Bruce Wayne opened his mouth.
He stared at the frozen darkness on the screen. Then, he listened to Green Arrow's raging roar for a "refund" echoing in his ear.
For the first time in his life, he felt a violent urge to drag a certain brat from the Kent family out and run him over a hundred times with the Batmobile.
"What the hell... is this supposed to be?!"
Ultimately, his expression froze into a complex amalgamation of humiliation, bewilderment, grievance, and a deep philosophical contemplation of what is wrong with this world.
Earth. Does not allow an existence that is so badass?!
This method of framing someone was truly too filthy. It was so filthy that even Batman—the absolute filthiest player in the DC Universe—found it unbearable. Worse yet, it would be incredibly difficult for him to wash the mud off his own name.
After all.
The person who understood Batman best was Superman. The phrases, posture, and modus operandi used by the fake Batman manufactured by Superman's son genuinely looked exactly like Batman's style.
"..."
Bruce Wayne stared at the screen where Batman was gradually fading back into the shadows. That little bastard Ian was rich now; he had completely abandoned those cheap-looking suits.
The fake Batman's armor looked identical to his own primary tactical suit—either it had been stolen directly from Wayne Manor, or it had been stripped right off Damian.
The odds for both possibilities were a perfect fifty-fifty. However, the real Batman, Bruce Wayne, didn't care about that right now. His mind was entirely occupied by a stampede of mythical grass-mud horses.
The fake Batman's every word, action, pose, and movement made Batman's psychological defense crumble. He had zero doubt that if there were a Batman-impersonation contest, he would probably place second.
"No, wait. How did he manage to make *that* image the definitive Batman in people's hearts?!" Bruce Wayne suffered a massive mental breakdown. Yet, that wasn't even the thing that made him feel the most miserable.
The most miserable part was that if Green Arrow, Oliver Queen, believed he had set up this trap to harvest global capital, then the other mega-capitalists who knew Bruce Wayne was Batman would undoubtedly think the same. Bruce never believed that all capitalists were completely brainless morons.
In fact.
Batman was in his middle ages now. Following so many years of high-profile activity, the things he did in Gotham as Batman could easily lead anyone with a sufficient information network, logical deduction skills, and the willingness to analyze to narrow down who Batman could be.
The logical chain pointing Batman's identity toward Bruce Wayne was incredibly robust.
Batman possessed highly advanced gear, vehicles, a city-wide surveillance network, and multiple secret bases. These required astronomical wealth and top-tier technological research and development capabilities.
In Gotham City.
The individuals or organizations capable of funding all of this could be counted on one hand. As the richest man in Gotham and the owner of Wayne Enterprises—a colossal empire of technology and industry—Bruce Wayne was the candidate who best fit the criteria of "having both motive and capability."
Batman primarily operated at night. Meanwhile, Bruce Wayne was a playboy by day, frequently absent from board meetings, staying out late into the night, or claiming to be "handling personal matters." This temporal "gap period" overlapped heavily with Batman's active hours.
Batman was the world's top martial artist, detective, and strategist. Bruce Wayne had traveled the world, studying under multiple martial arts masters and detective experts; their backgrounds aligned perfectly.
Bruce Wayne's parents had been gunned down in Crime Alley, which directly led to his vow of vengeance against criminals.
Batman's entire existence was a declaration of war against Gotham's vice, and his core psychological drive perfectly matched Bruce's childhood trauma. Based on these points, an intelligent observer—such as the Riddler or Hugo Strange—had every reason to focus their investigation on Bruce Wayne.
Across the entire globe.
The number of people who knew Bruce Wayne's identity definitely exceeded two hands. Every single one of them was a highly troublesome, brilliant mind. And if this demographic had participated in the gambling pool just like Green Arrow...
"..."
Bruce Wayne didn't even dare to overthink it. It was true that he was the king of courage in Gotham, but that status didn't stop large beads of sweat from breaking out on his forehead.
A terrible premonition had already risen in his heart.
Meanwhile, Green Arrow's voice was still roaring into his earpiece.
"Refund! Motherfucker! Refund!"
Clearly.
This billionaire hero, who had also participated in certain "recreational gambling" activities, had witnessed that "earth-shattering" backstab just now. He had passed the black pot over to Batman, Bruce Wayne, without a shred of hesitation.
Although Green Arrow wasn't a core member of the Justice League, he was an established, pay-to-win hero who maintained a relationship with the League that was neither distant nor overly intimate.
He was particularly annoyed by Batman, a fellow billionaire with whom he competed on projects in various business sectors. Therefore, when he discovered that Bruce Wayne was going to bet against the mega-capitalists, he chose to jump in as well.
God only knew how many resources and analysts Oliver Queen had deployed to run calculations—not to make money, but solely to create an obstacle for Bruce Wayne so that Bruce couldn't get what he wanted.
He had calculated a great many things.
The only thing he hadn't anticipated was that the goddamn Ian Kent would actually collude with a filthy capitalist like Batman to put on such an outrageous, rigged display for the entire world.
Seriously.
Superman's child. How could he have absolutely no moral bottom line?!
This was even more infuriating to Oliver Queen than insider stock trading. He truly didn't care about making money, but he couldn't just stand by and watch his invested capital get swindled away in this manner!
"Look... Oliver, calm down and let me explain." Bruce Wayne took a deep breath, forcing his voice to maintain its customary composure. His own mood wasn't a single bit better than Green Arrow's.
"Explain?"
From the other side of the comms came Green Arrow's cold snort, sounding as though he were laughing from sheer rage.
"More like listening to how you sophistically defend yourself! A global livestream! Billions of eyes saw it! You organized a fraudulent syndicate!" In Green Arrow's mind, an ordinary kid definitely couldn't pull off something like this.
There had to be a Gothamite pulling the strings from behind.
"It's not a sophisticated defense. This matter truly has nothing to do with me. I merely wish to clarify a fact..." Bruce sighed helplessly, a rare trace of genuine exhaustion creeping into his voice.
He was about to explain in detail just how wronged he was, and how that child from the Kent family had been learning how to evolve from a slave driver into a human entrepreneur ever since he was in the womb.
However.
"Heh."
Green Arrow cut Bruce Wayne off directly with a cold, mocking laugh.
"Still the same old routine, isn't it? 'Everything has nothing to do with me,' 'everything happens for a reason,' 'all of this is within my calculations'... Bruce, you've been using the 'Boy Who Cried Wolf' story over and over again. Do you really think I'll fall into your trap this time?"
Oliver's voice carried a tone of finality, as if he had seen right through him. He didn't even wait for Bruce Wayne to offer any response.
"Just you wait! We aren't done this time! We'll see each other in court..." Oliver paused slightly here, then changed his words with an even more vicious tone.
"Taking you to court is letting you off too easy! We'll see each other on the Superhero Popularity Hub! Get ready to regret this!" With that, without giving Bruce another chance to speak, the communication was violently severed from the other end.
Leaving behind only a string of busy tones.
Bruce: "..."
The first half of Green Arrow's sentence, "see you in court," didn't frighten him at all; the Wayne Enterprises legal department wasn't a bunch of pushovers. But the second half, "Superhero Popularity Hub"... though it sounded childish, Batman knew exactly what kind of cesspool that place was.
Although most people on Earth loved the Superhero Popularity Hub because it was filled with all sorts of entertainment regarding superheroes, Bruce Wayne—or rather, Batman—was the sole exception.
The reason was simple. Because he was the primary target that people continuously made fun of on that hub. In his mind, the Superhero Popularity Hub was highly comparable to the comment section of a toxic drama forum in the eyes of a normal person.
At the thought of Green Arrow—a guy who actually possessed legitimate, inside information—joining the ranks of his anti-fans, the mental picture was simply too beautiful. Just thinking about it gave Bruce a headache.
"No! I can't let him log onto that godforsaken website!" Even with his Bat-contingencies, attempting to remotely operate right now and cut off Star City's network wouldn't be fast enough.
One had to realize. Oliver's control over that city was also exceptional.
Many of the hidden measures Batman had planted had been rooted out by Oliver. Because of this, without activating the ultimate contingency plan against Green Arrow, and lacking the ability to directly use financial power to shut down Star City's network services or partial power facilities, Batman could only act decisively by pulling out his phone to contact assistance.
He dialed directly to Alfred, who was far away in another Batcave.
"Alfred." Bruce spoke at an extremely rapid pace. "Immediately initiate emergency protocol 'Operation Line-Cutter'! Target: Queen Manor's main estate and all known external network interface locations of Oliver Queen's safe houses!"
"Deploy micro-drones and physically snip his network cables!" What did it mean to return to simplicity? This was returning to simplicity. Alfred seemed to freeze for a moment on the other end of the line, but his excellent professional demeanor kept him from asking questions.
The most mature Batman was indeed adept at using the most primitive methods to solve problems.
Alfred had long since grown accustomed to this. After all, during a past corporate war against a merchant from China, he had been tasked by Batman to go out in the middle of the night and pour boiling water on the other party's money tree.
It was all about information gathering and psychological warfare.
The results were excellent too. Sometimes, as long as a seemingly simple problem-solving method led to a result that aligned with expectations and designs, the omnipotent Batman wouldn't mind launching a spitting attack at someone.
"Sigh!"
Hanging up the call with Alfred, Bruce calmed his slightly erratic breathing and heartbeat. He was truly frustrated beyond measure. This feeling of being framed with no way to defend himself made him realize that his actual credibility and reputation seemed to be even lower than his worst estimate of being universally reviled.
To be honest, if this financial operation had actually been masterminded by him, and he had successfully harvested global capital, then bearing the black pot of "eliminating an uncontrollable, powerful existence" would be something Bruce Wayne could grit his teeth and accept for the greater good... no, wrong script, for a greater strategic layout.
Perhaps he would have just owned up to it.
But he hadn't done it!
He turned his frustrated gaze toward the holographic screens floating in front of him, which displayed the interface of the special gambling pool he had established within a private network specifically for this event.
Although the capital flow and final settlement numbers on it didn't look anomalous, and the invested funds along with the profits were resting safely across various anonymous accounts, this fact failed to make Bruce Wayne breathe a sigh of relief.
He understood that little brat Ian Kent all too well! That kid had gone through immense trouble to orchestrate such a massive show, opened global betting lines, and then forced a conclusion with an out-of-bounds option like "Batman wins"?
This made absolutely no logical sense! That kid could never be so "kind" as to pass up on fat meat that was already at his mouth! No matter how one looked at it, this appeared to be a posture intended to abscond with all the capital invested in the gambling market!
"This guy must have already done something."
The intuition in Batman's heart flashed a frantic warning. He immediately swung into action, his fingers flying across the virtual keyboard like a top-tier pianist performing a masterpiece.
Countless data streams were mobilized by him, quietly infiltrating the central systems of the world's major banks to directly examine the underlying flow of funds.
The result... left him somewhat surprised.
The funds invested by the wealthy tycoons who participated in his private gambling pool, as well as the massive stakes he had put in himself, were all resting safely within their respective accounts at this moment.
The figures hadn't decreased by a single cent. It was as if that earth-shattering gamble had never occurred. Of course, the more "normal" it appeared, the deeper Bruce Wayne's brow furrowed.
This was completely abnormal! Would Ian kindly return the gentry's money "in full"? Absolutely not! That guy preyed on rich people the hardest!
Suddenly, an extremely absurd yet highly characteristic thought flashed through Bruce's mind like lightning!
He violently switched his surveillance targets. No longer focusing on those numbers inside the banks, he directly pulled up the real-time surveillance of his most secretive private vault beneath Wayne Manor.
Sure enough. Bruce found the truth.
The screen flickered, revealing a 360-degree, dead-zone-free surveillance feed from inside the vault. Stacks of gold bars radiated an enticing luster behind bulletproof glass. Everything appeared orderly.
But Bruce's gaze, functioning like the most precise scanner, detected the anomaly instantly!
In the southeast corner of the vault, the standard gold bars stamped with the Wayne family crest—which should have been stacked like a miniature pyramid—had completely vanished without a trace.
Such a massive change could never escape Batman's eyes! He immediately pulled up the asset inventory to verify—sure enough, his private vault was missing a full third of its gold reserves! Through mental calculation, the value of this lost batch of gold equated exactly to the amount of capital he had previously placed into that private gambling pool!
"He really didn't take a single goddamn cent extra..."
The corner of Batman's mouth twitched. The veins bulging on his forehead displayed the immense grievance in his heart.
That boy—that boy understood "finance" too well! He hadn't touched those US dollars that were mere numbers inside the banking systems at all. Instead, he had used an even more primitive problem-solving method than Batman snipping network cables just now—doing it himself to ensure a full belly, directly coming to the door and carting away the equivalent value in physical gold!
This was the true hard currency!
In this manner, the funds on the books showed zero movement, so nobody could trace any issue.
Yet the actual loss landed squarely upon the shoulders of every single participant! Losing gold was far more painful than losing US dollars! After all, the current US dollar could no longer be accurately referred to as "American gold notes."
"I can't be the only one who suffered... right?"
With veins throbbing, Bruce gritted his teeth. He switched the feeds to the private vaults of other mega-capitalists.
Yes, he had secretly installed surveillance inside many of their estates. These areas, which he originally regarded as reserve funds—the gold inside them belonged to things that could be used for emergencies when necessary in his mind.
Precisely because of this, he was able to realize at the very first moment that most capitalists had lost a tremendous amount of gold. The shrunken value roughly corresponded to the stakes they had put into the gamble!
Exactly how much gold the other billionaires had lost was something Bruce could easily calculate. After all, he understood how much hard currency was hidden inside their homes better than those billionaires themselves did.
"There's this one too."
"This person was burglarized as well."
"Spanning across so many locations, hiss... did he really form a New Justice League?"
To be honest, the current Bruce really wanted to @ Green Arrow, just to let Green Arrow see who the real dog was.
Yet Bruce couldn't pick out a single flaw. The other party only took the stakes and didn't display a single shred of extra greed. Attempting to convict Ian using his "moral values" was incredibly difficult.
"I don't believe it!"
Finally, Bruce froze the screen on the surveillance of a private vault belonging to a certain oil sheikh in the Middle East—Prince Salman, who was famous for collecting gold. The vault could practically be called a miniature museum.
Here, he finally spotted the culprit!
A girl wearing a casual hoodie and jeans, sporting exaggerated headphones, and seemingly chewing gum, was humming an out-of-tune melody. She strolled through the mountain-like piles of gold bars as if she were taking a walk in her own backyard.
"Genshin! Impact!"
In her hand, she held a device that looked like a tablet computer but shimmered with a faint magical glow. She scanned the gold bars with it, then lowered her head to cross-reference a crumpled little booklet that suspectedly served as a "gambling ledger." After confirming it was correct, she scanned again with the tablet, and a faint spatial ripple flashed.
Several corresponding gold bars vanished instantly.
"Madison Montgomery, Ian's lackey, his lapdog." What caused the corner of Bruce's eye to twitch was that a precision electronic scale was placed right next to Madison.
She was actually weighing the gold bars! It seemed she was ensuring that the weight taken away was accurate down to the smallest unit... rounding up or down wouldn't work; clearly, someone had specifically instructed her not to leave any handles for others to grasp.
Otherwise, the anti-fans would jump out.
This criminal syndicate was quite principled, making every single muscle on Batman's face twitch continuously—it was a good thing Ian wasn't here, otherwise Ian would have certainly categorized it as Batman having received too many injections in his face.
Staring at the screen like this.
A silent Bruce Wayne watched Madison "swipe" away the capital that was supposed to be taken. Then, before leaving, the girl actually placed a piece of A4 paper onto the ground, causing Bruce's expression to shift from silence to pure bewilderment.
[Gambling Carries Great Harm; Destitution Can Happen in an Instant — Gotham Anonymous Gamblers Treatment Association]
*A moment of excitement on top leads to a crematorium on the bottom!*
*Going all-in to enrich three generations? Ruin happens in the blink of an eye!*
*Laughing out loud at the gambling table today, sleeping under a bridge tomorrow!*
*Winning is just the fragrance of the bait; losing is an iron hook piercing your gut!*
*Win a watch today, lose a house tomorrow!*
*All-in, all-in, the hospital orthopedics department will sing your praises!*
*If you want to live a long life, stay far away from the dice-cup hand!*
...
"No, what the hell is this anti-gambling advice supposed to mean? Does he want people to praise him for being a surprisingly good guy?" At this precise moment, Batman's mind was entirely consumed by un-erasable question marks.
He was utterly incapable of understanding why Ian's operations were so bizarre.
And as for wanting to find the principal party to interrogate, question, and confront—Batman searched the entire Earth, yet failed to find Ian anywhere after his "curtain call" in that epic performance just now.
"He didn't come back?"
Batman's guess was indeed correct.
Ian was still inside his own Dark Dimension. However, it wasn't because he feared Batman coming to look for copyright fees or extorting him, a fifteen-year-old child.
Remaining inside the dimension was primarily because Ian held grudges, and if he didn't avenge a grudge on the very day it occurred, he wouldn't be able to sleep.
"A true creditor is someone like me, sealing the debtors directly inside my own body so they can't run even if they want to." Ian was examining the interior of his body.
One had to understand that inside his prostate, there were still two characters sealed away with whom he needed to settle accounts properly.
Golden Superman. And Tiga.