Apprentice to the Justice League

Gotham Port The night wind ruffled the corners of his cloak, and the air smelled of sea water and rotten iron. He stood high and opened his night vision goggles. She's down there again. The cat. Selina Kyle wore a gray and white color-blocking tight leather jacket today, no longer pure black. She always does it, without repeating, explaining, or running away. She is like the only gust of wind in Gotham that disobeys orders at night. She was prying open a black market jewelry box. "The infrared ray on the left side is not broken," he whispered. She stopped after a second and smiled without looking up: "You are here, Mr. Bat. Are you fighting crime tonight too?" He did not answer. She has become accustomed to his silence. She knew that he would stop her but not hurt her. Like a mysophobic judge - knowing she is guilty, yet showing mercy every time. She stood up and turned around slowly: "Don't you always say, 'You shouldn't cross the line'?" He didn't want to admit it: he came earlier than the detector was triggered. He even observed her for more than forty seconds before speaking. "You're waiting for me." Bruce finally spoke, his voice low, like tiles soaked in rain. "Maybe." She smiled, "Can't you pretend not to be narcissistic?" He jumped down and landed three steps away from her, like a spring that was fully stretched. She did not retreat, but looked up at him: "Who are you guarding against? Me or yourself?" He did not move. She then said: "Don't you not kill people? Then why do you look at me as if you want to throw me into hell every time?" Bruce did not respond immediately. He found that he could not maintain the coldness of the mask in front of her. Not because she is beautiful, but because she is not afraid of him. This is the first time since he became Batman. "Stay away from this area." He said very softly, "Tonight... There will be danger." Selina tilted her head: "Are you concerned about me?" He turned and left, not wanting to say another word. But her voice chased after her, like a cat scratching the door: "You're not here to stop me, are you? You just... Want to know if I will wait for you to show up." He paused in his steps. The wind stopped for two seconds. …She was right. The night is like an uncovered canvas. He didn't look back, just said: "Take another way. Don't touch the goods." "Got it, Mr. Bat." She said softly, "But you have to tell me one thing." "What." "Will you miss me next time I'm not here?" She thought she knew the answer.

The old man's name is Isaac Moore. A retired air force, his wife passed away two years ago, and his son lives abroad. This year, flights were canceled due to a snowstorm and he was unable to return home. He himself declined the neighbor's invitation, saying only "I can do it." Clark didn't knock. He stood fifty meters outside the rooftop, watching quietly through the window. Not voyeurism, but a judgment - does one really want a visitor? Isaac made a cup of tea in the room and placed the other cup across the table. He sat down and stared at the empty seat for five minutes. Clark landed and knocked on the door lightly. When the door opened, the old man was shocked at first, then confused, and finally smiled softly: "Even Superman comes to visit these days?" "It's very windy today," Clark showed a little shyly, "I... I heard you have hot tea here." Isaac did not ask how he knew, nor did he show excitement or the admiration of the fans. Just nod and let him in, like a late neighbor. They talked about the war years, old airplanes, and the "Mystery Theater" they watched when they were young. Clark said little of himself and listened intently. At dawn, Isaac suddenly said: "Do you know what I was most afraid of when I was young?" "Not bullets, not plane crashes, not being captured." He paused: "It is the silence of New Year's Eve. You survive a war, and then no one remembers that you are alive." Clark did not answer. He just reached out and took out something from his pocket—an old medal. "I found this medal under the wall of Luxembourg. You escaped the bombardment to protect the refugees and left it there." Isaac was stunned. "I was not Superman at the time, I was just a boy who had just learned to fly, watching from the dark." Clark smiled, "I have always kept this medal, and today I think you should get it back." Isaac's hands were shaking. Outside the window, dawn breaks on the horizon. The city was illuminated by a warm ray of sunlight - not a miracle, but a natural dawn, but like some kind of response. Isaac leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes: "You know, in this life, I don't regret anything I have done. I just occasionally... Want to know if anyone remembers." Superman stood up, wrapped a blanket around him, and said: "Merry Christmas." When Clark left, the sky was completely bright. The metropolis is still functioning, and the world has not changed. But in an old apartment, an old man finally fell asleep in the warmth and was no longer awakened by loneliness. Not every pain needs to be repaired. Sometimes, the strongest people just need someone to sit down and listen to what they have to say.

Maybe I don't know how to appreciate it. Anyway, I feel that this protagonist is very frustrating and uncomfortable to watch.

I finished reading the final battle of the previous book in one go, and now I have 11 more tickets, just in time for the new book😋 The level is still maintained, which is impressive.

If you want to be Superman, just travel through time and become Xiao Qiao.

Ha? Why does this introduction look so much like the parallel world of the book (or is it?)?

Dear writer, your new book is very good. I have joined the new book investment group. Please update~

Will you pick up Ben? I hope this one is too