The Director Behind the Curtain

The moment Lex Luthor finished speaking, the air around the dining table seemed to freeze solid. His question—"How could we trust him again?"—was like a poisoned arrow aimed simultaneously at Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent beside him. It was a brilliant stratagem, one that forced everyone to choose a side.

Clark's fingers tightened unconsciously around his utensils, his knuckles paling from the force. He could feel the gazes of all the guests subtly converging on their table, waiting for Gotham's prince to respond.

The frivolous smile of a playboy slowly faded from Bruce's face. He was about to speak, to send that poisoned arrow flying back with words just as sharp, when a sudden, far more violent sound shattered the suffocating stalemate for him.

Boom—!!!

An ear-splitting explosion erupted from the far end of the observation hall!

The enormous bulletproof floor-to-ceiling window, worth millions of dollars, proved as fragile as paper before absolute force and instantly shattered inward. Countless glittering shards of glass, mixed with a violent blast wave, swept through the hall! The priceless crystal chandeliers swung wildly, while expensive tableware and wineglasses clattered to the floor and shattered.

The elegant classical music cut off abruptly, replaced by the terrified screams and sobs of the upper-class elite!

"Ah—!!"

"What happened?!"

"Is this a terrorist attack?!"

Amid the chaos, a massive figure stepped through the gaping hole, bathed in fractured moonlight and a rain of glass. His entire body was covered in incomparably heavy metal armor, filled with the brutal aesthetic of industrial violence. Savage rivets and thick pipes covered its surface. Most eye-catching of all was the massive circular device in his chest, now glowing with an ominous red light like molten hellfire.

"Lex Luthor!!" The metal monster let out a roar, warped by an electronic synthesizer and filled with endless hatred. "I'm here to take your miserable life!!"

It was John Corben, once a scientist at LexCorp, who had been transformed into the monster he was now—Metallo—after an "accident." An old enemy Luthor had created himself to smear and oppose Superman.

Metallo ignored the guests fleeing in every direction. Each time his enormous metal feet came down, spiderweb cracks spread across the expensive marble floor. His target was unmistakably clear: his crimson electronic eyes locked onto Lex Luthor at the head of the table as he charged straight forward!

The entire hall instantly became a living hell.

Yet the instant the explosion occurred, Bruce reacted with unbelievable speed. Rather than rising in panic and fleeing like everyone else, he suddenly reached out, grabbed the shoulder of Clark Kent beside him, who had yet to react, and used a deft motion to shove him hard toward a load-bearing pillar behind them.

"Watch out!"

His startled cry perfectly concealed his true intent.

Then, following the momentum of that push, Bruce threw himself backward and executed an incredibly fluid tactical roll, taking cover precisely behind the heavy solid-wood dining table that Metallo's charge had overturned with its shockwave.

The entire sequence flowed seamlessly, fast as lightning. To outsiders, it looked exactly like the clumsy reaction of a billionaire terrified by an unexpected crisis and driven by survival instinct. He had protected his companion while finding cover for himself—entirely reasonable.

Only Bruce himself knew that this had created the perfect opportunity for Clark to "disappear."

Go on, big guy. The world needs you.

Kneeling behind the dining table, he calmly observed the battlefield through a gap. His tactical lenses, disguised as ordinary contact lenses, had already converted everything at the scene into data and projected it onto his retinas.

Metallo roared as he swung his massive metal arms, smashing table after table to pieces and sending debris flying. But Bruce noticed that every one of his seemingly berserk attacks landed precisely on the open ground around Luthor, creating the greatest possible visual and auditory impact without harming Luthor in the slightest.

Luthor's bodyguards finally reacted as well, drawing pistols and submachine guns and firing wildly at Metallo. Yet the bullets could only throw up weak sparks against the heavy armor. Their firing angles and tactical positioning were riddled with flaws in the eyes of Bruce, a tactical master—laughably amateurish.

No layered suppressive fire, no crossfire network, not even a basic flanking maneuver... These aren't elite bodyguards. They're a bunch of actors holding prop guns.

Bruce's thoughts were cold and crystal clear.

Too fake. Even Gotham's third-rate villains put on a better performance than this.

In an instant, he saw through Luthor's entire plan.

First, stage a tragedy for the media and the public, making himself the victim of an attack by an "evil superhuman" and portraying himself as a tragic hero brave enough to confront the threat. Second, use the opportunity to test me—Bruce Wayne—to see whether this Gotham rich kid who disrupted his Blüdhaven plan is merely an ordinary man or hiding something else. Third, and most importantly—force Superman to reveal himself!

During those few seconds of thought, Clark Kent had, just as expected, vanished behind that pillar. His inconvenient black-framed glasses had "accidentally" fallen to the floor.

Then an even louder crashing sound came from above the hall!

Boom!

The ceiling was smashed open from the outside by an irresistible force, and a nimble figure clad in red and blue descended like a god! His scarlet cape snapped in the rushing air, while anger and determination filled his handsome, resolute face.

Superman had arrived!

"Corben! Stop!" Superman hovered in midair, his voice thunderous and commanding.

"Superman!" At the sight of him, Metallo seemed to become even more violent. "You again! You interfere every time! Today, I'll tear you apart too!"

Metallo abandoned Luthor, turned, and charged at Superman with a roar. Superman showed no fear as he dove down to meet him!

The battle between the two superhumans instantly drove this farce to its climax. Fists collided with steel in deafening booms. The shockwaves sent everything around them flying.

But Bruce keenly caught a detail.

Superman's movements seemed just a fraction slower than they should have been. Every punch still carried immense power, yet they held an almost imperceptible sense of sluggishness and weakness.

Bruce's tactical lenses immediately locked onto the red glow in Metallo's chest and began spectral analysis. Soon, a line of data appeared on his retinas: [Warning: Unknown high-frequency radiation detected. Wavelength displays inverse isotopic characteristics matching the Kryptonian solar radiation spectrum. Possesses strong suppressive and destructive effects on Kryptonian cellular tissue.]

Kryptonite... just as I thought!

Bruce's gaze turned completely cold.

That scheming bastard Luthor! He isn't just putting on a show. He implanted Kryptonite inside Metallo! He wants to use this fight to collect every physiological data point on Superman at close range under Kryptonite radiation—his combat patterns, energy decay curve! He's making the most precise preparations to truly kill Superman in the future!

Having seen through everything, Bruce completely lost interest in this clumsy performance. There was no point in remaining here. A cold glint flashed through his eyes as a bolder plan instantly took shape in his mind.

He no longer watched the battle. Instead, he quietly gave an order into the miniature communicator hidden beneath his collar, his voice almost inaudible.

"Alfred, it's me."

"Sir, the situation on your end... does not sound particularly pleasant." Alfred's composed voice came through, with the explosions from the gala still audible in the background.

"Just a farce." Bruce's voice was cold as ice. "Ignore this. Immediately infiltrate LexCorp's highest-security servers and find the location of the secret warehouse where they store 'special geological samples.' Before the lead actor exits the stage, I'm going backstage to take the most important prop."

"...Understood, sir. I am plotting the safest infiltration route for you now."

After confirming that Alfred had begun acting, Bruce took a deep breath. He deliberately tore several rips into his expensive tailcoat, then grabbed a handful of dust and smeared it across his face, making himself look even more disheveled. Then, that terrified, shaken expression belonging to Bruce Wayne returned to his face. He blended into the fleeing crowd screaming as they rushed toward the emergency exits and silently vanished behind the curtain of the play Luthor had directed himself.

He was going to take Luthor's true trump card—the stone that could slay gods, glowing with the green light of death.