Chapter 436

It turned out the overnight blizzard caused far more trouble than anyone imagined: when a room in one of Metropolis's most important and grandest buildings exploded violently, sending flames roaring into the sky, all police and ambulance vehicles failed to arrive on time because snow had blocked every road.

Someone might ask, what about snowplows? The snowplows were stranded even farther away than the police and ambulances, and it would take them two hours to plow their way here.

Schiller walked slowly down the corridor, completely ignoring the thick smoke rising from below; he descended the spiral staircase and, upon reaching the reception floor, saw a red-haired figure stumbling toward him.

Schiller watched Lex run to the corner of the corridor, open a window, thrust his head outside, and gulp down several deep breaths of fresh air before coughing violently.

When he straightened up and saw Schiller standing at the stairwell, he pointed to the end of the stairs and said, "Bruce Wayne did this!"

Bruce emerged slowly from the smoke, carrying a fire extinguisher; his face wore a rudimentary gas mask—clearly one of the items Selina had brought back—and he tossed the extinguisher onto the floor. "This thing's expired. We need another solution."

Schiller slowly unfolded the umbrella he held, and both Lex and Bruce watched his motion, puzzled by his intent—until he raised it above his head, revealing a pocket of air beneath it completely free of smoke, as if immune to all toxins.

Schiller held the umbrella aloft, glanced at Lex, then at Bruce, and asked, "Can either of you explain what just happened?"

Lex stared at the ceiling patterns, Bruce stared at the text on the extinguisher; Schiller coughed once, and finally Bruce spoke: "I swear, I took apart the helicopter's engine only to prove my design was flawless—and he suggested it."

Lex stared at Bruce's finger pointing at him and shouted back, "You claimed your modified helicopter engine is the best in the world, but you're just bragging—the best engine will always be mine!"

"But you have no evidence, while I have a working prototype."

"But I already pointed out the flaws in your engine components—your energy efficiency is abysmal. If it weren't for Lionel's interference denying me a lab, I'd have shown you what true genius looks like!"

"Your arrogance and conceit violate the very spirit of scientific inquiry," Bruce said, his tone calm as ever, yet clearly desperate to dismantle Lex's claims.

This was the first time he truly faced someone whose intellect matched his own—at least in invention and engineering, Luthor and Batman were evenly matched.

And both were under twenty; no matter how brilliant or disciplined, it was hard not to harbor competitive impulses—and indeed, anyone who climbed to the peak of scientific research held absolute confidence in their own abilities.

After their initial probing, they realized each other's processing speed and IQ were identical—and both understood at once: they had met their equal.

What followed was a long, drawn-out theoretical debate; had they not been strangers who distrusted each other completely, this single night might have pushed DC's scientific frontiers forward by decades.

But theory alone couldn't settle the matter. Soon, they wanted to move to experimentation—but this was the mayor's mansion, not their lab, and they had no tools or materials to work with.

Then, as they talked, the conversation drifted to Bruce's gadgets, then to the vehicle he'd used to arrive: the helicopter.

As everyone knew, just like the Batmobile, all of Batman's vehicles only looked like their conventional counterparts—they had been utterly transformed into something entirely different. The helicopter was no exception; if it suddenly morphed into a rocket launch platform and assembled a rocket midair to blast into space, no one would be surprised.

Talking about the helicopter meant talking about Bruce's modified engine—the most critical component. Bruce was confident in his design; he believed he'd accounted for every variable, making it the perfect helicopter engine.

Lex, of course, didn't believe it. In the two years since he'd stopped taking drugs, he'd mastered nearly all human knowledge; just like Bruce, any scientific concept too obscure for ordinary people was as simple to him as eating or drinking. He scoffed at Bruce's so-called "perfect engine," certain he could find its flaws.

Bruce, curious whether Lex could truly find any, spent the night climbing out of the manor's window to the helipad on the opposite building's roof, then dismantled the helicopter's engine.

Fortunately, Bruce hadn't been wearing his Batsuit while doing it—otherwise, he'd have looked like a battery thief.

Regardless, Bruce successfully brought the helicopter engine into the reception room, and the two began hammering and tinkering.

Let it be said: anything Batman built was exceptionally safe.

But this wasn't a lab—there were no specialized tools to pry open the engine casing. As their argument grew fiercer and neither could convince the other, they resorted to facts: Lex decided to use a directional explosion to target the internal circuitry directly.

The result? It worked—Lex did pinpoint the engine's flaw in that instant. But the physical spark that followed was far larger than the intellectual one.

These two weren't lacking in intelligence—they were just unlucky. The explosion should've been contained, but something went wrong somewhere, and the helicopter engine detonated.

Before the blast, both realized something was wrong and moved away—so neither was injured. But the explosion's force shattered every window in the reception room and ignited a fire.

Schiller listened to the full account, touched his brow, then checked his watch: it was just after seven a. m. He looked out the window—winter days dawned late, and outside, the sky remained pitch black.

Schiller wearily closed his umbrella and looked at the two. "What are you standing around for? Put out the fire."

Lex and Bruce sighed in unison—they knew, in this weather, waiting for police or fire trucks was futile. They'd have to use the oldest method.

Bruce walked toward the far end of the corridor. "I'll get a hose from the nearest bathroom. You go downstairs and evacuate anyone trying to flee into the backyard."

Lex muttered under his breath, glanced at Schiller beside him, said nothing, and turned to head downstairs.

As he neared the window, he glanced out, gripped the balcony railing, and whispered, "Am I hallucinating? Something just flew past in the sky."

Lex squinted out the window, then turned to Bruce, who hadn't yet left. "I told you—your engine isn't perfect. Your helicopter can't fly in this weather. But some helicopters can."

Bruce was rushing to fight the fire and ignored him. But as he reached the nearest bathroom, connected the hose, and carried the other end back to the reception room to extinguish the flames, he caught a shadow near the broken glass.

The shadow held a real fire hose, spraying water—but the man himself leaned weakly against the wall, unsteady.

Aside from the initial blast, the fire inside the reception room wasn't large. Bruce advanced slowly with his makeshift hose, soon carving a path, then reached the window, picked up the unknown fire hose, and began dousing the flames.

The fire hose was far more effective than his makeshift one. Soon, the fire was nearly out. Bruce reached the shadow's side, dropped the hose, stepped forward, removed his gas mask, and placed it over the man's face.

He looked at the figure and asked, "Who are you? How did you get here? Why weren't you in your guest room?"

"I…" The man uttered one syllable, then burst into a fit of coughing.

Bruce studied him: a boy roughly his own build, black hair, eyes obscured by smoke, but strikingly handsome and physically strong.

Bruce frowned—he didn't recall inviting anyone who looked like this. Yet clearly, he'd brought the fire hose.

yawenku.

Bruce turned again, focusing on the fire hose—and noticed it seemed to extend from outside the window.

He walked to the window, picked up the hose, and looked down—and saw an entire fire truck's water tank.

Even with Bruce's intellect, he couldn't fathom how such a massive tank had appeared here.

He glanced at the hose in his hand, then at the boy, and finally dropped the hose. He stepped beside the boy and asked, "Did you bring the tank here?"

"Uh, no—I guess it was the fire department?"

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "Then why are you here? I don't remember you being invited to the party."

"I just came to help," the boy insisted. "I'm a student at Metropolis University. We just finished our break—I was heading home, but the blizzard shut down all transport."

"I saw the building spewing smoke from campus, knew it was on fire, and came to help."

"You just 'happened to see' it?" Bruce repeated the phrase, his skepticism obvious. The boy opened his mouth to explain—but Lex stormed in, cursing: "Jesus Christ, what the hell are you doing in there? Is a little flame worth—"

"Oh…" Lex stopped at the doorway, stared at Bruce. "So to prove your helicopter engine is the best in the world, you turned it into a person?"

"No—he says he came to help," Bruce turned back.

But at that moment, he heard a loud thump behind him—the strange boy collapsed onto the floor.

No one attacked him. Nothing tripped him. He simply fell, as if the air itself had given way.

Lex stared at the fallen boy and said, "If he really is your helicopter engine, he's a terrible one."