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🕑 Added 2025-06-03 16:16:14 +0000 UTCChapter 79: Finally Understanding Why the Face Must Be Covered
Cody's life wasn't going so well again lately.
It wasn't that anything had gone wrong with the Red Dragon restaurant, or that there was any problem with the little place Harvey Dent rented for him. In fact, his personal life was pretty decent – he had a place to live, a car, a job, his life usually wasn't under threat, and he even had some savings in his bank account. Even though he'd spent about forty thousand dollars on the homeless kids bit by bit, the money he had left was still plenty for his needs.
The problem was with him.
"Mister, no, please don't..."
"Cut the crap, hand over that necklace!"
"Okay, okay, don't shoot, please don't shoot..."
Screech—
Cody slammed on his brakes, pulling over to the side of the road with a sigh.
Ever since he got that Intermediate Physical Enhancement, his daily life had gotten a lot more complicated. The specific details? They showed up in moments like this.
Hearing more, seeing farther, tougher body – the direct result was that he couldn't just commute to work and back with a clear conscience like before. Even sitting in his car, sounds from nearby alleys, passages, and rooms still reached his ears. The smell of blood, decay, and body fluids could drift in through the car window with the wind. Not to mention the places his sight couldn't reach before – now, he could stand on his rooftop after getting home and see everything clearly.
In a city of sin like Gotham, having such sensitive senses and a normal person's conscience at the same time was pretty torturous. Every time he went to work, came home, or went out during his free time, he'd notice crimes happening – just like now.
"Cody, Cody, what in the hell are you doing? You should know perfectly well, hardly any superheroes have a good ending... And you don't even have the ability for it."
He muttered quietly to himself, hesitating in the car for a few seconds. It's just a necklace robbery, no big deal. Maybe he didn't need to play the hero... You're not as fast as the Flash, not as rich as Batman, and not as strong as Superman – you'll still die if you float around (implying being exposed).
His life wasn't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be worn smooth and slippery by this baffling world, hard to get a grip on; following the rules, being cautious, protecting himself – unable to make friends with anyone, unable to make enemies with anyone. He didn't need to show his opinion on everything because that always angered people who liked to show theirs. He really didn't have the energy or the desire to argue, so he was just misunderstood as having no opinion.
Cody thought, staring blankly at the car door.
Anyway, his colleagues were all like that too, only speaking endlessly when talking about themselves. So he fit in with them, becoming one of the silent majority, only daring to complain a bit in that world nobody investigates (referring to his writing, perhaps?). Because he knew that after waking up, he'd still have to face his own life – maybe today's work was a real pain, or maybe tomorrow's takeout would be stuck in traffic. Life wasn't really easy. In the end, he'd just retreat back home and start writing his crappy little story.
He was used to hiding.
When you're poor, focus on yourself; when you're successful, help others. He was glad he was incompetent; that way, he wasn't qualified to feel sad about others' misfortunes – he'd seen too much of that kind of misfortune.
"And your wallet! Quick! Hand it over!"
"Okay... okay..."
But ever since he came to Gotham, he found it was full of things that made you sad. Only after arriving in this city did he realize that some things were really hard to tolerate, and he wasn't as tolerant as he thought.
Was his moral character too high?
"Mister, please don't, this isn't worth much, my mother sewed it for me herself..."
"Who the hell cares! Hand it over!"
Whack
Cody landed two clean, decisive punches on the guy's head, leaving him dizzy, then followed up with a swift, clean hand chop to knock him out cold.
"You're just being a damn monster!" Cody spat at the thug on the ground. "My silence doesn't mean I don't have an opinion about you!"
Ah, that felt great. He thought that line sounded particularly cool right then.
Ah, how stupid. Got a little physical enhancement and thought he could be a hero – but this kind of utterly despicable behavior, any normal person hearing it wouldn't be able to stand it, right?
Cody quietly savored the feeling of those three hits. He had been really pent up lately. Those few strikes felt amazing.
Silently feeling pleased, he turned and walked away, leaving the stunned woman in the alley staring blankly at the thug on the ground and Cody's retreating back.
"Hey, hey, hey, is this Commissioner Gordon? I need to report something... Yeah, yeah, a mugger, I knocked him out... Yeah, yeah, he was just being a complete monster..."
...
In just a few days, Cody's criminal methods – no, his methods of justice – rapidly evolved. Simple, brutal, but effective. He spent three thousand dollars in Asset Points to buy Intermediate Blowpipe Mastery, another two thousand for a blowgun, and finally thirty thousand dollars in Asset Points to upgrade Intermediate Stealth Mastery to Advanced Stealth Mastery.
[Assassin's Blowpipe Price: 2000 Asset Points Note: A silent weapon, a deadly weapon, a great weapon, a treacherous weapon - Legendary Pirate Edward James Kenway]
...
"Hey, did you guys hear?" In the restaurant, Cody listened to his colleagues chatting. "Gotham City never has a peaceful day. They say there's a new, strange path in Gotham lately. Everyone who messes around near that path ends up with bad luck, just fainting for no reason!"
"Is it that weird?"
"You think? I saw it myself. Some idiot with a gun walked up to that couple with a kid, just had time to raise his gun, and then wham! He just collapsed on the spot! I didn't even see how he fell, and then the police car was there and took him away."
"Damn it... we gotta be careful from now on."
"Who's arguing? Everyone be careful when you're doing illicit stuff."
"Yeah... wait, why do I smell something burning?"
"Do you?"
"Yeah," Cody chimed in from the side, nodding. "I feel like something's on fire somewhere."
Just then, the manager's furious voice suddenly roared.
"You damn idiots! The restaurant's on fire! Get your asses over here and help put it out!"
"Oh damn!"
...
That night, the night before Valentine's Day, the manager and the restaurant staff caught an arsonist. Cody looked at his face and thought he looked a little familiar.
"You son of a bitch! Only been in Gotham a few days and you dare set fire to our restaurant? Tired of living?"
But the other guy just sneered coldly.
"You with the glasses over there, yeah, you! You dared to mess up my plan back then – I remember you. We have a long time ahead of us!"
Chapter 80: Donald's Master Plan
"Hey, Four-Eyes over there, yeah, you! You dared to mess with me back then—I remember you. We've got a long way to go!"
The manager and everyone else followed his gaze. Cody, pretending not to hear, stood quietly to the side, playing statue.
"Cody, is he talking about you?"
"Definitely not me." Cody shook his head decisively. "I've never even seen this guy—he must have the wrong person."
The guy who was tied up immediately widened his eyes. "You motherfer, look me in the eye and say you don't know me again! You're fing dead! No one can save you! You hear me? You're dead!"
"Alright, alright... just drag him out of here." The manager listened to him spewing curses from the side, waving his hand dismissively. A few employees immediately stuffed a wad of newspaper into the man's mouth, then pulled and dragged him away.
Cody wore an awkward but polite smile, meeting the manager's scrutinizing gaze. He tried hard to keep his smile natural, doing his best to avoid looking stiff.
"Cody... you really know how to stir up trouble."
The manager sighed, patting his shoulder with the hand that wasn't holding a crutch. "The restaurant's gotta shut down again tomorrow, damn it. We haven't even been open a month, and you've caused this kind of problem again. I'm usually not superstitious... What religion do you follow? I need to steer clear."
"I'm a pan-religious/believer in whatever works. You know, believe in whatever's useful, it doesn't cost anything anyway, so why not believe a little—"
"Just shut up already." The manager quickly hopped over with his crutch and covered his mouth. "If there's even one religious person in this restaurant, hearing that would make them want to kill you."
Cody obediently shut his mouth. He racked his brain for sentences to comfort the manager as compensation. Finally, when he saw the chandelier above, his eyes lit up, and inspiration struck.
"Manager, Manager, at least the chandelier didn't break this time."
The manager's face turned red again. He raised the crutch in his hand, looking like he wanted to hit someone, but the next second, his face paled again, and he put the crutch back down, supporting his plastered foot.
He steadied his breathing, took a deep breath, and his complexion returned to normal—it was clear that the manager's self-control had really improved by leaps and bounds.
"You are never to mention the word 'chandelier' again! None of you are! The restaurant won't be open tomorrow, and we already paid out the wages for these two weeks tonight. You stay far away from the restaurant tomorrow, got it? I need my heart to rest for a day!"
"Oh, so it's a day off..."
"Never mind, I changed my mind. Come in tomorrow."
Cody thought about it, then shook his head again. "I don't have money to pay, Manager."
"Less talk! Get out!"
"Alrighty."
...
Early the next morning, Valentine's Day.
Cody arrived at the Red Dragon Restaurant again. The manager had come in early today and was already waiting for him in the restaurant. When he saw him, he had a slightly strange expression on his face, a bit like he was trying hard to hold back a sly smile, which resulted in a constipated look.
"Cody, come here, come here."
As Cody walked over with a bewildered expression, the manager smilingly put his arm around his shoulder, leading him upstairs like an older brother taking care of a younger one. His affectionate demeanor made Cody wonder if the restaurant fire the previous day had caused so much loss that it had driven the manager mad with anger.
"Haha, I went to the hospital yesterday and had a chat with Donald."
Cody immediately felt alert. Was he planning to fire me?
"We both realized that we actually made a mistake. We kept seeing you as just an ordinary waiter, a clumsy idiot who couldn't use a gun, an unlucky guy with a bit of guts, a jinx who brings bad luck, someone who doesn't understand social cues..."
"Manager, why do I feel like your words are getting more and more personal..."
"Ahem, ahem."
The manager, whose thoughts had been exposed, cleared his throat, slightly covering his embarrassment. "In short, we think that besides being relatively competent as a waiter, your only redeeming qualities are honesty and courage. But actually, we shouldn't look at you that way."
As the manager spoke, a kindly smile appeared on his face. "There's no such thing as trash in the world, only resources in the wrong place."
"Why should we be fixated on keeping you at the Red Dragon? Listen to me—Cody, today is the moment your life officially undergoes a qualitative change. This choice is very important. If you choose correctly, you will formally become the Falcone family's secret weapon. We will pay you a bi-weekly salary of sixty thousand as compensation for this new job."
"How... how much?"
Cody looked at the manager in a daze, his mind filled with the number sixty, his eyes overflowing with golden light.
The light of money.
"Holy moly, sixty thousand?"
"That's right, you just need to change jobs—we've even helped you arrange it. You have to... I mean, you can start today."
Upon hearing this, the rational part of Cody's brain quickly regained control. He shook his head, shaking off the fantasy of getting rich, because he knew there were no such things as windfalls in the world, and no free lunches in Gotham City.
"Simple. You might know that Maroni also opened a restaurant in the Burnley district?"
"Doesn't that make him higher status than us?"
"Don't interrupt me—and he's not higher status than us. We have restaurants in the Diamond District and Burnley District too. It's just that sometimes people come to Otisburg and the East End to do business, and having the high-ranking family members run around like that is really a bit undignified."
After defending himself for a couple of sentences, the manager went back to the main topic. "Maroni's restaurant both makes him profit and serves as his base of operations. It's quite important to him. Coincidentally, we're not on good terms with them lately, so we thought of sending him a knife that can draw blood."
Cody looked at the manager. At this moment, he understood Donald and the manager's idea.
"You want me to go over there and cause trouble?"
"No, for you, there's no need to deliberately cause any trouble." The manager shook his head, smiling as he straightened his tie.
"You just need to perform normally, work like you usually do—your very existence is the biggest threat to that restaurant."
As the manager's words fell, the long-lost system prompt suddenly sounded.
【Ding】
【You have a new gig available, please check】
At this moment, a thousand thoughts ran through Cody's mind. Changing jobs once a month, having worked at three different places, reminded him of the famous character from a certain classic novel he had read before who served three masters... no, a three-surnamed slave.
【Valentine's Day Milk Chocolate
Mission Objective: Valentine's Day is a romantic day. Some people are sad on this day, and some people are happy—of course, none of that has anything to do with you. You are just a chocolate chef without emotions.
Note: You would never guess what heavyweight guest you will encounter today—remember to use two thousand points worth of good milk to make this chocolate, just one serving is needed.
Status: To be completed (0/1)
Reward: Advanced Climbing Mastery】
Chapter 81: Sometimes, Winning the Game Isn't on the Board
Gotham City, Valentine's Day.
In the graveyard of Gotham Public Cemetery, amidst the biting wind and thick, pale snow, a single, shattered father stood. He slowly placed a blood-red rose before his son's tombstone.
"Was it worth it?"
A low, hoarse voice broke through his sorrow, jolting the father awake. Instinctively, his hand went inside his coat. His eyes instantly sharpened, filled with a sudden, commanding authority. In that moment, he was back to being the head of the Falcone family, the crime lord of Gotham, the "Roman."
"Who—"
"Was it worth it!"
A black shadow of fear abruptly appeared before him, the wind carrying snow swirling around the figure and towards Falcone. The icy chill stung his face, making him squint.
Only the hand gripping the gun remained as steady as a rock.
"Worth what?"
Falcone aimed his gun at the dark bat figure. Even for him, facing this elusive bat, a sliver of fear was unavoidable deep down.
Especially with the million-dollar bounty he'd placed on that head.
"The cost."
"What in God's name are you talking about?"
"Your son."
"Alberto was never involved in my business."
"Directly, or indirectly... how many other innocent sons have you destroyed?"
The Godfather's face instantly turned ashen. He glared, teeth clenched, at the person who dared ask that question. The truth was, he couldn't answer it. But he would never, ever show weakness in front of anyone.
Because he was the "Roman."
Besides, whether he had ruined dozens, or hundreds, of other people's sons didn't matter now. The Falcone family had reached this point, like a train hurtling forward at top speed, it could only continue ahead, with no turning back.
Like human desire, a rolling stone down a mountain, endless and unstoppable.
"Nobody, and I mean, nobody—" The Godfather cocked the hammer of his pistol, the crisp click and his imposing, long-held authority pressing down on Batman figure before him. It was a tactic he often used, and few could withstand the Godfather's methods.
"Nobody talks to me like that."
The atmosphere became tense, a standoff. Neither side yielded. Godfather and Bat glared at each other. When the gun fired, that would be the start of their fight.
But someone else didn't want them to shoot it out, at least not yet.
A tough silken line, tipped with small steel beads, suddenly shot out from the side, tightly wrapping around the Godfather's gun-wielding hand. With a gentle tug, the pistol clattered to the ground.
"Catwoman!"
Batman immediately sensed where the attack had come from. He turned his head to see a cat-like silhouette half-hidden in the depths of the snowy cemetery.
"Just meow."
Every time I get close to the Roman, she shows up, Batman thought. I ran into her stealing ledgers last year when I was looking for evidence in the Roman's penthouse.
He decided he was going to figure out why.
Batman leaped forward, blocking the Cat, his fingers gripping her hand tightly. "You've been staying far away lately."
"I'm guessing... that means 'thanks for saving my life'?"
"Do you really think I couldn't handle that little man with his little handgun?"
"Oh?" A playful smile crossed Catwoman's face. She gently scratched his cheek with a sharp claw, and a drop of red blood beaded there. "Jealous?"
"You should keep your distance—Falcone still has a price on your head."
The playful skirmish between Cat and Bat yielded no real answers.
...
Bright lights, warm air, the clinking of glasses and silverware, loud conversations, sharply dressed socialites—even on such a winter night, there was no hint of cold in this upscale Italian restaurant.
Of course not. This was the restaurant of the Maroni family, Gotham City's second-largest crime syndicate. And Maroni's standards had always aimed to match the Roman's.
The clinking wasn't just in the dining area. In the kitchen behind, the sounds were equally present, but far more chaotic and busy. The ding-ding-ding here wasn't from diners toasting, but from the vigorous washing of countless plates, cups, and cutlery.
It was Valentine's Day, and business was unusually good, making the kitchen exceptionally busy. Dishwashers scurried back and forth with stacks of dishes; waiters in sharp suits carried trays; prep cooks chopped vegetables non-stop, their knives a blur; and the head chef, sweat beading on his forehead, had been working the stoves for hours. Everyone in the kitchen was practically flying, their feet barely touching the ground.
Marco was among the crowd, washing dishes with a nonchalant air. He'd blended in remarkably fast. With the help of an insider in the restaurant, claiming to be their nephew and handing over some cash, he'd easily gotten himself a job in the kitchen.
Right now, through the din, his ears were precisely catching a conversation between two men deep in the kitchen.
"Mr. Maroni, this is too much!"
The young blonde man in a cheap suit and round glasses stammered, his words full of overwhelmed gratitude. Yet, his hands clutched the thick stacks of green bills tightly, as if they might fly away from his fingertips if he let go.
The composed Maroni watched him, a flicker of disdain in his eyes that quickly morphed into a warm smile. He despised people like this, yet he also loved them.
Greed meant they could abandon their principles; greed meant they could be tempted by profit. To Maroni, who controlled the resources, greedy people were the most reliable tools he could use.
He spoke kindly, reassuringly: "Nothing is 'too much' for a friend of Sal Maroni. And you are my friend, aren't you, Vernon?"
"Of course, Mr. Maroni," Vernon replied reflexively. "But—"
"You don't have plans tonight anyway, do you, Vernon? Would you like to stay for dinner? You must have never tasted the food in my restaurant."
"Mr. Maroni, my... employer, Mr. Dent, the District Attorney, he's targeting you, sir—he thinks you're the weakest link in the Falcone organization."
Hearing this, Maroni couldn't help but laugh. The laugh held both disdain and the anger of being underestimated, mixed with a touch of apprehension towards the relentless, iron-willed prosecutor. But...
"He thinks that? He thinks that, does he?"
Maroni reached out and clapped Vernon on the back, guiding him towards a private booth like a younger brother. "Come, Vernon. Try this veal. It's the best in Gotham..."
Watching Vernon eat heartily, a smug smile played on Maroni's lips.
While he had some reservations about Harvey, sometimes... winning the game doesn't necessarily happen on the board.
Right?
