American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 186 Dio - The Long Christmas (Part 1)
Gotham.

The top floor of the Iceberg Club.

Inside the lavishly decorated office, a fireplace, completely out of place with its style, was burning, with the firewood crackling loudly.

It contrasted sharply with the gray Christmas sky over Gotham outside the window.

Dio Kent
He was sitting behind that large sandalwood desk, a gold pen inlaid with gemstones between his fingers, his eyes lowered as he reviewed the Christmas schedule spread out on the table.

then
"That's enough, stop waving the pumpkin in front of me."

"Let's not even talk about which unlucky wizard's garden you got this thing from..."

Raising his sharp red eyes, Dio looked speechlessly at the beautiful woman who had slipped into his office like a nimble cat and was now presenting him with a pumpkin head carved with a strange smiling face and even covered in withered vines.

Miss Selena

"Let me remind you, today is Christmas, not Halloween."

He put down his pen, his voice flat, revealing neither joy nor anger.
"And have you finished your work?"

Dressed in a feminine outfit that perfectly accentuated her beautiful figure, Selena wore a sly and charming smile, completely ignoring the disdain in Dior's words.

"Don't be such a spoilsport, boss!"

Her voice, with its lazy, drawn-out cadence, sounded like a mix of coquetry and provocation, "This isn't your ordinary pumpkin from the supermarket; it dances! How interesting!"

"Hanging it at the club entrance will definitely attract attention."

Without waiting for Dio to refuse again, she snapped her fingers.

"Wow~"

As if responding to her call, two eerie green flames suddenly emerged from the pumpkin head's empty eye sockets and its gaping mouth that stretched to its ears.

The vines at the top swayed like strands of hair, causing the entire pumpkin to sway back and forth in her hands, performing a strange yet somewhat comical dance.

"."

However.
Faced with this supernatural and comical sight, Dio simply watched expressionlessly, his coldness almost freezing the dancing pumpkin to a crisp.

"reject."

"The Iceberg Club's style doesn't need a crazy vegetable to elevate it."

"Really boring."

Selena pursed her lips and casually placed the stopped-dancing pumpkin on the coffee table beside her.

But her gaze, sharp and discreet like that of a apex predator, had already silently locked onto the magnificent gold pen inlaid with jewels that Dior had just placed back on the table.

With a slight smile, he silently moved closer to the table.

With a casual touch, yet with precise intent, his finger was about to touch the gold pen.
"Om-!"

Time stands still.

Everything lost its color.

Everything in the office—the leaping flames in the fireplace, the dust motes floating in the air, even Selena's sly smile and outstretched finger—was frozen into an absolutely still picture.

In this realm of absolute stillness, only Dior can move freely.

He stood up leisurely, walked around the desk, and slowly took his gold pen from Selena's frozen fingers before tucking it back into his breast pocket.

Then, my gaze fell upon the magic pumpkin that was still in a comical pose on the coffee table.

That brat Salafir
They would probably like something boring and noisy, right?

A thought flashed through his mind unconsciously.

He thought for a moment.

He casually picked up the heavy pumpkin head, looked it over, and then stuffed it into a jewelry box that was originally used for decoration.

Then close the lid, sealing away the eeriness completely.

Time resumes its flow.

"Om-!"

Selena felt a blur before her eyes.

The gold pen in her hand disappeared. She subconsciously looked at her empty hand, then at the coffee table.
Even the pumpkin head is gone!

"It seems the famous 'Cat Lady' has failed today."

Dior toyed with the gold pen on his chest, his tone slightly mocking, "And, he even added a dancing pumpkin as a bonus."

Selena was taken aback at first, a hint of surprise flashing in her eyes, before she immediately realized what had happened. She glared at Dio angrily, but quickly regained her languid, cat-like demeanor, tossing her long black hair as if she hadn't been the one trying to steal.

Her gaze returned to the open schedule on Dior's table, and she subtly changed the subject, pointing to one item with a puzzled look and asking:

"Boss, a 'Christmas charity luncheon'? What's this?"

"Didn't I make the arrangements for today's lunch banquet yesterday? I'll deduct 500 from your salary."

"."

Selena felt her claws harden, and her fingertips felt a little itchy.

"Be patient! Kyle!" she murmured to herself.

"That"

"Why schedule it for noon? Aren't these kinds of events more atmospheric in the evening?"

"Does it make it easier for you to commit crimes at night?" Dior retorted without mincing words.

"you!"

Like a cat whose tail has been stepped on, Selena almost breathed out in protest.

"Humph!"

Seeing this, Dior sneered, his playful expression vanishing, his gaze returning to calm. He glanced at the schedule and began to explain:
"There's a reason why the charity luncheon is scheduled for noon."

"First, Gotham's so-called 'celebrities' have too many 'private parties' and shady deals to attend at night, so they are more likely to pull out their checkbooks at midday, which also makes us seem more 'sincere'."

"second."

He continued clearly and logically:

"By briefly exposing those gentlemen and ladies who are used to trading in the dark to the light of day, it also helps to remind them that they need to play the role of decent people."

"This will make them more willing to pay for 'decency'."

"The third and most important point."

A hint of amusement flashed in Dior's red eyes:
"Efficiency. A well-organized luncheon that can handle all the socializing, speaking, and donations within three hours is far more efficient than a dinner filled with insincere socializing and alcohol. My time is very precious."

"Is it really?"

Selena curled the ends of her hair and said thoughtfully, "I don't think it looks like it."

"."

Well, actually Selena's premonition was pretty good.

In general, the reasons are twofold: first, it satisfies his perverse pleasure in observing and controlling the inconsistencies between the words and actions of those so-called powerful and influential people, which brings him some amusement; second, ...
I must go home for dinner tonight.

Dior silently added a sentence in his mind.

He could almost picture his father's seemingly calm face, but one that would likely cross state lines and fly to Gotham to drag him back if he dared to miss an important family gathering.

“That’s it, Miss Selena.” Dio casually tossed the schedule into Selena’s hand. “You also need to keep an eye on your subordinates. Otherwise, if Rocman continues like this, he’ll eventually die from overwork.”

"Boom, boom"

A gentle knock was made on the heavy wooden door of the office, the restrained and rhythmic sound interrupting Selena's words just as she was about to speak.

Then, Elana Falcone, Dior's current secretary, walked in gracefully.

Today she wore an elegantly tailored dark green dress, the hem swaying slightly with her steps, creating a stark, almost confrontational contrast with Selena's black outfit that accentuated her wild curves.

Elana's gaze first fell on Dio, filled with undisguised admiration, however...
Upon catching a glimpse of Selena, who was practically leaning against Dior's desk, looking as relaxed and casual as if she were at home, his gaze instantly turned cold.

Although still full of aristocratic reserve, hostility was also emerging.

Mr. Diego

Forcibly turning her gaze away from Selena, Elana turned to Dio, her voice carrying a gentle, aristocratic tone:
"Mr. Cobblestone has arrived and is waiting for you in the meeting room."

Sensing the hostile gaze that was almost tangible, Selena not only did not restrain herself at all, but deliberately made her posture even more languid, stretching her waist like a satisfied cat.

A smile played on his lips, as if watching a show. He found Elana's childish antics, which made her jealousy written all over her face, utterly ridiculous and utterly boring.

He seemed oblivious to the silent, electric tension between the two women.

Dior simply nodded calmly: "Understood."

He stood up, straightened his suit jacket, turned his gaze to Elana, and casually asked:

"How are you adjusting to life on the top floor lately? Are there any problems living there?"

"?"

Elana's face immediately lit up with a bright, flattered smile.

How could she not know that Dior's seemingly casual concern was, for someone who was usually sparing with words and stingy with emotions, a rare act of care and concern?

"Everything is fine, Diego, thank you for your concern."

Their joy was palpable.

"Ah"

Selena let out a soft laugh.

The meaning is self-evident.

Dio glanced speechlessly at the two women who seemed ready to stage a silent play at any moment, and decided not to get involved any further.

Without saying another word, he turned around, deftly pushed open the heavy solid wood door of the office, and walked out.

Seeing this, Elana was about to hurry up and catch up.

Unfortunately, someone was faster than her!
Selena was like a slippery black eel; with a nimble and swift sidestep, she squeezed through the door, almost brushing against Dio's back, just as Elana arrived at the door.
"boom!"

A dull thud, neither too loud nor too soft.

She turned and closed the door shut with a light touch, effectively blocking Elana inside.

Even through the crack of the closing door, she turned back and gave Elana, whose face had instantly turned ashen, a bright, provocative smile.

Having been firmly turned away, Elana stood there, staring at the tightly shut door, her slender, white fingers gripping the hem of her skirt tightly, her beautiful face showing a mixture of emotions.

She felt like the title of some third-rate melodrama.

—The Incompetent Secretary of the Iceberg Club.

Even in the hallway outside, one could faintly hear Dior's steady footsteps fading into the distance, and Selena's light, slightly smug footsteps.

A long, quiet corridor leading to the reception room, carpeted with a deep red plush carpet.

The penguin-themed oil paintings that once adorned the walls, showcasing Copport's peculiar personal tastes, had all been replaced with somber religious or landscape paintings. Bathed in the dim light of the corridor walls, the paintings created an interplay of light and shadow, resulting in a hazy and indistinct atmosphere.

Dior walked with a steady gait, while Selena followed him like a silent shadow.

The initial smugness seemed to have dissipated, replaced by an indescribable sense of gloom.

“You seem to enjoy provoking Elana.”

Dior didn't look at her; his voice carried an undeniable coldness.

Yup
Why would I deliberately provoke her?
Is it like a child vying for attention?
This is precisely why Selena felt depressed and somewhat self-loathing at that moment.

However, since Dior had been so blunt, Selena raised an eyebrow, quickly suppressing her slight unease and adopting a nonchalant expression. She shrugged and spoke in a flippant tone:
"Feeling sorry for your 'canary' kept in a cage on the top shelf?"

"I just find it amusing that she wears her heart on her sleeve."

"childish."

Dior uttered a two-word assessment, finally glancing at her sideways, his red eyes devoid of any warmth. "All her current actions, whether it's her seemingly arrogant probing or those laughable little gestures in your eyes, are nothing more than a form of self-protection born from a lack of security after losing her family's support."

"She needs to prove that she still has value, even if it's through this annoying method."

"After all, just as you said, she is now just a 'canary' with her wings clipped, only able to move in the narrow sky at the top of the iceberg, unable to go anywhere else."

"so."

"Miss Selena."

Stopping in his tracks, Dior turned around in a spot in the middle of the corridor where light and shadow intertwined, facing Selena. His tall figure exuded an invisible sense of oppression.
"I don't care what personal grudges you have between you."

"Please remember, the Iceberg Club doesn't need pointless internal strife. I don't want to see my 'claws' tearing apart another 'pawn' that might still be useful because of personal emotions. Understand?"

what is this?
Selena's lips twitched.

An alternative form of comfort? Or a warning?

However, it must be said that Dior's words were direct and cruel. He defined Elana as a 'pawn' and confined her behavior to the category of 'damaging interests'.

This is more effective than any criticism based on personal bias, and it touches on a subtle, unacknowledged feeling deep within mavericks like Selena.

The languid smile on her face vanished. She pursed her lips, her eyes flickered, as if she wanted to refute but couldn't find the right words.

"You're being a bit long-winded, boss."

In the end, she turned her head away unhappily and muttered something under her breath:
“I am not that immature princess who is driven forward by emotions and desires.”

Seeing Selena's reaction, although she was still verbally abusive, she had clearly taken his warning to heart, so Dio naturally had no intention of pursuing the matter further.

He nodded almost imperceptibly, which could be considered as accepting this indirect concession.

Selena clearly lost interest in following them to the meeting room to see that hypocritical penguin.

Her eyes darted around, and she came up with an excuse that couldn't be more obvious:

"I have an appointment to get my nails done, so I'm leaving now."

Without waiting for Dio's response, she turned around nimbly like a real cat, her black stockings outlining the smooth lines of her long legs.

Her toes touched the thick carpet almost silently, and with a few light steps she disappeared into the shadows at the other end of the corridor.

As he watched her figure disappear, Dior's face remained expressionless.

They even have spare money and time to get their nails done.
Rocman has been so busy lately that he's been eating instant noodles every day, yet he seems to be living a comfortable life.
He casually jotted it down in his mind as he continued walking toward the reception room.

As he approached the door of the reception room, he saw the lark standing quietly to one side.

This woman, with her aloof demeanor and efficient actions, bowed slightly as Dior approached, her lowered eyelids concealing all the emotions in her eyes.

"Mr. Dior."

Her greeting was as concise as she was, without any redundancy.

Without being told, she silently pushed open the heavy wooden door of the reception room for Dior, her posture respectful, a stark contrast to Selena's casualness.

That penguin was clearly acting so strangely, so why were the experts around it acting so normally?

Dior nodded slightly, puzzled, and stepped inside.

The reception room was warm and cozy.

Cobbler was seated on the luxurious sofa opposite the head of the table, his round figure almost filling the entire space. Upon seeing Dio enter, he immediately put down his cigar, his face beaming with a warm smile, and opened his arms wide, greeting him loudly in his distinctive voice:
"My dear friend, Dior!"

May this sacred holiday be for you and for me.

"The extraordinary business we run together."

"Bringing endless wealth and glory!"

Merry Christmas! My God!

Dio gave Coppa's overly enthusiastic performance only a cursory glance, then walked straight to the head seat, crossed his legs, and without a trace of festive warmth in his red eyes, cut straight to the point:
"What brings you here from afar?"

Copeport's smile froze, and he couldn't help but curse inwardly.

You've come from afar?

I simply took a private elevator from the -44th floor of the club to this +8th floor, how come this guy makes it sound like I've crawled back from hell to heaven? And...

"My dear Dio."

He tried to maintain a smile, but his tone carried a hint of frustration:
"Didn't you tell Rocman to tell me that I absolutely had to come up for the charity luncheon today?"

"Oh."

Dior seemed to have just remembered, his tone completely flat:
“It seems Rochman gave the wrong time; the luncheon hasn’t started yet. Perhaps…” He looked up, his gaze falling on Copport, “would you go back and wait?”

Cobbler's face twitched; he could easily tell that Dior was trying to intimidate him and remind him who was really in charge here.

Suppressing his displeasure, the penguin chuckled twice.

He took a beautifully decorated metal folder from beside him, placed it on the table, and pushed it over.

"Charity is important, but there's no rush. And coincidentally, I've also brought the Christmas quarter accounts for our recent... 'little toy' business."

He rubbed his hands together, his face once again displaying the shrewdness of a businessman:

"The profits are substantial, and this is what the earthly kingdom deserves."

Dior picked it up casually and began to look at it indifferently.

Copeport then changed the subject, leaning forward slightly and lowering his voice:

"Speaking of which, the Roman Empire's recent offensive has also been quite fierce."

“After all, the loss of their little princess, such a beauty, to the monster attack is a great loss to Gotham…” Penguin probed, carefully observing Dio’s expression. “I heard they are furious and are about to completely break ties with Ryanel Luther and have a full-scale conflict.”

"I received the latest news when I arrived this morning. Luther seems to have gone mad. They've struck again with heavy blows, those suppressive tactics..."

"Tsk tsk, this is really not something a respectable businessman would use; it's ruthless."

He continued to observe Dio, trying to find the slightest change in that cold face, and thus, to throw out a carefully prepared bait:

"What I'm thinking is... since the Falcone family has had most of their firepower drawn by Luther, their interior must be vulnerable. This might be a good opportunity for us to deepen our infiltration. I know a few key figures within their family; perhaps we can..."

He paused deliberately, keeping everyone in suspense.

A calculating glint flashed in his cloudy little eyes as he watched Dio's reaction and plotted how to use his information to gain some concessions in terms of profit.

What can be waited for
But Dior spoke slowly and deliberately, his voice icy:

"Oswald".

"Hmm?" Cobblestone responded instinctively, feeling a little uneasy under that gaze.

“Lately…” Dio’s red eyes locked onto him, carrying a hint of danger, “have you been too idle? To the point that you have so much extra energy to care about…neighborly gossip that has nothing to do with our current business?”

He didn't even bother to correct the provocation and probing in Copport's words.

Copeport felt a sudden chill run down his spine.

Dio ruthlessly shattered his illusions, and sneered:

"What happened to the Falcone family has nothing to do with our business now. We made an agreement with Mario. Let them fight it out. Don't bother us."

Copeport looked rather grim and was about to argue.

But then I heard...
"Lassie Beckett, in charge of three main smuggling routes in the Falcone dock area, has a penchant for whiskey and a mistress living in the Diamond District. Sutton Kelly, nominally runs a restaurant, but actually controls five underground banks and money laundering networks in the East Side, and goes to the theater in the Old Town every Wednesday night. And..."

Dior, in a calm and even tone, took the lead in reading out the list he already knew by heart, rattling off a string of names.

And this list.
It was almost identical to the core intelligence that Copport possessed, and even…

The last name Dior mentioned was not on his list.

Cold sweat trickled down Coppert's forehead; the immense pressure made him grip his cane tightly.

How can it be? !
Wasn't Elana already 'dead'?!

There are people within the Falcone family? And in such a central position that they can control even a spy of this caliber?! Even higher and more crucial than the moles I planted myself?

Not
You've only been in Gotham for less than three months, haven't you?!

Seeing Cope's fear, a hint of mockery flashed in Dio's red eyes.

He leaned back slightly, his posture more relaxed, yet carrying an even heavier sense of oppression.

He paused, then, under Copport's tense gaze, slowly said:

"In view of your honest 'Christmas sentiment,' you can give me half a percent less next quarter."

Half done!

This is far below Copport's expectations; it's practically throwing money away like a beggar!
"Coppert."

Dior's voice remained steady, yet it sent a chill down Copport's spine:

"Although I am very satisfied with the 'gift' you brought, it doesn't mean you can use things I already know to negotiate with me."

Copeport's face was ashen, his lips trembled, but he couldn't even muster the courage to argue.

"I"

He was just about to speak up and offer some advice.

“Charity time is almost up.” Dio had already stood up, looking down at him, ending the conversation: “Mr. Copperpot, please go ahead.”

"Or would you prefer me to personally escort you 'back'?"

Dior emphasized the word "go back" with a meaningful tone, his gaze even glancing almost imperceptibly out the window, as if hinting at a faster elevator to the -44th floor.

Forcing a smile that looked worse than a grimace, Copport struggled to his feet with the aid of crutches.

"Hehe... Well then... Thank you very much, Mr. Dior, for your generosity."

He practically gritted his teeth as he forced out the last four words:

Merry Christmas, God.

Then, not daring to linger for even a second longer, he staggered away from the meeting room without looking back.

That obese figure looked more disheveled than ever before.

(End of this chapter)