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

"Alright, Azrael, get some rest."

"This is a device I forged myself, capable of nourishing your body."

Dior, speaking in a tone that soothes a child, led the claws to the freezer.

They breathed a sigh of relief after confirming that he had entered hibernation.

Claw successfully cultivated a personality that obeyed him, which greatly freed up his time.

He exhaled a soft breath, a hint of fatigue flashing between his brows, but he couldn't suppress the smile on his lips.

"Acting alongside a son who's a head taller than me is more tiring than negotiating with a court of owls."

Dio secretly resolved that once he had thoroughly understood the hypnotist Marcos's notes, he would continue his research.

One day, he will find a way to control people without implanting a personality.

He wants to control all the claws of the Court of Owls!

"Young Master Dior!"

Alfred rushed in from outside and visibly breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing Dio.

"What are you doing in the city so late?"

"He went on a date with a girl."

Dio patted Alfred's arm and walked past him toward the kitchen.

"I'm going to eat."

"Wait! What do you mean by 'going on a date with a girl'??"

Alfred knew this was something Dio didn't want to say, but the reason was just too outrageous.

"Young Master Dior! You haven't given me the garage key yet!"

"It's already in your pocket." Dio said without turning his head.

Alfred, recalling Dio's arm-patting gesture earlier, subconsciously touched his pocket.

The key that had disappeared earlier was now right inside.

"How did you do that?"

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

Inside the restaurant, Dior was taking small bites of a vegetable salad and sandwich made by Brewster.

The tasteless, bland texture, coupled with the terrible seasoning, makes it far more harmful than just the sum of its parts.

You wicked little bat brat! Are you trying to poison me?

Dio was eating when he saw Bruce walk in at some point, and suddenly he didn't want to say a word.

He had originally intended to share intelligence based on their strategic alliance, but now...

He glanced down at the salad in his hand, which had more dressing than vegetables, and at the sandwich.

Damn! It's awful! Even a rat could cook better than Bruce!

Bruce placed the black coffee on the table, pulled out a chair and sat down, his gaze lingering on Dior's face for a second.

"I've specifically researched the nutritional balance of these foods, but the way you're eating makes it look like you're taking medicine."

"Alfred isn't here. This is all we have in the kitchen. If you don't want to eat it, you can throw it away. Don't force yourself."

Dior swallowed the large chunk of vegetables in his mouth with difficulty, without complaining.

After all, even in the future, Batman's cooking talent can only be described as "disastrous".

Instead of blowing up the kitchen, he made a huge vegetable salad and sandwiches, which was a pleasant surprise.

"Bruce, have you heard your father talk about the Indian Mountain Project?"

Bruce put down his coffee cup, his gaze lingering on Dior's face for two seconds.

Never.

He shook his head and continued:

"But I checked Wayne Group's land records, and Indian Hill is an abandoned landfill near Arkham, used for dumping toxic waste."

Bruce paused, his brow furrowing slightly.

Why are you suddenly asking this?

It seems the Court of Owls took this wasteland and transformed it into some kind of laboratory.

Meanwhile, the projects Thomas Wayne shut down will continue to be researched in this abandoned laboratory.

Dio pondered for a moment, then instead of answering directly, he picked up a piece of salad and chewed it slowly.

"I found something about Wezan Pharmaceuticals, about that project your father shut down."

Bruce tapped his fingers lightly on the table: "What do you want?"

"Smart," Dio laughed. "Vezan Pharmaceuticals is going public, and I need their shares."

"make a deal."

Bruce agreed without hesitation—things that could be solved with money weren't problems for him.

So Dio told Bruce about the clues he had discovered.

As he listened, Bruce gradually clenched his fists and his breathing quickened, but he quickly calmed down again.

"Meet in the secret room at midnight tonight."

"Okay, then we..."

Dior lowered his head and took another bite of salad, feeling the torment in his mouth. He frowned, chewed a couple of times, and then looked up again—

The chair opposite is empty.

Only the cup of black coffee was still steaming.

Where are they?

Dior paused for a second, holding his fork, and his lips twitched.

"Walking without a sound, disappearing without a sound."

He muttered something and turned to walk upstairs.

Back in his room, Dior locked the door, leaned back in his chair, and opened the control panel.

"Now is the time to reap the rewards."

He stared at the points on the panel and took a deep breath.

Current points: 2480

That's enough for quite a few more times.

"Since we're already here, let's just do 20 pulls!"

The turntable rotates.

A series of eye-catching tequila girl photo albums, disguise guides, gangster dance tutorials...

Dior's face grew increasingly dark as he looked at the offensive photo album in his hand.

"What kind of garbage is this? Get out of here!"

He resisted the urge to smash the panel and continued drawing.

The turntable rotated again.

After several times, a golden light suddenly flashed.

Jim Gordon's One-on-One King Qualities

In Gotham, Detective Gordon always seems to inexplicably win when facing opponents of similar skill.

[Effect: Significantly increases win rate and slightly improves overall strength in 1v1 battles between equally matched opponents.]

[PS: Even the King of One-on-One Battles isn't invincible; never try to arm wrestle with Darkseid.]

"Oh?"

Dior's breath hitched, and the photo album slipped from his hand and fell to the ground, but he didn't even notice.

One-on-one king? Gordon's trait of always being able to turn the tide in desperate situations?

He sat up abruptly, his eyes almost gleaming.

Although there was no muscle swelling, no electric current surging, and no feeling at all, a strange sense of certainty arose in my mind.

It's like someone who never plays cards suddenly realizing that even with a bad hand, they're guaranteed to win the next round.

"King of One-on-One Fights?"

Dior flexed his fingers, and a slow smile crept onto his lips.

"So, as long as my opponent isn't ridiculously strong, I won't lose in a one-on-one situation?"

He narrowed his eyes, a hint of amusement in his voice:

"This guy seems even better than Captain Wu Wukai. He can only draw, but I can win."

"Tsk, Detective Gordon, your greatest contribution in this life is probably being drawn by me."

Dior paused, glanced at the PS icon on the panel again, and chuckled.

"I'm not stupid. Fighting a monster of that level one-on-one is suicide, not a duel."

He leaned back in his chair, interlaced his fingers on his knees, and a calculating glint flashed in his eyes.

If used properly, this ability will be the safety net for all his future one-on-one battles.

Whether facing assassins with claws and the Court of Owls, or those arrogant supervillains.

As long as the difference in strength isn't too great, he has the confidence to back it up.

"snort."

Dio turned his head to look at the Gotham City skyline outside the window.

"Lady Luck has lifted my skirt again."

He touched the three black moles on his ears, his eyes deep and unfathomable.

"So what surprises will the files in the locked room bring me?"