Halfway through his flight, Silo suddenly remembered a very important question.
The teenager in the hooded sweatshirt pulled out his phone, opened the navigation app, and carefully typed in the name "Mikona Hotel."
— Right, he suddenly remembered he didn't know the way.
"Hmm… go left first, wait, which way is left again?" Silo instinctively flew a few meters to the right, only to find himself naturally veering off the correct path on the navigation.
"Almost forgot, left and right are reversed here—left is right, and right is left."
After saying this, Silo fell silent himself.
He felt a bit stupid.
Maintaining this awkward silence, Silo slowly flew to the Mikona Hotel as directed by the navigation.
The hotel was over fifty stories tall. Silo crouched in the shadows and scanned the building. The moment he did, he spotted a problem with this glittering establishment.
Silo could see through the entire hotel at a glance—it was still under construction and renovation, with barricade signs up. No one was moving around for now, but beneath the hotel, there was a large patch of black shadow—which meant there was a massive underground space built entirely with lead-lined construction.
To be honest, Silo wasn't too familiar with this. He was used to wide, unobstructed views. Back home, no one dared to do something like this so openly—everyone was happy to give Kryptonians some face. After all, aside from screwing each other over, they had no other secrets they couldn't reveal. They wore their desires plainly on their faces.
They took pride in evil; greed was their nature, and deception was instinct.
They could be called partners, but when one of them fell, he would never receive concern. The others would only kill him at the first opportunity, then madly fight over his assets and territory, even tearing into each other.
Oh, maybe their way of showing concern was "When you grow weak, I'll kill you with my own hands"?
Silo shivered. He felt that relationship was a bit… ambiguous.
And he realized he was overthinking it. The concept of concern belonged to this world—his home had no such thing.
Gotham had too many lead-lined buildings, so the Mikona Hotel wasn't conspicuous among them. But when attention focused on this particular hotel, that lead-lined space underground became very special indeed.
As far as Silo knew, lead only blocked Kryptonian vision, so a lead-lined space must also be meant to counter Kryptonians. Anything related to Kryptonians inevitably involved Kryptonite, so…
Here I come! Kryptonite!
Silo floated up excitedly. He scanned the hotel's key structural points at the foundation, then without hesitation, slammed his fist into it!
Cracks spread outward from where his fist struck, forming web-like patterns. For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Plaster peeled away, floors snapped apart, and the screech of twisting rebar accompanied the collapse of the magnificent building!
Massive chunks of rubble and debris came crashing down. Silo had a bit of a cleanliness obsession, so he dodged a few pieces of debris that were heading straight for his head.
— He wanted what was in the basement, but if only a single item went missing, it would be easy for someone to notice. Silo wasn't planning to expose himself just yet.
So in times like this, all he needed to do was expand the scope of the damage!
If the entire hotel collapsed, who would care about a few missing things in the basement? Everything was buried together anyway—who could tell if someone had just grabbed something on a whim?
And with the building collapsing like this, all traces would be hidden beneath the rubble. Who could possibly figure out what had triggered the initial collapse?
Silo thought his plan was absolutely perfect. Even Lex would have to praise him for this one. After all, he wasn't destroying a LexCorp building.
What troubled detectives the most was never premeditated crime, but impulsive crime. Just like how the hardest murders to solve were always the ones where strangers were targeted at random.
Silo had no grudge against Black Mask, and he'd never shown any sign of being special in daily life. Even Batman would be baffled trying to figure out who was making a move against Black Mask. As for Black Mask himself, he could probably instantly come up with a dozen suspects in his own head.
As for surveillance? Silo figured he wasn't stupid enough to leave evidence—he'd already dealt with that from the start.
The hotel wasn't occupied right now, but Silo still heard human screams. He distinguished the sound, then looked down from his elevated position with lowered eyes toward the opening that had been exposed underground.
Because of the hotel's collapse, the lead-lined structure below had also been affected. A group of researchers in white lab coats were frantically clutching stacks of documents and running out.
Silo didn't really care what they were researching. His attention had long been captured by something else—his eyes sparkling as he stared at the green stones the researchers hadn't managed to take with them, left behind in the basement.
Silo let out a joyful cheer and flew toward the coordinates of that green stone.
The familiar green stone sat under a glass cover, while a still-powered computer displayed complex chemical formulas.
Silo glanced at it.
He truly had little interest in research experiments, but when the data was laid out so blatantly before his eyes, his brain instinctively began to think and analyze, faster than his own reaction could catch up.
By the time he snapped back to himself, he already knew exactly what these researchers were studying.
They were researching Kryptonite, seemingly trying to create a synthetic version with special effects.
And the green "Kryptonite" now sitting before Silo was their half-finished product.
The building was still collapsing. Though it couldn't hurt Silo, he wasn't keen on letting dust settle on him either.
When something looks like Kryptonite, smells like Kryptonite, and bites like Kryptonite—then it IS Kryptonite!
So what if it was synthetic? He himself was artificially synthesized too! Technology eating technology—nothing shameful about that.
Before the building could crash down on him, Silo cheerfully tossed the synthetic Kryptonite, smaller than a fist, into his mouth. A crisp crunch spread between his lips and teeth.
The weakness in his body stopped spreading at that moment, like a starving person finally taking their first bite of bread after three days—Silo's eyes faintly reflected a red glow, and the sudden surge of power made him desperately want to destroy something.
But his ears twitched, catching sounds from outside.
—It was Batman.
The massive commotion here had drawn Batman's attention. Silo, who had been getting a bit carried away, suddenly remembered Nightwing's gaze, and his eyes instantly cleared.
"It's not like I'm scared," Silo muttered. "I just hate having dirty clothes. I need to go home and take a shower."
Silo decisively ignored the fact that not a speck of dust had landed on him.
Wayne Manor.
"Alfred, if you accidentally said something offensive to someone you don't know very well, how would you handle it afterward?" Tim asked hesitantly, posing the question to Wayne's old butler.
Though Silo didn't seem to mind, Tim still felt apologetic—he knew his curiosity and probing nature could sometimes come across as too intense, but he never meant to hurt anyone.
His only friend dying—that sounded far too serious, not something to joke about.
Alfred looked at the young man before him with some surprise, noticing the hesitation and remorse in his brow, and couldn't help softening his tone: "It's always easy to misjudge boundaries when getting along with friends, causing friction. I'm certain you didn't mean any harm, Master Tim, but expressing your apology is still a necessary courtesy."
"Prepare some small gifts, some treats, and sincerely convey your apology—I'm sure the other party will be willing to give you another chance, Master Tim."
Tim paused, looking up at Alfred with a somewhat pitiful expression, and said, "I'm not quite sure what he likes… You'll help me, right? Alfie."
"Of course." Alfred raised an eyebrow lightly.
The next day, Tim brought the treats Alfred had helped him prepare to school, but unexpectedly, his "new deskmate" wasn't in his seat.
After the first class began, the teacher also asked curiously why Sunlight wasn't there. All the students exchanged blank looks—they clearly had no idea either.
This puzzled Tim, but he didn't have to dwell on it for long. Before the bell for the second class rang, Silo walked in with a pale face.
The curly-haired boy pulled out his chair, practically collapsing into it, and immediately slumped onto the desk, looking utterly listless.
Tim asked with concern, "What's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"
He remembered Silo looking perfectly healthy yesterday.
"Shady business, that takeout I ate yesterday gave me a bad stomach. I was throwing up all night." Silo said weakly and indignantly: "Tonight I'm definitely going to beat up that bastard owner who doesn't even have a business license!"
He didn't even know whether to credit Black Mask or not—this was the first time in his life he'd gotten a bad stomach from eating! And from eating Kryptonite, no less!!
Silo noted this grudge.
Tim frowned: "Then why didn't you take a day off?"
"Because after throwing up, I felt about done with it." Silo propped his chin on his hand, tilting his head to look at his chosen new deskmate: "And home is too boring. You're more interesting. I wanted to come hang out with you."
Tim: "…"
Tim paused for a moment, then pulled a box out of his backpack. "I originally wanted to give this to you, but since you've got an upset stomach…"
Just as Tim's words trailed off, his super sense of smell kicked in, and Silo caught the sweet aroma of cookies.
"For me?" Silo asked, puzzled. "What do you want from me? I remember you're not short on money."
Tim blinked: "What?"
Silo, seeing Tim's reaction, grew even more confused: "You don't want me to do anything for you, so why are you giving me something?"
Tim widened his eyes, staring at the face pale from an upset stomach—Silo carried a strong sense of dissonance, a purity that seemed detached from society, as if he had never truly set foot on the ground and touched the human world.
Tim believed this stemmed from Silo's physical condition, having spent long periods confined to his room without human contact. But it was only now, from Silo's reaction, that he vaguely grasped a possibility that would astonish him.
This sense of being out of the ordinary wasn't so much a natural trait as it was the result of deliberate control—someone had projected their own unconventional thoughts onto Silo. After all, the more blank a person is, the easier it is for other colors to stain them.
Tim didn't notice how serious his expression had become. He pressed his lips together, stared intently at Silo, and spoke: "I just wanted to share a flavor I like with you."
"I don't want anything from you… no, perhaps I do."
The black-haired, blue-eyed boy said to his unusual deskmate: "I want to apologize for my rudeness yesterday. If I must say what I want from you, it's your forgiveness."
Tim paused, observing Silo's expression, then slowly continued, tentatively adding one final sentence:
"…And we generally call this relationship—friends."