Five hours earlier…
High above the grime and endless rain of Gotham's underbelly stood a villa of exceptional extravagance. Italian-imported marble, chandeliers sculpted from crystal, an indoor pool powered by geothermal energy… All of it belonged to Satoru Gojo, 24 years old, Gotham's self-proclaimed magnate.
Some whispered he was born in the sewers. Others claimed he grew up in an orphanage for the unwanted children of criminals. The truth? No one really knew. But all agreed on one thing: this man was dangerous. Not because he killed — Gojo rarely dirtied his hands. No, it was because he made powerful people bend with a smile and a whisper.
He carved a path to the top in just a few years. First by cornering the market on high-end narcotics — a drug addictive, pure, and completely undetectable by conventional methods. Then by discreetly arming the most extreme groups across the globe. Every shadow war brought him profits… and every crisis made him stronger. That was one of the reasons he was untouchable — he knew far too much about the people in power.
And today was his birthday.
The 24th birthday of the Uncrowned King of Gotham.
And the whole city had come to pay homage.
---
In the gardens of his villa, protected by anti-drone barriers and dozens of private guards, the party was already in full swing. Champagne flowed like rivers, and a live jazz ensemble played a modern symphony under golden lights.
At a single table, corrupt politicians, corporate elites, and masked criminals laughed openly together. That was Gojo's true genius — he had created a neutral zone, where even the most wanted could gather... as long as they respected his rules.
The most influential faces on Earth were present.
Bruce Wayne, Lex Luthor, Talia al Ghul…
Others had come too — masked, disguised, or cloaked in shadows.
Suddenly, the music halted.
A blacked-out armored limousine rolled up to the front gate. Reporters swarmed toward it, cameras flashing, hearts pounding. This was the moment they had waited for.
The door opened slowly.
And there he was.
Satoru Gojo, 24 years old. Mid-length white hair slicked back, stylish black sunglasses resting low on his nose. His ocean-blue eyes shimmered under the spotlights, instantly capturing every gaze. He wore a tailored black suit with an open collar that revealed a sleek onyx pendant on his chest.
A cocky smile played across his lips as he walked forward, hands in his pockets. His stride was relaxed, almost lazy… yet every step echoed like that of a king entering his court.
The reporters screamed his name, but he said nothing. A nod — subtle, commanding. On either side of him, two stunning women — likely models or discreet escorts — flanked him like silent trophies.
The party resumed the moment he entered.
Gojo shook hands, winked smoothly, kissed fingers with playful elegance. His charisma rippled through the air like pheromones. Conversations would quiet down whenever he passed by.
Bruce Wayne never truly blended in, even when he tried. Charcoal-gray suit, perfectly tailored, piercing steel-blue eyes under a locked-down expression. He stood with his back straight, arms behind him, like a general surveying enemy territory.
Gojo approached calmly, a glass of bourbon in hand. His tie was slightly loosened, and that usual lazy smirk curved his lips.
"Bruce, you made it… I'm genuinely touched."
He extended his glass in a mock toast.
Bruce stared at him for a few seconds, then took the glass — unsmiling.
"I was curious to see how far you'd go this time."
Gojo chuckled low, a flicker of amusement in his tone.
"Always so warm. You should come to my parties more often. There are people here far more malicious than me, I assure you. You could arrest a few."
Bruce's eyes swept across the room.
A tense silence.
Then, coldly:
"Enjoy your ivory tower while you can, Gojo. One day, it'll collapse."
Gojo took a step closer, meeting his eyes with a glint.
"Maybe. But I'm sure my favorite little bat will help me rebuild it — just like last time."
Wayne exhaled through his nose and looked away, a memory surfacing, clearly unpleasant. He took a sip of his drink and walked off, leaving Gojo smiling behind him.
She approached with the confident stride of a woman used to chasing truth. Lois Lane, brunette hair pulled up in a sharp bun, blood-red dress hugging her frame, digital notepad in hand. Her eyes were focused, but her poise made it clear — she knew she was being watched, and she didn't mind.
Gojo, ever quick on his feet, closed the distance.
"Miss Lane. I hoped you'd show up. Gotham feels dull without a sharp mind in the room."
She raised an eyebrow.
"I'm here for an exclusive story. Not to be flirted with by Gotham's latest pretty-boy billionaire."
He tilted his head, mock-offended.
"Harsh… yet you wear that dress like it's a declaration of war."
She rolled her eyes and tapped her screen.
"You have ties to LexCorp, to underground networks, and whispers in Capitol corridors. Are you going to give me real answers, or just keep flirting?"
He stepped in closer, eyes sparkling.
"Why not both?"
She sighed.
"I'm taken, Gojo."
"And I'm persistent," he quipped, leaning in just close enough for her to feel his breath — intimate, but not inappropriate.
She turned her head slightly… a faint blush warming her cheeks.
"You're not serious," she murmured.
His voice dropped to a soft purr:
"Not when I'm this attracted… Anyway, I might give you that exclusive, Miss Lane. Later~"
---
Talia al Ghul stood atop one of the balconies, overseeing the celebration like a queen judging the court. Her black dress, slit to the thigh, traced her body with deadly elegance. A red rose adorned her dark hair, and her sharp green eyes seemed to weigh every soul beneath her.
She was here to observe… and to network.
Gojo joined her silently, hands in his pockets.
"Not drinking?" he asked.
"I prefer to stay sharp," she replied, her voice soft — but edged like a dagger.
He leaned closer.
"Even at a party hosted by an irresistible man?"
She stared at him.
"You're convinced you're irresistible. That's not quite the same."
"Experience usually proves me right," he replied with a smug grin.
Talia crossed her arms, her movement subtly accentuating her cleavage.
"You're flirting with a woman who could slit your throat tonight."
He laughed lightly.
"You just earned ten points. Most women here settle for calling me too pretty to be dangerous."
She stepped closer, her voice lowering.
"You want to play with me, Satoru? That's dangerous."
Gojo took her hand gently, kissing it. Her smooth, sun-kissed skin brought a smirk to his face.
Damn.
"Sometimes poison becomes the cure… for those with nothing left to lose."
She studied him for a long moment.
"My father wants an alliance—"
"Shhhhh," he interrupted, brushing a finger against her lips.
"That can come later, baby girl. I have an announcement to make."
---
Gojo cleared his throat and stepped onto a small raised platform, lifting his glass high.
"Ladies. Gentlemen. Criminals. Bastards. Luxury whores. Hypocrites, divas — and the rest of you freaks…"
Laughter burst through the crowd.
"Tonight, I celebrate my 24th birthday. I've survived Gotham, the black market, assassinations, corrupt judges — and even my exes."
Another wave of laughter.
"I'm here… but most importantly, I'm still human. And every one of us here — young or old — still fears the unknown. That fear now wears a face… the face of metahumans."
In a corner, Lex Luthor, bored until now, suddenly straightened in his seat.
The party had just taken a new turn.