DC: Rise of the Kryptonian Tyrant

In the grand banquet hall, Bardi's arrival immediately drew everyone's attention.

He paused briefly at the entrance, his gaze sweeping across the room out of habit.

His eyes passed over a group of second-generation elites, their expressions a mix of anger and dissatisfaction as they glared at him. These were the kind of people who enjoyed attracting attention but lacked real talent or temperament. They were privileged heirs who considered themselves noble, yet their abilities were mediocre at best.

Those with true capability, the ones who had rightfully inherited their fathers' legacies, carried themselves with a certain level of composure and restraint.

But when a bold and confident woman in a purple evening dress spoke, their faces subtly shifted.

To secure the eighteenth seat in the "family" at such a young age was a significant achievement, far beyond what any of them had accomplished.

Once he officially took that position, it would mean that the seventeen most influential families in the metropolis would fight over his company. He would gain access to commercial channels, media influence, high-level discussions, and even key government connections. His company would ascend to an entirely new level, its capital multiplying several times over, cementing him as a top figure in the metropolis.

The family had the power to elevate someone into the upper class.

Of course, such privileges came with a price.

It was a mutually beneficial arrangement, Bardi would have to offer up portions of Universe Biotechnology Ltd., such as its revolutionary heart disease medication, Sildenafil, and its highly profitable skincare products. These assets would serve as his ticket into the family, aligning with their vision of collective success.

In this metropolis, very few could refuse the family. Even fewer dared to ignore them.

Because those who declined would face relentless attacks—economic, political, and social. The seventeen family-owned corporations, regulatory agencies, hospitals, distributors, and media networks would all close in. Some of these families had been entrenched in the city for generations, their influence deeply woven into the system. Under such concentrated pressure, even a rising company like Cosmos Biotechnology Ltd. would be crushed, its assets stripped away and repurposed under new ownership.

Joining the family wasn't just the best choice, it was the only way to survive.

Some among them believed there was no need to go through such lengths to recruit Bardi. They thought the family should simply take what they wanted, seize the technology outright instead of elevating a nobody from the slums into their ranks.

They had been at the top for so long that they saw people like him as insignificant.

Bardi's gaze shifted to the woman in the purple evening dress, the one who had spoken on his behalf. She had an alluring, curvaceous figure, and her daring gown accentuated her sensuality. Her fair skin, exposed just enough, radiated temptation. This wasn't accidental. She was a woman who thrived on stirring things up, a natural provocateur.

When Bardi's eyes met hers, she lifted her wine glass from across the room, offering a subtle toast.

But he didn't believe for a second that she had spoken up for him out of kindness.

She was merely toying with the second-generation elites, amusing herself at their expense. If he mistook her words as an act of goodwill, then she would simply accept his gratitude from a position of superiority.

This was the natural posture of the privileged.

Had he been beneath her in status, she might have expected him to feel indebted. But in truth, given who he really was and what he was destined to achieve, this woman was nothing more than an insignificant observer.

Bardi showed no reaction, his expression unreadable as his gaze swept past her. The indifference in his demeanor made her hand pause slightly around her wine glass.

He had ignored her.

A flicker of surprise crossed her face. Was it ignorance? Or stupidity? How could he be so oblivious as to overlook her? No response at all?

Then, amusement danced in her eyes, and the corners of her lips curved upward.

"Interesting."

She watched him, sipping her champagne with perfect poise.

At that moment, she felt like a powerful executive intrigued by an upstart, someone who had clawed his way up from the slums.

It was the fascination of the elite toward those below them, a curiosity about what surprises such a person might offer.

Bardi, however, was not interested in the power games at play in this banquet hall.

If anything, he was casually scanning the crowd, hoping to spot a few mature women, ones with well-maintained bodies, an active fitness routine, and the stamina to keep up with him. It would be a good way to unwind for the night.

Back at his residence, his personal female assassin-secretary was still waiting for him. He had perfected his control, ensuring they wouldn't perish. Instead, he could now make any woman experience the heights of pleasure beyond their imagination.

Of course, he wasn't quite at the point of absolute mastery, but he was improving.

For Bardi, this banquet was nothing more than a form of recreation,a hunt for amusement while waiting for updates from Kansas. The matters arranged there were of far greater importance to him than anything happening in this room.

Joining the family?

He couldn't care less.

His gaze roamed the hall, selecting a few potential targets for the night. He was just about to step forward when—

A path suddenly opened in the crowd.

The surrounding guests subtly adjusted their postures, some raising their glasses in acknowledgment, while others bowed slightly in silent reverence.

The second-generation elites who held real power looked visibly excited.

The reason for this shift in atmosphere?

Morgan Edge—the head of the family—was approaching.

Morgan was a Black man of average build, his tailored suit carrying the refined confidence of a seasoned leader. A neatly trimmed gray beard lined his jaw, giving him a composed, distinguished air. His smile exuded a natural warmth, making him seem approachable despite his status.

In the 1980s, when racial discrimination was rampant and growing stronger, it was nearly unheard of for a Black man to rise to such prominence in an international first-tier city. The societal resistance, the silent pushback, he had overcome challenges far greater than his white counterparts ever had to face.

And yet, he had arrived.

Morgan Edge was a legend, a symbol of success among the Black elite. Even among the white aristocracy, few could maintain their sense of racial superiority in his presence. Instead, many felt a quiet sense of shame.

As he strode toward Bardi, there was an unmistakable urgency in his otherwise steady steps. His approach was not just formal—it was welcoming.

He was offering Bardi the treatment reserved for only the most honored guests.

And then, as he closed the distance, he did something unexpected.

In addition to his warm greeting, he opened his arms, stepping forward to embrace Bardi in a firm, symbolic gesture of goodwill.

A powerful statement.

But in the moment he reached out—

Bardi's fingers moved with the precision of steel, pressing firmly against Morgan's chest and halting his advance.

His voice was calm, unwavering.

"I don't like hugs."