"The one who called this meeting wasn't me."
Penguin shot the burly thug a cold look, both hands clenched around the handle of his umbrella.
The bullet in his leg had already been removed. The wound was wrapped. Even his Penguin Gang goons were in position—lying in wait.
Tonight, Penguin swore, he'd make that bastard pretending to be Batman understand what it meant to reap what you sow.
As for the low-level punk daring to mouth off at him?
He could die along with the fake Batman in a moment.
"So what is it," the thug pressed, "Gotham's got some new hardcase roaming around?"
Beside Penguin, a gang boss who made his money off flesh-and-blood business calmly filed his nails with a clipper.
When Penguin flatly denied being the organizer, the man raised an eyebrow, a grin creeping onto his face—genuinely curious about whoever was pulling strings.
Ever since Falcone went down to Batman, nobody had had the nerve to summon all of them in one place again—let alone using Penguin as the messenger.
Everyone knew how Penguin operated: profit first. If he was delivering invitations, then someone had put him in a position where he couldn't refuse.
"Could it be that guy in the East End—Black Mask?" another boss guessed. "He brought in a shipment of big-caliber hardware out of nowhere and stole half my customers!"
A man draped head-to-toe in gold jewelry slammed the table, visibly angry.
Getting your business stolen by some upstart was the kind of thing that made you look weak—and in Gotham, weakness got you killed. He tried to cover his anxiety with violence and bluster.
"In this city," he growled, "there's never a shortage of traitors. The moment your people think you can't carry the weight anymore, you're dead."
"Jobs are harder and harder these days," a suited man sighed. "All because of Batman. If Falcone was still around, these punk kids wouldn't be acting so arrogant."
His nostalgia didn't win him much sympathy.
A younger boss with tattoos and a bright, rainbow mohawk laughed in his face.
"Falcone? That's ancient history. These days even a psycho like Joker has a fan club. Falcone couldn't control those lunatics—let alone us, the new blood!"
The bosses kept talking over each other. Even though there was still time before the scheduled start, the guy who'd started the argument couldn't sit still. He glared at Penguin again.
"Penguin! Why aren't you talking? You sent the invitations—so you have to know who it is!"
"Yes," Penguin said flatly. "I know him."
His icy gaze swept across the small-timer and he let out a low, contemptuous snort.
Because tonight's "main character" had never been these small-time bosses to begin with.
Since Falcone's death, Gotham's underworld had been a pile of loose sand—leaderless, fragmented, lacking a true figure at the top.
Penguin had wanted to stay focused on business—clean up his image, ride the next wave, and drag the Cobblepot name back into Gotham's upper class.
But after his plan to steal a bite of alien tech from right under the Justice League's nose fell apart, he'd been forced into cooperation with Amanda Waller.
And to survive a politician that greedy, he needed to expand his power—fast—before she ate him alive.
Then the fake Batman who showed up tonight had handed Penguin a great idea.
These small crews weren't huge, but there was a saying for it:
Grains of sand can stack into a tower.
If he could bring them under his control, his influence in Gotham would balloon overnight.
And the perfect hook to make that happen was simple:
kill the bastard pretending to be Batman.
"When the time comes," Penguin said, voice sharp, "you just stay quiet and watch from the side."
Rooftop of the Iceberg Lounge
Wrapped in a black cape, Robin melted into the night.
After successfully hacking the Lounge's surveillance system, he quietly pried open a vent cover and slipped inside.
Using the infiltration routes Batman had taught him, he calculated the most efficient path to the room where the gang bosses were meeting.
As a child of an acrobat family, Dick Grayson had trained his body since he was small. As Batman's partner, he'd mastered countless stealth techniques.
And because he was still young—his body not fully grown yet—that actually became an advantage in tight spaces.
Even inside a narrow ventilation shaft, Dick moved fast without making a sound.
He'd just reached his listening point—about to start monitoring Penguin and the other bosses—
When Ben's voice crackled in his ear.
"Robin. What's the situation inside?"
"Quiet," Dick hissed. "I just got in position. Penguin sounds like he's talking."
But before Dick could even begin listening, he caught something else through the comms—
A strange, heavy sound of fighting from Ben's side.
"Wait—why is it so loud over there?" Dick demanded. "Did you get exposed?"
"No need to worry," Ben replied smoothly. "Have faith in my stealth skills! No one can discover me!"
Having confirmed Dick's status, Ben told him not to worry.
By now, Ben's transformation time had ended. A red flash washed over him—and he reverted to a human teenage boy.
He glanced back at the pile of unconscious goons on the floor behind him and shrugged, utterly at peace with himself.
As long as nobody saw him… who could say this wasn't perfect stealth?
XLR8 was absurdly fast. Earlier, Ben had blitzed straight through the front entrance—so fast the guards at the door never even had time to react.
He'd darted past the regular bar crowd and headed straight for Penguin's hidden private suites.
What surprised him was that he didn't find the gang bosses at all.
Instead—
A group of heavily armed thugs.
There were a lot of them, but as XLR8, Ben was too fast. Before they could even fire, he was already in the middle of them.
At top speed, even if his strength was a little lacking, it was still more than enough to drop them one by one—cleanly knocking every armed man in the room unconscious.
Young bodies were sturdy. They hit the floor and stayed down.
Ben dusted off his hands like he'd finished tidying a room, then offered them a cheerful farewell.
"Sleep well. When you wake up tomorrow… you might need to find a new job."
Join here to read ahead.
In Star Rail, Ultra-Beast Armored — Have I Caught "Equilibrium"? l (Chapter 80)
Uma Musume, But I Only Have Five Years Left to Live (Chapter 175)
Zenless Zone Zero: I'm a Doctor, Not a Bangboo (Chapter 115)
Ben Tennyson Wants to Join the Justice League (Chapter 126)
TYPE-MOON: Redemption Beginning with the Holy Grail War (Chapter105)
Yu-Gi-Oh! — Transmigrated into the White Dragon Girl (Chapter100)
"Is this chat group even serious?" (Chapter82)
I, Lord Ravager, Utterly Loyal! (Chapter134)
Can Playing Games Save the World? 65
Crossover Anime Multiverse: The Demon Hunter of an Unnatural World 70
From Junkman to Wasteland 66
Weekly Refresh of Overpowered 31
I'm Grinding Proficiency Like 46
From Kiana, Lord Ravager, Onwa 87
Honkai: Is This Still the Prev 42
Elf: My Starter Pokémon Is Inc 65
Warhammer: My Primarch Is Remi 79
From Demon Slayer to Grand Ass 64
The Way the Umamusume Look at 68
Uma Musume, but My Cheat Power 73
Naruto: Weaving the Future, Be 45
Zenless Zone Zero, but Kamen R 49
Multiverse Crossover: The Perf 45
My Cyberpsycho Girlfriend 45
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