During this period, Victor Kent's progress with the fusion templates had not slowed in the slightest. In fact, his growth had remained remarkably steady thanks to one particularly valuable source of emotional energy.
Bruce Wayne.
The billionaire heir spent an unusual amount of time thinking about him. Whenever Victor crossed Bruce's mind, the emotions that followed were rarely simple curiosity. Instead, they came in waves of suspicion, doubt, and quiet concern.
"From morning until night," Victor thought calmly, "rarely a moment of rest."
Suspicion was one of Batman's most defining traits. Even among his closest allies, if Bruce sensed the slightest possibility of danger or loss of control, he would secretly prepare contingency plans to neutralize them.
Ironically, the most admirable part of that personality flaw was the fact that Bruce never applied a double standard. The same ruthless logic he used on others, he applied to himself even more harshly.
In fact, Batman had once prepared a contingency plan in case he ever lost control of himself. The solution he devised was chilling in its symbolism: his parents' graves would be unearthed and used as a psychological weapon to attack him while he was emotionally unstable.
Few people in the world were as merciless toward themselves as Bruce Wayne.
Victor shook the thought away.
"Better to deal with Avery quickly and head back to Smallville."
Compared to Batman's complex personality, Victor preferred gathering emotional points from Clark. Even if Clark's moral purity sometimes bordered on saintly, his emotional responses were far easier to predict.
The envelope Selina had purchased contained Mary's intelligence report. The message was brief and written entirely by hand. There were no photographs included.
Victor understood why immediately.
Powerful crime bosses like Carmine Falcone or Roman Sionis were rarely photographed without their consent. A camera pointed at them usually meant a sniper rifle might be pointed at them too.
Victor's eyes moved across the first line of the report.
"Carmine Falcone, known as 'The Roman,' appears to have suffered a mysterious injury recently. Witnesses reported that his hands were wrapped in bandages. He has also been wearing a scarf around his neck with unusual frequency, apparently to hide bruising."
Victor's eyes narrowed.
He didn't need to read the rest.
Avery had clearly already found Falcone.
Meanwhile, not far away in the same restaurant, Bruce Wayne sat among Gotham's elite while casually chatting with several corporate executives and board members.
The conversation eventually shifted toward Gotham's growing number of vigilantes.
Bruce listened with a careless grin before raising a finger and tapping the side of his head mockingly.
"That guy running around dressed like a bat?" he said with exaggerated disdain. "There's probably something wrong with him up here."
Several guests chuckled politely.
Bruce leaned back in his chair, continuing the act.
"Honestly, the guy must have a terrible life. If he had anything fun to do, he wouldn't be stealing jobs from police officers."
At that moment the restaurant manager approached the table. The man wore a neat mustache and carried himself with the slightly condescending confidence common among managers of elite establishments.
"Sir," he said stiffly, "please look at your companions. The decorative pool inside the restaurant is not intended for swimming."
Bruce turned his head.
The two models he had arrived with had stripped down to their underwear and jumped directly into the decorative pool in the center of the restaurant. They were laughing and splashing water at each other like playful mermaids, completely ignoring the stunned diners watching nearby.
The behavior was undeniably inappropriate.
It had also attracted a great deal of attention.
"I'm going to have to ask you to leave," the manager said firmly.
Bruce gave an apologetic smile.
"I'm sorry. They just have… very bold personalities."
As he spoke, Bruce casually pulled out his checkbook and began writing.
"Sir," the manager said sternly, "no matter how much you tip—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Bruce had already filled the check with a long string of zeros, writing them almost carelessly as if he were doodling.
One zero.
Two zeros.
Three.
Four.
Bruce stood up and stuffed the check into the manager's chest pocket like a discarded receipt.
"I'm buying the restaurant," he said lightly.
The manager froze.
"New rule," Bruce continued with a grin. "Swimming in the pool is now allowed."
Without waiting for a response, Bruce winked at the stunned diners before leaping into the pool himself. Water splashed everywhere as he joined the two models, laughing loudly as if the entire world existed solely for his entertainment.
For a moment he truly looked like nothing more than a reckless playboy.
Then Bruce suddenly froze.
In the middle of the pool, he had caught sight of a familiar figure sitting at a table nearby.
Victor Kent.
The realization struck him instantly.
The two models didn't notice anything unusual. Still laughing, they splashed water across Bruce's face.
Water poured over his head, soaking his hair and running down his cheeks.
Bruce wiped his face and forced his carefree smile back into place. But the expression looked slightly stiff now.
Batman's embarrassing moments were rare.
Victor watched the scene from his seat with mild amusement before lowering his gaze again. After finishing the information in the envelope, he stood up alongside Selina and quietly left the restaurant.
"Bruce, you look amazing today!" one of the models giggled behind him. "Let's go buy another restaurant somewhere!"
Bruce nodded mechanically.
"Sure."
…
Outside the restaurant, Selina stepped onto the sidewalk, the night air cool against her skin.
She glanced sideways at Victor.
"Did you find your target?"
Victor nodded calmly.
Just as expected, Avery had come to Gotham and immediately sought out one of the city's most powerful crime bosses—Carmine Falcone.
"Falcone is called 'The Roman,'" Selina said as they walked. "His gang calls itself the Roman Empire. He's ruthless and extremely well-connected. City council members, high-ranking police officers… he has relationships everywhere."
Her voice lowered slightly.
"People like that aren't easy to attack. If someone moves against him, they'd better be ready to kill him completely. Otherwise the retaliation will be brutal."
Yet Falcone had survived the encounter.
Not only that, the bruises on his neck suggested he had been humiliated rather than assassinated.
Victor understood what that meant.
Whoever attacked Falcone hadn't been afraid of retaliation at all.
"So," Selina said, glancing at him with raised eyebrows, "our deal is finished?"
Victor knew exactly what she meant.
She wasn't asking about the information.
She wanted to know about the Heart-Shaped Herb.
"I'll bring it next time I come to Gotham," he replied casually.
Selina stopped walking.
"Next time?"
Her eyes widened in disbelief.
Victor smiled.
"Beautiful lady," he said lightly, "don't you know that plants have seasons?"
Then his gaze suddenly shifted past her shoulder.
"What's that?"
Selina instinctively turned around.
"What?"
The street behind her was empty.
When she turned back, Victor was gone.
The realization hit her instantly.
She had been tricked.
Selina's lungs felt like they might explode from anger. Her teeth clenched as fiercely as an enraged black cat.
"Don't let me see you again, you—"
Her voice stopped.
She suddenly realized something absurd.
From yesterday until now… she still didn't know the man's name.
Selina stared at the empty street in disbelief.
She felt like she was losing her mind.
Dressed in an elegant evening gown and standing outside one of Gotham's most expensive restaurants, she looked like a woman from high society. Several pedestrians nearby shook their heads quietly, assuming she must be another unfortunate girl who had been abandoned after an expensive date.
"Miss?" one man approached cautiously, clearly hoping to start a conversation.
"Get lost!"
…
Night had fully fallen.
On the outskirts of Gotham stood an old manor surrounded by thick trees and high iron fences. Armed gang members patrolled the grounds with aggressive guard dogs, their footsteps steady and disciplined.
This was the headquarters of Gotham's most powerful crime family.
Falcone's domain.
The security surrounding the estate rivaled that of a high-security prison.
Victor appeared quietly outside the manor gates, wearing a perfectly tailored suit.
"Sometimes," he murmured softly, "even childish tricks work surprisingly well."
As for the Heart-Shaped Herb…
In the next universe he planned to visit, it simply didn't exist.
Still, Selina hadn't lost anything. At the very least, she had enjoyed a luxurious meal at a restaurant she had always wanted to visit.
…
Inside the manor, the luxurious master bedroom that once belonged to Carmine Falcone was now occupied by someone else. Faint, uncomfortable sounds occasionally drifted from behind the closed door.
Falcone himself stepped out of the room with a dark expression.
The man known as the Roman possessed sharp gray hair, cold eyes, and a calm, calculating face that had intimidated Gotham's underworld for decades.
Several subordinates immediately approached him, clearly eager to report something.
Falcone raised his hand.
"Not here," he said quietly.
They moved into another room deeper inside the estate.
"Did you find him?" Falcone asked.
"Yes, boss."
One of the men nodded.
"His name is Avery Reagan. He's a high school student from Smallville."
Falcone's expression twisted.
"A high school student?"
His hand instinctively touched the bruised skin of his neck.
Several days earlier, someone had suddenly appeared inside his manor as if materializing from thin air. The intruder ignored the dozens of guns pointed at him and crossed the room faster than anyone could react.
Before Falcone understood what was happening, the boy had lifted him off the ground with one hand gripping his throat.
The message had been simple.
Submit.
Or die.
"I was almost strangled to death by a teenager," Falcone muttered darkly.
When death hovered that close, pride meant nothing. Falcone had been forced to surrender in humiliation.
In just a few short days, his entire criminal empire had effectively become the boy's toy. Falcone himself had become little more than a subordinate carrying out orders.
"Boss," another subordinate said cautiously, "our people have already located his parents. We can capture them anytime and use them as leverage."
Falcone shook his head immediately.
"Not yet."
Fear flickered briefly in his eyes.
That boy's skin had shrugged off submachine gun fire like raindrops. His speed exceeded the speed of sound.
He wasn't human.
He was a monster.
"Young men like that are the hardest to control," Falcone continued slowly. "They act without thinking about consequences. They're fearless."
He looked toward the floor.
"Threatening his parents might not work. For now, keep it as a last resort."
Even after fifty years of life in Gotham's underworld, Falcone still had no desire to gamble his own life.
"But when will we act?" one subordinate asked nervously.
Falcone fell silent.
"What is he afraid of?" he murmured.
The men around him exchanged confused looks.
"What?"
Falcone's eyes narrowed.
"That boy has something he cares about deeply. I tested him several times. I even suggested he take control of Gotham's entire underworld using his strength."
Falcone shook his head.
"He refused."
The only thing the boy had demanded was money and manpower.
"So what could possibly make someone with that kind of power hesitate?" Falcone muttered.
Inside the room, Gotham's crime godfather and his most trusted men continued discussing the mystery.
Then—
Bang!
The window exploded inward.
Glass shards burst across the room as a cold figure suddenly shot through the shattered window like a cannonball.
....
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