Chapter 47: Partners
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The Iceberg Restaurant had been especially busy lately. In the past, only those with a certain status in Gotham would visit in secret, careful to avoid unwanted attention. After all, being associated with the place wasn't something one would want widely known. However, as the Penguin's reputation grew, that secrecy gradually faded. Now, celebrities actively sought him out, eager to align themselves with his growing influence, as if his notoriety alone could add to their own prestige.
Penguin, however, held nothing but disdain for these people. They might not have literal blood on their hands, but their souls were filthier than the slums of Gotham. Hypocrisy ran deep in their veins, and in his eyes, they were just as corrupt as any criminal in the city—perhaps even worse.
When a villain does a good deed, these types cling to him like leeches. Did they truly believe he wouldn't sell them out if it benefited him?
Penguin had no interest in entertaining them. If it weren't for the mayor's visit, he would have spent his time in the company of his beloved birds rather than engaging in mindless socializing.
Of course, there were different ways to handle different people. When dealing with the mayor, one had to be firm. When addressing the city's elite, aloofness was key. But when facing Dean—the partner to whom he had personally given his word—Penguin wouldn't simply disappear without explanation.
"Dean, what brings you here today?"
The Penguin's face lit up with an exaggeratedly friendly smile, though Dean immediately noticed the subtle makeup applied to soften his naturally cunning features.
"We agreed that you'd be a gangster, and I'd be a gangster hunter. We would work together to bring order to Gotham's chaos. But tell me, Penguin, are you getting a little too ambitious? Are you planning to join me on this side of the law now?"
Dean slapped a newspaper onto the table in front of them. The bold headline read: "Support Penguin's Candidacy for the Next Mayor."
A bead of cold sweat formed on Penguin's forehead. "No, no, that's not what this is! I was merely… exploring ways to bridge the divide—no, I mean, to solve Gotham's problems! Look, let me show you something."
With a quick flick of his hand, he tossed a ledger toward Dean. It contained records of his dealings with the mayor. "This so-called public official has committed just as many crimes as I have—if not more. Back when Jim Gordon wasn't the commissioner yet, this guy nearly had him killed."
He leaned forward, his voice lowering conspiratorially. "We're partners, aren't we? We both want to change Gotham for the better. You, the future sheriff, and me, ruling the underworld. But how can we do that with an insect like him dragging us down?"
Dean's eyes remained cold as he stared at Penguin. "So, in response, you've been spreading the legend of the Demon Cop all over town?"
For that name to gain such rapid traction, it required immense control over Gotham's underground network. There was only one person capable of such influence—Penguin.
A smug smile spread across Penguin's lips. "I came up with it myself. Do you like it?"
Dean's expression darkened. "So it really was you. You've been telling everyone that you and I are working together to fight crime. Do you have any idea what kind of backlash that could bring? Aren't you afraid of being seen as a traitor? The entire underworld could turn on you."
Penguin's confidence didn't waver. "Not at all."
He shrugged. "The name Demon Cop sounds like something out of the criminal world. Cooperating with a criminal to take down other criminals? That's nothing new—it's practically a tradition. Everyone's done it."
Dean clenched his jaw. He knew exactly what kind of reputation that name carried.
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to suppress his frustration. His voice was steady, but firm.
"Penguin, you and I both know our alliance is nothing more than a temporary arrangement—a matter of necessity. Our relationship is that of a knife and its wielder. My blade cuts down your enemies, helping you consolidate power over Gotham's underworld. In return, you point out the city's dirtiest corners so I can clean them up."
His piercing gaze locked onto Penguin's.
"I don't care about your personal ambitions, nor do I care if you run for mayor. As long as you're actually making improvements in Gotham, I'm willing to turn a blind eye to certain things."
His voice dropped lower, carrying an unmistakable edge of warning.
"But since you're so set on legitimizing yourself, then do it properly. Clean yourself up the right way. Don't use criminal tactics in your campaign."
Dean stepped forward, standing directly in front of Penguin. With his right hand gripping Hoshikudaki, he reached out with his other hand to straighten Penguin's lapels, smoothing out the wrinkles on his suit.
"Do it in the open. Do it beautifully. Just like you did this time—win the mayoral seat properly."
A cold shiver ran down Penguin's spine. In that moment, he realized something about Dean that he had never truly considered before. The young man standing before him was not just a sharp and convenient blade, easy to wield and control.
This knife had become something far more dangerous—a Sword of Damocles, constantly hovering over his head. If Penguin ever made a wrong move, if he ever overstepped his boundaries or tried to manipulate the situation to his sole advantage, Dean would be the first to cut him down without hesitation.
And yet, despite that looming threat, their cooperation would continue.
Dean's voice was calm but absolute. "For now, we keep working together. I will remain an invincible sword, and you will continue to provide me with information, as promised."
With a flick of his wrist, Dean tossed a thick folder onto the table. Penguin barely had time to glance at the contents before Dean spoke again.
"This is a case involving corpse trafficking. I want you to track down the financial web behind it—the ones profiting from it. And while you're at it, I need a list of all the spellcasters who have been active in Gotham recently."
Penguin's expression changed the moment he heard that last request. His beady eyes narrowed as his usual smug demeanor faded. Unlike common criminals, sorcerers and magic users operated on an entirely different level. Their motives were often beyond human comprehension, and their methods—terrifyingly unpredictable.
"I don't want to get involved in magic," Penguin said bluntly, leaning back into his chair. He twirled a cigar between his fingers but didn't light it. "And if you were smart, you'd stay out of it too. Those kinds of people… they don't fight like we do. They don't negotiate like we do. If they decide you're a problem, you won't even see it coming. You'll just disappear."
Dean didn't waver. His response was simple, direct.
"I don't have a choice. They're coming for me."
The weight of those words settled between them. Dean turned without hesitation and walked away, leaving the decision entirely in Penguin's hands.
The crime lord remained seated, fingers tightening around his cigar as he stared at the folder in front of him. He knew what this meant. Dean hadn't issued a direct order—he had left it open-ended.
But that was precisely what made the situation more dangerous.
Penguin gritted his teeth, muttering under his breath, "Why didn't I see this coming?"
The sharper the sword, the stronger the enemies it attracted. And Dean… he wasn't just a sharp blade anymore. He was a sword that had already slain gods.
That realization gnawed at him.
The enemies they faced now weren't just from Gotham. The chaos in the city was just a small piece of a much larger storm. Penguin knew more than he let on, and the truth was unsettling. The earthquake that had shaken Gotham was no ordinary disaster—it had been the result of a battle between the Justice League and a god.
A GOD.
Penguin tapped his cigar against the table, irritation bubbling beneath his usually composed exterior. He exhaled slowly, his thoughts racing.
Did he really want to keep holding onto this "invincible sword," or was it time to step back and protect himself?
Was the risk worth it?
There was only one answer.
"Yes"
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Dean, for his part, was certain Penguin would make the right choice. He knew the crime lord well—Penguin was ambitious, but he was also a survivor. And survival, for someone like him, meant staying relevant, staying useful.
At the same time, Penguin had his own certainty. He knew Dean wouldn't betray him—not because of loyalty, but because Dean needed him. Their partnership was one of necessity, built on mutual benefit rather than trust.
That was enough.
And, truth be told, Penguin was good at what he did. When it came to managing the intelligence networks of Gotham's underworld, even Batman—the man who had eyes on the entire city—couldn't compare.
Every time something major happened, Batman had to come knocking on Penguin's door, roughing him up to extract information.
With Penguin's resources at his disposal, Dean would have an easier time navigating Gotham's endless chaos.
He glanced down at the small blue figure beside him.
"It's not always good to be fighting and killing all the time, don't you think, Manaphy?"
The little blue creature nodded vigorously. Though she was far stronger than before, battle was still something she disliked.
Her peaceful nature hadn't changed.
Dean didn't want to force Manaphy into anything she wasn't comfortable with. As long as she had the ability to protect herself, that was enough. Those who coveted the blue of the sea, however, would find themselves cut down without mercy.
Just as he was thinking this, a voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Are you also here to imitate Vulko?"
Dean tightened his grip on Manaphy as he turned around, his sharp gaze locking onto a figure clad in black. The man had stopped a few paces away, his stance rigid, his expression unreadable.
"King Orm."
Orm, who had once again set foot in Gotham, was no longer dressed in the regal armor that symbolized his royal status. He had abandoned his imposing helmet, revealing a neatly kept mane of black curls, framing a face that, despite his proud demeanor, bore traces of lingering embarrassment. He looked much younger compared to Aquaman, yet there was an air of seasoned experience about him.
Orm's gaze drifted toward Manaphy, whom Dean cradled protectively. As a royal of Atlantis, he could perceive the little creature even through her natural invisibility. Desire flickered in his eyes for the briefest moment, but in the end, determination overcame greed.
"No," Orm finally responded, his voice carrying a weight of resignation. "I am no longer the king. The current ruler of the seas is my brother, Arthur. I am merely a guilty man, sent here under the command of the King of the Sea to gain the approval of the Blue of the Ocean."
There was an undeniable bitterness to his words.
Dean studied him in silence. He had never considered Orm to be a villain. From Atlantis's perspective, Orm had been a capable and wise ruler, one who dedicated himself to the survival and prosperity of his people. His only crime was that he had been raised with a worldview too deeply ingrained in feudalism, a belief system that placed Atlantis above all else and saw the surface world as a destructive force.
Dean wasn't surprised that Orm had been sent here. Aquaman would never truly punish his brother, but Orm's mistakes couldn't go unaddressed either. It just so happened that Manaphy needed someone utterly loyal to Atlantis, someone who could act as her protector and guide. Sending Orm to the surface was both a punishment and a test—an opportunity to make amends.
But Dean also knew that was definitely not how Aquaman had phrased it.
He raised an eyebrow, skepticism evident in his tone. "Did Aquaman really say that? I think I'll ask Batman to confirm."
Without hesitation, Dean reached into his coat and pulled out a sleek, high-tech communicator—the Bat-communicator. It had been given to him by Batman some time ago, and since Batman had never asked for it back, Dean had never bothered returning it.
Orm's expression twisted slightly as he watched Dean prepare to contact Gotham's Dark Knight. There was a clear reluctance in his posture before he finally sighed and admitted the truth.
"My brother assigned me to Gotham as an ambassador," Orm muttered, avoiding eye contact. "I am to represent Atlantis on land, to foster communication between the two worlds and... promote diplomacy."
The words seemed to leave a bitter taste in his mouth. It was clear that, in his mind, this was a humiliating role—one that placed him in the position of appeasing the surface world rather than standing above it.
Dean smirked knowingly, seeing right through him. "Ah, I see. So you were sent here to make nice with the land-dwellers, but you're too proud to say it outright."
Orm's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
Dean sighed, already growing tired of Orm's stubborn pride. But at the same time, he recognized an opportunity. He began strategizing in his mind—how to make use of Orm's presence, how to integrate him into Gotham's chaotic landscape.
In terms of raw strength and combat ability, Orm was superior to Aquaman in many ways. He had been trained for kingship from childhood and possessed an extensive mastery of Atlantean magic. However, his greatest weakness was the rigid belief system instilled in him—his deep-seated conviction that humanity was a plague upon the Earth.
Dean knew that kind of thinking wouldn't change overnight.
"Since you remember what Aquaman said, then remember your mission for me as well," Dean stated, his tone carrying a quiet authority.
He turned, walking a few steps ahead before pausing.
"You were once a king," he continued. "You don't need me to spell things out for you. You know better than anyone that ruling isn't about blindly following orders. If you're here to understand the surface world, then don't rely solely on what others tell you. Use your own eyes. See for yourself what land-dwellers are really like."
Before Orm could respond, the sudden crackle of gunfire rang out from down the street. The sharp, rapid bursts sent civilians into a panicked frenzy, their terrified screams echoing through the alleyways as they scrambled for cover. Within seconds, the bustling street had cleared, leaving only Dean and Orm standing amid the chaos.
Orm slowly turned his head, watching with an unimpressed expression as a group of gangsters engaged in a violent shootout just a few yards away.
With a deadpan look, he raised a finger and gestured toward the scene.
"I see it now," Orm remarked dryly. "It's exactly as the fairy tales described."
Dean exhaled through his nose, already regretting his earlier words.
"Okay," he relented. "Let me add a small disclaimer—Gotham is an exception. This place is a cesspool. It's best if you don't use it as your reference for humanity. You'll just end up learning all the wrong things."
Orm tilted his head slightly, contemplating Dean's words. But before he could respond, another burst of gunfire rang out.
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