"Well, I think I understand now," Batman sighed, his spirits dampened as he let his arms hang down and said, "I thought I could make people like just by being myself."
"You are indeed likable, but since you live in this society, the attributes society bestows on you always complicate people's perception of your nature. The social skills you employ are rely ways to counteract these disturbances and can actually help you reveal your true self," Shiller advised.
"Do I really still have a chance? They won't even invite to their parties anymore," Batman choked up, and though it was unclear why grape juice made him drunk, he seed a little tipsy.
"Don't worry, they'll co looking for you soon."
"Really? Will they apologize to ?"
"More than that, they will sincerely apologize and ask you to rejoin the team."
Batman's mood improved again, and he stamred, "Really? Am I that important?"
By then, Shiller had gotten up, walked upstairs, and said, "Yes, you are the key figure. The Justice League can't do without you."
Before closing the bedroom door, Shiller ntally added, "Mainly because they'll soon face a big trouble that they simply cannot handle without you."
In Barbara's office, Superman paced with his arms crossed and said, "I've never seen anyone so dark that even sunlight couldn't reveal his heart. I think he will be our main enemy for so ti to co."
"He's Batman..."
"No, he's not," Superman shook his head and said, "Batman is not like that; although he appears dark on the outside, he's actually quite sensitive and vulnerable. But what we saw that day was like a wall of darkness, just looking at it was despairing."
"Then I'll rephrase it; he's a lot like Batman."
"Diana and I guess Batman might have lost his genes, leading so evil organization to create a sinister clone that amplifies his darker aspects..."
"Gordon and I think the sa," said Barbara. "The problem is, he has all of Batman's abilities, but he's much more evil and terrifying than Batman."
"No, I need to see the real Batman," Superman said. "I need to explain to him that the party was actually-" Just then, Superman's communicator beeped, and he had to answer the phone saying, "Hello? ...What's that? A riot at Phantom Prison? All the criminals have escaped???"
Batman put on his gear again, picked up several boxes of little sweet cookies prepared by Alfred, and got into the Batmobile.
The car sped along to Gotham's largest orphanage. As soon as he stepped out, he was warmly welcod. Batman forced a smile and said, "Yes, the great dark hero is here to see you again, here are today's sweet cookies..."
Batman put down the boxes, and the children quickly gathered around, passing the cookies orderly backwards. The bespectacled boy at the front said, "Are these Alfred's baking this ti? Not that the store-bought ones are bad, but I like his better..."
"Don't worry," Batman said with a laugh, patting the boy's head, "You guys sure love your sweets. Alfred has already prepared them."
The kids cheered and ran off with the cookies. The inquisitive boy stood there, sowhat shyly, as Batman turned to look at him, then hesitantly said, "Sorry, I can't stay with you any longer today. I have so things of my own to do, but next ti I will definitely..."
"Oh, that's not it, I..." The boy, embarrassed, pulled a paper from behind him and then said, "I'm old enough now, about to leave the orphanage. You've always been my idol, I wanted to have you sign my diploma..."
"Oh, that," Batman smiled and said, "No problem."
As he took the paper and picked up a pen, his phone rang. He sandwiched it between his ear and shoulder, and Superman's anxious voice ca through.
"It's bad, Batman. There's a riot at Phantom Prison, lots of criminals have escaped, and they know I'm in Gotham, now heading this way...."
Batman's eyes widened; he knew this was no small matter. The criminals held in Phantom Prison were ones that had previously attacked tropolis, with powers mighty enough to move mountains, and their escape en masse would bring a terrible disaster.
Batman hastily scrawled his na on the paper and stuffed the paper and pen into the boy's arms, then said, "Sorry, trouble again, the city's finest vigilante must take action!"
With that, he flung his cape over his shoulder, climbed into the Batmobile, and floored the accelerator. The dark vehicle vanished into the night.
The boy didn't feel disappointed but excitedly spun around in place. He unfolded the crumpled paper, and the heading boldly read, "Orphan Adoption Agreent."
Back at Wayne Manor, Tim sighed. This task had not been easy; cracking the locks at Phantom Prison had taken a great deal of effort, and he had to avoid Superman on his way back. Fortunately, everything was handled in the end, and he could finally enjoy a cup of coffee and rest.
Alfred smiled at him and brought over a steaming cup of coffee and a soft, sweet croissant. Tim rubbed his hands together in anticipation of his late-night feast.
Most of the lights in the manor were off, leaving only two dim ones in the dining room. The light was faint, but it felt sleepy and comfortable.
With a whoosh, a shadow passed by the window. Just as Tim was about to take a bite of his croissant, he glanced to the side but heard nothing more and focused back on his food.
Creak...
The manor's gate cracked open, and Tim slowly narrowed his eyes, his hand reaching for the dart at his waist.
With a whoosh, Tim suddenly turned his head, only to find that the coffee cup which had been on the table was gone. When he turned his head back, the croissant in his hand had also disappeared.
Tim's eyes widened, he slamd the table and shouted, "Who?!"
Looking at the spot where the coffee cup used to be, only a small stain remained; his perfect nightti snack had vanished. In a fit of anger, Tim made his way to the surveillance room of the Batcave.
This place had views of every room in Wayne Manor. Soon, he saw a sneaky figure in the utility room next to the kitchen, crouching in the corner and stuffing his mouth with bread, holding the very cup of coffee.
"Hey, who are you? How did you get in here?" Tim yelled at him through the cara, but the intruder seed startled, puffing his cheeks and looking around in confusion.
He swallowed the food in his mouth with great effort, downed the coffee, wiped his mouth, cleared his throat, and said, "I am, I am Batman's adopted son..."
Tim was shocked. You're Wayne's adopted son, then who am I?
The figure pulled out a piece of paper, and through the cara, Tim saw that it was an orphanage's adoption agreent with Batman's signature on it.
Wait a second, what's the na written in the adoptee column? Richard Grayson?
So this guy was Dick???
Thinking it over, Tim felt that the timing in this universe made sense for Dick to be adopted, except that their own universe didn't have any adoption agreent, otherwise Dick wouldn't still have the surna Grayson; he would have changed it to Wayne instead.
He rushed out of the surveillance room, grabbed Dick from the kitchen where he had been wolfing down snacks in a hurry, now coughing violently. Tim had no choice but to get him a glass of water from the kitchen.
"Are you okay? Where's Batman?"
"I was about to ask you," Dick said, wiping his mouth. "He signed the adoption agreent and then disappeared."
"So you found your way here, do you know that Batman is actually Wayne?"
"Is he? I just found this address on the express slip he sent to the orphanage before."
Tim slapped his forehead, but suddenly, Dick scread out, "You an to say Batman is Bruce Wayne?!! I've been adopted by the richest man in the world?!!!"
"Theoretically, yes, but we still need to wait for him to co back to find out what's going on," Tim always felt there was sothing off about Dick's adoption.
"Uh, by the way," Dick looked at Tim, "are you also his adopted son? Don't you have a costu or sothing?"
"I do have one, but I'm not wearing it," Tim shook his head. "Don't look at like that. Being an assistant doesn't necessarily require wearing a skintight suit, especially when a certain costu has already been worn by two people before you."
Speaking of costus, Tim rembered many things. His biological father was still alive, so he had two dads, and he always emphasized to Batman that the one he loved the most was him.
Since Nightwing and Red Hood were also alive, Batman had three Robins, and he always emphasized to Tim that he was his favorite, even modifying the costu for the third Robin to make it different from the previous two, and assuring him that no one else had worn the costu.
Tim certainly believed him, even though he knew Batman carefully preserved the costus of the previous Robins, yet he still wore his new gear, showing it off in front of the other two for over half a month, and got beaten up twice for it.
Perhaps lost in mories for too long, Dick broke free from Tim's grasp and began to scour the kitchen again. Tim was about to stop him when he saw a flash of light in the sky outside the window.
Both of them were stunned in front of the kitchen window as, outside, the thick clouds at the horizon dispersed, not to reveal the dawn but a deeper, darker purple night.
Countless massive figures appeared on the skyline, snarling and howling, an apocalyptic atmosphere enveloping the city.
Tim stepped back a few steps, touched the equipnt at his waist, and muttered to himself, "This is bad, we've got to figure out a way to help Batman."
Dick grew anxious too, pacing in circles on the spot, muttering, "This is the end, I haven't even had any assistant training, I haven't even worn the costu! What am I going to..."
Dizzy from Dick's pacing, Tim grabbed him and said, "If Batman was already planning on getting an assistant, then he surely prepared the gear. I'll take you to the Batcave to look."
"Do I really have to go? Can I actually handle these guys?" Dick was pulled by Tim toward the Batcave, still blabbering incessantly along the way.
Once at the equipnt room underneath the Batcave, Tim ear-plugged and sighed inwardly, "Good thing my universe's Dick isn't as chatty as you. Go on in."
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