DC: Rise of the Kryptonian Tyrant

Galaxy International Hotel – Grand Banquet Hall

The banquet hall was lavishly decorated, spacious, opulent, and brimming with grandeur. This was no ordinary gathering; it was a family affair of the highest order.

Crystal glasses clinked amidst hushed conversation. Attendees had dressed to impress, the men exuding refinement, their aristocratic bearing effortlessly on display, while the women adorned themselves in daring evening gowns, their alluring figures complemented by flirtatious smiles and the occasional brush of crimson-painted lips.

It had been some time since the family had hosted such a grand banquet. Tonight, they welcomed a newcomer into their elite circle.

And when they thought about how much their investment portfolios would multiply with the pharmaceutical advancements from Universe Biotechnology, some of them could barely contain their excitement. The potential profits burned in their eyes, as if they had just laid sight on an irresistible goddess.

A renowned orchestra provided live music, filling the air with elegance and luxury, setting the stage for those who thrived on wealth and influence.

For the upper-class elite, flaunting their extravagance was second nature. It was their pleasure to let the lesser people glimpse this life of luxury, knowing full well they could never reach it.

Some within the family held similar views, though a few were openly resentful. They believed allowing an outsider, especially one from the Suicide Slum into their ranks was nothing short of disgraceful.

"Why not simply buy out Universe Biotechnology outright? There's no need to let him join."

They were high society—the aristocracy.

To them, letting in someone from the Suicide Slum would tarnish the very essence of the family.

They voiced their disdain in quiet murmurs. After all, they had spent generations building their legacy in the metropolis. The idea of sharing a table with someone of such lowly origins was almost unthinkable.

Yet, the banquet continued, filled with music, perfume, and whispered conversations.

Then, Bardi entered.

Dressed in an immaculate white suit, he moved through the hall with quiet confidence. Instantly, the room fell silent. All eyes turned toward him, even as the soft melody of the orchestra continued in the background.

His face was chiseled, his features refined and striking, his demeanor calm yet commanding. There was a weight to his presence—a noble gravitas—as though he had come from a world of discipline and power.

His black eyes held an unfathomable depth, like a vortex that could pull people in.

With every step, his posture exuded a natural authority, the kind forged through experience rather than privilege.

He was unlike the capitalists and socialites in attendance, this was a man who possessed both the elegance of a gentleman and the unshakable force of a conqueror.

And the women noticed.

"Is that Barmulodi? My God, he looks even better in person."

Some of the women whispered amongst themselves, captivated by his aura. He was different, unlike the sons of noble families, who flaunted their wealth but lacked true substance.

This was a man who embodied power and refinement, a contradiction that made him utterly magnetic.

For some, it was instinctual attraction.

But not everyone was impressed.

"Tch. So what if he looks good?"

A man sneered, noticing how his female companion craned her neck just to get a better look at Bardi. Jealousy flared in his chest, his date looked like she wanted nothing more than to throw herself into Bardi's arms.

"Exactly. He's nothing more than some brute who got lucky," another added, swirling the champagne in his glass.

"Yeah. He just happened to buy Noy Biological Corporation right before their research breakthroughs hit the market. Stupid Noy is still working for that country bumpkin, basically handing over his life's work for free."

"Lucky bastard. Looks like his only real talent is pleasing women in nightclubs."

"I heard that's exactly where he started—some slum nightclub."

The sneering continued.

One man even chuckled, raising his glass. "If that's the case, maybe he should give us a performance. That's what dancers do, after all."

A few of the noble young men clinked their glasses together, exchanging smug grins.

But their mood soured when they noticed something—

The women in attendance, some of them even their own fiancées, were fixated on Bardi.

Some bit their lips, their eyes gleaming with interest. Others subtly licked the corners of their mouths, unable to conceal their attraction.

It was as if just looking at him was enough to stir something in them.

And the young men of the family hated it.

These were women they had courted, women they had tried to impress for years. And yet, one glance at Bardi, and they were utterly enchanted.

"He's so attractive that even a one-night stand with him would be worth it," someone murmured.

The voice belonged to a woman in a deep purple evening gown.

The dress was bold, hugging her curves perfectly, revealing glimpses of her fair skin. The cut was daring, her shoulders sloping into a neckline that barely concealed her bountiful chest. The skirt was asymmetrical, its slit plunging dangerously high, revealing tantalizing glimpses of her legs.

Her outfit was provocative, even by modern standards. But for the 1980s, it was downright scandalous.

She was no ordinary socialite, her status rivaled even the nobility. Few dared to challenge her opinions.

And as she spoke, several women subtly nodded in agreement, though none dared to say it aloud.

The men, on the other hand, were seething.

It didn't matter how much confidence they had. Hearing a woman say she wanted a one-night stand with another man—openly, at a banquet was enough to ignite their envy.

And yet, the woman in purple continued.

"In the end, this world has plenty of dancers," she mused. "But it will always need men with wealth, power, and status."

"And what does he have?" someone scoffed.

"In the end, he still came running to this banquet at our invitation. Just like that, he came crawling, hoping to secure his company's future."

"He doesn't have a choice. If he doesn't submit, he'll find himself completely cut off. He won't survive in the metropolis."

"Our family isn't something he can afford to offend."

"Let him see luxury up close, then let him crawl back to his slum."

They laughed, confident in their superiority.

They were second-generation nobility, born into wealth, raised with power. They had received the finest education, inherited the finest bloodlines. It was unthinkable that a nobody like him could ever rise above them.

Then, the woman in purple smiled.

"Funny," she said, swirling her wine. "Because I heard Mr. Edge, the head of the family, personally invited him to join us. To work alongside us. To profit with us."

The room stilled.

"That means," she continued, tilting her glass toward them, "after tonight, he'll be one of us. Equal to your fathers and mothers."

And then, as if realizing her implication, she covered her lips in mock surprise.

"Oh, I misspoke. I shouldn't have said fathers and mothers, how careless of me."

A soft laugh spread through the crowd.

No one corrected her.

She was known for her fearless remarks, and everyone recognized her jab for what it was, a deliberate insult.

The young men of the family fell silent, their expressions darkening.

Equal? To our parents?

Sitting among them at the 18th seat?

That... that's unacceptable.

They refused to accept it.

What right did he have?