Colin pulled open the car door, his gaze lingering on Clark and Lois Lane as they walked off together, the picture of a loving couple.
Sliding into the driver's seat, he started the engine and gradually picked up speed. About half an hour later, a heavily modified car suddenly swerved out from a side street, barreling straight toward him.
It was obviously a planned ambush. If it had been an ordinary man behind the wheel, he might have panicked—but Colin? He wasn't worried in the least. Not even a nuclear bomb could so much as scratch him, let alone a piece of scrap metal on wheels.
To him, this sort of attack was almost entertainment. Invincibility was boring; at least ambushes like this gave him a way to kill some time.
"Bang!!!" The customized car smashed brutally into his sports car, crumpling its side in an instant.
With a screech of metal, the vehicle rammed his car forward into the side of a building.
The thunderous crash drew the attention of bystanders, who stared wide-eyed at the sight of the modified car grinding Colin's luxury vehicle against the wall.
"Oh my God!!!" a woman gasped, stumbling backward, the ice cream in her hand splattering onto the pavement.
"Yes!!! Let's drag him out!" Two masked men flung open their car doors and leapt down, guns in hand. They hadn't chosen Colin by accident—he was rich, arrogant, and openly flaunted his wealth to humiliate others. Tonight, they thought, money would be his undoing.
They strode toward him confidently, weapons raised.
But when they reached his car, they froze. The black-haired young man inside showed no fear—no wounds, not even a scratch. Could he really have been so lucky?
One thug snarled and swung the butt of his gun down toward Colin's forehead.
Colin's expression hardened. Pain meant nothing to him, but the insult of being struck in the face? That was intolerable. His face wasn't something just anyone could lay hands on.
He caught the gun with one hand, lips curling into a broad, chilling grin. "How about this," he said softly. "The two of you fight each other. Whoever wins… gets to live."
The men glanced at each other in confusion. Weren't they the ones holding the advantage?
"Out of the car!" the second man barked, jabbing his gun toward Colin.
Colin looked at the muzzle with utter disdain. "That toy won't do anything to me. And judging from your answer… I suppose you're rejecting my offer."
"I said, out of the car!!!" the man snapped, edging closer, frustration mounting.
Colin sighed. "So eager to meet God, are you?"
He swung his arm in a lazy slap—and the man's head burst like an overripe melon. Bone, brain, and blood sprayed across his companion.
The second thug was stunned into silence. What the hell was this? No human could possess such strength. Then, in a rush of horror, his pupils shrank. Superman?! Was Colin actually
"I gave you a chance," Colin said calmly, his eyes beginning to glow an ominous red. "I told you to fight each other, and the winner would be spared. That was the only chance you had."
The crimson light in his gaze grew brighter, red veins spreading across his sclera. In the next instant, two blazing beams of heat vision seared through the thug's chest, leaving a smoking hole where he once stood.
When the deed was done, Colin's glowing eyes swept across the crowd. People shrank back in terror, avoiding his gaze, terrified he might turn the beams on them next.
If it had been the other Superman, no one would have feared. But the black-haired Superman? He would actually do it.
Satisfied with their fear, Colin let the heat fade from his eyes, returning them to their normal state.
"Superman's leaving…" someone whispered.
But the man they saw wasn't Superman. It was Colin, the mysterious tycoon from the East—whose power allowed him to twist perception itself. People believed whatever he wanted them to believe.
Minutes later, police cars arrived, sirens blaring. Officers questioned bystanders and began cleaning up the scene.
One officer, catching sight of the headless corpse, retched violently. His gagging set off a chain reaction; soon several officers were heaving by the roadside.
Colin, unimpressed, simply walked away.
By nightfall, he had climbed to a rooftop, sipping casually from a bottle of expensive liquor.
Something moved in the darkness.
Meanwhile, Clark, sorting through his notes at the Daily Planet, suddenly froze. Through his heightened senses, he caught sight of Batman—Bruce Wayne himself—stalking toward Colin with grim intent.
Clark frowned. If Batman provoked Colin with the wrong words, there was a very real chance Colin might kill him on the spot.
He murmured a few words to Lois, then slipped away.
A rasping voice cut through the night. "What is your relationship with Superman?"
Colin turned his head. Out of the shadows stepped Batman, his dark silhouette advancing steadily.
"Superman? Which one?" Colin asked, feigning ignorance.
"The black-haired Superman," Batman said coldly. "Tonight, he killed two men—for you."
"Mm… probably because of money," Colin replied cheerfully. "I've got a lot of it, you know. More than Bruce Wayne, even."
Batman said nothing. As absurd as it sounded, it wasn't impossible. After all, the black-haired Superman had been known to charge even for saving lives.
After a few more probing questions, Batman finally said, "For your own good, don't wander around too freely. There are people planning something against you."
It was both a warning and a plea—an attempt to prevent further bloodshed.
Colin chuckled. "Tell that to the ones plotting against me. I've got a Superman as my bodyguard. If they come, they'll be the ones who die."
Batman said nothing more. With a swirl of his cape, he vanished into the shadows.
Colin waited a moment, then tilted his head back to the night sky. "You were worried I'd kill that bat, weren't you?"
Clark's form emerged from the darkness. "With you, nothing would surprise me."
Colin raised his brows. "That's harsh. Sure, I'm strong, but I'm not a villain. You know perfectly well why I kill the people I kill. Compared to them, I'm practically merciful. At least I've never slaughtered the innocent."
He gestured toward the table, where the expensive bottle sat.
"Care for a drink?"
Clark was about to shake his head when Colin added slyly, "One million dollars a bottle. You sure you don't want a taste?"