The Owl's Gaze, an Uninvited Guest!

Gotham City, East End.

A hundred meters underground, the old air-raid shelter had been transformed beyond recognition.

It was no longer a dark, damp ruin, but a steel kingdom straight out of science fiction.

Rows of servers glowing faint blue formed a vast computing center, processing torrents of data from around the world. In enormous sterile laboratories, geniuses dismissed as mad by mainstream science worked with shining eyes on research that crossed every ethical line.

On the other side of the base stood a training center as broad as a stadium.

The street thugs Link had once recruited were undergoing a complete transformation.

They were no longer a rabble charging in bare-chested with machetes and iron bars.

Each wore a streamlined black combat suit fitted with sensors that monitored their vital signs in real time. Lightweight alloy armor covered their arms, while miniature hydraulic systems at their joints made every punch whistle through the air.

Tactical lenses implanted in their eyes let them share battlefield intelligence and calculate bullet trajectories.

This was no longer a gang.

It was a high-tech army of thugs, armed to the teeth with money and futuristic technology.

Link stood in the control room on the highest level, looking down on it all through one-way bulletproof glass.

Behind him, Harley Quinn lounged like a lazy cat on a soft sofa, trimming her freshly done nails as she gazed at his back in admiration.

"Sweetheart, in less than a week, you've built an army stronger than Penguin's and Black Mask's put together."

Harley sounded awestruck.

"I'm starting to believe you weren't joking when you said you'd become the king of Gotham."

"King?"

Link gave a soft laugh and turned around.

"No, Harley. I never wanted to be a prisoner wearing a crown."

He walked up to Harley and gently lifted her chin, his gaze intent.

"I intend to be the one who makes the rules."

Just then, a faint yet unmistakable chill rose up Link's spine without warning.

It was not a physical cold.

It was the feeling of being watched, deep within his mind.

As though an eagle high overhead had fixed its icy gaze on prey below.

Link's pupils contracted sharply.

His Chaos Force let him sense and influence the emotions of those around him. In this base, which lay entirely under his control, everyone's mental fluctuations formed a harmonious symphony, each note clear to his senses.

But that gaze was no part of the symphony.

It came from outside, piercing a hundred meters of rock and steel to settle precisely on him.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

Harley noticed him stiffen.

Link did not answer.

He shot out of the control room like a phantom and reached the high-speed elevator to the surface.

Seconds later, he stood in the president's office of his company, Chaos Direction.

He rushed to the floor-to-ceiling window, his gaze snapping toward the building opposite.

The night was black as ink.

A figure stood motionless at the edge of the opposite rooftop.

He wore a well-tailored, old-fashioned suit that looked as though it belonged to the last century, and stood ramrod straight.

The strangest thing was his face.

He wore a pure-white owl mask, exquisitely crafted and gleaming like ivory in the darkness. Across hundreds of meters, its two hollow black eye sockets stared straight at Link.

There was no murderous intent, no anger, no curiosity.

Only a deathly, detached coldness, as though he were inspecting an object.

As if sensing that Link had spotted him, the figure dipped his head slightly in an archaic gesture of courtesy.

Then he leaned backward and silently melted into the shadows on the rooftop, vanishing.

He had not jumped away or run off.

He had simply disappeared.

Link stood where he was, his brow furrowed.

He returned to his desk and swept his gaze across the office.

At last, his eyes settled on the edge of the half-open window.

A white feather lay on the sill, still as a fallen snowflake.

He walked over and picked it up between two fingers.

It felt cold.

An old nursery rhyme, long forgotten in the corners of Gotham, slowly surfaced in Link's mind:

"Beware the Court of Owls, watching every move you make."

"They lurk in Gotham's lofty halls, they roost behind its walls."

"They're beneath your bed, they're inside your walls; they're everywhere, yet never seen."

"Don't try to hide a thing from them, or the Talons will bury you."

Link looked at the feather between his fingers, and a cold smile slowly curved his lips.

So Batman, the Dark Knight, was not the only player hidden on Gotham's chessboard. There was also this intriguing group of old-timers.

Uninvited guests?

No.

To him, a more thrilling game had just begun.