Leon Graves was forced awake by a burning sensation in his stomach.
Tony Stark, the black card, and Batman crouching beside him while handing over napkins—all of it shattered apart in Gotham’s cold morning wind, carrying the smell of rust mixed with rotting seawater.
He stared blankly at the ceiling, thinking the only flaw in that dream was waking up.
Because waking up meant facing reality.
And reality meant having absolutely no money.
Leon rubbed his shriveled stomach and glanced at the dried web residue on his wrist.
Describing Spider-Man’s web fluid in detail would probably get flagged as something overly vulgar.
Sigh.
Leon’s logic was simple: no money meant no protein, no protein meant no webbing, and no webbing meant no way to grind rewards.
A perfect capitalist death loop.
Thanks to Gotham.
Thanks to the System.
And thanks to that idiot Old Graves and his obsession with the American Dream.
Relying on stealing food from street criminals every day wasn’t a sustainable plan.
He was already physically stronger than the average adult, and Gotham Harbor had notoriously loose management, so even undocumented workers could sneak in to move cargo there.
Working one day at a time was at least stable income.
Sigh.
Why did he still have to get a job after transmigrating?
He didn’t want to become a failed adult anymore.
He wanted to become Batman.
Leon rolled off the sofa and decided to try his luck at Gotham Harbor.
The docks in Gotham’s South District smelled of cheap cigarettes and diesel exhaust.
Larry sat sideways on a shaky wooden chair and spat out a thick wad of phlegm that landed precisely two centimeters away from Leon’s shoes.
That level of accuracy deserved an Olympic medal.
Leon had spent nearly the entire day squatting around the docks before finally waiting for the manager to appear.
He had heard Larry’s name from some street thugs during his earlier “heroic activities.”
“Larry, need help moving cargo?”
Larry glanced at him sideways.
Hmph.
An undocumented immigrant brat desperate for work because he’s starving.
Then his eyes narrowed slightly.
This Eastern European teenager was surprisingly handsome.
Even in a faded hoodie, his face looked clean enough to belong on a billboard advertisement.
In Gotham, looking good was hard currency.
Not because beauty mattered.
Because attractive people sold well.
In every possible sense.
Especially a pale-skinned European kid who didn’t look hooked on drugs.
Fresh.
Clean.
Easy to sell.
Larry rolled his eyes before raising three fingers.
“Three days. Thirty bucks.”
Leon instantly did the math in his head.
Thirty dollars for three days.
Ten dollars a day.
New York’s legal minimum wage was over sixteen dollars an hour.
Meaning a legal worker earned enough money in one hour for Larry to make him work three entire days.
Perfect Gotham economics.
“Deal.”
As long as there was money, fine.
Larry pulled a serrated dagger from his waistband and slammed it onto the table with a clang.
“But the rules are changing. You can get paid, but first you gotta pay an initiation fee.”
“See that pharmacy next door? Old guy runs it alone. Go rob the place.”
“We split the cash eighty-twenty, and from now on nobody in this part of Gotham Harbor messes with you.”
“Of course, whether you walk around freely or get carried away in a body bag depends on how useful you are.”
Once the kid committed a crime, selling him afterward would carry far less risk.
Leon stared at the dagger.
A few hundred dollars.
Protein powder.
High-strength webbing.
A naive-looking Leon had already started planning an escape route in his head.
The alley behind the pharmacy had a broken security camera.
Climb over two walls, and he’d reach the subway station.
Perfect.
[System Warning: Severe criminal intent detected from host. Superpower degradation countdown begins: 3…2…]
Leon instantly straightened his back.
His eyes suddenly radiated such righteous energy that Larry’s scalp went numb.
The speed of his expression change was so fast even professional opera actors would’ve called him master.
“Larry.”
“You insult me.”
Larry froze.
“Robbery is illegal.”
Leon’s tone sounded sincere enough to be used in a public service announcement, and his voice was loud enough for half the docks to hear clearly.
“Honesty is the foundation of civilization.”
“Even though I’m so poor I don’t know where tomorrow’s breakfast is coming from—in fact, right now my stomach only contains air and hope—I still possess a golden heart.”
“You want me to rob someone?”
“No.”
“That would betray justice itself.”
“I, Leon Graves, am a good person in life and a good ghost in death.”
“Wow. That line sounded philosophical enough to engrave onto my future tombstone.”
The nearby dock workers gradually stopped moving cargo and stared at him like he belonged in Arkham Asylum.
In Gotham, hearing someone talk about “honesty” and “justice” was rarer than seeing a naked guy sprinting through the streets.
At least public streaking could be explained by alcoholism.
And honestly, Gotham had plenty of those already.
Larry finally realized he was being publicly humiliated.
His face instantly turned red with rage.
In Gotham, humiliation was something washed away with blood.
Or at least by selling the person responsible to an underground pleasure club.
“Are you screwing with me?!”
Larry abruptly stood up, his fat jiggling violently.
“I gave you a chance and you wasted it.”
“Since you’re acting all righteous, fine. Forget getting paid.”
“As for you…”
Larry looked Leon up and down like a butcher evaluating livestock.
“Those freaks running underground pleasure clubs will definitely pay top dollar for a face like yours.”
“That face alone could pay off half my debt.”
“Don’t worry. They’ll treat you real nice.”
“At least during the first month.”
Several thugs immediately surrounded him.
Classic Gotham workplace culture.
If talking failed, start fighting.
If fists failed, use knives.
If knives failed, use shipping containers.
…Wait.
The containers were moved by him.
Leon sighed.
“So this means my employee training package includes getting sold to a pleasure club?”
“Gotham’s labor laws are surprisingly comprehensive.”
As he slowly backed away, Leon frantically screamed inside his mind.
System, you saw that, right?
This isn’t me wanting to fight.
They’re literally trying to sell me to perverts.
This counts as self-defense.
No penalties, right?
Or do you expect me to obediently get sold and then emotionally reform the customers at the pleasure club?
Try imagining that scene yourself, System.
The System remained silent.
Which basically meant approval.
Or maybe even it felt disgusted.
Leon didn’t know whether the System possessed emotions, but he strongly suspected it did.
The lead thug threw a punch directly at Leon’s face.
Leon suddenly slipped as if he had accidentally stepped on oil.
“Oops.”
His body tilted strangely to the side.
The thug punched with too much force and couldn’t stop himself, smashing directly into the crane control lever behind Larry.
Crack.
That punch alone was worth at least three months of workers’ compensation.
The control lever snapped instantly.
The shipping container hanging overhead released an ear-piercing metallic screech.
“Watch out!”
“Actually, I don’t even know what direction you should watch out from!”
Leon casually shoved another thug standing beside him.
Before the man could react, he slammed directly into Larry.
Larry rolled away like a giant meatball, stopping right beside the shadow where the shipping container was falling.
Rolling really was faster than running.
BOOM—
The shipping container smashed into the ground.
Larry wasn’t directly hit, but the shockwave launched him headfirst into a basket full of rotten fish.
Well.
Now he and the fish officially smelled the same.
The remaining thugs tried charging forward, but Leon had already “panicked” and retreated toward the edge of Gotham Harbor.
“Don’t come closer!”
“If you come any closer, I’ll jump!”
“I’m serious!”
“If I jump, you’ll lose valuable merchandise!”
As Leon shouted dramatically, he “accidentally” stepped on a hemp rope lying nearby.
The other end of the rope was tied to a cargo hook.
With one sudden pull, the heavy hook swung backward like a meteor hammer.
Physics truly was beautiful.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Three thugs got smashed in the back of their heads one after another.
They collapsed simultaneously with their eyes rolled white.
It looked so synchronized it could’ve been choreographed.
Leon dusted off his hands and shouted toward Larry, who was still buried inside rotten fish.
“Larry, see?”
“This is what happens when you abandon honesty.”
“Even God couldn’t stand watching anymore.”
“He personally gave you a push.”
“You should really reflect on your life.”
“Oh, and forget the thirty dollars.”
“Consider it your medical expenses.”
After saying that, Leon turned and ran.
The thirty bucks were gone, but at least he hadn’t been sold.
And today’s workout quota was definitely complete.
As Leon walked through Gotham’s cold and damp streets, the hunger in his stomach gradually evolved into stabbing pain.
It had upgraded from “slightly hungry” to “my stomach is currently digesting itself.”
Leon passed by a bakery with fresh bread displayed in the window.
The scent of butter and wheat hit him like a direct physical attack.
In Gotham, this smell was more tempting than crime itself.
Leon stopped walking.
Plan A had failed horribly.
Time to activate Plan B.
Leon didn’t go inside to beg for food.
Instead, he stood outside the window and stared silently at the bread.
Young.
Handsome.
Exhausted.
And carrying just the right amount of stubborn dignity.
His eyes practically screamed:
“I’m starving, but I refuse to beg.”
Leon had practiced this expression seventeen times in front of a mirror.
This was a deadly technique he learned from romance dramas in his previous life.
In theory, it should’ve worked.
Although Gotham clearly didn’t follow romance drama logic.
It truly was a city filled with extraordinary people.
Inside the bakery, the owner was wiping tables.
She noticed the teenager outside.
The thin body.
The stubborn eyes.
And especially that face.
She stared for three seconds.
Then put down the rag and walked over.
Not outside.
Closer.
She pushed open the door and examined Leon from head to toe like she was evaluating merchandise.
A very Gotham-style assessment.
First determine the value.
Then determine how to exploit it.
“Why are you standing there blocking my business?”
She stared at his face for another two seconds.
“With a face like yours, you’d make more money working at clubs downtown.”
“Or is the hiring standard too high for you?”
“That’s illegal.”
Leon answered sincerely.
The owner sneered.
“No.”
“That’s legal.”
“…?”
Leon genuinely wasn’t familiar enough with gotham law to know whether selling minors actually counted as legal here.
Was Gotham really this insane?
The owner glanced at him again.
“Forget it.”
“I need someone to wash dishes in the back.”
“Ten bucks a day.”
“Two meals included.”
“You interested?”
Leon blinked.
This plot twist came faster than the fight at Gotham Harbor.
“What are you staring at?”
The owner shoved a bag of expired sandwiches into his arms.
“This is your advance meal.”
“Come tomorrow at six in the morning.”
“If you’re late, I deduct your pay.”
“If you skip work, I call the cops and tell them you stole from me.”
Leon looked down at the sandwiches in his arms, his throat moving slightly.
Then he smiled.
A bright smile completely out of place in Gotham.
“Thank you.”
“I hope your business keeps booming.”
“May your tables stay full and your tips overflow.”
Clutching the sandwiches tightly, Leon quickly disappeared into the alley.
The moment he entered the alleyway, he tore open the packaging and took a huge bite out of the ham sandwich.
The bread was a little hard.
But this was meat.
Protein.
The raw material required for Spider-Man’s webbing.
The more Leon ate, the more bitter life tasted.
He hated the feeling of being completely broke.
While chewing, Leon silently calculated things in his head.
There were still good people in this world.
The only conditions were being attractive enough…
And being willing to work twelve hours a day for ten dollars.
Still.
At least she was willing to pay him.
That was already pretty good.