DC: I Reported Bruce Wayne… Then He Adopted Me Chapter 63 63: Theodore's Background

When Theodore returned to his bedroom, his arms were full.

He carried a tray with a stack of freshly made cucumber sandwiches, several cans of the latest peanut milk in the crook of his arm, and two boxes of milk chocolate wedged between his chin and neck.

Just monts ago, after Bruce Wayne blew up the kitchen, Alfred was startled awake in the middle of the night and ca downstairs in his dressing gown to inquire about the incident.

When Alfred learned that the kitchen explosion was caused by Theodore wanting a late-night snack, leading them to chat in the kitchen, the old butler glanced at Theodore.

Theodore's expression remained as usual, but his hands, clasped behind his back, involuntarily clenched into fists. He… was a little nervous.

Although the similarities between Wayne Manor and Stanley Manor in terms of the main characters' nas, families, and backgrounds were as high as 99%, there were still significant differences in so details.

For instance, the middle-aged butler Fred was completely subservient to Stanley.

He was like Stanley's shadow, ticulously and respectfully carrying out Stanley's every command, precise like a wound-up machine, showing no hint of surprise or hesitation.

And in private, Fred would frequently display a hint of malice. Towards Theodore, towards Timothy, towards guests visiting the manor, and even towards the priest officiating confession.

Theodore privately speculated whether Fred had developed a psychological illness from being tornted by the perverted Stanley, which made him eager to see everyone suffer.

But Alfred was different.

Having been at Wayne's ho for less than a week, Theodore had already discovered that the old butler held an almost transcendent status in the manor.

Many tis, it wasn't Wayne commanding his butler, but rather the old butler restricting his master.

This ant that if Alfred got angry and took it out on Theodore, Wayne wouldn't consider it an affront to his authority; on the contrary, he might even be pleased.

Previously, at Stanley Manor, unless Stanley ordered Fred to do so, the butler had no right to punish Theodore and Timothy.

But Alfred…

Theodore couldn't say.

He nervously stared at the old butler's chin, waiting for that aged but still authoritative mouth to pronounce his judgnt. Then Theodore saw the old butler bow slightly—

"This was indeed my oversight. Children your age need proper nutrition. Please wait a mont, Young Master Theodore, I will prepare a well-balanced and healthy al for you."

"Next ti you want a late-night snack, you can co directly to on the second floor. If you don't have a hobby of watching action movies with special effects in the middle of the night, please do not disturb Wayne."

Bruce coughed lightly, awkwardly touching the tip of his nose. "Then here…"

Alfred solemnly picked up a frying pan and spatula.

"I will clean up after I finish making Young Master Theodore's late-night snack—would you like a cucumber sandwich too, Young Master Timothy?" Tim politely declined Alfred's cucumber sandwich.

But Theodore was greatly astonished.

Even until the butler started heating oil in the pan, Theodore still couldn't believe it.

Alfred's "cucumber sandwich" truly had no hidden aning or taphor; it seed purely intended to provide him with a late-night snack.

Wait, the kitchen was blown up, and the old butler could still calmly make a late-night snack? Wasn't that a bit too calm?

Theodore was first dizzily handed a plate of cucumber sandwiches by the old butler, and then two cans of peanut milk, just taken from the refrigerator, were placed in his hands.

Pausing for a mont, Alfred carefully observed Theodore's expression, then calmly retrieved four boxes of milk chocolate from the cabinet, divided them equally, and handed two boxes each to Theodore and Tim.

"This is compensation for the two young masters being startled."

Hearing this, a big Gotham Baby, who had just blown up the kitchen, stood pitifully to the side.

Bruce's Aegean Sea-blue eyes were moist and soft, enough to lt anyone's heart—but Alfred still didn't give him any chocolate.

Theodore maintained a dreamlike expression as he floated back to his bedroom.

It was too bizarre. Too many things had happened tonight, each one too bizarre.

He needed to take a hot shower, eat sothing, and then go to bed to properly digest the information he had received today.

What Theodore didn't know was that after he returned to his bedroom, Alfred maintained a straight face and turned to pour Bruce a glass of milk.

"You can drink this. Milk and milk chocolate, there's only one word difference between the two."

Bruce held the milk glass in his hand, thoughtfully looking in the direction Theodore had left. "You think he won't eat things that have been opened?"

So just now, to prevent Theodore from going hungry, Alfred, despite having already made cucumber sandwiches, added two boxes of chocolate for him.

Tim must have been very happy tonight. He got information, a recording, and also received two extra boxes of chocolate along with Theodore.

You know, Alfred usually restricts the vigilantes' snack intake. It's not that easy to smuggle chocolate from the old butler.

Alfred held the tray against his chest, noncommittally: "I just think perhaps the young masters are tired of this old man's cooking."

This was an absolutely forbidden topic. Bruce gave a dry laugh and redirected the conversation back to Theodore.

"Do any of his habits strike you as unusual?"

As a forr MI5 agent, no one in this house ever underestimated Alfred's abilities.

Oh, of course, there might be exceptions…

"You an sothing special? Yes, there is."

Alfred raised an eyebrow: "Young Master Theodore is truly a good child; he specifically helped down the stairs, worried I might accidentally tumble down."

Bruce: "…"

Without looking at Batman's helpless yet amused expression, Alfred began to sort the different types of debris from the ruined kitchen.

The old butler worked and spoke slowly.

"When I was a child, there was a walnut tree outside my house. One day, a pair of great tits flew onto it and built a nest. I would often save a small piece of bread from my breakfast and place it under the tree. In less than a month, they took it as a natural feeding spot."

Bruce listened intently. Alfred's hands never stopped moving.

He possessed a peculiar aura that made him appear effortlessly graceful, whether he was loading a shotgun or moving a charred microwave from the rubble, as if he were a tuxedoed butler polishing silver.

—"That was indeed a very good feeding spot, so, the cat also discovered it."

The old butler shook his head regretfully, manually wiping clean half of the smoke-stained kitchen wall.

"I chased the cat away, but the female bird unfortunately died. Later, I put bread under the tree many more tis, but until our family moved, we never saw that great tit co back to eat."

"So, Master, if you ask why birds only eat unopened food, I would answer you—there must have been the appearance of a cat that taught them these habits."

Hearing Alfred's answer, Bruce was silent for a long ti.

He connected everything he had observed with the new information he had received from Theodore tonight.

After a long while, Bruce slowly said, "I think, for Theodore, such a cat indeed existed."

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