Batwoman tugged her cape over herself, shielding against the billowing dust and smoke rushing at her. She stood rooted to the spot like a pillar, her eyes not on the explosion but fixed on another patch of empty air.
A moment later, a massive doorway suddenly appeared there. Its doors were red, its studs golden, and it was steeped in an antique Eastern style.
With a creaking groan, the doors opened a crack, and a head poked out from within. The man's words were equally full of traditional Eastern wisdom:
"Damn it! Who blew up my bonsai?! Ah! My trees! My water! Your mother's—!"
In the East, whether it was a river or a lake, it could be called water. Sometimes, calling it water simply sounded classier. Like, "The wind sighs, the Yi River runs cold." If you changed it to "the Yi River is cold," it lost all its flavor.
That way, even a little elegant phrase like "fragrant water" could demonstrate that the speaker possessed a high level of cultural refinement.
As a Superhero, owning up to one's actions was a basic virtue. Looking at the man whose entire face had gone red with rage, Batwoman neither dodged nor flinched. She calmly pulled a small loudspeaker from her belt.
"I did it."
The man inside the door sprang out at once. His expression shifted from surprise to delight, then finally to excitement.
White qi erupted from his body, forming a fierce vortex. The scene was as exaggerated as a Super Saiyan transformation. He shouted:
"You wicked thief! One look at how you're dressed tells me you're no good! I'll capture you and make you plant trees for five hundred years! Tend water for five hundred years!"
With that, the man attacked. He appeared to throw nothing more than