Chapter 310: Harley Quinn's Night Raid on Allen
"What is this thing?"
Barbara ran her fingers along the edge of the metal case. Its surface was seamless and smooth—there wasn't a single visible mechanism or opening.
"It holds my Saint Seiya equipment. Very dangerous stuff. Has to be opened using my special technique."
Allen's serious expression was completely undermined by the flashy flurry of his fingers—it looked anything but proper.
Equipment?
Barbara recalled how he had stolen a full set of Batman's gear in Gotham and modified it beyond recognition. It was hard to imagine what kind of equipment might be inside this box.
One thing was certain—it definitely wouldn't be anything like a standard superhero's gear.
"Want something to eat?"
She had already changed out of her costume, letting her golden-brown hair fall freely, seemingly unconcerned as she walked around in nothing but modest underwear in front of Allen.
"Got any runny soft-boiled eggs with gooey yolk?"
"No problem."
Barbara turned and headed into the kitchen.
Allen, meanwhile, didn't spare her a second glance. There was no hint of lust in his eyes.
After all, Barbara was Commissioner Gordon's daughter and Bruce's prized protégé. No matter the circumstance, she was firmly off-limits.
Oddly enough, he was far more interested in the Batgirl suit.
He ran his hand across the rubbery material, his mind brimming with questions.
"Barbara, doesn't this suit make you smell? I mean, it's not exactly breathable."
Imagine putting on a raincoat that hasn't fully dried—it leaves a weird lingering smell. Now take a skintight rubber suit that traps in sweat—how much worse must that be?
"I soak it every day. It's made of quick-dry, water-resistant material. Very convenient," Barbara explained.
Allen flipped the sleeve inside out, revealing the smooth inner layer. "Do you have to use lube before putting it on? This kind of material must stick to the skin and get stuck easily."
"I use baby powder."
A skintight design creates a lot of friction, making it hard to put on and even harder to take off. Unless you use lube or powder, it's a nightmare.
Allen had grown tired of wearing his gag costume for that exact reason. It was a pain to put on, and even worse to clean after. Bruce might be a genius, but even he couldn't avoid the occasional crotch jam. Unless absolutely necessary, Allen refused to wear it anymore.
For now, the gag-bat persona was sealed away.
Allen leaned in mischievously. "Final question—does it ever, you know, bulge?"
"…"
Barbara's face froze for a moment. Clearly, that did happen from time to time. Still, she answered honestly. "There's a zipper at the crotch. Makes bathroom breaks really easy."
"Now that is what I call user-friendly."
Allen nodded thoughtfully, already planning to add a zipper to his own gag suit design.
---
The next morning.
Barbara had to head to work, her bat suit packed neatly in her shoulder bag.
She reminded Allen that there was food in the fridge before leaving for her commute.
Allen lounged lazily on the couch, basking in the luxury of his sugar baby lifestyle.
"Yep. Being a kept man really is humiliating."
He said it with disdain, but his body was clearly quite content.
He grabbed the remote and turned on the TV.
It was daytime. Superheroes had jobs during the day and fought crime by night.
Spider-Man had school. Matt Murdock became Daredevil only after slipping into his double-D suit after sundown.
Why double-D suit? Well, because the logo on his chest literally had the letters "DD."
In short, most heroes lived like regular people during the day.
"Breaking news: The Avengers' recent operation in Kurnia against the Ten Commandments gang resulted in over a hundred civilian injuries. More than thirty of them were declared dead despite emergency treatment, sparking widespread outrage."
"Human rights organizations have condemned Batman's violent methods, urging a more moderate and lawful approach to justice."
"A congressional spokesperson announced that Superhero Registration Act No. 132 will soon be up for vote. The act seeks to impose official identification and regulation on superpowered individuals to ensure accountability."
…
Each headline smelled more and more like a setup.
"Those damned bureaucrats just never learn."
The media's wave of coverage surrounding superheroes clearly hinted that America still hadn't given up on trying to control them.
Naturally, the Justice League and Avengers were the primary targets.
The tragedy in Kurnia—with its high civilian casualty count—was the perfect excuse to launch a crackdown.
And Batman had always been a controversial figure—his ruthless beatdowns on criminals often painted him as a violent lunatic under the guise of justice.
Some networks even brought in "experts" to debate whether Batman was mentally ill—great for ratings.
Allen flipped through the channels. It was either boring soap operas or superhero news.
"Being a freeloader is so damn boring."
He shut off the TV and stared up at the ceiling, suddenly realizing that even Arkham Asylum was more interesting. At least the people there were colorful and said weirdly amusing things.
As for the Superhero Registration Act, he saw it as pure entertainment.
If it were ever really going to be implemented, it wouldn't have been stuck in endless news cycles for so long.
---
On a cargo ship crossing the ocean—
Inside the hold, boxes filled with soil sat in neat rows.
The vampire clans had abandoned their ancestral lands, fleeing directly to America.
The sudden ambush by the Church of Blood had devastated them—over half the pureblood princes were dead, and more than ninety percent of the pureblood nobles had been wiped out.
Now, only a few hundred survivors remained, all loyally protecting Lilith.
"Your Majesty, why must we go to America?" one of the surviving pureblood princes asked, bewildered.
Now was the time to lay low, rebuild their numbers, and investigate the Church of Blood's origin—only then could they strike back.
"You wouldn't understand. That land hides an existence more terrifying than you could imagine."
Lilith recalled the last time she was in New York—when she witnessed an angel descend to Earth, awakening long-buried memories.
And so, she had a bold new plan.
Use the vampire clan as bait to lure the Church of Blood to America, setting the stage for two great powers to clash—then she would reap the rewards as the ultimate winner.
Of course, she had another goal in mind: reclaim what had been taken from her.
A missing part of her body had weakened her greatly. Until she recovered it, she could never return to her peak form.
---
Nightfall.
A shadowy figure crept in through the window of Allen's apartment.
"It's pitch black in here. Why aren't the lights on?"
Harley Quinn scanned the room quickly and found the light switch.
Click!
Bright lights filled the space.
"Where is he?"
She began searching for Allen, puzzled—until she felt something hard press against her back and a warning voice in her ear: "Hands up."
"Allen, I need to talk to you."
Before she even finished the sentence, she swung her baseball bat in a surprise attack.
Unfortunately, she hit nothing but air.
To her dismay, Allen was standing several feet away, holding out a laundry pole to prod her from a safe distance. His face was full of smug amusement, as if he'd seen this coming all along.
"I knew it, you crazy chick. I knew you'd try a sneak attack. I'm a man who's watched Suicide Squad, remember? That ending where you fake surrender to the Enchantress, only to launch a last-minute attack—that was some next-level dumbass writing."
"…"
(Support me and read ahead on Patreøn: patreøn.com/craxxtranslations.
3 new chapters are released daily—thank you for your support!
Powerstone Event: For every 50 powerstones, 1 chapter will be unlocked.)