> "We're… we're alive?"
"Oh my god, we're alive!"
"Homelander! It was Homelander who saved us!"
"Thank god—it's Homelander!"
Inside the elevator, the six passengers were still shaking, their eyes wide in disbelief.
Then, when they finally recognized the face standing before them, their confusion turned into pure awe.
It really was Homelander who saved them.
> "Homelander, thank you! You saved us!"
"You really saved our lives!"
One after another, they stumbled out their gratitude, still pale and trembling.
When the elevator had dropped, they'd been sure they were dead men.
> "As long as you're all safe, that's what matters."
Alex nodded lightly.
Around them, Catwoman and the other onlookers rushed forward to help the shaken survivors out of the car.
Then—
> "Wait… what's that?"
Catwoman's sharp eyes had caught something on the floor inside the elevator.
It was an envelope.
Maybe one of the passengers had dropped it?
But who even writes letters anymore?
Before she could reach for it, Alex raised a hand.
The envelope trembled, floated up from the ground as if pulled by invisible strings, and landed gently in his palm.
The crowd gasped again.
> "Incredible…"
"That's Homelander for you—pure magic!"
Alex looked down at the envelope.
On the front, written in bold, deliberate strokes, were four words:
"To: Homelander."
> "It's… addressed to you?"
Catwoman blinked, her instincts immediately kicking in.
This wasn't right.
Homelander had just stopped a murder attempt—
and now, at the crime scene, there just happened to be a letter waiting for him?
Coincidence? Not a chance.
Alex's lips curled into a cold smile.
He already knew who had sent it.
In Gotham, there was only one criminal who loved to make a show out of his crimes, who used elaborate puzzles and riddles to prove his superiority.
The Riddler.
---
Alex tore open the envelope.
Inside were three cards, each neatly printed with a riddle.
1. A diamond plate, a shining hearth, a place you will never leave—where am I?
2. It smells like green paint, pours like purple paint, and covers a white van—what is it?
3. A nightmare to some, a savior to others. My hands are cold and desperate, reaching for a warm heart—what am I?
The Riddler.
Alex's hunch was dead on.
Edward Nygma—the Riddler.
A man with no superpowers, but a mind so sharp it once outmatched even Batman's.
An obsessive puzzle-solver who had turned his love for riddles into a deadly art.
A criminal genius who killed for the thrill of intellectual domination.
---
> "What's all this supposed to mean?"
Catwoman frowned, scanning the cards, but the clues made her head spin.
> "It means someone just declared war on me."
Alex's tone was calm, his expression unreadable.
> "The one who orchestrated the elevator attack is going to strike again.
And the next murder target… is hidden inside these riddles."
Catwoman's eyes widened.
A challenge?
Someone was actually challenging Homelander?
Was this person insane?
---
For half a month, Gotham had been unnaturally quiet.
Under Homelander's watch, crime had plummeted; even the most hardened thugs had gone to ground.
But this… this was proof that some maniacs couldn't resist testing the impossible.
This was Gotham, after all—
a city that never ran out of lunatics.
> "Homelander…"
Catwoman looked up at Alex, her expression grave.
This was the first open act of defiance since Homelander's bloody purge of Gotham's underworld.
If he didn't handle this flawlessly—
his reputation, his authority, his fear factor—
would all take a massive hit.
The criminals he'd cowed into submission would rise again, emboldened.
Catwoman knew it.
So she immediately began trying to decode the riddles, running through every possible interpretation she could think of.
But the clues were abstract, cryptic.
The more she thought, the more lost she felt.
---
> "Don't bother."
Alex's voice cut through her thoughts.
He gave a faint, almost amused laugh and tossed the three cards aside.
> "I already have my answer."
> "You… you already solved them?"
Catwoman stared, dumbfounded.
It had barely been a minute.
She hadn't even found a starting point, and he'd already figured it out?
> "No," Alex said with a knowing smile. "I don't need to solve them."
---
When the elevator cables snapped, his super vision had shown him everything.
The shaft had been empty—no one there.
That meant the bomb had been planted ahead of time and detonated remotely.
And the timing—
the explosion happening just as he arrived—
was far too perfect to be coincidence.
It wasn't a timer bomb.
It was triggered manually.
Which meant the Riddler had been watching.
He'd been monitoring the hotel, watching Alex's every move, and detonated the bomb the second he stepped inside.
So at that exact moment, Alex had extended his super hearing—
and listened.
Across the entire city, every sound, every voice.
And then he heard it.
Five kilometers away—
a sharp, panicked voice.
> "That's impossible! He actually caught it?!"
Alex had locked on instantly.
That was him.
The Riddler.
The self-proclaimed mastermind thought he was safe, hidden, untouchable.
That his little "riddle game" would keep him in control.
But he had already exposed himself the moment he spoke.
Alex now knew who he was.
He didn't even need to solve the riddles.
All he had to do was watch the man.
Sooner or later, the next target would reveal itself.
As for killing the Riddler right now?
That would be easy—too easy.
But Alex wasn't interested in easy.
Half a month had passed.
Perhaps the criminals of Gotham had started to think that Homelander's blade had dulled.
So be it.
Now he would remind them—
that his sword was still razor-sharp,
and that anyone who challenged him…
would bleed.
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