That Bird Man Was Ridiculously Innocent

The car crossed the iron bridge spanning the Hudson River and entered Gotham's Upper East Side.

This was where Gotham's upper crust lived, with glittering luxury shops and upscale apartment buildings lining the streets.

The Iceberg Lounge stood on the most expensive street in the Upper East Side.

Its facade was dark gray granite carved with baroque patterns. There was no sign above the main entrance, only the outline of an iceberg.

The car circled into the back alley and stopped at Oswald's private entrance.

Butch killed the engine and dragged the roll of waterproof canvas out of the trunk.

Oswald climbed out of the back seat, straightened his suit collar, and glanced at the bundle over Butch's shoulder.

A few strands of long black hair spilled out from the edge of the canvas, gleaming faintly.

Oswald frowned.

"Get her inside, wake her up, and put her to work. I don't keep freeloaders here."

He paused, then added bitterly, "Keeping one idiot like Jerome around is more than enough."

The name Jerome was like a thorn, giving him a headache whenever it came to mind.

Butch laid the waterproof canvas on the ground. The dark green fabric peeled back like layers of wrapping paper, revealing the woman's face.

Butch stared at her face for a few seconds.

"Boss," Butch said, looking up, "I think she's dead."

Oswald, who had been limping back into the building on his bad leg, stopped short.

"What do you mean, you think she's dead? Either she's dead or she isn't."

Butch didn't know how to explain.

The woman before him wasn't breathing, but her radiant face was still captivating. He had never seen such an enchanting glow on any living woman's face.

"She's dead," Butch corrected himself.

Oswald glanced at the woman on the ground. His gaze caught on the mole beneath her left eye, as though something had pricked him.

"Just my luck... hurry up and find a hole to bury her in."

Butch nodded.

Rain fell over Gotham all through the following day.

In his private room on the third floor of the Iceberg Lounge, Oswald pored over a leather-bound ledger under a desk lamp, carefully tallying his accounts with a martini beside him.

On the surface, the lounge was a restaurant and bar, but in reality, it was a discreet meeting place for mob bosses, politicians, and businessmen.

They entered through hidden doors to discuss business or make deals in well-soundproofed rooms. Naturally, nothing discussed in those rooms was legal.

He had cleverly provided a respectable, secure venue where nosy cops couldn't follow them and no lunatic would suddenly burst in shooting.

He collected protection money, venue fees, and referral fees. Sometimes he also charged a service fee for "throwing one party into the river when an agreement couldn't be reached."

He had earned his place in the city's underworld through a shrewd business mind and exceptional nerve.

Just as he was enjoying the pleasing figures in his ledger and sipping his martini, he suddenly heard running water from the bathroom.

Oswald immediately took a revolver from his drawer, rose from behind the desk, and approached the bathroom door.

Along with the clear sound of running water, a girl's soft humming drifted from inside.

The tune had no lyrics, and the bathroom amplified it into an ethereal melody.

Oswald reached the bathroom door and gently pushed it open.

Steam filled the bathroom.

Behind the white shower curtain was the silhouette of someone sitting in the tub. The outline of her shoulders showed clearly against the curtain, and the graceful curves of her neck and back swayed gently as she moved.

Oswald tightened his grip on the gun.

"Who are you?" His voice took on the venomous edge it always had before he did something ruthless.

The humming behind the curtain stopped.

The bathroom suddenly grew so quiet that he could hear his own pulse.

"Heh." The girl gave a soft laugh, as though she had heard an amusing joke.

"It's pouring outside, and my clothes got filthy. I just came to borrow your bathroom."

Her voice was languid, carrying the relaxed ease of someone who had just soaked in a hot bath.

Oswald moved his thumb to the safety.

"I'll ask you one more time." Oswald's voice dropped. "Tell me who you are, or I'll shoot."

The curtain stirred. A hand emerged from behind it and slowly drew it from left to right, as though opening a stage curtain.

The scent of lavender and the sweet fragrance of the girl's body wafted out with the steam.

Ririko tilted her head against the edge of the tub, her soaking-wet hair clinging to her bare shoulders and collarbones...

The water reached just to her chest. A thin layer of bath-salt foam floated on the surface, trembling gently with each breath she took.

She looked at Oswald, her eyes curving slightly.

"How rude... can't you see I'm taking a bath?" Ririko's voice was like a sugar cube slowly melting on the tongue.

Oswald's eyes widened, his pupils dilating with them.

He recognized the woman before him.

The alluring mole beneath her left eye had appeared in his dreams just last night.

"Butch said... he'd already buried you." Oswald's voice trembled slightly.

Butch wouldn't make such a basic mistake. Of all the people he had buried over the years, not one had ever come running back to "borrow" his bathroom.

Ririko sat up a little straighter in the tub, water sliding off her shoulders.

"You believed him just because he said so?" With one hand braced against the tub and the other propping up her face, Ririko sounded as though she were recounting some minor annoyance. "Maybe he just wanted to keep me for himself behind your back."

Ririko had barely escaped death, only to discover that she had been buried in the dirt. She had to find somewhere to bathe first, then take her time looking for another opportunity to get close to Bruce Wayne.

Unexpectedly, her luck had been rather good. She had made it to Gotham's most luxurious establishment, the Iceberg Lounge, and had enjoyed a very comfortable soak in its bathroom.

Oswald's expression changed.

"How dare you speak to me like that?" His voice climbed another pitch.

Ririko studied the man before her.

[Core character: Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot]

[Identity: owner of the Iceberg Lounge/underworld organization leader]

[Current infatuation value: 1/100]

She knew the famous Oswald. He had an even more famous name-the Penguin.

This bird man would later become mayor of Gotham City, and his underground empire would amass a fortune second only to the Wayne family's.

He was a promising conquest.

She stared at Oswald's tense face.

Thin and pale, with dark circles beneath his eyes, he had decent features at their foundation. But a hooked nose rose from them like a tower from flat ground, twisting what little delicacy he had into something sinister.

He was only in his twenties, yet his brow always carried a look of bitter resentment, as though everyone owed him eight million.

Stranger still, why wasn't he letting his guard down around her the way other men did?

Ririko stood up in the tub.

Water cascaded down her body like a waterfall, splitting along the curves of her shoulders, the dip of her waist, and the outer lines of her thighs before splashing into the tub.

"W-what are you doing?!" Oswald was stunned. How could she just stand before him like that, glistening wet?

He hastily turned his face away, his voice almost a scream. "Put some clothes on!"

Ririko picked up a white bath towel embroidered with the Iceberg Lounge's logo.

She wrapped it around herself and stepped barefoot onto the bathroom's slick tiles.

"What are you yelling for? Have you never seen a woman before?" Ririko tilted her head, droplets falling from the ends of her hair.

Oswald covered his eyes with one arm and waved his gun hand a few times, signaling for her to cover herself with more fabric, quickly.

Ririko rolled her eyes. This bird man was ridiculously innocent.

She dried herself, then took a cotton robe from the oak cabinet and slipped it on.

"All right, you can lower your arm now."

The corners of Oswald's eyes were red. His gaze moved to the small patch of skin at her collarbone, flushed slightly from the hot water, then swept over the curves beneath her robe before snapping away as though burned.

He cleared his throat. "You're supposed to be dead. You shouldn't be here, much less soaking in my bathtub!"

Ririko said indifferently, "If I'm not welcome, I can leave."

Her hand had already reached the doorknob. "Bye, then."

Oswald looked at the hand resting on the doorknob, and his brain immediately caught up:

If his men saw a woman coming out of his room with soaking-wet hair, dressed like that, wouldn't his reputation be ruined?

"Wait."