Chapter 11
"Trash host, you actually made me lose control."
The system spat out one last furious remark in Alex's ear before falling completely silent.
Throughout the entire ride to the police station, it had "warmly" greeted him with hundreds of colorful curses.
Alex's face remained calm and indifferent. He smoothly rode into the Central City Police Department parking lot and parked his Lightning motorcycle.
Thanks to his ironclad bodily control and emotional regulation, he had already suppressed his anger toward the system that had been sabotaging him since childhood.
At least one thing was clear from their argument: his emotions could directly affect the system's emotions.
That was why it had cursed him nonstop the whole way.
"One day, you will pay for this," Alex thought coldly. Behind his glasses, his eyes flashed with icy killing intent. He had no intention of letting the troublemaker hiding inside his body escape unscathed.
He left the parking lot and stepped through the grand, solemn entrance of the Central City Police Headquarters.
He had entered this building many times before, usually working with Bert as a civilian consultant. He already knew quite a few officers here.
After greeting several familiar policemen and politely rejecting a plainly attractive woman who tried to flirt with him on the way in, Alex pressed the elevator button and stepped inside when it arrived.
Standing beside him was a woman with light golden-blonde hair and fair skin. She wore a white blouse under a pale yellow knitted wool cardigan and a black knee-length skirt. Her features had a classic Western beauty — high nose bridge and expressive eyes that seemed to speak on their own.
"You're… Alex?"
The elevator was quiet and slightly stuffy. A faint vibration ran through the floor as it slowly ascended.
Alex turned his head and gave her a quick scan — from her gray ankle boots and the black stockings hugging her slender legs, up to her black skirt, white blouse, and pale yellow cardigan. His gaze finally settled on her pretty face.
He was certain he didn't know this flat-chested girl.
She held a file in her hands, her eyes sparkling with curiosity and excitement, as if she were looking at a legendary figure.
"You are…?" Alex asked, slightly puzzled. He was sure he had never worked with her before. Although she looked quite attractive and professional in her outfit, her modest chest size meant she wasn't his type.
"Hello, I'm Patty!" the flat-chested woman said, extending her hand with a friendly smile.
Just as Alex was about to politely reach out and shake her slender, fair hand, Patty continued brightly:
"I'm Barry's colleague and friend. Barry talks about you all the time. He says it would be a real waste if someone with your abilities didn't become a police officer."
"I didn't expect you to look even more handsome than Barry described."
Patty's lips curved into a light smile as she openly admired him.
In a liberal country like America, women were often even bolder and more confident than men when appreciating an attractive member of the opposite sex.
And Alex's appearance was clearly outstanding enough to make any woman's gaze linger.
The moment she introduced herself as Patty and mentioned she was Barry's colleague, Alex's eyebrows twitched. He instantly recognized her.
This is probably Patty Spivot — Barry's colleague and love interest from the New 52 timeline.
Am I in the New 52 universe?
The thought flashed through his mind but was quickly dismissed. It didn't matter right now.
The moment Barry's name came up, Alex's attitude turned ice-cold.
Slap.
Instead of shaking her hand, Alex suddenly used the back of his hand to slap Patty's palm away — completely without politeness.
"Sorry, I have no interest in befriending a flat-chested woman."
In an instant, his previously mild and courteous expression turned icy. He no longer looked at Patty and instead stared straight ahead at the cold steel elevator doors.
He had zero interest in getting to know Barry's girlfriend — or future wife.
He had learned his lesson from the past. Barry's first, second, and third girlfriends had all abandoned Barry and passionately pursued him instead.
In those previous cases, Alex hadn't cared. He had even enjoyed letting them leave Barry, giving his old friend the pain of heartbreak as payback.
But Patty and Iris were different. One was Barry's official girlfriend in the New 52, and the other would become his wife. Alex had no intention of carelessly getting involved this time.
From elementary school through university, he had seen it happen countless times: whenever he and Barry both knew the same woman, she would eventually ignore Barry and fiercely pursue him instead.
For Barry's main love interest, Alex refused to get involved again.
Patty froze, her hand still hanging awkwardly in the air where Alex had slapped it away. She stared at her own palm in disbelief.
This was outright humiliation.
She had heard Barry praise his childhood friend endlessly — how handsome and talented he was, how popular he had been in university, how he was the campus heartthrob who had even joined the legendary "First Brotherhood" fraternity, and how he had fearlessly charged into a gang hideout alone to rescue Barry…
Barry had spoken of Alex like a legendary hero, with such admiration and pride that Patty had genuinely wanted to meet him.
But she never imagined this "outstanding" man would be so rude — slapping her hand away and refusing even a simple handshake, while insulting her by calling her flat-chested.
"Sorry, I have no interest in befriending a flat-chested woman!"
The words kept echoing in her head.
Flat-chested… flat-chested…
Luckily, no one else was in the elevator. If word of this spread through the entire Central City Police Headquarters — and then to every precinct in the city — she would never live it down.
Patty slowly withdrew her hand and clenched it into a tight fist until her knuckles turned white. A furious blush rose on her fair cheeks. She glared at Alex with gritted teeth.
In her mind, she had already chopped Alex into a million pieces with an axe, sweating profusely as she roared "Flat-chested!" with every swing.
She, Patty Spivot, had never suffered such humiliation in her entire life.
Ding.
The elevator reached the 7th floor.
Alex walked out with a calm, indifferent expression, leaving Patty with only his back. She had to take several deep breaths just to suppress her rage.
To stop herself from exploding, she frantically and repeatedly slammed the "close door" button with her index finger, nearly scratching her pink nail polish off.
Only after the elevator doors slowly closed — as if squashing Alex's retreating back — did Patty finally lose control. She kicked the elevator door hard, wincing as pain shot through her toes, and hissed furiously:
"Damn rude bastard!"
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