Days as a Spiritual Mentor in American Comics Chapter 3039 - 2194: Battle of the Twin Cities! (35) 1

In the drawing room of Wayne Manor, as Alfred placed a teacup on the table, he turned his head to glance at the young man sitting on the sofa.

It was truly unbelievable how much he resembled Bruce Wayne, Alfred had recalled every mont he spent with Thomas Wayne in his head and couldn't find any hint of him possibly having an illegitimate child.

Martha had given birth to only one child, with no possibility of having a lost twin. How did this suddenly-erged Bruce turn out to look exactly sa as young Master Bruce?

After sitting opposite, Alfred examined Bruce closely once again, he discovered that if one looks closely enough, so minor differences could be found.

For instance, this Bruce was slightly slimr in body, especially the muscles around his neck and shoulders, were not as robust as the Bruce he knew. His eyes were more bluish too, and most importantly, his expressions were more lively, made him look a lot more youthful than the Bruce Alfred knew.

Having served in the Royal Navy when he was younger, Alfred could tell a person's basic age from their bone structure. He believed that this Bruce in front of him and the one sleeping upstairs were exactly of the sa age, with similar stages of growth and developnt. So, their differences in apparent age must be due to differences in temperant.

Alfred squinted his eyes. He, of course, knew why Bruce Wayne had such a gloomy deanor, how could a child endure cheerfully after losing his parents in infancy and living half his life in solitude and despair?

So, if this Bruce really ca from another universe as he claid, why was he so sunny and cheerful?

Bruce took a sip from his tea and looked at Alfred with his deep blue eyes, saying, "I'm here on a mission to handle the trouble in this city, perhaps you've noticed, a group of lunatics who don't belong here have descended."

This hit right at Alfred's heart. The green-haired madman who appeared on the big screen the other day gave him a very unsettling feeling. His instincts, honed over years of military service, told him that it was just the beginning not the end.

Unfortunately, Bruce Wayne was not capable of handling such trouble.

As Bruce's butler, Alfred knew well that his young master's ambitions were too great relative to his capabilities, and his anger outweighed his reason.

A cruel fact was that even, if Martha and Thomas were still here, they could only have raised Bruce to be one of those ordinary yet sowhat superior individuals in the society, in other words, an average person with an elite upbringing from a wealthy family.

Such a person would be able to keep Wayne Enterprises running, then devote his efforts to the education of the next generation. However, expecting them to go even further was an insurmountable challenge.

Alfred clearly understands more than anyone how talent can determine the upper limit of a person's social level. A good background provides a high starting point, but diocrity is like a calm, waveless water surface. A fish trying to break through the surface to leap into the air, only ends up suffocating.

So, Alfred completely didn't believe that Bruce Wayne, as Batman, could fight cri. He had always been against it. Each ti Bruce suffered setbacks, Alfred believed he would co to terms with his diocrity and give up on his wild ideas.

However, after the appearance of the green-haired lunatic, Alfred knew that even if Bruce wanted to give up, soone would force him into a corner.

This made Alfred feel desperate, because he knew that a person, diocre enough, even when cornered, couldn't unleash any potential power. Those instinctive struggles for survival would only prolong the pain of dying.

"Do you think you can handle these troubles?" Alfred asked tentatively. While he wanted it to be true, he didn't hold much hope.

It can't be that this other-universe Bruce Wayne happens to be a genius, right?

"I've been watching the news," Bruce paused with a change of tone, and said, "Every news outlet seems to be reporting sothing unfavorable about Bruce Wayne, which is regrettable."

"But before I make a judgnt on this situation, I hope you can promise one thing."

Alfred leaned his forearms on his knees, his hands clasped. He looked at Bruce, paused for a mont, and finally said, "Go ahead."

He thought Bruce was asking for a reward. Even doing nothing and sitting here as a scapegoat was valuable. His face, identical to Bruce Wayne's, would allow him to make incredibly high demands.

"I hope that you treat as you would Bruce Wayne and tell everyone the sa. I am the very sa Little Wayne you know, and you should treat as you would him".

"I don't understand." Alfred shook his head, he was not sure why Bruce wanted him to do this. He continued, "Your appearance is more believable than my words. No one would believe if I said you weren't him".

"I simply hope that you could help deal with so of the day-to-day issues." Bruce looked earnestly at Alfred, "I might be very busy for a while and won't have ti for daily chores. I know it sounds childish, but I hope to have a hot al when I'm done."

Alfred's eyes widened. He had never heard Bruce say sothing like that. Whenever he asked Bruce what he wanted to eat, Bruce would always reply, "I'm too busy, Alfred, you decide," or even, "Don't make anything, Alfred, I'm not hungry and I don't have ti to eat."

Though Alfred would still prepare sothing in the end, Bruce nearly never expressed a need for food, as though giving up all forms of material enjoynt and maintaining the effort of an ascetic monk would automatically bring rewards.

From an observer's perspective, Alfred knew it was fruitless. Despite Bruce's vigorous efforts, they were largely busyness that didn't quite cut to the core of the matter.

In a sense, the pretense of busyness had consud all of his ti and energy, leaving him incapable of pausing to review his progress or evaluate his efforts. All he could muster was the courage to keep pushing forward.

Alfred looked at the Bruce in front of him and saw an imnse self-assuredness, as if he could simply breeze through life, accomplishing tasks effortlessly and superbly, satisfying everyone around him.

Where does such a confidence co from?

Alfred quickly found out, as he nodded and said, "If you don't mind, sir, I'll prepare afternoon tea now."

"No, just call young master," Bruce replied.

Bruce's correction made Alfred frown. It was inappropriate; Bruce was the current head of the Wayne family and should not be called 'young master'.

However, Alfred didn't dwell on this. He stood up and headed towards the kitchen, surprisingly, Bruce followed him, sitting at the counter and grabbing a jar of finger biscuits.

Taking one and crumbling it into his mouth, he slurred, "I think you might want to hear my take on this situation."

"The news reports?" Alfred said, checking the fridge and not turning round. He didn't think Bruce would take negative dia coverage to heart. He wasn't that lancholic and didn't seem capable of self-deprecation.

"You should know that's beside the point. Journalists are scavengers, blown by the wind. Their opinions aren't important. Manipulating public opinion is easy, but it's not the main task when dealing with problems," Bruce said.

Before Alfred could scoff at Bruce's arrogant statent, he heard sothing surprising.

"I'll bet anything that the real Andrewkin didn't die. Not only is he alive, but under the Joker's watchful eye, he would have seen everything."

"I know the Joker too well." Bruce broke off another piece of the biscuit and sighed, "He creates an obvious trap, inflicts enough harm for you to believe that's the end."

"Just when you want to retreat and lick your wounds, you realize his real malevolence isn't over. His tornt is relentless, towards everyone."

"If Andrewkin truly was the only light during that dark ti for little Bruce, Joker wouldn't have used him so casually as a disposable item and let him die that quickly."

Bruce gave a cold smile, "Nobody knows the value of life better than him. He can coldly let anyone die, but they have to die at the right ti, at the right place."

"This is a form of madness-infused arrogance. If society is completely disordered by my view, then I have the right to pass my judgnt on anyone and anything here."

"Yet, he is also a genius, calm, rational, and a perfectionist. Hence, during judgnt, he ensures everyone falls into his trap according to his carefully planned sche."

"Dying for Batman as an expendable item under the watchful public isn't the ending that Joker would want for Andrewkin, a vital character. So he must still be alive."

"This is where Joker's brilliance lies. He lets Andrewkin see that the child he once tried to help still does not trust him, still blas him, and wouldn't rescue him even at the brink of death."

"Did Bruce drop him on purpose? It doesn't matter. Joker would make Andrewkin feel that if he himself had been hanged, he would have surely suffered the sa grueso fate."

"Humanity would always fear death, and Joker could easily use this fear to manipulate Andrewkin, making him think Bruce let go of him just for revenge. If Bruce knew he was alive, he would find other ways to kill him. Bruce wants to kill him, kill him..."

Alfred stood stunned in the kitchen, the plate of lettuce falling from his hand and shattering on the ground.

As he instinctively bent down to pick up the fragnts, he felt a hand steadying him. Looking up, he found Bruce looking at him worriedly. Bruce sighed slightly at the sight of the lettuce on the floor, shaking his head.

"The Joker excels at breaking others, bending them back together in the shape he wants and leading them to the final destination he designed."

Looking at Alfred, Bruce said, "Fighting with such a madman is destined to be long and hard. I need your help, Alfred."

Looking into the blue eyes so close to him, he felt the violent wave of emotions, channel through his gaze, into his aging, grey heart, flowing into his veins.

At this mont, Alfred felt a sense of dizziness.