C 25

When Anton took over the Daily Bugle, Jameson was actually extremely dissatisfied with Anton's performance. 

Despite being his grandson, Anton's management style and vision for the paper clashed with Jameson's traditional approach.

Fortunately, the Daily Bugle operated under a well-established set of procedures, which allowed it to continue functioning even if Anton didn't take any significant actions. 

However, Jameson's dissatisfaction reached a boiling point after an interaction with Anton in which he expressed his desire to pursue a career in filmmaking. 

Jameson couldn't fathom how his grandson, who was supposed to uphold the legacy of the newspaper, could want to divert his energy into an entirely different field. 

But at the end of the day, he had to accept Anton's ambitions; after all, it was always better for a young man to be self-motivated, even if Jameson believed that motivation was misdirected.

Unexpectedly, from that day on, Anton seemed to undergo a dramatic transformation. The biggest change Jameson noted was not just in Anton's career aspirations but in his demeanor and capabilities. 

It was particularly striking when Jameson learned that Anton had easily captured John Wick, a notorious assassin. In that moment, he realized that Anton had the potential to fly solo, needing less shelter and guidance than Jameson had previously believed.

Jameson stood at the window, staring into the evening sky as he thought about his grandson. It was already 10:28 PM. 

Anton had mentioned calling the New York Police Department to clear out the area after midnight, and Jameson knew that Anton had little time left to act. 

With the clock ticking, he felt a mix of skepticism and curiosity. "Let me see how far you can go, Anton," he thought, anticipation creeping into his heart.

Though their relationship lacked deep communication, both Anton and Jameson understood each other's expectations: "You wait for a good show, and I'll put on a performance."

...

To prevent anyone from directly linking him to Batman, Anton had been traveling through remote areas since he left the house. His purpose was to evade any cameras, not wanting to reveal himself as the man behind the mask. 

Finally, he reached a deserted industrial area where he could safely enter the sewer system. 

It was here that he summoned the bat motorcycle from the "vehicle" category in his utility belt and entered his Batman state. The basic Batman armor emerged from his body, enveloping him like a second skin.

Laying prone on the bat motorcycle, he started the engine, revving it with an eager thrill. The low, rumbling turbocharged growl filled the air.

As the bat motorcycle flew out from another exit of the sewer, Anton estimated the time. It was about an hour and ten minutes before midnight, and from this location to Manhattan would take approximately twenty minutes at the bike's top speed. 

That left him with a tight fifty minutes to achieve his mission concerning the Continental Hotel. 

"Enough time!" Anton's excitement bubbled beneath his helmet.

Although the power of Batman's basic battle armor could not make him invincible against the formidable opponents in the Marvel universe, it gave him significant confidence. 

In the realm of the Continental Hotel, which unified the assassin world of New York's underground, he was confident that he would be unmatched. 

No matter how strong the individuals affiliated with the Continental Hotel were, they were still ordinary people. If Anton failed to match their strength, it would reflect poorly on him rather than the capabilities of Batman.

Zooming down the street on the bat motorcycle, Anton reveled in the speed, leaving behind a trail of astonished onlookers. 

Even in heavy traffic, he maneuvered skillfully, jumping over car rooftops with ease like a stuntman in a film, soaring dozens of meters into the air with grace. His disregard for caution was palpable.

While he adhered to his principle of not killing, he recognized that New York was different from Gotham City. He didn't have to hide the existence of Batman as much here; the world was changing, and superheroes were becoming more accepted. 

Comparatively, when Iron Man battled the Iron Monger at the Stark Industries gate, or when the Hulk grappled with Abomination, it became clear that displays of power had become a part of the city's fabric.

What was Batman riding a motorcycle through the streets compared to those grand spectacles? It was, in essence, a small scene in a much larger picture. 

After all, this was on the cusp of a world where superheroes would soar through the skies, and the presence of Batman didn't need to remain a secret. It aligned perfectly with Anton's inner vision of "harvesting fan value."

However, Anton also planned to keep the truth about his identity hidden from the public, which would help him avoid unnecessary complications.

What? you might wonder. As the director of Batman, how could no one connect him to the character? The answer was simple: he simply wouldn't admit it! 

After all, aren't young people fond of role-playing? What was wrong with a little Halloween spirit? As long as he didn't confess, he could exist in that duality of identity—he could be Anton and Batman simultaneously.

"Wow!" A passerby on the street exclaimed, seeing Anton's striking appearance.

"What is that?" another person questioned, captivated.

"It's so cool! Is he role-playing?"

"What role is he playing? He's so handsome! I have to dress like that for Halloween, no matter the cost!"

"It's Batman! The recently released movie seems to be the posthumous work of Tony Stark," someone said, eyes wide with excitement. "I'm going to see it right away!"

Every person who witnessed this scene lit up with excitement, regardless of age or gender. The allure of Batman captured everyone's attention, proving that his charisma transcended demographics.

DiDiDi! The honking of horns filled the air as vehicles veered away from Anton's path.

Especially the owners of the cars that were nearly crushed under the weight of the bat motorcycle, some of them were less than pleased. "Someone call the police!" shouted one driver in frustration.

Others watched Anton's antics with admiration, yearning to learn his daring skills. "Motor stunts! I'll learn how to do that when I get home!"

"Master, don't go! Teach me how to ride a motorcycle!" another exclaimed, while a few more were contemplating the price of such an extraordinary bike, whispering, "How much does this motorcycle cost? I need to buy one!"

...

With his audacious attitude, Anton swiftly broke into Manhattan, the most densely populated and economically vibrant area of New York. The bustling environment contrasted sharply with the eerie stillness of the deserted streets he had traversed earlier.

However, after a few minutes in Manhattan, he was soon spotted by patrolling police officers. Given Anton's reckless behavior and the numerous calls coming in about his antics—speeding and destroying property—they instinctively began to pursue him. 

But just as they were about to give chase, their communicators crackled to life with orders: "Don't chase!"

After midnight, all police units in Manhattan were instructed to gather at the entrance of the Continental Hotel. 

This was the designated time to make their arrests, and it was imperative they followed orders. The officers exchanged confused glances but ultimately complied, knowing that disobedience was not an option for their survival.

...

As Anton approached the vicinity of the Continental Hotel, the atmosphere changed drastically. Local businesses were closing their doors, and shopkeepers began arming themselves, pulling pistols from beneath their counters and assuming defensive stances. 

Passersby hurriedly found refuge in the shadows, eyes wide with apprehension as they observed the armored figure barreling toward the hotel.

Under the watchful gaze of the terrified onlookers, Anton drove straight into the Continental Hotel, as if challenging fate itself.

"This…" one observer gasped, dumbfounded. "Is he going to die?"

"Close the doors!" urged another, their face grave. "This matter has nothing to do with us. No matter how the Continental Hotel reacts, we best stay out of it."

"Yeah," the first man nodded solemnly, "it's a shame about that motorcycle."

"And that suit! That armor is so cool!"

Suddenly, the second man recalled something, "Speaking of that look, where have we seen it before?" The two exchanged puzzled glances, both straining their memories but ultimately unable to recall where they had seen such a distinctive figure.

….

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