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

Ring ring, ring ring.

In the kitchen, Alfred was wiping the dishes when he heard the doorbell and paused.

The old butler put down the rag, walked to the door, gently opened it, and gracefully stepped aside to extend his hand to the visitor.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome, Alfred."

The person who came was wrapped up tightly, with the brim of his hat pulled low.

He quickly shoved a file folder into Alfred's arms and stretched his sore neck.

"That's all. Finding these wasn't easy; God knows what I encountered."

Just as the information broker was about to complain, he looked down and saw the Franklin that Alfred was handing him.

"Take it, then leave."

"...Okay." The information broker nodded, clutching the money as he quickly disappeared into the mist.

After watching the intelligence broker leave, Alfred closed the door and opened the file bag.

Inside was a stack of photos—a rusty harvester with a blond boy sitting in the driver's seat.

The sunlight made his blond hair shine brightly, but his face was perfectly hidden in the shadows.

The boy rested his chin on one hand and his other hand on the steering wheel.

If we ignore that very common tractor...

He was like a nobleman on horseback, elegant, aloof, and out of place with his surroundings.

"My God, a poor nobleman who once lived on a farm."

Alfred murmured, pulling out the next document.

"Mother died from overwork, father disappeared, only an Irish uncle who's a policeman?"

Alfred's brow furrowed more and more deeply.

The boy in the photo is Dior, but all of this... is too perfect, too deliberate.

Why would Mr. Thomas adopt him when he already has relatives? Or is it...?

The old butler quickly stuffed the photo back into the file folder and turned to look towards the study.

Ten minutes ago, Master Bruce said he was going to study with Dio in the study, which might take several hours.

Why is Young Master Bruce so quiet this time? He's not even drinking tea.

A sense of foreboding washed over Alfred. He strode towards the study, and the moment he pushed open the door...

He was stunned.

The study was empty, the curtains were billowing in the wind, the window was open, and there was no one in the room.

Alfred gripped the file folder in his hand tightly, his expression changing several times.

"...Damn it!"

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

Unlike Alfred's headache, two teenagers came to Gotham City's East Side today.

The two teenagers crossed the wet streets together, avoiding puddles, their goal clear.

Bruce remained silent throughout, but after walking two blocks, he suddenly spoke:

"Dio, I think we should come up with two fake names."

Dior paused, looking at him with a half-smile:

"You've been holding this in the whole way, and this is all you've been thinking about?"

But then he thought about it again and realized it wasn't entirely impossible.

The contact asked him to report on Bruce Wayne's every move.

But right now, Bruce Wayne and Dio Brando are "studying" in the study at Wayne Manor.

So, what came to Gotham were just two mysterious teenagers who looked alike.

"All right."

Dio's eyes darted around, a mischievous glint in his eye, and he said:

"From now on, my name is Jonathan, and your name is Clark."

"This sounds like a kid who grew up on a farm."

Bruce did not refuse. To him, a name was just a code, an identity, and it didn't matter what he was called.

"By the way, you know what?" Dio said as they walked, "Anyone who's been around the streets will know a few cops."

"However, the case is closed now, and it won't be so easy to get the files out; it's also easy to expose them. But..."

As he spoke, Dior took out his old-fashioned flip phone, dialed a number, whispered a few words, and then hung up.

"I happen to know someone trustworthy who can retrieve our parents' files from the archives; he'll be there soon."

Dio emphasized the word "we" as he turned his head to stare at Bruce.

Bruce's expression remained unchanged, his eyes as calm as a stranger's, simply looking at him indifferently.

A hint of confusion flashed through Dior's mind.

How is that possible?

He should have reacted emotionally when his parents were mentioned!

Were all those previous reactions just an act?

Little did he know, out of his sight, Bruce's hand, hanging by his side, had his fingertips digging into his palm.

Soon, a car stopped at the entrance of the alley.

A chubby detective emerged—Harvey Block, a familiar face to many, this Irish-American detective.

He wore a top hat, his beard was neatly trimmed, and a few hickeys were faintly visible on his collar.

Hmph! Looks like someone had a tough time last night.

Dio saw all of this and gave Bruce a look, telling him not to say anything carelessly later.

As soon as he got out of the car, Harvey strode over, his voice so loud it could be heard throughout the entire alley:

"Hey! Dio, I thought you died in some Gotham sewer like your scumbag father!"

"No need to be so polite."

Upon hearing this, a hint of displeasure flashed in Dior's eyes. After quickly straightening his collar, he said:

"Detective Harvey, I heard you have a new partner named Jim Gordon. We're his friends."

"Besides, we're already so familiar with each other, let's skip the reminiscing. So, what do I want?"

There's nothing there!

Xavi suddenly closed in, his fingers almost poking Dio's collar, his demeanor menacing:

"The Wayne couple's case is closed."

"It was Mario Pepper! I shot him myself, with Gordon! All of Gotham knows!"

Harvey's eyes were threatening, and he spoke in a menacing tone, as if threatening a prisoner:

"Dio, I heard you were adopted by the Wayne family."

"Listen, if you don't want to die in some gutter, don't investigate this. Just be a good young master—"

His gaze fell on Bruce, and he suddenly froze.

"....oh."

Harvey glanced at Bruce, then at Dio, his eyes flashing with intense struggle for a moment before turning angry again.

"You're asking for it! You two brats, go home! Fuck!"

With that, Harvey shoved Dio hard and turned to leave.

Bruce helped the staggering Dio up and gave him an inquiring look.

After Dio regained his footing, he looked at Bruce and shook his head.

Because he knew how to deal with such righteous people!

That is guilt!

Dio narrowed his eyes and shouted loudly at Harvey as he left:

"Harvey! You brought the stuff! You know Mario is innocent!"

Harvey stopped in his tracks, his shoulders heaved a few times, and finally he slowly turned around.

At this moment, the bluffing ferocity on Harvey's face had completely faded, leaving only exhaustion and guilt.

He walked back, didn't even look at Dio, and stuffed a brown paper bag into Bruce's arms.

"Your detective game ends here."

"Go home now, Dio. Got enough teenagers and boys have gone missing in Gotham lately."

"The Wayne case is very complicated. Anyone who dares to investigate will die. Take my advice and don't get involved."

Finally, Xavi placed his hand on Dio's shoulder, his eyes even carrying a hint of pleading.

"Is that okay?"

"Don't worry, I'm just a little curious."

Dio coldly slapped Harvey's hand away and walked out of the alley.

"I hope you get alcoholic hepatitis so you don't have to drink anymore, Harvey."

"Hey! I can't pretend I didn't hear that."

Upon hearing this, Harvey instinctively took a step forward, the heaviness on his face lessening somewhat:

"You brat."

"You know that's the most vicious curse you can cast on an Irishman, don't you?"

Dior ignored him.

Bruce was the only one left in the alley. He lowered his head, staring at the dossier in his hand, his fingers tightening little by little.

The photo shows the Wayne couple lying in a pool of blood on a rainy night, with pearls scattered all over the ground.

Looking at the photo, Bruce's fingers tightened little by little, and he felt something burning deep inside his body.

Is it anger? Or fear?

he does not know.

He also didn't want to know.