The cards on either side of the scales extended invisible tendrils, intertwining like veins pumping blood in a single direction. They drained vitality from the perpetrators and transferred it to the victims—justice served.

This process would take two to three days. By then, some of the criminals would already be in Washington, while others would remain in Blackgate. Vivi knew that some had already requested transfers to other prisons, hoping to escape the notorious Warden Bettywen.

Compared to the warden, who clearly had no love for the South Hinckley prisoners, the convicts figured their survival odds were better elsewhere. Gotham’s lack of a death penalty meant they could live relatively comfortably in another prison, far from the dangers of Blackgate.

…These criminals had calculated everything perfectly.

Fine, Vivi let them have their way.

When the card magic was undone, the bodies and souls returned to their proper states. Bidding farewell to Dr. Stephen Strange, who had spent a sleepless night with no overtime pay, Vivi perched on a gargoyle outside a hospital. The stone creature stirred beneath her feet, its neck twisting 120 degrees to glance at her.

Vivi: “…”

She entered the hospital, listening as the patients’ breathing steadied. She realized this “job” might be something she could continue long-term.

After all, wouldn’t it benefit the city’s operations more to transfer the health of abusers to ordinary, law-abiding people who could then contribute to society?

While Vivi busied herself, the night was far from peaceful elsewhere.

---

Judge Meg Scott returned home, replaying the stares of his colleagues in his mind. Their gazes had stripped him bare, leaving him ashamed, and that shame quickly turned to anger.

Judge Meg was a member of the Court of Owls.

The Court wasn’t exclusive to Gotham; it was a vast, global organization. Originally composed of ancient noble families, it had eventually opened its ranks—selectively—to the extremely wealthy as the world evolved.

Members of the Court occupied high positions in cities worldwide, with Gotham being their stronghold. Corruption had so thoroughly rotted the city that the Court controlled everything from tax revenue to mayoral elections. Most members of Gotham’s city council were also members of the Court.

For those who dared to oppose the Court, it had its most loyal and deadly enforcers—the Talons.

Something felt off to Meg. The current mayor, Anna Alek, was a Court member, yet the Court’s influence was waning. The Penguin, who once paid the Court handsomely, no longer did. Black Mask’s dominance of Gotham’s underworld—once encouraged by the Court—was slipping. Plans to eliminate the meddlesome Batman had stalled.

Apart from silently wishing every day that Batman would kill that insufferable Joker so they could issue a warrant for him, the Court had no appetite for change in Gotham.

But now, the biggest thorn in their side wasn’t the vigilantes—it was the very mayor they had put into office and her growing faction.

Seething, Meg sat fuming in his living room until he heard an unusual noise.

Summoning a servant, he asked about it and learned it came from his troublesome nephew, Wydrian Scott. The boy, a student at Gotham Academy, was always an odd one—glued to his camera and endless photographs. Even Meg, who prided himself on being approachable, would snap when the boy pointed the camera at him.

What was the little brat up to now?

Irritated, Meg dismissed the servant and stormed up to the second floor, barging into Wydrian’s room. The moment he opened the door, Meg froze.

The large room’s walls were covered in photos, with thin strings hanging from the ceiling, suspending more pictures arranged chronologically. At the far end of the room, Wydrian sat deeply engrossed, playing a video at maximum volume. He didn’t even glance at Meg.

But Meg wasn’t focused on him; he was staring at the photos.

The largest photo on the wall behind Wydrian showed a dead girl.

A brunette in a white dress lay in a sewage ditch, staring upward. The light fell on her face, but she was unmistakably lifeless.

The other photos were group shots: the girl with Warden Bettywen, with Robin, with Batman, with the mayor…

She appeared all over Gotham, interacting with various people. In the older photos, she looked lively and vibrant, clearly taken while she was still alive. The individual shots, however, showed her observing the cityscape, leaping from rooftops, or speaking to gargoyles—each a solitary figure.

As Meg scanned the pictures, he scowled at the ones featuring the mayor and her allies. Striding to Wydrian, he demanded, “Have you lost your mind?”

Wydrian was replaying aerial footage of the singing citizens outside the courthouse. The hauntingly familiar song echoed in the room, dragging Meg back to the humiliating scene at the trial.

The boy didn’t acknowledge him, instead rewinding and scrubbing through the footage, muttering, “…Where is it? She should be there.”

“What are you doing? What should be there…?” Meg took a deep breath, staring at the photos again as a wild theory formed in his mind. “Are you looking for a dead person, Adrian?”

“Dead person? No… Hmm?” Wydrian finally seemed to notice who was speaking. Rolling off the couch, he said, “I think I’ve uncovered a secret. I wanted to expose it, but it turns out the secret isn’t even being hidden. That makes it boring. So I started observing her. Watching her. Hey, have you seen these photos?”

Judge Meg Scott watched his nephew’s manic excitement with cold detachment.

Yet Wydrian couldn’t suppress his enthusiasm. “Look at this! The city’s new vigilante, the Nightwatch. Her real name is Vivi White. You people refuse to acknowledge vigilantes, but I—”

He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I’ve seen and touched her corpse.”

“Wait…” Meg froze. “Her corpse?”

“That’s right,” Wydrian said gleefully. “She died. Her body was dumped in the sewers, and then she came back to life, became a vigilante, and started mingling with Batman and the others, openly appearing around the city.”

“I’m investigating the truth behind all this. It’s fascinating.”

“But, man, taking pictures of Batman is really tough. He seems incredibly sensitive to being watched, so I’ve had to shoot from farther away…”

As Wydrian rambled on, Meg suddenly grabbed his nephew’s shoulders. “You said you saw her corpse. Then how did she come back to life?!”

Wydrian frowned. “I don’t know. The police took the body.”

He could have mentioned that Peter and Tim had left with the police, but Meg’s grip was painful, which irritated Wydrian. Deciding to be spiteful, he kept that detail to himself, figuring it didn’t matter anyway.

Meg, however, was deep in thought. He paced the room, scrutinizing every photo until Wydrian, fed up, shoved him out. Reluctantly, Meg left but not before taking Wydrian’s notes and clippings with him.

Hearing the word “resurrection,” Meg couldn’t help but think of the Talons, the Court of Owls’ elite enforcers, who also had the ability to revive and regenerate. Yet in the photos, aside from the injuries shown in her death image, the girl displayed no visible scars in any other picture.

“The police…” Meg muttered, frowning. “Damn Gordon.”

Getting access to Gordon’s case files would be no easy feat.

Meg didn’t know much about the Talons—he rarely interacted with them—but he remembered that they were more like animated weapons than truly living beings. Even their resurrections came with limitations, leaving them as powerful, reanimated corpses.

If the Talons’ ability to revive came without cost, the Court of Owls would have used it to guard their wealth for centuries. Who wouldn’t want eternal life? Yet aging and death were merciless constants.

The girl in the photos was nothing like a Talon. As a vigilante, she possessed the same physical prowess and rapid healing abilities, but she seemed like an upgraded version. And, more troublingly, she appeared aligned with Anna Alek.

“I see now why Alek is growing increasingly dismissive of the Court,” Meg sneered. “She’s acquired superior technology. The Court can no longer satisfy her, so she’s started working with others, all while stalling the Court. And Lady Rothschild? She’s insane—still shielding Alek in council meetings and ensuring her niece faces no consequences? Her promises are worthless compared to technology like this!”

Meg connected the rumors circulating in the council and decided to report everything to the Court of Owls immediately. Anna Alek had betrayed them and could no longer remain Gotham’s mayor. Look at what Gotham had become under her leadership!

After Meg left, Wydrian continued analyzing his footage. He couldn’t understand why Vivi White hadn’t appeared during such a significant event. Based on his observations, she would usually be there. Why wasn’t she?

What Wydrian didn’t notice was that the video he obsessively replayed was rapidly gaining traction online.

Plenty of footage of the public choir event had already been shared—some captured by drones, others by individuals on the ground, and journalists documenting the moment in photos and articles. The higher-quality recordings and broadcasts naturally garnered more attention.

But the most widely shared video was Wydrian’s. Even Meg didn’t know how much his nephew’s obsessive tracking of Gotham’s vigilantes would positively influence the city’s reputation.

When Wydrian uploaded his latest video, Gotham’s Public Relations Department quickly picked it up and shared it. They also contacted a Wayne Enterprises-affiliated advertising agency, which had already prepared a campaign to capitalize on the footage.

Though the event had been a spontaneous act of the citizens, the city seized the opportunity. Gotham’s reputation had long been in the gutter, and the South Hinckley case would only make it worse. But the city’s residents could see the slow, steady improvement. Why not show the rest of the world what was changing?

Gotham wasn’t as hopeless as it seemed.

The “unexpected” events at the courthouse provided the perfect opportunity.

Before sharing Wydrian’s video, the PR team reviewed his account to ensure there were no issues. The department head scrolled through the video titles and couldn’t help twitching at the corners of their mouth.

“…This guy. He’s still just a creepy fanboy for the ‘Nightwatch,’ isn’t he?”

Incidentally, it seemed merchandise for female vigilantes always sold particularly well.