While Jonathan and Locke were stumbling upon a donut-shaped man in the wheat fields, a cat-like woman prowled the Gotham nightlife.
Selina Kyle.
Twenty-two years old.
Her job? Well… at least on paper, she was just an ordinary server at the infamous Iceberg Club.
Slinking into the employee locker room with her signature cat-like grace, Selina tossed her leather gloves into her locker, mentally grumbling about some stingy rich guy's tip. Her ears caught the whispers of her coworkers.
"Did you hear? Mr. Oswald demoted all the 'Kings' to regular hosts!"
"Now the whole club's got just one 'King'—Mr. Diego."
"Tch, you'd think he's Oswald's boy toy or something~"
Boy toy?
Selina's hand paused mid-lipstick application, her perfectly arched eyebrow shooting up.
That fat, greasy Oswald?
Just picturing the horrifying image sent a shiver down her spine, nearly making her smear her crimson lip line.
But… curiosity scratched at her like a cat's claw. What kind of guy could earn that kind of favor? Enough to make Oswald, that buffoon, pull such an obvious move?
As she mulled it over, Selina slipped into the club's standard "Catwoman" uniform—a tight, black dress that hugged her curves just right.
Below the hem, her long legs shimmered in black velvet.
Hmm. Say what you will about Oswald, but the guy's taste in uniforms was on point.
Satisfied, she adjusted the cute cat-ear headband in the mirror and decided to take a detour through the main hall to see this "only King" for herself.
Moments later, tucked behind the heavy, deep red velvet curtains at the edge of the hall, Selina's gaze landed on the stage, bathed in countless spotlights.
And she had to admit… Oswald, that gorilla, had taste.
The spotlight poured down like moonlight, enveloping the blond young man at the center of the stage.
It wasn't the sleazy charm of a typical host. No, this was… like a sculpture of an ancient Greek god, radiating an almost arrogant, divine beauty.
When his gaze lazily swept the crowd, those rare, scarlet eyes glinted under the lights, like the richest, most dangerous vintage French wine, tempting anyone to drown in them.
"Hot damn," Selina muttered, then immediately caught herself, startled by her own lapse.
What the hell? She'd seen every kind of heartthrob in Gotham.
But this guy on stage…
His aura was one-of-a-kind, a mix of divine and devilish that hit so hard her cheeks felt oddly warm.
Why?
Because her professional instincts were kicking in.
With the way this guy was drawing attention, he'd probably rake in at least fifty grand in tips tonight from those crazed ladies alone. Maybe more.
Speaking of which, she'd been eyeing a new crocodile-skin clutch lately, and it was just begging for a generous soul to foot the bill.
Her slender fingers smoothed over the sleek fabric of her dress, as if weighing an imaginary wallet.
"Ahem." She cleared her throat, adjusted her outfit, and stepped forward—
Only to get doused with a cold splash of reality.
The stage was mobbed by a swarm of ecstatic socialites and heiresses.
Selina stood on her tiptoes but couldn't find a single gap to slip through. Grumbling, she grabbed a few champagne flutes from a nearby tray and circled the outskirts like a cat locked out of a fish tank.
"Ugh." Life's tough, kitty sighs.
Her gaze drifted from the crowd, boredom setting in as she scanned the club's dimly lit corners—
Wait.
Her eyes locked onto something odd.
A tall young man stood out like a husky in a wolf pack, completely out of place.
Sure, he was wearing a cheap plaid shirt and jeans, but those broad shoulders, long legs, and natural, sunny vibe…
No way a broke guy could afford to be here.
Playing the poor card to catch a big fish, huh?
I get it. She'd seen this act before.
Selina's eyes lit up like a stray cat spotting a grilled fish in the trash.
She spun toward the nearest bartender, grabbing two of the menu's priciest signature cocktails, and glided toward her target.
"Miss Selina," the bartender said, clearly used to her antics, "that's a guest."
"I know," she replied with an innocent, flirty wink. "I'm a server. Isn't it my job to give our VIPs some extra-special service?"
With that, she sauntered over, balancing the vibrant, overpriced drinks, her steps as sleek as a leopard closing in on prey.
But as she got closer, she noticed her target wasn't alone. A girl was glued to his side, dressed like…
Hmm. Your standard innocent college kid. Flat as a board, too.
She was scanning the room with wary eyes.
Rich guys were Selina's bread and butter, but that's because they hadn't met her.
Chin up, confidence radiating, Selina ignored the girl and sidled up to the tall guy, holding out a dazzling cocktail. Her voice dripped with honey: "Good evening, sir. I'm Selina, your server. Care to try our new tequila cocktail?"
"?"
Clark froze like a deer in headlights as this sultry, comic-book-gorgeous Catwoman practically pressed herself against him. His ears turned visibly red.
What was this? A shy little chick fresh out of the egg?
Selina raised a brow, intrigued. This was… kind of fun.
Emboldened, she trailed a red-painted nail lightly along Clark's toned arm, leaning in close, her breath tickling his ear. "Or… maybe you'd like something a bit more special?"
"Back off!" The blonde girl—Chloe—finally snapped, stepping between them like a cat with its tail stepped on. Her eyes blazed with unmasked hostility and protective fury.
Selina blinked, then let out a playful, slightly mocking chuckle, her gaze still glued to Clark. "Sir, this little pet of yours… seems a bit naughty. Need me to tame her for you?"
"Uh, I don't need taming, Miss Selina—" Clark started.
"Wait, hold up!" Pete's stifled laughter broke through from the side.
Clark snapped out of it, fumbling to explain. "Miss Selina, Chloe's not a pet—she's my friend!"
"…"
"You witch! We're out of here!" Chloe's face was red with fury. She shot Selina a death glare, grabbed Clark's arm, and stormed off with surprising strength. "This place sucks! Let's go home!"
"Hey, wait, Chloe, I haven't finished my orange juice…" Pete's voice drowned in the music and chatter.
"Hmph." Selina shrugged, watching the trio's chaotic exit, bored again.
She'd thought he was some trust-fund kid playing the "poor boy" card, but was he actually just a clueless country bumpkin stumbling into a spider's web?
Though that blonde girl's possessiveness was kind of amusing…
Wait.
Selina's breath caught as a detail hit her.
That buzzcut kid who'd been quietly watching from the sidelines—when did he show up?
She hadn't even noticed a third person was there!
That natural ability to blend into the background, to go unnoticed…
He was a born thief, a once-in-a-lifetime talent for her line of work!
"Too bad," she muttered, shrugging with a touch of regret. "Looks like a small-time loser following the wrong crowd."
Sighing, she grabbed the two untouched, expensive cocktails and headed back to the bar.
She'd have to sweet-talk the bartender into refunding them—or at least charging them to someone else's tab.
And so, one group fled, another retreated with drinks in hand.
Neither noticed the icy gaze that had been watching it all from the stage.
The "King" had spotted these three intruders long ago, his cold eyes now fixed on their retreating figures at the exit.
No wonder that beat-up Ford on the way here looked familiar.
So… that's what was going on.
Saraphiel, that little…
He'd trusted him too much.
A dangerous thought flickered through Dio's mind.
Maybe…
It was time to tie up loose ends.