After a mont of thought, Bruce asked again, "Do you think if I were very similar to that cat…?"
"I am quite certain you are not a cat, Master." Alfred seed to have eyes in the back of his head.
"After all, cats wouldn't refuse a hot milk, yet you tried to secretly pour out the milk when my back was turned."
It wasn't until he returned to his bedroom that Theodore realized his face had been blackened by the dense smoke from the sudden explosion.
Theodore looked at himself in the mirror, lost in thought. Due to lack of experience, he hadn't reacted at all the mont the explosion occurred.
However, Wayne, as if he had been through countless battles, reacted incredibly quickly. He grabbed Theodore's collar and pulled him back without resistance.
Even Tim skillfully covered his head with both hands and rolled on the spot to lessen the impact.
As a result, out of the three people, the only one whose face was blackened was not Wayne, the instigator, nor Tim, who was closest, but Theodore, who had just taken two eggs out of the refrigerator.
—Is this reasonable?
Touching his collar, Theodore frowned and unbuttoned two more buttons on his shirt.
He didn't like being grabbed by the collar; Stanley often did that.
Stanley particularly enjoyed choking people or tightening their collars. He would watch the purple hue gradually spread across the young n's faces, savoring their terrified struggles in suffocation.
But regardless, Wayne grabbing his collar just now wasn't for that reason. Theodore wasn't the type to be ungrateful; just now, the other party had indeed looked out for him.
But the question was…
Why was Wayne so skilled?
Why was Tim so skilled too?
Whether it was the fluid motion of grabbing Theodore's collar, or the smooth reaction of dragging him backward, or even Tim's textbook-perfect evasive maneuver…
All of this could only an one thing!
Theodore's eyes widened, and he thought with great shock: How many tis had Wayne blown up the kitchen before he ca to this house?! Licking his dry lips, Theodore finally reacted belatedly.
Perhaps what had caused Tim's clear resistance before was not the various elaborate "plays" in the kitchen, but Wayne's hellish cooking skills.
Emmmm… How should I put it?
Theodore had once imagined how terrifying Wayne's hobbies would be. But he never thought it would be this kind of terror!
If he hadn't inherited a large fortune from his parents and beco an empty and bored rich man, with Wayne's talent, he could at least be a head chef at Arkham!
Speaking of which, didn't Gotham tabloids often report on Wayne's injuries from extre sports? Theodore thought for a mont and pulled out his precious phone, which he had kept with him all day.
At the sa ti, in Tim's bedroom. The Robin, tired and hardworking all day, finally happily threw himself onto the soft bed.
Just a mont before he drifted into sleep, a unique sound effect from his computer abruptly startled Tim awake from his sweet dream.
"!!!"
Tim instinctively sat up, then realized this was the special ringtone he had set for Theodore. It ant that Theodore was currently searching for sothing, triggering a pre-planted keyword in the program.
Tim: "…"
No way, you again?
Wasn't everything tonight stimulating enough for Theodore?
Who exactly was that Timothy with the sa na, that Theodore would still be thinking about searching for his whereabouts after experiencing all of the above events?
Tim clutched his throbbing head, giving up and dragging himself out of bed. The tired bird slumped into the chair, using his last ounce of strength to open the computer.
Then, looking at the results displayed on the screen, Tim sat up straight with solemn respect.
Theodore wasn't searching for Timothy this ti. He was searching for Bruce Wayne.
Theodore's real-ti search history was rapidly refreshing with a long string of terms.
—"Does Bruce Wayne like extre sports?" "Do extre sports include blowing up kitchens?"
—"Why do people fall in love with activities that risk their lives for thrills?"
—"Do people who like extre sports die young?" —"Can a kitchen explosion kill soone?"
—"If soone dies in a kitchen explosion, is the person who suggested they cook guilty? How many years would they be sentenced?" —"How is picking up soap not a type of extre sport?"
Tim: "…"
Robin's pupils dilated in shock; he was wide awake instantly.
So many plot holes, Theodore!
Never mind the other terms; at least there was so logic in the connection between the preceding and succeeding contexts. But how did that last one get in there???
The next evening, Dick returned from Brudhaven.
There were still a few days until their planned weekend family dinner, but Dick couldn't wait. With a new brother in the house, Dick, as the eldest, should have returned earlier to see him.
It was just that last week, Brudhaven had a serial killer case, forcing Dick to work double shifts as both a police officer and Nightwing.
Now that the case was declared solved, Dick imdiately rushed back without delay.
Unlike Tim, who had workaholic tendencies, in Nightwing's eyes, work was never as important as family.
No matter how much Bruce liked black-haired, blue-eyed little boys, he didn't adopt one every day, did he? Wasn't that worth a special trip back?
Moreover, how many black-haired, blue-eyed little boys in the world would genuinely praise Batman as talkative? Heaven knows, when Barbara told him about it, Dick and she laughed on the phone for five minutes straight. Such an interesting new brother was definitely worth eting sooner.
After work, cycling across the sea bridge took Dick over an hour.
Dinner ti had already ended, and Alfred was bringing out a plate of freshly baked cranberry cookies from the kitchen. "Welco ho, Young Master Richard."
"Perfect, Fred, I've been dreaming of this." Dick said, naturally taking the tray from the old butler's hands.
The young man comfortably narrowed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of Alfred's special cookies lting on his tongue.
Half a second later, Dick opened his cheerful eyes, as bright as the Hawaiian sky, and greeted Tim, who was walking down the stairs, with a hearty voice.
"Hey, Tim, you must have slled the cookies to co down." "Why don't you have a cup of your favorite coffee with so of Fred's cookies?"
With Nightwing's arrival, the entire atmosphere of Wayne Manor seed to beco lighter and more pleasant.
As the happy first Robin, Gotham's earliest fledged bird, Dick simply possessed this magic that made everyone around him feel relaxed.
Tim first went to get a cup of coffee, then shared the plate of cookies with Dick. "I thought you wouldn't be back until this weekend."
"Don't worry, I'm back now, and I'll be back this weekend too."
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