki Ninja 400, like a black arrow, blends into the Gotham night.